In the early days of our erotic exploits (which weren’t that long ago, admittedly), Sir would sometimes make me occupy myself with what we like to call ‘mindlessness exercises’, to give him time to think up new ways to play with me. He would command me to count down from ten to one, sinking further into blank bliss with each number. My eyes shut, my head lolling forwards, my face slack, I would obey, mumbling each number and feeling myself drop even deeper, before at last reaching one and pronouncing, sincerely, “I am deeply hypnotised.” If he still hadn’t thought of a new suggestion - or if he just felt like making me helplessly reinforce my own trance a little more - he’d have me do it again. And maybe even a third time.

He soon started to switch it up a bit, perhaps presuming I’d grow bored with the short, simple countdown. (I wasn’t getting bored - I don’t think I could, the vacant state I was in.) He’d lean in and whisper in my ear, as I stared either into the space before me or the back of my own head, and whisper assertively, “Count the raindrops.” And I’d start to count, from one to... well, that depended when he told me to stop. In my mind’s eye, I’d see a slow-motion downpour from a stormy sky, and mentally check off each droplet as I counted, methodically tallying the imagined torrent. I couldn’t think about anything else. I couldn’t feel any tedium from the unending, pointless task. I was too blank, too blissed out, and too obedient to my Sir’s will.

He’d often stop me before I reached fifty, but sometimes he’d just sit and watch me, letting me count higher and higher while I fell deeper and deeper. Once or twice, he let me go way past the hundred mark, relishing my glassy gaze and increasingly slurred words...

Of course, this was before he figured out I didn’t even need the mental stimulation of saying different numbers to maintain my interest. He could simply have me repeat ‘Rain drops’, and that’d be enough to keep me captivated. And that fascinates and arouses him - the fact that all I needed to drain my brain, to send myself plummeting further under his power, were a couple of words to chant over and over again. I’ve got to admit, it fascinates and arouses me too!

***

“We actually got so much done,” I remarked as I strode into Sir’s flat, with him following shortly behind me. “I didn’t think we’d manage to pack up so much in just an hour, but we were really efficient...”

He raised an eyebrow. “‘We’?”

“Alright, Ruth was really efficient,” I admitted with a smile. “I just did what she told me.”

“Like a good girl,” he grinned, which made me blush, of course. “Honestly, I’m not surprised she took charge of packing up the classroom. Let’s face it, if it weren’t for her your desk would’ve disappeared under a mountain of crap months ago.”

“Oh, absolutely.” I sighed, setting my handbag down by the door and wandering a little way along the corridor. “I don’t know what I’ll do after she leaves. She’s the one keeping me organised - I’ll get in a total muddle without her. I know this new school’s definitely the right place for her, she’d be bonkers not to take the job, but I’m gonna miss seeing her every da-”

“Atten-tion.”

At once, I spun around to face him, my heels snapping together, my toes pointed outwards at a 45-degree angle. My posture went perfectly straight, my spine and legs as rigid as steel bars - as were my arms, which clapped to my sides, my palms flat against my thighs, my fingers straight and locked together as if they were one solid piece. Every part of my body had adopted a precise pose, right down to my thumbs, which were precisely lined up with the seam of my shorts. My chest was pushed out, my chin tilted upwards. I held the position unwaveringly, staring straight ahead, my face and mind equally blank and calm as I stood and awaited orders.

Sir circled around me, his eyes roving up and down my erect form, an approving expression on his face. My eyes remained fixed forwards as he moved in my peripheral vision, no thoughts entering my brain. My only objective, my only desire, was unswerving, unquestioning obedience to any commands he gave me.

My instinct to stand at attention and wait patiently had been ingrained in me long before I met him - I was in army cadets as a teenager. I’d shown him photos of fourteen-year-old Rain, wearing a grey-blue jumper and beret with the symbol of my regiment on the front, a navy blue knee-length skirt, black tights, and gleaming black shoes I polished myself as part of my duties. From his enthusiastic reaction, and the number of questions he’d asked about it, I should’ve anticipated he’d find a way to relate it to our hypnotic escapades. Sure enough, he soon gave me a trigger that used my training against me, snapping me into a state of thoughtless focus.

From behind me, he traced his fingertips through the downy hair on my forearms, stroking in an upwards direction again and again. He groped my chest through my sleeveless black top, pulling it up to bare my breasts (which I’d uncaged from my bra during the car ride home). He yanked my shorts down to my ankles and fondled my arse, possessively squeezing and slapping each cheek. Moving back in front of me, he brushed my hair - brown with blonde highlights, long and wavy, and kinda dishevelled from the hot day and the exertion of clearing out my classroom - out of my face. He twiddled and tugged my nipples, booped my nose, and flicked me in the forehead.

I didn’t react at all. I remained completely immobile, aside from the steady expansion and retraction of my chest, and the occasional blinking of my eyes. No unnecessary movements or sounds were permitted - I was to remain taciturn, motionless and mindless like the good soldier I was, until Sir said otherwise.

“Salute.”

My right hand flew to my forehead and stayed there, my palm facing outwards, my fingers still fixed together just as they had been before, the tip of my forefinger resting just over my eye.

Sir grinned. “Such a good soldier. God, I wish you still had the uniform, it’d really complete the look.”

He played with my tits for a couple more minutes, while I stayed at attention and continued to salute him. At last he said, “OK, Private Raindrops, I’ve got stuff to do. You just stay like this and count the rain in silence ’til I come back.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said respectfully, and began my internal count. One, two, three, four, five, six...

“Good girl.” With a final flick of my nipple, he strolled away further into his flat. A few seconds later I heard the TV turn on in the living room, but the sound was unimportant.

I stood as still and silent as a statue in my confident yet deferential pose near the front door, alert and ready, waiting for more instructions from my superior as I counted myself further into mindless obedience.