The hypnodomme continued to monitor Meredith’s reactions. Her confusion was adorable, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun during a live demonstration. Meredith’s past as a professional submissive had certainly contributed to her willingness to go deep and explore the power of her imagination. But Mistress Susan knew that she was capable of so much more. Certain explorations couldn’t be done on stage, though.

For a couple more minutes, Meredith drifted in this state of linguistic confusion, to the point it seemed like she couldn’t remember what English sounded like anymore. Some attendees were taking notes and getting ready for another round of questions, but they would have to wait until the effect of the hypnotic spell wore off.

Mistress Susan touched the back of Meredith’s head. Gently, she began to weave her words like a soothing thread, gradually untangling the linguistic knot (or was it K.N.O.T.?) that she created.

“Listen carefully,” she murmured. “The sounds are becoming clear again. Each word is finding its meaning. Sentences make sense once more.”

Meredith blinked, the gibberish slowly resolving into coherent language. Her muscles began to relax, tension draining from her shoulders like water through open fingers. Mistress Susan’s words were a gradual dimmer switch, bringing clarity back in soft, incremental waves.

“When you wake up, the trigger will no longer work on you unless you want it to. You’ll understand everything you hear unless you choose otherwise. My suggestions are only as powerful as the power you give them, so it’s up to you. Decide for yourself as I bring you back up… up… up from trance.”

Meredith’s awareness gradually sharpened, like a camera lens slowly coming into focus. Her head felt light, almost weightless, as comprehension began to return. Mistress Susan’s voice remained a gentle anchor, guiding her back to full consciousness.

“You’re returning now,” Mistress Susan said. “Becoming more alert with each breath. Breathe with me as everything becomes clear. The gift of language is yours once more.”

Meredith’s fingers twitched first, then her shoulders rolled slightly. The conference room’s ambient sounds -the subtle shuffling of papers and the gentle whispers of the audience - began to register. She blinked once more, her vision clearing from the fuzzy dreamlike state she’d been inhabiting.

“I’m going to count you up from one to five now. With each number, you’ll become more like yourself. The moment I reach five, every lingering trace of trance will disappear from your mind. Ready? One… two… three… four… five.”

And just like that, Meredith woke up. She remembered everything from the moment she had dropped into a trance, all details as vivid as if she were experiencing them all over again. It was the most peculiar feeling, but nothing that caused her any distress, much to the contrary. 

The world came back at once, but it was never quite the same as before. There was a subtle haze over everything, a thrum of anticipation beneath her skin, and Meredith couldn’t help but wonder what else Mistress Susan could do to her if she gave her complete access to her subconscious mind.

Every little sensation was amplified in the wake of trance: the brush of her blouse against her collarbone, the faint tang of the drink lingering on her tongue, the subtle, citrusy scent of another attendee’s aftershave. It was as if every sense had been steeped in a bath of awareness, and her mind was hungry for more.

She found herself staring at Mistress Susan, her every gesture a magnetizing force. The way she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, the way she smoothed her leather pants before addressing the audience again… And suddenly, she drifted once more.

Meredith imagined what it would be like to be alone with her - not on stage, not as part of a public demonstration, but as a loyal subject, pliant and eager and trembling with anticipation. She imagined being led down a hotel hallway, the click of her heels echoing, the hum of the air conditioning drowned out by the pounding of her heart. She could see herself kneeling at the end of a king-sized bed, chin up, eyes wide, waiting for the next command.

In her mind, the fantasy unfolded like this: Mistress Susan would press her down with a single word - just her name, spoken in that silk-wrapped-steel voice. Meredith would melt to the floor, hands trembling as she kissed the hypnodomme’s feet, feeling the heat and pulse of her desire radiate upward like a fever. And in this imagined room, far from the conference and the clinical overhead lighting and the rows of intent faces, there were no limits to what she could be made to feel - or what she would surrender.

A rush of color crept up her neck as she realized how quickly she had slipped back into submissive longing, how much she craved the feeling of her will dissolving, how much she wanted to be rewritten from within. She wondered if Mistress Susan knew. She wondered if everyone in the room knew. Was it that obvious, even to untrained eyes? As strange as it was to admit it, she hoped, in a way, that it was.

The fantasy was broken by the eruption of applause. Meredith stood up, feeling herself yanked back into the present as the audience cheered and offered appreciative laughter. Mistress Susan bowed ever so slightly, a gracious performer, then smiled directly at Meredith as if to say: I know exactly what you’re thinking, and yes, there is so much more where that came from.

The demonstration was a resounding success, and the hypnodomme basked in the praise.

“Thank you, Meredith,” she said. “I trust you’re feeling as perfect as you can be.”

“Oh yes!” Meredith smiled back at her. “Everything is clear, but that was intense.”

“I could tell, but you did great. Better than I expected, to be honest.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Thank you for being gentle with me.”

“Of course, my dear, and I’m looking forward to doing it again.”

It was already settled. It was only a matter of time to find out when and where.