“Do you want to relax?”
I gently brushed Megan’s brown hair off her forehead and to one side. The muscles around her eyes were already slack, and she nodded once, ever-so-slightly.
“Oh girl,” I thought. “You never stood a chance.”
And I began the long induction she didn’t know was coming. When it was over she would no longer be Megan the Corporate Power Lawyer.
Really, though, she already wan’t. She had been trapped, and the covert takeover had begun long ago and with far more subtlety than she had ever shown.
“This is Ronnie.”
Kelly had gently run one finger down the back of my arm to my elbow, which she tapped twice, when introducing Megan to me.
“Drank half a glass” (Megan was holding a stemless glass of red) “slightly nervous.”
Our coded messages had only gotten better and more subtle than since when we had a nerdy teenage mentalist act. With inflections, phrases, and touches we had created a complex language.
“I’m Megan,” the tall woman said, offering that practiced, firm executive handshake that said, “I’m confidant and in charge,” and was a complete lie.
“Ronnie,” I said, unable to get a read on her pulse because of a bracelet she wore. “I mean, obviously...”
“I told Megan about your side hustle, meditation coaching,” Kelley said. (“No plans for at least the next few nights.”)
“And I’m still impressed you had a full house for your week-long last month,” she added.
I don’t know how she wormed it out of her that Megan had gone for at least seven months without sex. That must have been a lot of wine over the last few weeks.
“I can’t imagine keeping a dozen people absolutely silent for a whole week,” Megan said.
Her pupils had widened when we shook hands. It’s helpful to be able to notice the delicate signs of what’s going on in a subject’s brain. You just have to be careful to notice them without seeming like a sleazy doctor doing an exam. Seeing that they find you attractive. Detecting the makeup trying to hide her age, the eyebrows darker brown than her hair, which was cut to just-ever-so-slightly conceal a few age lines. The quick, nervous sip of wine.
“It isn’t so difficult,” I said, keeping my voice low and warm.
Then I let loose with a little flow.
“People come to me because they’re stressed.”
Slightly longer pause.
“When they need to just relax. Let go.”
Kelly touched Megan’s forearm and my shoulder. It’s a gesture that encourages trust in introductions.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said. “And I might get some air.”
Then she gave me a small smile, just the left corner of her lips.
“You’ve got this.”
I touched Megan’s other arm, began leading her to the bar.
“Let me get a drink. Maybe we can find a place to talk?”
I’m not arrogant enough to say that was an induction. That was just letting my prey get a whiff of the bait.
When we got to my place Megan had used the bathroom. I got her a glass of sparkling water.
Hydration was important, and I didn’t want her intoxicated.
Her leather boots were off and she was on my sofa, next to me, facing me with a comfortable demeanor, one leg tucked underneath her.
Her sheer black nylons looked expensive. They told me she was willing to face the Chicago winter but still wanted to look appealing. They weren’t from some mega-whatever store, and they weren’t kink shop “fuck me master” lingerie, they were quality. Class. Appropriate for a posh club or when you are tearing apart someone’s company apart in a boardroom.
Notice everything. Don’t look be sleazy, but notice the micro expressions, the autonomic tells.
Her hands shaking a little.
“Relaxing would be nice,” she said hesitating a touch, “I’m just a little nervous.”
“More than a little,” I thought.
I made myself more comfortable, taking a non-threatening posture, breathing in and out deeply enough to check-in with my internal weather system. I was ready for a long scene. I rested my hand on her forearm.
“Do you mind if we do a short breathing exercise?” I asked, brushing her ankle with one fingertip of my other hand.
Some hypnotists never touch their subjects. Some are inappropriately touchy. I like to think I can read people well enough to know when it’s welcome and pleasurable, and when I’m nearing Me-Too territory. To me, touch is as important as the words. Touch, done well, increases the intimacy and trust. Consider it a force multiplier.
Her lips parted a bit and her eyes searched back and forth into mine. I didn’t wait for an answer.
“We’ll start with inhaling a little deeper, but comfortably so.”
“Hold for a moment.”
“Then exhaling, a little slower, maybe a second slower.”
Her eyes were focused on me. She followed the breathing, in for a four-count, hold for two, out for six. No questioning. No real self-awareness. She thought I was just relaxing her as part of our little mating dance.
“Again,” I said.
We went through five breaths. Her hands weren’t shaking, and her eyelids relaxed down as if this was some hokey yoga-studio meditation class. Kelly had told me how she struggled with work pressures. The life pressures. The not-getting-enough-of-something pressures powerful people seem to always bear.
“Let your breathing return to normal.”
She started breathing. Slowly. More slowly than “normal.”
“You’re so easy.”
“I want you to open your eyes. Just a little. Focus with a soft gaze.”
She followed along, still thinking this was a mini-meditation. Her shoulders were loosening. I took the cue.
“I’m going to ask you to close them when you exhale. Open them when you inhale. Not quickly, just … your eyes following your breathing.”
I let her settle into that.
“When you exhale, feel muscles relaxing. All over. Neck and shoulders going slack, like rope dropped on the floor.”
