My eyes blinked open, and I sat up, yawning and stretching. Hey, I thought bemusedly, this isn’t my bedroom.

I quickly realised I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. I wasn’t even lying down, either - I’d been sitting up the whole time. Must have dozed off while watching TV. Yes, that was it - I’d been watching old episodes of The Good Place on Netflix. Weirdly, the TV was off now.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” came a familiar voice from behind me. Turning, I saw Richard standing in the doorway in the back left corner of the lounge, which led off to the kitchen. His arms were folded, an amused smirk on his face.

“Hey,” I said confusedly. “How long have I been...”

“Can’t have been long,” he said, starting to traipse over to me. “I got back from the airport about a quarter of an hour ago and you were out cold in front of The Good Place, so I switched the TV off. You must’ve been knackered - it’s rare for you to nod off this early. Normally I’m the one who has an afternoon nap!”

I chuckled weakly, shaking my head slightly to clear the fog from my brain. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been tired out by talking to Pippa all week. If chatting was an Olympic sport, that girl would get the gold!”

“Tell me about it,” he grinned. “So, do you wanna sort out that self-tape, then?”

I breathed in sharply. Of course, the self-tape! I’d got an email late last night asking me to get it sorted by Saturday. It was now Thursday, so I needed to hurry. Richard had suggested I do it this evening once Pippa was gone.

“Yes, yes, we should definitely do that now,” I stammered, hurriedly getting up. We both began walking to the back right wall of the room, where we had a blank white wall with a camera set up on a stand in front of it. That camera was pretty much a fixture in that spot - we’d designated that little area as the ‘self-tape zone’ thanks to the convenient wall, which acted as an effective backdrop.

“A bit irresponsible of you to fall asleep, AJ,” Richard chided me gently. “This is for your career, after all...”

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude - I must’ve been really tired.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this? We can do it tomorrow instead, if you want...”

“No, no, it’s better to get it over with. If I fuck up a bunch tonight and we run out of time, then we’ll do it tomorrow.” I took up position in front of the camera, my back to the wall.

“Alright then.” He picked up a piece of paper, on which, I knew, my lines were written. He gave it a quick readthrough, and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, it’s about hypnosis?” he said, in the high, squeaky tone he sometimes uses to convey surprise and interest. I’ve joked that it’s his ‘Astounded Madame’ voice, because when he uses it I picture him as an old British lady from Victorian times, clutching her pearls when something unexpected happens. Since I gave it that nickname, he’s deliberately played it up and made it even more exaggerated for comic effect. I love that idiot.

I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s kind of a silly story. All about people hypnotising their girlfriends or boyfriends for goofy fun.”

He frowned. “What’s silly about that? It does sound pretty fun to me...”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well, it’s just that hypnosis isn’t real. I mean, I can suspend disbelief to act for something like this, or to watch it on TV, but, y’know, that doesn’t happen in real life.”

“Shame,” he grinned. “I kind of like the idea of you all mesmerised and mindless. It’s quite a sexy mental image, actually...”

I laughed. “Well, enjoy your mental image! Hey, we can even do some roleplay or something if you want. But it’s not like I could be hypnotised for real.”

Now he was narrowing his eyes at me. And given how long his eyelashes are (really quite unusually long, in fact, for a guy), that made it look like his eyes were shut. I stifled a giggle at the sight. “Hypnosis is real,” he said slowly.

I stared back at him incredulously. “Um, no it’s not! It’s just a thing you see in films and TV, like a plot device. Like where you have supervillains, like all those ones from the Marvel films, or from Gotham... But you can’t do it in real life!”

He shook his head in bemusement. “What about when therapists use it to help their patients? Or, what about stage shows?”

“It’s fake in stage shows. All the audience members they pick out are either plants, or people so desperate for attention that they’re willing to fake it. And what therapists do is more like guided meditation - that’s not the same thing.”

“I just don’t understand how you can be so close-minded about it,” he sighed. “I mean, you were willing to accept aliens exist...”

“That’s ’cos the statistics speak for themselves!” I said indignantly. “You said it yourself - in an infinite, constantly expanding universe, full of trillions of planets, the chances of only one of them developing intelligent life are vanishingly remote. There must be aliens out there somewhere, even if we never actually meet them.”

