Too Close to the Story

by OneTrancePony

Tags: #cw:noncon #D/s #dom:female #f/f #pov:bottom #sub:female #clothing #sub:male

Cori specializes in participatory journalism. Sometimes it changes her, and she’s fine with that. Then she covers a hypnosis convention … and never makes it to the convention.

      I’d submitted the edits to my latest piece just ten minutes earlier when Jo pinged me for a video call. I picked up and could tell she was sitting by her large picture window with a view of the lake. It was snowing outside and that added a special kind of white light to her face.

“Cori,” she said, always business from the start, “Got your edits. Kimmie says they’re good and we’re posting in a few hours. Thanks for being on top of that.”

I always have my business face on with her, down to what I call the “conference-room smile.”

“That’s great,” I said.

Push for more. Rent never stops.

“Did you get a chance to go over my ideas?”

I could tell she was switching screens, probably to my email. You can never be sure with Jo. She’s liable to be typing a rejection while talking to you.

“It’s good,” she said. “I think we’ll talk about some of these later. I have something special for you though.”

Be professional. Nod. Cringe and die inside.

“There’s a convention in town. You’re the perfect writer for it. This would be participatory, and we’d have a video producer with you so it can be a reel and a written piece.”

“Participatory,” I repeated.

She smiled. I imagine that’s the smile of a Great White about to chomp off your head.

“You were so brave for 'Pain & Pleasure in the Windy City.’ And the share/like ratio was one of our highest.”

I couldn’t help glancing at the closet door where my leather and latex outfits hung. I also had some nice pairs of boots definitely NOT designed for Chicago winters. Yes, I put myself out there in a big way, but it stuck with me.

I’m not complaining, some stalking aside.

“This one is a little more personal,” she smiled.

“Oh,” I said, conference-room smile plastered on my face.

More personal than BDSM. More personal than video showing me getting spanked in a flimsy Princess Leia costume. More personal than clips of me learning how to press my boot heel down just hard enough to avoid the unwanted kind of penetration. It would be awkward to have to call 911 in moments like that.

Be professional. Nod. Cringe and die inside.

“It’s called Hip Nection,” she said.

“Called what?”

“H-Y-P-N-E-X-I-O-N,” she spelled out. “Hypnosis.”

“Quack like a duck?”

That didn’t sound like a great click driver.

“Erotic Hypnosis.”


She was quiet for a moment.

“Oh,” again. I could feel my professional mask slipping.

Jo smiled.

“I’ve been in contact with one of the organizers. She’s given me a few demonstrations.”

I bet she has, I thought. Kinky people love to demonstrate.

“It’s pleasant, but I’m not sure it’s really real, if you know what I mean,” she said.

“You mean being hypnotized to….”

Jo raised an eyebrow.

“So, apparently, you can’t be made to do anything you don’t want to do. It isn’t cheesy TV mind control.”

I let a beat pass.

“But I’m going to let someone hypnotize me to … do what?”

“That’s a good question. You know we protect you. Johnny will be operating the camera.:

Johnny is an ex-cop who got fired for being too rough. Did some mixed-martial for a while. Took a community college class in videography and is surprising good at it.

“OK,” I said. “But I’m not going to-“

“Oh, I know,” she said. “I want you because you know when to go all out and when to pull back. You nailed it on the parachute reel. Getting your skydiving license and doing those free-falls really broke the cliche of ‘one jump with an instructor attached.’ And that moment in the march when you looked around and just said to the camera, ‘It’s time to leave,’ right before the rubber bullets, that was classic.”

She paused.

“And I’m paying triple rate for this.”

“I’m on it,” I said.

I mean, fuck, rent’s always coming up.

Winter in Chicago is great for conferences and conventions. Tourism is zero, so the hotels all drop their rates. The fancy setting didn’t impress me.

I walked up to the registration table.

“Cori Sater,” I said. “Press.”

The young guy behind the desk stared at me blankly for a moment before saying, “yes ma’am,” and picking up his phone.


“Cori,” a voice behind me.

I turned and my first thought was, “Oh shit, I’m gay.”

It happens occasionally. That kind of woman, tall, brown curls falling down to her shoulders and looking just right for running fingers through it. I blinked and tried to remember Ryan and the ring we were considering. It wasn’t easy, standing in front of sn Amazon, a queen, the thing every man or woman wants to surrender to.