Her nipples began firming up underneath the black party dress.
“Thank you Kelly for getting her drunk enough to learn some of her fantasies. And for not taking advantage of them yourself.”
“Your body feeling a little heavy.”
She was finding it harder to open her eyes than close them.
I brushed her hair behind her ear. Intimate, but not stalkery-creepy.
“Your soft gaze.”
Not even a sentence, just a reminder to open her eyes. She was already inclined to leave them closed. I wanted them to tire, but I wanted her to resist.
OK, that’s one of my needs. Their resistance before the fall. It’s why I was getting hard even now.
“Sinking a little into the cushions.”
Dear, trapped Megan. Her eyelids fluttering. The utter slackness in her body.
“I’ll let you go down soon. I promise.”
At the party I had gently maneuvered Megan to a corner. She sat on a chair with her feet up, crossed, feet resting on an ottoman. Her leather boots a little glossy. I don’t know fashion, but they weren’t for the boardroom or the snow. They were for a moment like this, when she thought she was being set up with a guy who was supposed to be nice.
I took a straight backed dining chair. Relaxing wasn’t going to be my thing. Not yet.
“Kelly told me you’re a lawyer,” I said.
Then I waited. Most men talk too much.
Megan opened up slowly. She needed a few more of those leading questions.
She began telling me what I already knew, and I slipped in phrases that made her comfortable. Appropriate facial expressions. Occasional small touches to her arm or leg. But I avoid all those incel “how to trick them into wanting you” bullshit lines. She needed (apparent) honesty, and not-so-obvious consoling that her work didn’t destroy lives and futures.
She was half-way through her second glass of red when I offered her some water. I held up my whiskey glass.
“It helps me avoid feeling bad the next morning.”
I’d wanted to slip in “the next morning” because she was already responding well to those gentle touches, which had gone beyond the arm to her knee, to picking some non-existent lint from her hair.
While we sipped water I led her to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Guiding her was easy. A hand on the back, not too firm, not too insistent, not too presumptive.
“The city is so beautiful at night,” she said, looking down the boulevard.
“You like the lights?’
“I like the way they sometimes go soft. The headlights down on the road. The distant buildings. It’s almost like being in a trance.”
There was a beat before her reply.
“They are nicer than the sharp lights that are so close.”
“And the cars seem to move so slowly from up here. Their light just drifting down the the road.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.
Take your cues from her.
I gently reached around her back and squeezed her bicep. She didn’t tense up, but I could feel muscle there. She worked harder at her appearance than she did at leading the happy life she thought power and money could get her.
“Do you … offer private meditation classes,” she asked, not looking at me, focusing on the lights.
I wanted to smile, hearing the trap shut on her.
“I could do a short relaxation meditation,” I told her. “But not here.”
“That would be nice,” she said, leaning into me. "That sounds ... lovely."
She thought she’d been seduced. Well, she had. But a nice fuck wasn’t on the table tonight. At least not for a while.
The main course was her mind.
I mean, I did really wanted to fuck her at that moment. And sometime tonight I would. She was beautiful, almost as tall as me, and I don’t mind the extra ten years she was trying to hide. They made her a sexy older woman, not sorority babe. A real woman. I wanted those ten years. I was going to love taking those ten years into my control.
And those ten years were part my prey.
She was quiet on the ride home. I expected that. I have a small gadget I keep for times like these, a small battery-powered metronome I had converted to sit on the dash. Instead of ticking there is just a couple of very small, very subtle lights in the pendulum. They fade from red to green, and the device swings them back and forth silently, allowing me to focus on driving carefully so as not to cause my subjects to any stress.
We climbed in and Megan noticed it right away.
“Swag from a conference,” I said, tapping the "on" button.
She was silent as we drove.
“You like the light,” I said quietly.
Her nod was barely visible.
“Focus on the light.”
“Focus on the color.”
“Let the color change as you relax more and more.”
Her relaxation had nothing to do with changing the colors of the lights. That was just an automatic function, a cheap digital effect. But the illusion gave her a sense of control as she slipped, slowly and steadily, out of control.
Eyes shut, head back against the sofa. Breath shallow.
“Sinking, sinking, sinking…”
“Mind drifting away…”
“…brushed aside by my voice.”
I am not a believer in “depth of trance,” just the subject’s acceptance of depth. The illusion of depth. And so I led her “deeper,” conditioning her mind.
“You mentioned trance at the party,” I said, a slight lie. “This is trance. You may feel floaty, drowsy, you may feel like the world is distant…”
“But you are in trance, like you wanted.”
I traced her thigh with my fingertips, watching her breathing, knowing she was OK with the touch. God, I wanted to fuck her.
“So just slip into this little trance, relax into this little trance, this pleasant trance you asked for.”
Those little lies. Small words. The accumulation creating a memory that never happened.
Her leg slipped out from underneath her, landing on the floor. She was splayed, her legs an open invitation unknowingly given. I wanted to accept.
A bit of drool came from the edge of her mouth. I gently wiped it with my thumb, let myself taste her. I wanted to taste all of her so badly.
But not just yet. This was more than just a kinky little sex game.