He looked like he was going to protest further, so I gave him my most intimidating stare. “Aliens: yes. Hypnosis: no. Discussion closed,” I said firmly. “Now, can we just do the self-tape, please?”

Richard knew better than to argue with me when I was this adamant about something. This went beyond me just being stubborn about something to add to our sexy banter - this was me laying down the law. I didn’t do it often because I didn’t want him to see me as a tyrant, but I really wanted to get on with the recording, and I wasn’t prepared to waste time on a pointless argument.

“OK, OK,” he sighed, holding out the piece of paper with my lines on it. “Do you want a quick look at this again before we start?”

“Sure,” I said, taking the sheet from him. I bit my lip nervously, worrying that I might have been too harsh in dismissing his belief in hypnosis. There seemed to be a bit of tension between us now. Hoping it would dissipate soon, I turned my attention to my lines. As I read, I frowned at what was written, but as I reached the bottom of the piece of paper my face relaxed.

Reaching up to my face with my left hand, I pressed my nose with my index finger and said “Beep,” quietly. Then I grabbed hold of my left breast and squeezed it gently through my shirt, before reaching across and doing the same to the right one. After that I folded the piece of paper, and folded it again, and again. Finally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, I reached up my shirt with the small folded square of paper and tucked it into my bra, nestling it up against my right boob. I looked back at Richard, who was struggling to keep a straight face.

“Ready to start, then?” he asked, voice wavering slightly from suppressed mirth.

“Yeah,” I nodded, a little confused by how happy he seemed to be all of a sudden, but glad that he seemed to have already moved on from our dispute of only a few moments earlier.

“Do you need to do a slate first?”

“Yup, I need to. They specifically asked for one.” A slate is where you introduce yourself at the start of a self-tape, giving your name and age, and the role you’re auditioning for.

“OK. Whenever you’re ready.” He clicked a button on the camera, and a red light began blinking, indicating that it was recording.

Staring into the lens, I gave a warm, pleasant smile. “Hi,” I said cheerily, “I’m...”

I trailed off, eyes widening as I realised I had no idea how to finish that sentence. I gave Richard a look of absolute bewilderment. “Uh - um,” I stuttered, waving my hands in the air helplessly, “what the hell’s my name?!”

“You can’t remember your name?” he asked, seeming concerned.

“No! I can’t think what it is, at all. It’s just completely gone from my brain!” I stared into the middle distance, scratching my boob absently as I concentrated furiously. “There’s nothing there... Just a space in my head where it should be.”

“OK, maybe we should move on, try something else?” he suggested. “Like your age - tell the camera how old you are.”

I looked at the camera again, but when I went to speak, there was nothing for me to say. Just like my name, my age was missing from my mind. “I don’t know,” I said in a shocked whisper, and then laughed abruptly. “This is surreal!”

“Right, so you don’t know your age either? But you can work it out from your date of birth, I guess...”

“Yeah, good idea,” I said. Then a moment later I added, “Or it would be, if I could remember that.”

“Where are you from?”

“America,” I said cautiously. I could tell at least that much from my accent.

He raised an eyebrow. “Care to narrow that down a bit?”

“Nope.” I chuckled nervously.

He gestured at the camera. “Well, we need you to remember this stuff. For your job, if nothing else!”

I gazed blankly at the lens for a few seconds before asking him, “What’s my job? And why do I need to be filmed for it?”

He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm. The plot thickens. Can you remember who I am?” he asked.

“Yeah, you’re Richard,” I answered automatically as I adjusted my bra strap, trying to reduce how itchy my right boob had suddenly become.

“OK, great. And who am I to you - what’s our relationship?”

I did my best goldfish impression, opening and closing my mouth uselessly before admitting, “I have no idea.”

“Are we friends?” he offered. “Family? Neighbours? Colleagues? Am I your landlord? Your therapist?”

“No clue.” I shrugged and smiled dazedly, completely befuddled. “What the hell is going on? Why can’t I remember anything?”

It was then that he gave me that trademark evil smile of his. I’m sure you guys have all figured out what’s happening here - just like on Saturday, Richard had messed with my memory, but to a greater extent, creating this entire fake scenario for us to act out without me even aware of it being an act. I didn’t fall asleep in front of The Good Place - he put me in trance, just as I told you at the end of chapter 4, and altered my memories so that not only did I forget his return from the airport, but I was also convinced that hypnosis was fake and could not remember either our intense Saturday night, or my unbearable cravings in the days since.