“Abigail,” she said, offering her hand.

So many thoughts at once. “Abigail” in a way that said, “don’t call me Abby.” Her strong grip. That index finger reaching my wrist. Wide smile and deep, dark brown eyes. The way her fingertip moved around slowly, melting me.

Oh Ryan, I thought. I might be breaking your heart soon.

“Jo told me you … were perfect,” she said.

I didn’t know how to reply. I realized I wasn’t meant to.

“I’ve seen your work.”

Just knowing she had been aware of me was like a gift.

“Do you enjoy it?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

That fingertip, just brushing so lightly….

“Would you like to have a seat?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then you’ll come with me?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, almost a whisper. 

I thought I should be embarrassed by this fangirl reaction I was so obviously having, but nothing felt wrong.

“You’re going to be so good today.”

I am going to be good today, I thought, a voice in my head that sounded as if I had said the words aloud.

She smiled again.

“Yes, you will.”

She pulled her hand back and suddenly I could hear that I was in a room full of people, light, movement. I realized I’d been standing there like a dumbstruck idiot, which, frankly, wasn’t far from the truth.

“Let’s get your credentials.”

She motioned to a young guy standing several feet away, and he followed us to a seating area with coffee tables. Abigail was wearing tight black jeans, heels that gave her three inches she didn’t need — but for which my hungry eyes were grateful. A dark gray satin top that clung just enough to keep my gaze roaming up and down when I could steal a look at her. We sat and he handed her a leather portfolio. She unclasped it and pulled out a piece of paper.

“This is for our protection and your’s,” she said. “It’s not exactly an NDA. We want to protect the privacy of our members who don’t volunteer to be identified or to have their face shown. And we won’t do anything to you unless you consent to it.”

I signed without reading it.

“And you’ll be wearing this,” she said, pulling out a yellow rubber bracelet.

A lot like the BDSM event. Red meant no pictures. Yellow meant you should ask first. Green was “take my picture all day long, baby.”

I noticed Abigail was wearing yellow, but not the cheap ones given out at the registration tables. I’d never seen yellow leather before.

“You’ll be safe with this,” she said, snapping one just like her’s on my left. “No photos, no one hypnotizing you unless I agree for you.”

Unless I agree for you….

She pressed her finger against my wrist as she did so, and our eyes were like magnets, locked on each other.

The she smiled and let go of my hand. It just dropped onto my lap.

She turned to her assistant.

“Fetch the camera guy.”

He went down a hallway. Abigail stood, so of course I got up. Johnny was coming up to us.

He looked different. Normally he’d appear like a quiet guard dog, taut and hard-faced. Now he was just … just slack.

“He got here early,” Abigale said, looking at me. “I hope you don’t mind that we’ve prepared him already.”

I looked into her eyes and for a moment my mind replayed odd things she’d said, how I was feeling foggy, and I tried to remember why I was here.

“Here’s your copy for the opening to the reel,” she said as her assistant walked up with cardboard cue cards.

This had never happened before. I write my own….

Abigail looked at me.

I didn’t even think twice as Johnny placed and focused on me, and I began reading.

"This is Cori Sater and I’ve just arrived at Hypnexion, an erotic hypnosis convention being held downtown. You’ll be following along as I explore the world of mind control, domination and submission. Maybe you’ll ... fall with me."

The copy was perfect. Professional. As if it had be written by a professional. Abigail touched my arm as Johnny lowered the camera and I forgot everything I had said.

Abigail reached up and touched my hair.

“Good girl.”

I felt a rush of heat from my chest down to my vagina.

“Let’s get you further along your path,” she said, leading me by the arm down the hall.

The poster board said “Introductory Induction Stations.” Inside were widely-spaced set-ups of two chairs each. Several of the chairs were taken. At each one there was a man or woman speaking in a soft, slow voice, a sound in which I could not hear the exact words. Most of the other people were either leaning back, eyes closed, or staring dumbly ahead.

“Meet Alex,” Abigail said, taking me to a guy who’d been staring at his phone. He stood up and smiled.

“I’ll be back soon,” Abigail said. “Have fun.”

I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Alex or me.

“So nice to meet you, Cori,” he said. “Would you sit down?”



It was if I knew Abigail approve all of this, so I obeyed.


