“I have a confession.”

“Confessions are cleansing. Do tell."

The Austin sidewalk was crowded, so I leaned in close to Dr. George, to keep it private.

"I found your profile on Fetlife. I was, um, checking out your interests."

He just looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"One of the items jumped out at me. 'Mental bondage.' What is that? Is that what you did to me in San Francisco?"

It had been about a month since our first meeting, and I was in the "very intrigued" phase of this relationship.

"Not exactly," he said. "Or rather, we barely got started." He looked around at all the tourists near us. "We can talk about it at dinner."

We had managed to coordinate business trips, had just met up at his hotel, and already we were headed out for a meal with a local couple he knew.

"Do your friends know about your, um, interests?"

"Ohhh yes. They're on Fet too. They started out as swingers, but they've advanced into rope and hypnosis.

"They go by Donna and Jim, by the way. For tonight, let's call you Debbie."

This was getting complicated. Frankly, I wanted him to myself, to show him my moves, to see where this little infatuation might be going. I wasn't really ready to meet all his friends. We just had one night when our trips overlapped. But he was clearly used to being in charge of things.

This being Austin, Jim and Donna had chosen a hamburger place with a live band. They turned out to both work in IT. With Dr. George they talked mostly about his therapy business, about music, and about characters they knew in the kink scene.

They wanted to know about me, so I got to tell them how I’d met Dr. George, and how I'd quickly discovered that such a nice guy also played very hard. And how I'd discovered that the San Francisco cops enjoyed quizzing me, a clueless topless tourist. They laughed comfortably at our adventures.

I learned in turn that Donna had met Dr. George at a kinky hypnosis conference -- there is such a thing? -- when they'd watched each other’s presentations. 

That reminded me of my question. "Is that where you were demonstrating mental bondage?"

Dr. George explained for me: "Debbie was wondering what that means."

"That’s when he ties your mind to the bed and tickles it," Jim said.

"Actually, that's when he spanks your mind," Donna said.

"Actually, he fucks it," Jim corrected himself. "Slides inside your head and has his way. He is a serious mindfucker. You didn’t know that?"

"Well, this is only our second date," I said.

"And you’re spending the night with him? Brave girl," Donna said.

Donna looked at Jim, with a twinkle.  "I think we should keep an eye on Miss Debbie tonight. Make sure nothing awkward happens to her mind. She probably needs it for her meetings tomorrow." 

Um, wait, I thought, glancing at Dr. George. Now they were joining our party? He just smiled at me.

Under the table, Donna squeezed my thigh. She looked at Dr. George.

"How about it? We won’t stay long. But it would be fun to watch you do your thing."

He nodded. I was outnumbered.

As we walked away from the restaurant, Dr. George let Jim and Donna get a few steps ahead of us.

"Watch," he said. Donna linked arms with Jim, whispered a while in his ear, and then supported him as he slumped slightly. It looked like he was sleep-walking.

"Keep watching," he said. I focused on their steps as I let him guide my own, around posts and across streets. He was murmuring things to me too, but they didn't feel important enough to attend to.

The walk back to the hotel seemed much shorter than I had remembered. Before I knew it, the hotel entrance was gleaming around us. I noticed that Jim straightened up in the bright lights. I shook myself alert as well and felt almost perky by the time we got to the room. It was a comfy place. Dr. George had rented a suite with a well-equipped kitchenette.

Within a few minutes, we were sitting around the living room, sipping tea. Apparently it was important to have a clear mind.

Jim turned to me with a serious look.

"I gather you really are pretty new to hypno. I don't know what you're expecting, but can you tell us what you're comfortable with? What concerns do you have?"

"I just need to be coherent in the morning," I said, shrugging. That was an understatement. I was in charge of the whole conference. "I trust Dr. George to decide," I added. That part just popped out of my mouth, to my surprise.

Dr. George put down his tea, put his hands on his knees, and got down to business.

"So, let's talk about mental bondage," he said. "Your question was a good one, but the answer takes a while. Because mental bondage is a whole range of things."

"Like, it can be really simple, using your mind to bind your body in place."

I was sitting in the suite's rolling desk chair. He pointed toward my feet.

"Your ankles are now tied to the legs of the chair."

OK, that was weird. I reached down to check what was going on and, shit, I could feel the rough ropes with my fingers. I tried to work at them, but they were taut. I looked for a way to get a grip, but couldn't.

Dr. George pulled my hands away and held them against the arms of the chair.

"Now your arms are tied here, tightly."

