Meredith’s body was sore in multiple places, as though she’d run a race in her sleep. She spent hours trying to recapture the precise sequence of events at her place, but her memory played tricks on her. Some moments were bright and distinct, like Mistress Susan’s laugh, and her commands to let go, but between them were spans of blankness, like jump cuts. She couldn’t remember how the night had ended at all. Something else had happened between them. Whatever it was, deep inside, she loved it.

When she got up from bed, the hypnodomme was gone. The dreams seemed to continue even after she opened her eyes, and by the time she got ready for the second day of KNOT’s activities, Meredith felt as if she was inhabiting someone else’s skin.

Nothing seemed to excite her that day. Every ping of her phone made her pulse tick. She became hyper-aware of her own body and how the waistband of her skirt pressed into her ribs and made her think of the word “bound.” She told herself that she was being silly, that it would pass, that she had always been prone to infatuation, but the thought was half-hearted. 

Throughout the day, she and Susan traded texts, sometimes brisk and transactional, other times shockingly open. There was a rhythm to it, a cadence of “What are you doing?” and “Thinking about last night.” But there were also questions, explorations, little admissions tossed into the void:

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

“I once spent an entire summer pretending I didn’t exist.”

“Did you like being mine?”

“Yes. I wanted it. I still do.”

“You’re very good at surrendering.”

“I want to get even better.”

By the end of the week, Meredith had developed a kind of tunnel vision. She rearranged her calendar on Thursday to leave her Saturday entirely open, then spent hours second-guessing what, if anything, would happen that day. She shaved everything, exfoliated until her skin was pink, and went through her wardrobe until she landed on a simple dress that managed to be both innocuous and faintly salacious. All Friday night, she oscillated between rehearsing possible conversations and imagining herself kneeling again, or more, or worse. She tried to read, to stream a show, to get out of the apartment, but her mind circled the same thoughts, looping and looping, so that by morning she was almost grateful for the clarity of her own anticipation.

Mistress Susan’s invitation arrived at 10:07 a.m., as efficient and abrupt as a summons:

“I’ve rented a place for us to play in. 7 pm. Dress comfortably. Bring nothing but an open mind.”

Meredith spent the day pacing, cleaning, and reading the same three pages of a magazine over and over. For the third time, she checked the address Susan had sent: a modernist tower overlooking the park. She debated what “comfy” meant and finally settled on jeans and a soft white tee, but just before leaving, she changed into leggings and a faded college hoodie, as if the casualness could shield her from the unspeakable edge of her nerves.

She arrived early. She considered walking the block a few times to kill the minutes, but the lobby’s silence drew her in. The elevator ride was brief but seemed to last forever. By the time she reached the door - unit 1207, a silver “7” slightly askew - Meredith was sweating. She wiped her palms on her pants and knocked twice.

The door opened immediately. Mistress Susan stood on the threshold barefoot, her hair swept into a tight bun. She wore charcoal-gray joggers and a black t-shirt with a faded Bauhaus logo, the sleeves cut off to reveal strong, tanned arms.

“You made good time,” she said, stepping aside.

Meredith’s first impressions were positive. The apartment was open and spare, a living room that doubled as a library, the walls lined with black shelves crammed with paperbacks, art monographs, and the odd knick-knack—a fossilized trilobite, a cluster of glass marbles, a small stuffed raccoon in a bowtie. Across from the shelves was a massive window, the city laid out in a grid of orange and blue beyond. The space looked lived in, but devoid of sentimental clutter. It was as clean and curated as the inside of a well-ordered mind.

“Wine?” Mistress Susan asked, already in the kitchen. She poured two glasses and offered one, the edge of her thumb just barely grazing Meredith’s hand.

They sat on the floor, cross-legged on a thick wool rug, the bottle between them and a playlist of ambient electronic music humming in the background. For the first half hour, they talked about everything: favorite fonts, childhood pets, the weirdest snack they had ever eaten… Meredith found herself relaxing even without the word hypnosis ever crossing her mind.

Mistress Susan’s tone was matter-of-fact, but when she asked how Meredith felt, her eyes never left her face. Meredith answered every query honestly, words rising from her like bubbles. Every confession felt right, the only thing she could do.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you really want to do this with me?”

“Absolutely!” Meredith replied.

“And you’re not worried I’ll break you?” she asked, and Meredith shook her head.

“If that happens, I’m sure you’ll put me back together just the way you like it.”

Mistress Susan smiled. “Good girl. Did you know that every day is a good day to let go?”

“I do now. Can I be your willing subject, Mistress?”

“You already are, my dear.”

And that’s when Meredith knew she was finally where she needed to be. Her future was bright and hypnotic, everything she wanted and needed.

The End