“I understand you like scuba diving,” he said.

“Where did-“

“Do you?”

I nodded.


“Good girl.”

That rush….

“Is it OK if I begin a simple induction?


“Good girl.”

God, I’m wet….

“Now I want you to focus on me. Nothing else going on here matters. Just focus on me, and breathe in deeply, hold it for a moment, then breath out slowly.”

I saw a shadow I recognized as Johnny filming. I followed the instructions.

“Feel your muscles start to relax on the out-breath.”

I repeated the breathing, found myself in a pattern of exhaling and relaxing. The chair was very comfortable.

Had he just said that?

“Keep your eyes open,” he said, “you can blink, but don’t close them.”

I … I can do that, I thought.

He kept talking. I heard every word, but they seemed to slip into my mind and out again.


He’d said it a few times, and my arms and legs were heavy. Maybe I should have slept more.

“Now I’m going to count down. When I say an odd number, you can close your eyes. But when I say an even number, you have to open them again.”

I have a mind full of voices and thoughts, and the quiet felt so good.

“Ten, but of course your eyes are open. They may be feeling a little tired, though.”

It’s like he’s reading my mind, I thought.


I didn’t even mean to do it, my eyelids just fell.

“That might feel good. Relaxing. Restful.”

A few beats.


It’s so stupid that I was already having to force them open.

“Good girl. Just do as you’re told.”

Rush rush rush.


Not only did my eyelids drop, but my head was so heavy I bowed it forward, too.

“So comfortable, isn’t it? The darkness, the peace, your muscles slack and your mind emptying.”

Then, “Six.”

It was a struggle. Crazy, I know, but … so … something.


My eyes closed and I felt my head fall forward completely.

“You have to resist. It’s just the start of the day. You have to obey.”

I can’t, I thought.


I have to, I thought.

My eyes seemed to be blinking, like the beginning of a trip, and I managed to lift my head. He was so out of focus. I felt so gone.


I should have felt caught off guard, but it was such a relief, giving in, surrendering.

I felt myself sinking into the blackness. I felt my mind floating away. I felt the heaviness of my whole body.

Like an echo to his words.

Like his words were an echo to the experience.

Like I had to obey her. She was everything.

Something about counting up. About my eyes being open, being able to speak, to move, but still in trance.

Abigail stood beside Johnny. He’d filmed it all, and I was so grateful.

Had I been told to be grateful?

“You’ve had a nice, long induction,” she smiled.

My heart lifted at her smile, and I wondered how long.

“Come with me.”

Johnny followed us into the elevator. She held my hand as she pushed the PH button, taking us all the way to the top.

The elevator stopped and Johnny handed her the key card that would open the door to the penthouse.

Inside there were six or seven other people, men and women, splayed on the furniture, one laying on the floor.

Two assistants stood by a pile of what looked like latex outfits.

I love latex, and felt myself getting wet.

“Everyone stand,” Abigail said.

They rose like movie zombies, slowly, unsteadily.

“Help them undress,” she said to the assistants.

To me: “Go to the bathroom. Make sure you pee. Freshen up.”

I obeyed.

I came out and the room was nearly empty. An assistant came over to me and took my hand. I knew he was working for Abigail and I obeyed. We went into a bedroom.

Three people were already laying across the bed lengthwise, wrapped in latex bodybags, headphones over their ears. The men had erections sticking through the hole in their bodybag. The women had a wider hole exposing their pussies.

I was glad I had just gotten groomed.

The assistant rubbed the lube all over me. His hands felt good, practiced. He’d been trained, I thought, as I was being trained. It had just come to me, and there was nothing I could or wanted to do about it, just let her train me.

His finger slid up my ass, fingertip pausing on my anus, and I moaned.

Not completely gay, I thought.

Then came my bodybag. I stepped into it and let him and the other assistant lay me down as they zipped tightly. The headphones came on and Abigail’s voice came to me in such a sweet dream….

….that lasted for I don’t know how long. She spoke for so long. It seemed to repeat itself. And that phrase kept coming up:

Obey. Serve. The Mistress is all. Be in the world and bend it to her will.

And later….

Obey. Serve. The Mistress is all. Be in the world and bend it to her will.


Obey. Serve. The Mistress is all. Be in the world and bend it to her will.

