This is not based on a true story, but I wish it were! The thing that is true is that this one time, I met my new sweetie's partner, who turned out to be my kink friend’s doppelgänger. This is me imagining what might have maybe possibly happened if it had actually been him. First published on MC Stories July 2018.

Disclaimer: this is not a super accurate portrayal of someone’s very first time being hypnotized. While for some folks it might work like this, others may need a lot more pre-talk and lead-up to the sort of hypnotic feats that go down in this story. But even if it’s not statistically probable, it’s heckin’ fun to imagine! 

Sara and I weren’t dating, per se, but we also weren’t not dating, so meeting her Dom for the first time was kind of a big deal.

She and I were the first ones at the bar. We snagged ourselves a secluded corner table and I tried not to fret too much. I trusted Sara’s taste in people, after all, so I would probably like this guy, and vice versa. And heck, I was excited to meet the person she’d gushed so much about. It would all be totally fine, I told myself. It would be great, we’d get along, we’d bond over our mutual giant crushes on Sara, and it would all be Totally. Fine.

When Sara grinned at me and jumped up to meet someone at the door, though, I was not prepared for the person I saw there. I mean, given what Sara had told me about him, he was just about everything I had expected: an average-height guy in his 40s with a close-trimmed beard, wearing some punny T-shirt.

Except I knew him.

And not only did I know him, I knew him from kink.

Erotic hypnosis, to be exact. We’d met a few months before at SQUEEHU—the Society for Quite Unreservedly Enabling Erotic Hypnosis Universally. We hadn’t played or anything, but we’d gotten along well, talking and joking at meals and in the hallways. It took me a second in this vanilla context, but his scene name clicked into my head: Johnny Dynamo. Thought what name Sara knew him by—or whether she even knew he did kinky hypnosis—was anyone’s guess.

I try my best not to out people, so I resolved to take my cue from him. I got to my feet as he and Sara reached me.

“Hi,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Peter.” There was definitely a warning weight to the way he said his vanilla name. “Nice to meet you.” A slight emphasis on “meet” as well, and he caught my eye as he said it.

Well, that was that: he recognized me, and wanted to play it like we’d never met. I could do that. “Hi,” I replied, shaking his hand firmly. “I’m Chelsea. It’s so good to finally meet you.” His eyes widened just a touch. Well, if he hadn’t known my vanilla name, he did now. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Sara can get it,” he said with a smirk at Sara, who hid a blush with her hand—apparently this was part of their dynamic. “Gin and tonic, sweetheart.”

Sara nodded up at him, wide-eyed, before turning to me. (Most of the subservience was gone from her gaze—but a little of it lingered, and God, it was hot.) “Anything for you, cutie?” she asked.

I couldn’t help but grin at that. “Moscow Mule,” I told her, and she sauntered off towards the bar.

The minute I was sure she couldn’t see us, I turned to the man next to me and hugged him hard. “Shit, Johnny! I did not expect this! It’s good to see you!”

He returned my hug in kind, a quick and strong squeeze before he disentangled himself. “Good to see you too, Scarlett. Now listen.” He lowered his voice and spoke quickly. “Does Sara know you do hypno?”

I shook my head. “I’d love to try it with her sometime, but no, I haven’t mentioned it yet. She knows I do kink in general, and we’ve messed around a little, but...” I shrugged.

Johnny smiled wolfishly at me, and suddenly I realized that our act was not about his privacy after all. “Well I’ve talked to her about it, and she’s excited to get into it. We haven’t actually done any yet, but she knows the theory and the safety stuff. And hey, you know what else is really cool?” He tapped his own chest with one finger. “I have blanket consent these days. So, you in?”

Oh, I liked where this was going. “Absolutely,” I told him. “What were you thinking?”

We conferred hurriedly. By the time Sara was back with our drinks, Johnny (or rather, Peter) and I were exchanging the small talk of brand new acquaintances—acquaintances who had definitely never attended a whole weekend of kinky debauchery together, and certainly never hung out in a room full of gorgeous humans having their brains figuratively and slightly-less-figuratively fucked out.

