It was funny, Jameson thought sometimes, but... nobody really knew how hypnosis worked. Oh, it was definitely a real, provable phenomenon; scientists had done tests with magnetic resonance imaging and studied subjects in and out of trance and detected distinct, measurable differences in the brain patterns of hypnotized people. There was proof that telling someone to pretend that they couldn't move their arm was different from a post-hypnotic paralysis suggestion, a definitive shot across the bow to every skeptic who'd ever challenged the validity of mesmerism as a mere aspect of social conditioning.

But ask a hundred experts what was actually going on in a subject's head when they used a hypnotic induction to lull them into a deep, placid, thoughtless state of trance, and they'd give a hundred different answers. None of them would be scientific; descriptions of 'relaxation' and 'focus' and 'disassociation' were vague and impossible to pin down with any kind of rigor, and even though all of them agreed that the unconscious mind was processing the suggestions that bypassed waking awareness, none of them could agree on what an 'unconscious mind' truly was or how it mapped to the brain that it supposedly rested in. 170 years of formal study, and literally nobody had progressed beyond a trial-and-error recognition of the effects of hypnosis. Some of them, at any rate.

The idea of the subconscious was really nothing but a useful metaphor, but it was so useful that it persisted long past the point where neuroscience should have rendered it obsolete. It formed a model that predicted the outcome of most attempts at hypnotic suggestion reasonably well, despite being little more than a construct that described the vast, unfathomable workings of a complex biological machine with computing powers far beyond anything Silicon Valley ever dreamed of. Jameson sometimes likened himself to an ape that stumbled onto a supercomputer built by aliens; he was never going to have a hope in hell of figuring out how it worked, but he could at least figure out what some of the buttons did when he pushed them.

And the recreational hypnosis community? The hypnokink community? They were all simian hackers, pushing each other's buttons in every way they could think of to see what kinds of results they could get. It sometimes resulted in secret little surprises, fascinating interactions between hypnotist and subject that couldn't be easily explained to someone who didn't experience it for themselves. That was how Jameson thought of it, anyway.

But not right now. Because right now he was making his good girl cum for him, and he was too deeply hypnotized by her pleasure to think of anything else.

It wasn't hypnosis the way a normal person would recognize it. They'd reserve that term for Summer, the woman slumped back against the pillows with her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and drool spilling down her slack pink chin to drip down onto her heavy breasts. They'd see her with her eyelids fluttering and her body unable to do anything more than twitch in ecstasy despite Jameson's thumb skating repeatedly over her clit and his voice coaxing her deeper and deeper into orgasmic bliss, and they'd immediately assume she was the one who was in a trance. And Jameson was the one entrancing her. He was entirely in control of her empty, obedient mind. Assuming the idea didn't horrify them, they'd never suspect for a moment that he was anything but wide awake.

But to the extent that anyone understood hypnosis, everyone who practiced it knew that it was a state of comfortable relaxation, intense focus, and a sense of disconnection from one's own consciousness. And right now, Jameson fit the bill for all three. He was every bit as mesmerized by his obedient pet's helpless, near-continual orgasms as she was by his soft, soothing voice and the spiral that captivated her imagination, and it bound them together in a seamless rapport that made their experience so much more intimate and intense than he could ever describe to an outsider.

He felt very comfortable right now. He was with a woman he loved, in a safe and cozy space enjoying a pleasurably intimate experience with nothing to intrude on them. He and Summer had been playing together for over two years now, and they had the kind of intuitive rapport by now that made him very secure in his dominance. He knew what she wanted out of submitting to him, she understood very well how to sink into a deep, submissive trance for him, and at times like these it felt like they had an almost telepathic connection with each other. Jameson didn't have a care in the world when he was teasing her pussy like this.

And goodness knew he was focused. Jameson couldn't take his eyes off of Summer's face as he guided her deeper and deeper into mindless pleasure; there was simply something so beautiful about the blank, empty expression on her face as she moaned and whimpered in helpless, thoughtless ecstasy for him. He was aware of the warm, slick flesh that surrounded his thrusting fingers, but he never even thought to look down at her body--it was the complete and total surrender written on her features that made his cock throb, the gift of her submission so gorgeous that he felt like he could drink in the sheer delight she was experiencing forever and never get enough. Jameson didn't know when he'd last blinked. It simply wasn't something he was thinking about right now.

And Jameson's whole body felt detached like that, irrelevant in comparison to the thrill he felt every time he used his fingers and his words and his soothing hypnotic voice to take his loving pet deeper into a sea of absolute ecstasy. His cock was leaking a small puddle of precum onto his ankle as it throbbed and surged with arousal, but Jameson only experienced it as an echo of the pleasure he was causing in his good girl's soaking cunt. Time had become unimportant, the world outside their bedroom non-existent. All that mattered was mindfucking Summer further and further into blank, blissful euphoria, opening her up more and more to his control and giving her the joy of total submission that she craved so badly.