It was vengeance.
Eventually the induction had taken her down far enough that I knew she was ready for the trigger.
“This is a gift,” I said.
“A gift for your mind.”
“Take a moment to feel the relaxation … the pleasure … of this state.”
I gave her that moment.
“When I snap my fingers and say ‘drop,’ you will find yourself here. In this mental space. In this deep trance. This relaxed. Feeling this good.”
I let her mind absorb that, repeated the same phrases two more times, altering them slightly, keeping the meaning but reinforcing the message.
“I’m going to count from five to one. As I say each number, you will become more aware of your surrounding. When I reach one you will be completely awake.”
“Five…four, you may start to be aware of your body…three, you feel your senses returning…two...”
Her body was beginning to move. Her head rising. She was ready to come out of trance.
I snapped my fingers.
Megan’s head flopped back. Her body slid, leaning against me. She had expected to be dropped, but not before “one.”
I like to fuck with my subs.
“Sinking…floating…drifting…deeper and deeper into relaxation…”
And here I began changing it up.
“Losing control. Feeling you mind…submit. You know that’s what you’re doing…submitting.”
I let that sink in. Kelly had wormed a lot out of her when they became friends. She had never been in a BDSM relationship, but had fantasized about it.
“Submitting to me.”
“Letting me take on the burden of thinking.”
“Giving up the weight of decision. Of choice.”
“Control is such a heavy thing. I can help you carry it.”
“Submitting to me. Submitting your mind.”
Five more times I walked her through the cycle. I looked at the time, saw that two hours had passed. Well beyond what I usually do, but this had been so long in the making, meant so much to me.
The hypno-nerds call it fractionation. I call it “Rinse and Repeat.”
But I wanted more than a good hyp session. I wanted so much more. So I kept the induction going, longer than I would for some gooner or one of my subs. I ran through everything again. Only this time I added “surrender.” Such a … delicious … word in a subject’s mind. They surrender.
To their hunger.
To their desire.
Submit and Surrender. Rinse and Repeat.
I was practically in pain from my desire. I had wanted this for so long. And she was the perfect subject. Maybe the best mind-fuck virgin I’ve had.
So I went through it again.
Capturing is hard-core hypno-kink. It’s the kidnapping of the mind. It’s the taking of things they wouldn’t have given in submission, the concession they wouldn’t have surrendered. It’s a psycho-sexual manipulation that leaves them helpless to resist. Subjects generally want, or are convinced they want, what happens when they’re under. Capture is the beginning of taking consent away.
I don’t like to go there unless I’m with an experienced subject who wants it all, who has discussed it with me. But Megan wasn’t a consenting partner. She wasn’t going to be a lover.
I would never rape a woman. I wouldn’t even use capture on almost any subject in my control.
But this was my turn. This was payback.
Megan submitted. Again.
Megan surrendered. Again.
And Megan’s mind accepted capture. Like the victim who stops struggling once they’re pulled into the van. Like the prisoner when her cell door closes.
I gave her a mantra, first in her thoughts, then repeating it - slurring her words — aloud, repeating again and again.
“I am your helpless captive … I submit … I surrender. I am your helpless captive … I submit … I surrender. I am your helpless captive … I submit … I surrender.”
Finally, with lovely little Megan’s mind rinsed away, I brought her back. Somewhat. She rose unsteadily, swayed, found her balance then clumsily lifted the black dress over her head.
“I am your helpless captive … I submit … I surrender.”
Oh yes, sweet trapped Megan.
I took her hand, my own sweating, heart pounding, my erection straining, and led her to bed.
There I ripped off her nylons and underwear.
Her body expected a quick fuck.
I wanted a quick fuck.
I slowly licked her into orgasm. I had planned this for so long. Her conquered pussy dripping down my chin. The sweat of her skin subtly transitioning in taste as I moved from her thighs to her stomach to the underside of her breasts. Her nipple straining under my teeth as she cried through another orgasm. The I slipped a blindfold over her eyes, tied her hands behind her back, turned her over into kneeling position.
Then … then I fucked her hard. I pumped like a machine. Like an animal. Unthinking. Just feeling my cock slipping in and out, her body squeezing against the blood-filled shaft.
My body shuddered through the orgasm. Strength drained from every part of my body into her pussy.
She was whimpering when I returned from my own blackness. I undid the knots. She pulled the blindflod off. Then she wrapped me in her arms and legs and kissed me for longer than I can tell.
A little more than ten years ago she had taken it all from my family. Megan, Corporate Power Lawyer had destroyed my father’s career, hopes, retirement fund, his very fucking future. The snowball took so much more…
And now she was my captive. Her mind was my property. I could do with it what I wanted, and I wanted a lot.
After she finished kissing me, we were side by side and she kept whispering her love and worship into my ear. The terms of her endearment weren’t enough. They couldn’t be after what she had done.
I snapped my fingers and dropped her.
She could have told you a few hours ago, back when she was still Megan the Corporate Power Lawyer. There is a planned outcome in mergers and acquisitions. I had acquired her, I had merged with her.
And now it was time to dismantle her.