Sara set down the drinks and settled into her seat, and soon all of us were chatting comfortably. (The terrible things we were about to do to Sara aside, it was really pretty lovely. The conversation flowed easily, and the two of them warmed my heart with their obnoxious cuteness—though I’m sure that Sara and I were being just as ridiculously adorable.) At some point I got up to stand behind her and started rubbing her back. She sighed agreeably and smiled her thanks at me before returning her attention to Johnny. Peter. Goddamnit.

Whatever his damn name was, he said something that was lost in the low murmur of the bar. Sara leaned closer. “What?” she asked him.

“It’s getting louder in here,” he repeated, the ghost of a grin on his face. “You’ll need to listen really hard to hear us talk.”

Sara nodded absently—I had just found a particularly tight muscle and was digging into it. And then suddenly Johnny—and damn, he was definitely Johnny right now, in his element and in control—took her by the chin, turned her head to face him, and slapped her lightly on the cheek. No more than a tap, really, and no one watching would have thought anything of it, but we all knew what it meant. Sara froze under my hands, and I could see the back of her neck flush.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Johnny instructed. Sara nodded vigorously, and Johnny cocked an eyebrow at her. “What do you say?” he asked softly.

I felt her swallow. “Yes, Sir.”

He smiled at her. “Okay then. It’s very important that you look at me while I’m talking. It helps you pay attention. It’s a little loud in here, isn’t it?”

His voice had a prompt in it, and Sara immediately responded, “Yes, Sir.”

“But you can hear me perfectly well if you just focus on me and my voice, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he said with an approving nod. “You know, I’ll bet it actually feels really nice to focus on me like that, doesn’t it? Because you can be sure that you won’t miss anything I say, because you’re focusing so well, and that means you can relax—isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Sir…?” Her words came a hair slower this time as her brain struggled to parse the convoluted logic, but the response was still very much automatic. Goddamn, he was good.

I’d gotten distracted watching Johnny work and had stopped my ministrations to Sara’s shoulders. Now I resumed and her felt her sigh into me, and at a nod from Johnny, I jumped into the fray.

“How does that feel, Sara?” I asked her, my voice low and smooth.

“Mmm. Nice.”

“I’m so glad,” I murmured. “It must be relaxing right? So good to just let go of all those tight muscles and just melt into the chair and my hands… that’s right Sara, let yourself melt a little, you deserve it.”

“But not too much,” cautioned Johnny; “you still need to focus on me.”

I squeezed Sara’s shoulders and bent to speak straight into her ear. “Don’t listen to him,” I told her, “listen to me. All you need to do right now is relax and feel my hands on you…”

We slid effortlessly into the roles of Good Cop and Bad Cop, me telling her to “relax” and him telling her to “focus,” and her there in the middle, torn between us, with no place left to go but down. As we doubled down on our imagery—“loose” and “limp” and “pliant” and “focused”—I could see her head starting to droop forward. I glanced around at her face: her mouth was softly parted, and she was blinking rapidly as her mind struggled to keep pace with us.

We were both talking at once now, one of us in each ear, and it was undoing her in the best way. Her eyes fluttered shut—had one of us told her to do that, or had her body just surrendered?—and her head lolled slightly to one side.

We asked her if it felt good, if she felt safe, if she was having fun and wanted more. She gave the tiniest nod, which was all the movement her utterly relaxed body could summon. We talked to her about how amazing it felt to listen and follow, to relax and melt, to give in and obey—and with every word, we could see her slip deeper.

And when Johnny asked, “Can you feel it in your cunt, sweetheart?” she gasped audibly.

“Not just in your cunt,” I contributed, drawing one finger lazily up her neck. “In your whole body: your nipples and your earlobes and the insides of your elbows…” (I knew from our recent explorations that all these spots were particularly sensitive.) “Just give yourself over to us, just let yourself be powerless, and feel the pleasure of it fizz through every part of your body. Do you like that?”