It was all its own kind of trance, a rapport between hypnotist and subject so complete and total that they existed entirely for each other during the span of their session together. Jameson had mesmerized himself into believing that he was the charismatic, dominant mind controller Summer wanted him to be, and he stepped into that role easily and effortlessly thanks to his own state of relaxation and focus. He was totally into the moment, completely captivated by her surrender to his will, and it gave the moment a special and intimate quality that was almost magical.

Every time Summer's needy cunt clenched around his fingers, Jameson could feel the pleasure echoing through his own body. Every whimper and moan elicited a tiny shudder of ecstasy from him, leaving him floating on a rolling tide of warm, drifting euphoria that never quite reached the peaks of orgasm but never receded below a blissful plateau, either. He was experiencing sympathetic climaxes, and if that wasn't a sign that he was at least a little bit trancey right at the moment, he didn't know how to make it any more obvious to a hypothetical observer.

After all, under other circumstances it would be her shuddering in abject bliss every time he gave any sign of his own pleasure. Jameson had spent many an enjoyable hour conditioning Summer to experience the same sensations he did within her own body--touching his cock felt just like rubbing her own clit, and his orgasms soon became hers. It was the kind of suggestion that her subconscious readily absorbed, one that came with its own reward and trained her brain to effortlessly override whatever signals it was receiving from her nerves in favor of the far more enticing feelings her deeply hypnotized imagination provided. Even if the subconscious was merely a metaphor and the brain was undergoing some sophisticated neural networking neither one of them fully understood, Summer nonetheless knew that jacking off her Master made her feel good. That was enough for her.

And evidently it was enough for Jameson, too. Even if he didn't intentionally program his own mind the way he did Summer's, his deep self still understood what that kind of rapport could achieve. And when it came to a suggestion so obviously and intuitively rewarding, Jameson's unconscious mind didn't need a formal command or even a specific induction to put him into a receptive state. He only needed to be intently focused on his pretty pet's squirming, shuddering, whimpering body and every orgasm he wrung out of her needy cunt, and the connection between them did the rest. He could imagine how good it felt to cum like that. He wanted to imagine how happy Summer was right now with her mind emptied out of everything between her and the pleasure his touch elicited. And he did imagine exactly what she was feeling right now, in every delicious detail.

It was the perfect way to bring both of them together, uniting them in the harmonious rapture of Master and slave in a way that seemed to fit perfectly in every sense. Summer always woke from trance blissfully happy to be owned and obedient, and Jameson always returned from the heady euphoria of dominance feeling so grateful to his good girl for the gift of her submission.

And 'returned' was exactly the right word for it. He recognized the foggy, muzzy sensation in his head that he always experienced after the end of one of their scenes together from his times on the other side of the watch--hypnosis was a drug-free high, but whatever it did to the brain definitely needed a little recovery time before the patterns of thought returned to normal. For Summer, who was the object of deliberate, intentional hypnosis, that could be sometimes as long as an hour of cuddling and watching television while she got used to having a mind of her own again, but Jameson usually only needed a little bit of a break before he was back to himself.

Usually. But on these long, lazy Saturday afternoons, where neither one of them had anywhere they needed to be or anything they needed to do, the pleasure stretched out for what felt like hours until both of them had very little left inside their heads but a dopey, blissful afterglow. Those were the days when they ordered out for lunch and answered the doorbell with nothing but a bathrobe and a goofy post-coital grin to collect their food, the days when Summer and her Master both managed to fractionate themselves with trance and rapport trance until functional thought became an impossibility. Jameson spent most of that time with his balls aching to release their heavy load, but that didn't really matter. Not when he lived his ecstasy through his good girl's euphoric shudders and moans.

Every time he stopped--and he did stop every once in a while, if only to make sure Summer was staying hydrated despite her very obvious fluid loss--she came up just enough to befuddle her drowsy brain that much further. Every time he dropped her again... and he dropped her so many times, the confused and bewildered look on her face an aphrodisiac even after years of playing with her beautiful mind... she would sink deeper. And Jameson would sink along with her in his own way. And they both found themselves more muzzy and thoughtless with every repetition.

Until at last Jameson couldn't hold his dominance any longer. Until his arousal became too strong for his fuzzy, muddled mind and all he could think about was cumming like his beautiful brainwashed slave came so many times, and he guided her lips down onto his aching, swollen shaft. And with her own vicarious pleasure so strongly established by years of conditioning, Summer never needed much coaxing to suck her Master until he finally gushed his hot, sticky cum down her throat.

THE END