The voice was gone, the zipper was coming down, and the cold air rushing over my hot skin. Someone helped me up, helped me to the toilet, waited for the stream to end, then helped me into the shower. Hands shampooed and lathered me and water at a perfect temperature rinsed me off and I was dried off and led back to the main area.

Like the others, I knelt in front of Abigail, helpless and naked and obedient. I noticed I was beside Johnny.

“Each of you has a particular space in this town in which you have influence. Some of you have potential you don’t realize. I will guide you.”

We remained quiet.

“I want to offer my sincere love and gratitude for your sacrifice. Giving me your mind was your choice. It could not be taken unless you were predisposed to it.”

She paused.


I raised my face to her.

“Your secret little vice with that wonderful leather, and the floggers and nipple clips and rope. You’re so good. Too good to be kept for personal use. I have plans for you to help me find and recruit others willing to serve.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I heard myself say.

“You don’t remember that night in the club when I was on your cross and you were breaking me down like a subby little puppy, do you?”


“I did? I don’t-“

“I wore a mask. And you are so skillful. It was a wonderful experience, and when you’re properly conditioned, I’ll take advantage of it again. Like all of you, I too weary of my burdens.”


When the Mistress called out her name I could feel a shock through my foggy brain.

“Yes, Mistress?”

Jo was just a few feet away, her body looking better than I expected, her face so completely blank and not at all intimidating.

“We've been together for just a few weeks. You suggested bringing Cori and Johnny into my little fold. Good girl.”

Jo moaned.

Abigail rose, impossibly tall and sexy, and walked over to Jo.

“But I also like the way you are so easily erased. I like the way I can take more than your power, I can take your memories.”

She placed a hand on Jo’s head.

“Mind off.”

Jo collapsed on the floor, lifeless. Her mouth was open and some drool flowed from the corner of her lips.

I was a little jealous.

I don’t remember much of what Abigail said to the others. At some point she returned us to our natural state, completely mindless, and we were dressed. I suppose someone took us home.

I woke up in my own bed. The fog hadn’t cleared from my head. I checked my phone and ignored the messages from Ryan and friends. It was Sunday night.

All of this had started Friday afternoon. They had been molding me for days.

I limped to my computer. Had to write. Couldn’t write.

Then I remembered. Abigail, Jo and I were scheduled to meet tomorrow to write the story together. It had to be realistic-sounding without telling the truth.

I also remembered some other commands whispered into my mind. I checked my email and there were the photos Johnny had taken of me in my hottest leather dress. I went to the site where I had been directed to go, and checked the information. How to contact me with full privacy and security. How to pay me. What I charged.

"The Goddess of River North. Your pain is my pleasure."

I stared for a moment, taking in that with one word from Mistress I would go from being a dominatrix to my knees.

There were some messages already sent for my services, but I would be told who to respond to and when.

My computer chirped. Jo calling. I answered the video chat, still naked.

She was, too.

“I, uh, what happened?”

I searched my mind for an answer. There had been instructions for interacting with Jo.

“Did you get the video from Johnny?” I asked.

She looked off.

“I’ve seen it three times,” she said.

A quiet moment.

“I can’t remember it.”

The words came back to me.

“You aren’t supposed to remember it. The Mistress has her plan. Trust in her.”

Jo’s eyes drooped.

“Of course.”

She rang off.

I dressed. My intention from the moment I met Mistress was to call Ryan and break it off. But Abigail already knew about him, obviously from Jo, already knew his family connections and where he was headed in the finance world.

“Hey baby,” I said to him. “Sorry. Long, hard weekend.”

“I was worried,” he said. “This hypnosis thing sounded very iffy.”

I knew the type of story we’d be posting. A little trancing, a little titillation, mostly fluff. He’d be fine with it until his opinions were given to him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” I said. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen that would come between you and me.”

He sounded relieved.

“I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Hey, I met a friend. She’s really nice. She invited us over for coffee in a few days. Maybe Saturday?”

“Sure,” he said.

We talked a little more, and I signed off feeling both a little jealous and sorry for the poor guy. I opened the secure texting app.

“Target No. 1 set,” I typed. “Saturday. He thinks it’s coffee.”

I watched the tree dots appear and disappear a few times.

“He’s already thinking what you want him to think. Good girl.”

Such an amazing rush.


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