Her reply was a soft moan as she squirmed in her chair. Johnny and I grinned at each other in incredulous delight. She was an amazing subject, as it turned out. “And as you focus on that pleasure,” Johnny told her, “it grows and grows…”

We built her pleasure together, ping-ponging our words or overlapping them. With every passing moment, with every word, we could see Sara’s mind relax and her body tighten as we whispered to her about “hot” and “wet” and “ache” and “need”.

“Is all that pleasure starting to feel overwhelming?” I asked sweetly, a hand tangled in her hair for emphasis. “Would you like a release? Would you like to come for us?”

“Yes,” she breathed, all the speech her blissed-out body would produce. “Please.”

“Well Sara, you’re in luck, because we’re going to count you down from ten to one…”

Talking softly, I explained to her how she would feel every number redoubling her pleasure and taking her closer to that edge. I persuaded her mind and her body of their new reality: that when we reached the number “one”, all of this pleasure building inside her would burst out in an incredible, body-rocking orgasm. And then I started counting her down.

I drew it out, murmuring to her in between numbers about how her arousal and her need mounted with each one, about the incandescent pleasure roiling through her body, about how close she was. On her other side, Johnny was being a good citizen (or maybe just trying to keep us from getting kicked out of the bar), talking to her about “still” and “silent” and “the smaller you come on the outside, the bigger you come on the inside.”

She was rocking her hips helplessly against the chair when Johnny took up the numbers with me: “Five,” he said deliberately, and Sara shuddered to hear his voice joining in the count.

“Four,” I murmured, digging my nails into her shoulders. “Feeling that pleasure building, impossibly strong…”

“Three,” said Johnny as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, making her gasp. “So close to that edge for us, feeling so amazing…”

“Two.” I could feel her entire body taught under my hands, straining for release.

“One...” said Johnny, and the word was pure anticipation, pure promise. Sara’s mouth opened in a suspended scream as she teetered on the brink of orgasm—but his voice clearly said that it was not the end, not quite yet...

I met Johnny’s eyes over the top of Sara’s head and saw the rush I was feeling mirrored in his face. I raised a hand in question, he in answer—we’d never done this together, but we had each other’s measure by now. In unison, we snapped our fingers, one in each ear, and told her: “Come.”

Sara crumbled into herself as she exploded. The music and chatter all but drowned out her noises, but her entire body clenched and her hips bucked furiously against the chair. Johnny and I both caught our breath: watching her come like that—wantonly, desperately, in the middle of a bar, from just our words—was a thrill beyond description. We held her as her body rocked—me gripping her shoulder, him twined in her hair—until eventually her muscles loosened and her spasms began to subside.

After a few long moments she straightened, breathing hard, to look at us both dazedly. “You, you…” she squeaked, “you… you absolute fuckers! That was…” She collapsed back into her chair and took a long slug from the nearest glass (which, thankfully, contained only water). “That was fucking amazing.”

“Scorching,” Johnny agreed with an incredulous smile on his face, as if he couldn’t believe what we’d just done.

I couldn’t either, to be honest, and I’m sure I looked just as dopey and over the moon as he did. “Fuck, Sara,” I managed, “that was… Fuck.”

She laughed feebly up at me. “You’re telling me.”

“So uh.” Johnny tented his fingers and fixed his gaze on Sara. “Did I mention that Chelsea and I know each other?”

“From the erotic hypnosis scene!” I added helpfully, and Sara almost choked on her water.

Spluttering, she gasped out, “That… That explains a lot.” Johnny and I grinned stupidly at each other and then at Sara, who held each our eyes in turn, smiling softly.

In that look, the mood changed. She put an arm around each of us, pulling us close—I sat halfway on her lap, Johnny (or maybe Peter?) teetering on the edge his chair to press his legs against hers. “Thank you guys,” she said quietly.

Johnny just kissed her gently on the lips. I brushed aside a lock of her hair to kiss her forehead and told her, “It was our pleasure.”

And I meant every word.