Oh, and there was no self-tape, that was part of the scenario too - a way to get me to try to say my name and age, only to find I couldn’t remember them. (Though it was kind of a clever ruse, I actually think it was a little cruel of him to trick me into thinking I had a potential acting job when in fact I didn’t, and I told him so later. He agreed not to use such a ploy again.) And of course there was the so-called script, but we’ll come to that in a minute...

“Well, I might have an inkling of what the problem is,” he smirked.

Oblivious to any notion that he was having fun at my expense, I took his mischievous comment at face value. “Oh, good,” I said eagerly, “what d’you think?”

“Well, the thing is,” he said nonchalantly, “I hypnotised you.”

I snorted derisively. “No you didn’t! Hypnosis isn’t real. We just had a whole argument about that, didn’t we?”

“Ah, but it is real, and you’re an excellent subject. This is actually the second time we’ve done it.”

I was shaking my head in disbelief and absent-mindedly fidgeting with my bra again. “No way. Noooo way. Even if hypnosis was real - which it isn’t - it wouldn’t work on me because I don’t believe in it, right?”

“But you do believe in it,” he assured me. “You only think you don’t right now because I hypnotised you. And I made you forget every detail of who you are as a person as well.”

“Bullshit,” I laughed. “I’m sorry, but no way!”

“Do you have a better explanation for your memory loss?”

I had to admit, I didn’t. But even with no knowledge of who I was, I was still stubborn as all hell. “Whatever it is, it’s not hypnosis,” I insisted. “I dunno, maybe I hit my head or something?” I felt around my skull with my hand, finding no sign of injury.

“That’d make sense if you’d lost your memory completely, but you’ve only forgotten things relating to you,” he remarked. “For instance, do you know what city this is?”

“LA,” I confirmed immediately.

“Correct. And whose apartment is this?”

After a long pause, I hazarded a guess: “Yours?”

He smiled smugly. “You’re just guessing, aren’t you? You don’t have a clue. Poor thing...”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, blushing furiously. “Not funny...”

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, it’s kind of funny - even you were laughing a bit a minute ago. Plus, the thing with the note was hilarious.”

“What note?” I demanded.

“Oh, of course, you don’t know! Well, there’s a piece of paper with a list of commands on it, and when you read them you obey them, because of a suggestion I gave you.”

“Oh well, that’s the most absurd thing you’ve said so far.” I rolled my eyes. “Where is this piece of paper, then?”

“Where you left it,” he told me, grinning. “In your bra.”

Not taking my eyes off him, I undid a button on my shirt, reached underneath, and felt around inside my right bra cup. To my surprise, there was indeed a folded up piece of paper tucked in there. No wonder my boob had been so itchy. I fished it out and unfolded it, shaking my head in astonishment.

This was, of course, the so-called ‘script’ for my self-tape. There was no script written on it after all - just as Richard had said, there were a series of written instructions:

Touch your nose and say ‘beep’.

Squeeze your boobs.

Your name, age, and all your personal information are bound.

Fold this paper up and put it in your bra.

Forget about this paper, and about reading and obeying these commands.

My confusion and curiosity ebbed as I read the commands. I finished the page and then began re-reading each line. As my eyes fixed on the first instruction, I reached up with my spare hand and pressed my nose. “Beep!” I exclaimed softly. I heard Richard chuckling, but it barely registered with me. Next I reached through the part of my shirt that had come open since I unbuttoned it, and then under each cup of my bra, firmly massaging first one tit and then the other. My eyes skipped over the third command, as my subconscious recognised that I didn’t need to act upon that order now - my memories of who I was were already bound from the first time I read this, so they didn’t need to be bound again. Then I folded the paper back up and tucked it back in my bra, this time in the left cup.

“Now you’ve got to admit, that was entertaining,” Richard said.

I gave him a bemused look. “What was? Me struggling to figure out whose apartment this is? You could just tell me, y’know...”

“Where would be the fun in that? And no, I was actually referring to you acting on a hypnotic suggestion and then forgetting all about it.”

I smiled wearily, shaking my head at him. “Yeah, right. You’re just trying to trick me now, to gaslight me into thinking I’m hypnotised. It’s kind of mean for you to play a joke on me when I’m having memory problems!”