I wiggled my hands and tried to slide my arms within the invisible rope loops, but they too were too tight. I could still push myself around a little with the tips of my toes on the floor. But then I jammed against the carpet. Despite rocking back and forth, I was going nowhere.

"So, that's mental bondage of a simple sort. You have completely accepted the presence of ropes you cannot see," he said. "Your mind is binding you to my specifications."

This is where he'd left me for a few minutes in San Francisco, but I guess now he wanted to demonstrate just how tightly bound I was. Or maybe he was showing off for the audience.

He unbuttoned my top and pushed my bra up. He pinched my nipples, and made them stand at attention. Then he stepped away, and I was left facing Jim and Donna. They were both looking at me ... expectantly. I could hear Dr. George rummaging in the kitchen drawers.

He stepped back, behind me now, tugged my hair to pull my head backwards, draped a towel across my throat -- it was strangely very heavy -- and said, "Now you are motionless." I was left staring up past him, at the ceiling.

I caught a flash of steel. He was holding a steak knife, which he now drew oh-so-lightly down my cheek, along my jaw, and across my throat. Inside, I was shivering, shaking, looking for ways to get away, but outside my body was simply ... motionless. As he'd said. Not even a wince.

Now he traced with the point down my chest and around the base of each breast. It felt like hot blood droplets were sliding down my belly. But I held utterly still. Even my goose bumps were suppressed, I swear.

With the point he tapped each nipple. OK, that got a response. They hardened even more, if that was possible.

Now he set down the knife and picked up ... what? Oh, a couple of forks? He was messing with my breasts now, pressing the tines in on either side and lifting each breast as though serving it up, then dropping it back in place.

"How does that make you feel?" Now Donna was checking on me.

"Helpless is hot," I admitted, still looking at the ceiling. "I haven't been tied up many times, but I know I respect someone more if I can't get myself free."

"You're free now," Dr. George said. Whoosh, I was. I stretched my neck and shook the kinks out of my arms and legs. I looked down my front; remarkably, no blood.

But the lesson was far from over, it turns out.

"Mental bondage can be more than invisible ropes," he said, as he sat back down in his easy chair. "I can bind your sensations, or your behaviors. I can just tell you what to do -- and you do it. Without a second thought."

"Right," I said, for lack of anything else to say.

"You're now rubbing between your legs," he said.

It seemed like a good idea right then to press against the crotch of my shorts.

I wasn't forced. Yes, he suggested it, but it was a good idea. I was turned on. I looked at him as though awaiting further instructions. No, I wasn't. Yes, I was.

"When I next say 'Go,' here's what you will do. You'll be malleable. Agreeable. You'll undress. You'll pick up the forks. You'll walk over to Jim. And you'll serve up your nipples for him to nibble on."

"Go."

Well, duh. That was the most reasonable thing in the world. Jim had been staring at my tits ever since they were exposed. Come to think of it, he'd been staring at them all evening. It was only fair to give him a taste. I stepped out of my clothes and got busy.

"And now give Donna a taste too."

Of course, of course. All in good time. There's no rush. Everyone gets a turn.

"And spread your legs. Put two fingers in, sliding along your G spot."

"Now slide your fingers into Jim's mouth. Let him suck."

"And notice that it turns you on, having him suck your juices. Yes?"

"Yes!"

"Feeling like a puppet?" Donna asked.

I answered quickly.

"No, I'm not a puppet. I still have free will. That's important to me. When Dr. George gives me a suggestion, I can decide for myself what to do and how to do it."

She smirked. "But you're doing everything he says."

"He has good suggestions. I agreed with him. He reads me well, I guess. He knows where I'll go. I think I'm happy with mental bondage."

It felt a little odd to be talking about him that way, with him right there, but ... Donna's questions were sensible too.

"I suggest you are freed again," he said, from his easy chair.

I got up to pour more tea for them. I seemed to be in serving mode all of a sudden.

Over the sound of rattling cups, I heard him say, "But then, mental bondage can go even further."

"This is fine," I said.

He ignored me.

"If you're especially suggestible, you can find yourself simply doing something, without hearing a command at all. You just ... move. And you struggle to figure out why."

"Fuck my mind," I said firmly, as though on cue. Out of nowhere. It wasn't even my voice. I looked around, but it was me saying it. "Fuck my mind!"

I handed the tea around, then knelt in front of his chair, and bent forward. He lifted his legs to make room, and draped them across my bare shoulders and back.

Suddenly I was a footrest. I'm not sure what inspired that. I'd never done that before.

Dr. George reached down and stroked my hair. "Good girl," he said.

That phrase has always settled me so comfortably. How did he know?

