'Welcome back, Anette,' the hypnotist says with glee in his voice. Disoriented, the girl blinks and looks first at the crowd sitting in the bar, then to the other volunteers slumped in chairs.. at the curvy, tall girl who gave her a dominant wink before the performance, her face now looking relaxed and innocent in trance..

Only then does she raise her head toward the man standing over her. He exudes a scent of ambergris and mouthwash, his fleshy lips turned to a gleeful half-smile. 'Could you tell me how you feel about me sexually?'

'I have already told you that I'm a lesbian,' she answers indignantly, with a flutter of strange emotions rising up through her belly.

This man is the definition of sleaze. Lips slightly open and curled upward, hair licked back with gel, large diamond studs in his ears, a slightly deflated frame speaking of sports he's clearly taking less seriously now than in the past... his left hand rough and slightly moist on her shoulder. Not unkempt or unpleasant at all, just.. just everything she has ever detested in masculinity. So why are there butterflies in her stomach?

'Indeed you have. So I guess you wouldn't feel anything if I showed you my finger... right?' His right hand slowly creeps into Anette's view, a large golden watch sitting amidst the blond, curly hair on his wrist. He extends his index finger, the skin slightly calloused. He should moisturize more, Anette thinks, but at the same time there's something so deeply strange and disturbing about this situation. To begin with, why is she so fixated on his fingernail.. and then, why are her lips hanging open in aroused expectation, ragged breathing escaping between them? And why can't she speak? Why can't she rebuke him?

'I bet you are wondering what I am doing to you, aren't you, Anette?'

His voice is self-assured and syrupy. It should be disgusting, along with the weightlifting callouses and untrimmed cuticles on his finger, along with the golden pilot watch, along with the invasive scent of mouthwash, along with the testosterone-laden grease on his flushed face under the stage lights. Instead, a tightness is developing in her panties, her girlcock growing and throbbing. She can't even remember being this hard, like, ever... She can't help but begin to instinctively roll her hips on the chair.

'Already getting wiggly? Such a good girl, Anette,' he croons. Her skirt is visibly tenting now, even despite the tucking panties she's wearing. Why is this so exciting? 'See, part of you knows what's coming... How do you feel about it?'

'Nnhh... Noo.h.. Ah... Aaaannnhhhh... Nnngg..'

'I wonder what the Anette who first came in today would think of you now.. Aren't you just precious.. Such an inviting little mouth.. So red and.. wet..'

'Nnnh... P.. please..' Anette moans, turbulent emotions overtaking her. Everyone is looking at her now. Her transfixed eyes, her red lips parted in obscene longing, her utter and total surrender and humiliation..

'Please yes, or please no?' he smirks. 'Not that you have a say in what happens. Notice how you are glued to your chair.' And she is. 'You might try to stand up and see how you're stuck.. but doesn't it feel good to be stuck? That's it, you can roll your hips like a good, horny girl. You can scoot a bit forward.. Yes, I like that little wiggle in your thighs. I bet your perineum feels soo good on the edge of the chair. Soo nice.. In fact, you'll notice how it's now twice as pleasurable.' He snaps his fingers into her ear. 'Ten times more pleasure. Good girl.'

She is desperately humping her own tucking panties now, the pressure on her girlcock and the hard edge of the chair under her sending shivers through her body. And still, her attention focused on that outstretched finger, on the hypnotist's sleazy voice, his heavy breathing, and the scent of mouthwash on his hot breath.

'Isn't it just soo deliciously embarrassing? Having been turned into this dripping, drooling, rutting puddle by my hypnosis?' Anette notices that she indeed has a thick string of saliva running down her chin. How did she get so... hypnotized? It feels like magic... like something out of mythology. And it's so, so hot. The vulnerability, the shame, the embarrassment.. She hears moans and gargling sounds escape her thrat as her already wide open lips quiver and distend further. 'I think you are ready,' says the hypnotist. 'Clara, cream!'

She hears one of the volunteers stand up. A petite, bespectacled girl walks into her view, a dreamy look on her face, stroking a can of whipped cream between her breasts. Her face a mixture of sexual excitement and demure submission. She looks briefly at Anette with a flash of pity in her eyes, then turning reverently to the hypnotist's finger, she raises the can, and with a breathy moan, squeezes whipped cream over it.

Anette is gone at this point, straining to come free from the chair. Her whole world blotted out by the white dollop.

'You are no longer stuck to the chair.'

The audience watches with fascination as the haughty lesbian girl lunges forward, licking and gobbling the hypnotist's finger, wrapping herself over his frame, raising her left leg as she dry-humps his hip. All modesty and self-control gone, she is moaning and suckling with abandon.

Anette feels her head forced upward by her chin and by the finger deep in her mouth. The hypnotist's skin is slightly salty and rough, his touch firm but gentle. She is looking straight up into his eyes, still compulsively humping his side. His gaze is condescendingly caring, a smirk on his lips, as he thrusts the finger deeper into her throat, the gag reflex shaking her body and filling her eyes with tears.

'Good girl,' he croons. 'Come for me. NOW.'