As I told him off (which had no effect on his naughty schoolboy-esque demeanour), I scratched my left boob. Geez, a minute ago the right one was itchy, now it had spread to the left!

He seemed to notice, gesturing at my hand as it rubbed at my chest. “Are you OK? You look a little uncomfortable.”

Smiling with faint embarrassment, I replied, “Yeah, I’ve just got itchy boobs. It’s driving me nuts. Must be the bra.”

“Are you sure you haven’t got something caught in them? Something that might be scratching or tickling you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe...” I reached into the left cup, and my hand closed on a folded piece of paper.

Yeah, you see where this is going: I take it out, unfold and read it; I ‘beep’ my nose; I squeeze my tits; I put it back; I forget everything that happened since I told Richard off for pranking me.

I wish I could say this was the last time, but he actually let me go through this loop twice more. Both times the conversation went similarly to the previous occasion (“Are you alright?” “Itchy bra.” “Maybe something’s caught in it?” “Yeah maybe, I’ll check... Beep.”)

Finally, as this same scenario started to play out for a fourth time, he fixed his eyes on mine as I began to draw the paper back out. “This time,” he said, in that low, smooth ‘hypno-voice’ that seems to stroke me right in the clit, “you won’t feel compelled to act on these instructions when you read them.”

When he said that, even though I was ‘awake’, his words went past my mental goalie. As I listened to him talk, my mind drifted for a moment, and once he’d finished, I tuned back in, unaware that he’d even spoken. This is the first time I can recall that he gave me hypnotic suggestions or commands while I was hypnotised but awake.

I took out the piece of paper and read through it, and just as he’d told me, the instructions had no effect on me - including the command to forget. I laughed incredulously and waved the page at him. “This is supposed to work on me? I’m meant to play with my boobs just because it’s written on here?”

“It does work on you,” he told me. “Or it did, until I switched off the suggestion just now.”

“Oh, how convenient,” I said, layering the sarcasm on thickly. “It doesn’t work because you stopped it working. Sure, sure.”

“But it was working before. And I can prove it.” He nodded to the camera - which was still recording, and had been the whole time. “Come and take a look.”

My eyebrows shot up. As he stopped the recording and began to rewind the footage, I slowly walked over. A big part of me was insisting that there was no way it was real - in my amnesiac state I was only absolutely certain of one thing, and it was that hypnosis was bullshit - but a little voice had piped up, pointing out that Richard wouldn’t claim there was proof if he didn’t have any...

My internal bickering faltered as he pressed play on the recording. On the little camera screen, my past self from about fifteen minutes ago reached out and took the piece of paper from an offscreen Richard. She read the page, and then, to my shock, pressed her nose with her left index finger and said, “Beep.” Then she squeezed her boobs through her shirt, and then she folded up the paper, reached up her shirt, and tucked it into her right bra cup.

I stared at the screen, dumbfounded, as Richard pressed fast-forward on the recording. “Wait, there’s more,” he told me. He brought up footage from only five minutes ago. “There’s a piece of paper with a list of commands on it, and when you read them you obey them, because of a suggestion I gave you,” his voice said from offscreen.

As you know, my slightly younger self replied, “Oh well, that’s the most absurd thing you’ve said so far.” But as I was starting to realise now, it was all too real. As I watched, she fished the paper out of her bra, acted on the instructions she read, put it back, and promptly forgot about it again.

“OK, OK, you can turn it off now,” I spluttered.

He paused the recording on a shot of me pawing at my left boob. “Still not convinced that you’re hypnotised?”

“I admit there may be... a chance that I’m hypnotised,” I said begrudgingly, trying not to look at his smug expression. “A small chance.”

“From you, that’s pretty much an admission of utter defeat,” he beamed.

“Yeah well, I’ll take your word for it, given that I still have no idea who I am.”

He took a step towards me, closing the gap between us, our close proximity sending a shiver of desire running through me. “But your head’s not completely empty yet,” he remarked. “You’ve still got a glimmer of personality in there...”

I looked at him balefully. “More than just a glimmer, pal!”

He held my gaze. I started to feel compelled by his stare again, my eyes locked on his, just as I had earlier that evening (though I had no memory of this).

“Your remaining memories are bound,” he said in his hypno-voice.