He kept chatting with Donna and Jim. Their voices faded. I was out of the loop, but I didn't mind. It felt good to be a piece of furniture for a while.

But after a while, I became increasingly aware that I was still naked, and that his crotch was quite close by. Maybe I could steer this party back in the right direction, I thought. Or give them a cue to go home. I started to move around, to reorient myself toward his cock.

But against my will, I found myself instead crawling away, out from under his legs, toward Jim.

Wait. This was different. This was not my idea.

Jim was removing his shoes. And socks. And I was drooling.

I was ... opening my mouth ... putting out my tongue ... to suck his toes. No, to clean his feet.

His feet smelled like old cheese. Tasted like dirt. And the texture? It was like he had sand tucked down between his toes. I swallowed it all.

But why? I'd happily swallow his dick. Not his damn toes. But my body had betrayed me... it was obeying some different mind, not my own.

And yet, on some level just below the surface, this felt right. Appropriate. Proper.

"Good girl," Dr. George said. I had nothing to say. Jim's foot was jammed into my mouth.

After a couple minutes of this, Dr. George helped me to a sitting position and handed me my tea, refilled and hot. I was grateful for the astringent effect, cleansing my mouth and throat of the gritty foot flavoring.

I started weeping. I couldn't help it. This was so profound, I was so vulnerable.

Donna leaned forward and spoke gently.

"Debbie, that's mental bondage, the real thing. You can be proud that your mind and body are so adept at this, so quickly."

"That's so intense," I said, sniffling. "I, I never expected to do things without knowing how. That's such a big step, far outside what I ever considered possible. I do feel like a puppet. But I can't even see the strings!"

Jim leaned in: "How far do you think you can -- "

Just then, Donna tapped the top of Jim's head and he froze, in mid-question, spinning slightly to his right to face directly toward her. I sensed that he'd have nothing more to say for a while.

And then I noticed the room becoming dimmer, and dimmer. I looked quickly toward the window. The city lights were dimming as well. It was my eyesight going, darker and darker, unmistakably. Once more I couldn't panic, could just observe. I was going blind, and I watched the desk lamp, the brightest source in the room, wink out.

I gasped now, and almost immediately I felt the warmth of bodies close in around me. Hands tugged my hair, stroked my cheeks, pinched my pink bits, fingernails ran down my spine and arms. How many hands? I was too scrambled to count them, but it seemed like too many. Hands spread my legs. Hands inspected my ass. Hands hefted my boobs, spread my labia. I was squeezed, prodded. Instinctively, or at least not deliberately, I put my hands behind my back, and opened my mouth.

My mind stuttered like a broken record.

What di- di- di- di- di- did he do- do- do- doo to me?!

Finally, my mind fled the here-and-now, exhausted by the effort to understand, and retreated to a back corner of my brain. I needed to turn off the sensations, mute the experience. I've been able to do that ever since childhood, whenever things get too intense.

So, from the next while, I can just retrieve flashes.

I was bent over... the bed, I think? It was still dark. I was pushing back, fast, on a long cock, finally getting fucked, but by whom? The world spun up again, and away.

Later, I was pinned down by bodies, pleasure washing through me, and my tongue washing a clit.

At some point, my vision came back. I caught sight of Jim, also on the bed. His eyes were rolled way up, showing just the whites, and his head was jammed against the headboard, his shoulders arched way way back, mouth half open, seemingly permanently on the edge of an immense cum. But ... frozen there, with just his erect, twitching cock giving away that he was not a statue.

Later... sometime. I heard the singing musical note of a ... what? Oh, I could see it, a metal mixing bowl, which I was holding, as Dr. George peed into it.

Later still there was barking ... muffled, coming from under the covers, where Jim had curled up.

While my body carried on without me, I mustered enough brain cells to try to figure out how the evening had taken such a sharp turn.

I had been hoping for more sweetness and tenderness tonight, to show Dr. George I had a traditional side. I had hoped for more standard, you know, sex. So I could show him just how far I could go.

But it seems Dr. George was way ahead of me. Apparently he'd taken the ordinary for granted. He was showing me just how far *he* could go.

On the one hand, it was frustrating that he kept subverting my agenda. On the other hand ... oh, god, it was hot.

By the time Jim and Donna left, I was crawling around the carpet. I had lost my own name, and that seemed like the right place to look for it. Seriously. I couldn't find it. He'd hidden it away. I just had to find where.

Donna patted me on the head on the way out. "What do you think of mental bondage so far?"

"Fuuuck. I'm all tied up in knots."

"Welcome to the club," Jim said.