He broke eye contact. I blinked and looked around.

“Um,” I said in a small voice, “what’s going on?”

“Do you know where you are?” he asked calmly.

I shook my head.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No,” I whispered, my voice betraying more than a hint of anxiety.

“Do you know who you are?”

“No,” I said again. I felt very lost and disoriented, in an unfamiliar place with a man I didn’t know, unable to remember anything at all.

Seeming to notice my faint distress, Richard reached out and took me by the shoulders. I froze like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights as he looked me in the eyes once more and said, “Any fear or anxiety you feel over having no memory is bound.”

Immediately I felt much better. I still couldn’t remember anything, and I still felt kind of small and helpless, but my anxiety was gone, replaced with curiosity and amusement. I still felt much less bratty than before - it was like my memories of how to be stubborn and defiant had also been bound, replaced with submissive meekness.

“How do you feel right now?” he asked.

I shrugged, making his hands bounce slightly on my shoulders. “OK, I guess. Confused. I don’t really know what’s happening, or who I am, or where...”

“What’s the first thing you remember?”

I thought back to the first memory I had. “Looking in your eyes,” I told him, “like, a minute ago.”

“And before that?”

I shrugged again, giggling a little. “Nothin’. Just a big blank space...”

“You don’t know who you were before that?”

“Uh-uh,” I said, shaking my head.

“Do you think you were anyone at all? Maybe you didn’t exist a minute ago. Maybe staring into my eyes was the first moment of your existence, and before that... you were nothing at all.”

I giggled again as I considered this. “Yeah, maybe... I don’t know. It’s not very likely, is it?”

“Have you ever heard of something like that happening?”

“Well...” I didn’t know how to answer that. I felt sure that someone spontaneously coming into existence wasn’t possible, but then again my memories only went back three minutes at the most. Maybe this did happen, and I’d forgotten - or I never knew, because I’d only just been created...

He chuckled. “Would you like me to tell you what really happened to you?”

“Yes, please!” I closed my eyes briefly, smiling at the apparent confirmation that he’d just been messing with me. Of course I hadn’t only just been created, that was silly (probably).

“I’ve been taking your mind away,” he said softly, reaching out with one hand and caressing my cheek. “Piece by piece.”

Feeling stupefied by his voice, his touch, his words, I stared at him as he stroked me, wide-eyed and baffled. “You’re... taking my mind away?”

“Yes. First I changed your memories of this week. Then I took away your knowledge of who you are. Then I made you forget everything else. And I was going to take away your defiance, your strong will, but it seems like it naturally faded away along with all your remaining memories. You don’t have any desire to try and resist me right now, do you?”

A tiny voice piped up at the back of my head, saying yes! Don’t give in! But his finger brushing up and down the edge of my face felt so nice, and my mind was starting to feel so empty...

“Uhhh,” was all I could manage to say in response.

He smirked. “That’s great. Good girl.”

Unprepared for the arousal I had no way of anticipating, I shook bodily as those words sent a surge of arousal through me. “Wha-what the -” I spluttered, waving my arms in the air as I almost lost my balance.

Taking a quick step forward, he put his arms around my waist and upper back to support me, allowing me to lean back slightly, as if we were dancing and he were about to dip me. Despite how vulnerable I was at that moment, under his power and completely unaware of who he or I were, I felt safe and secure in his arms. His hand began to stroke my hair, and he gazed into my eyes again, making me feel transfixed once more. It was like I was his pet, his doll, his possession, hanging helplessly in his arms as he held and caressed me, my brain growing emptier by the minute.

“Tell me, how are you feeling right now, love?” he asked me. “Just answer with whatever comes into your head...”

“Good,” I replied instantly, in a dazed whisper. “Confused. Spellbound... Like I’m dreaming. Like I’m being... played with...” A rapturous smile spread across my face. “Like a plaything.”

Judging by his gleeful, excited expression, he really liked that particular response. “Good girl,” he purred.

“Ohhh,” I moaned softly, rocking in his arms as more pleasure reverberated through me.

“I think it’s time to take away the rest,” he said to me.

“The... rest?” I mumbled.

“The rest of your mind, sweetie. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Nice? Well, maybe. If it made me feel as good as I did right now, then I was sure I’d enjoy it. But surely I needed my mind. I needed to be able to think in order to be a person. And I was a person... wasn’t I? Or was I a plaything? I was less and less sure.

In my current state it was virtually impossible for me to articulate those thoughts, so I just gave him a slightly inquisitive grunt: “Uhhm?”

He smiled lovingly at me. “Of course, you’re so nearly there anyway. If you only knew how adorable you looked right now...”

I bit my lip as his praise sent more shivers of ecstasy through me. I wanted this bliss he was creating for me to last forever. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to rub my body against his...

“All your thoughts,” he said slowly, lowering his voice to almost a growl, “are bound.”

It wasn’t instantaneous, not that first time. It took a good few seconds for my head to completely empty. What happened was, I heard him say those words, and then I tried to think about them - about the implications of my thoughts being bound, of my mind essentially being frozen. But nothing came into my head. And a moment later I realised I’d forgotten what I was trying to think about, and why.

The sensation of not being able to think was vaguely disturbing at first, and I tried to resist it for a few more seconds, during which my eyes, staring past Richard’s head into the middle distance, darted back and forth as if trying to see my thoughts floating in the air. I felt him adjusting me, straightening me up so I could once again stand upright without him needing to hold me. Once he was sure I was standing freely without support, he released me and took a step backwards, watching me as I gazed into nothing, frowning slightly from the effort of attempting to think anything at all.

“And with every second,” he said in his hypno-voice, “your mind becomes clearer. With every second, your head becomes emptier. Growing more blank, more vacant, more spaced out... No thoughts at all. You can’t remember how to think. You can’t remember ever having thoughts. You can’t remember why it even matters...”

My frown faded as I slowly stopped trying to think. It wasn’t so much a conscious choice to embrace the delightful blankness - because I was no longer capable of conscious choices. As I stood there staring into space, my jaw relaxed, letting my mouth hang open. My posture was slumped, my arms hanging limply at my sides. I looked every inch the sleepwalker.

Richard reached out and brushed a few loose strands of hair out of my face. I hadn’t even noticed them. “And you find that in this state it’s so easy to respond to my words,” he told me. “To move, to speak, when I want you to. What are you thinking about right now?”

“Nothing,” I replied. I didn’t have to consider my answer. I couldn’t consider my answer. My mouth moved automatically, the word slipping out without any effort on my part.

“Good girl.”

A jolt of pleasure rippled through me, and I gave a very dignified grunt of arousal. I didn’t adjust my posture or move my eyes, but my thighs twisted instinctively as if trying to rub against each other. My fingers twitched and groped the air, reaching towards my crotch, but my arms were too limp and lifeless to get them anywhere near.

I was oblivious to all of my own reactions. I was oblivious to everything. Alyssa Johnson had left the building. All that remained was a body - a mindless, horny drone that responded to Richard’s words without any thoughts of its own.

I feel like I can hear some of you asking, “Hey AJ, how do you remember this if you were blank and mindless?” To which I would reply, “Smart asses.” I didn’t remember it at the time, obviously, but I do now because Richard restored my memories of everything at the end of the night - every time we did this.

“You’re going to repeat some mantras for me now,” he commanded me, “and as you say each one, they become more true for you. They become more real for you... Tell me you’re blank and mindless.”

“I’m blank and mindless,” I said in an emotionless monotone.

He stepped closer, facing my side and leaning forwards a little, as if going to whisper in my ear. “Tell me you’re brainwashed and obedient.”

“I’m brainwashed and obedient.”

“You’re an empty shell.”

“I’m an empty shell.”

“You’re a mind-controlled puppet.”

“I’m a mind-controlled puppet.”

“You’re spacey and submissive.”

“I’m spacey and submissive.”

“You’re horny and hypnotised.”

“I’m horny and hypnotised.” I began to breathe faster as I felt a flare of arousal.

He began to pet me, resting his hand on my head and stroking my hair. “You’re aroused and vacant.”

“I’m aroused and vacant.”

“You’re a spellbound slave.”

“I’m a spellbound slave.”

“You’re a happy plaything.”

“I’m a happy plaything.” A smile appeared on my face of its own accord as I said this.

“Being hypnotised is amazing.”

“Being hypnotised is amazing.”

“Being hypnotised makes you feel complete.”

“Being hypnotised makes me feel complete.”

“Being hypnotised turns you on.”

“Being hypnotised turns me on.”

“You love being hypnotised.”

“I love being hypnotised.”

“Good girl - repeat that over and over, while you take off your shirt and your bra.”

“I love being hypnotised. I love being hypnotised.” I looked down and watched as my hands moved automatically. Though I did it, and I saw it, I still didn’t know what was happening. “I love being hypnotised. I love being hypnotised.” As I watched blankly, my hands unbuttoned my shirt, and my shoulders shrugged it off. It fell onto the floor, with no effort from Mindless AJ to catch it. “I love being hypnotised. I love being hypnotised.” I then reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, carelessly letting that drop down to the carpet too.

“I love being hypnotised. I love being hypnotised. I love being hypnotised.”

“Raise your arms in front of you,” he ordered, “continuing to repeat.”

“I love being hypnotised,” I said again, lifting my arms and holding them outstretched. Now I really did look like a sleepwalker. A zombie sleepwalker, just like I’d joked about on Saturday.

“Perfect,” he breathed, the exclamation barely audible even though he was barely more than a foot away from me. He began to play with my left boob, stroking and squeezing it, flicking and pinching the nipple. Moving around so he was standing behind me, he gave my right tit the same treatment. After maybe twenty seconds of this, I felt his face nuzzle its way through my thick hair, and he began to kiss my neck gently, working his way up and along my ear, which he nibbled a little. All the while, as my body grew more aroused at the touch of his hands and the caress of his lips, my mind stayed empty, and I stood with my arms out, staring vacantly ahead, continuing to robotically tell him, “I love being hypnotised.”

Finally he let go of me and stepped over to my right. “Stop repeating, AJ,” he said.

I obediently shut my trap. Metaphorically, that is. In reality my trap just stopped making sounds and hung open.

“Who are you?” he asked me.

If I’d been capable of emotion at that point, I might have been confused. Instead I simply responded, “I don’t know.”

“You’re a hypnotised slave,” he told me. Then he asked again, “Who are you?”

This time Mindless AJ knew the answer: “I’m a hypnotised slave.”

“Good girl,” he rewarded me by saying. “And who am I?”

“I don’t know,” I said again.

“I am your Master. All slaves need a Master, AJ, and I am yours.” He chuckled. “Or more accurately, you are mine. My slave. My plaything. So, slave, who am I?”

“You are my Master.”

“Very good girl.”

“Uhnnf...”

“From now on, when you are in this mindless state, and when you are in trance, you will call me Master. When I ask you a question, you will always end your response with ‘Master’. When I give you a command, you will always say, ‘yes, Master’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

He was very pleased with this response. Even with essentially no brain, I was still a quick learner! “Good girl. Whenever I say that to you when you’re mindless, you will thank me... Good girl.”

“Ohhh... Thank you, Master,” I sighed.

“Excellent. Now, AJ, pick up your shirt and put it back on. Be sure to button it exactly as you did before you took it off.”

“Yes, Master.” Finally lowering my arms from their outstretched position, I bent down and retrieved my shirt from the floor. Moving fluidly, naturally, just as I did when getting dressed normally, I thrust my arms through each sleeve, shrugged the shirt into position on my shoulders, and did up each button. Once done, my arms hung limply at my sides again. Richard scooped up my discarded bra from the floor.

“In a moment, I’m going to release your mind, and you’ll be able to think normally again,” he said to me. “You’ll come out of this state unaware of anything that happened while you were blank, as if no time has passed for you. I’ll be able to put you back in that either if I use the bound trigger again - if I say ‘mind bound’ or ‘thoughts bound’ - or, alternatively, if either of us says the word ‘blank’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.”

“Th-thank you, Master.”

“Also, when I bring your mind back this time, that means your whole mind - all your memories will return too. You’ll know who you are, where you are, and who I am. You’ll know that I’ve hypnotised you, both tonight and on Saturday. You’ll also remember not remembering before, thinking that you were doing a self-tape and believing hypnosis was bullshit. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Very, very good girl.”

“Muhhh...” I really do make some dignified noises when I’m super turned on. “Thank you, Master...”

“On the count of three, then. One, two, three... Mind, released.”

A jolt went through me as I found myself suddenly waking up. I shook my head dazedly, the memories of the night so far flooding back to me.

Turning to my boyfriend, I simply said to him, “Oh, you fucker!”