All through that evening, as she sat on the sofa watching the TV, Lizzie’s eyes kept drifting back to the door to her office/studio, where she recorded and edited. She kept wondering whether there was, perhaps, more to what she’d experienced than Ivan would have her believe.

Wasn’t it to his advantage, after all? Could she just blithely trust him, as her head wanted to? Her instincts weren’t happy with that idea.

But her day had taken a toll on her. She felt drained, emotionally and physically, and there was an edge of bliss to her afterglow. These facts weren’t a powerful argument not to re-watch the pre-talk, even when taken together; but they didn’t have to be powerful. They didn’t even have to be a good argument. They just needed to be a good enough excuse for her to set it aside for the rest of the day.

Ivan had called her open, malleable, and suggestible - she could still hear the exact tone and cadence he’d said it with, still remember the strange thrill in her belly as she heard it, and the surge of pleasure which had come as, at his prompt, she repeated it back to him.

She’d always thought of herself as open. But her friends and her parents would have laughed at the other two words, and she felt that usually, so would she. You couldn’t build the career she’d built if you weren’t willing to fight your corner every step of the way. To hold firm to your opinion. To believe you were right, and could do it, when everyone around you believed that even trying to build your career that way was a recipe for failure.

She hadn’t been dissuaded. The risks and the odds against her had never deterred her. That didn’t seem suggestible. And she’d achieved her success - built a career that had her thriving, not just surviving, and in a position to save for the future - without changing her channel or resorting to long-term sponsorships. Her channel and her Patreon were build around her creative vision, her goals. She’d had plenty of opportunities to let herself be moulded, changed - and she’d shrugged them all off. That didn’t seem malleable.

Did that make Ivan wrong, or did it just mean she’d been waiting for the opportunity to let her guard down?

She ordered Chinese rather than summon up the energy to cook and she stayed on her sofa, staring at the TV.

There was a phone call from Mick, but she didn’t answer it. Mick doesn’t matter.

As she stood in the shower before bed, she couldn’t remember what she’d watched - not even the programs, let alone what had happened.

She’d be fine the following morning, she promised herself.

She climbed into her big double bed, spread herself out under the covers, and closed her eyes. Immediately the pattern Ivan had shown her was there, hovering in front of her, just waiting for her to close her eyes so it could welcome her again. Had she been seeing it all day, unawares? Was she remembering it? Did this mean it had somehow burned into her sight, so that any time her eyes closed in the darkness she’d return to…

…to…

Lizzie’s thoughts stopped completing. She felt herself dip back into that wonderful, blissful pleasure-state she’d been given a taste of earlier that day. Thoughts were replaced with free association; pleasure-states called up a memory of Ivan, then his smile, and then of coaxing the smile from him by baring her breasts…

Eyes still closed, Lizzie sat up in bed and removed her pyjama top. A flick of her wrist sent it out beyond the bed. She lay back down, picturing Ivan’s smile, the way it had widened and grown hungry when he’d seen her revealed…

She left the duvet folded down to her belly button, the better to be on display. Being on display made Ivan happy. That was a good thing. She felt better for it, even more deeply wrapped in the pleasure-state. Which made her want to go deeper.

Ivan’s smile took her deep. What else made Ivan smile? Ivan would probably smile if she played with her tits. She reached up with both hands and began to tug, to toy, to stroke, to fondle, to tease…

Lizzie sank deeper and deeper into the pleasure state. Eventually, sweaty and exhausted, she slept.

Being hypnotised is best. Being hypnotised is blank. Being hypnotised is arousing.

*

She awoke the following morning tangled up in her duvet, legs wrapped around it, body twisted round so that her head was halfway down the bed, well away from the pillows. She couldn’t remember what she’d dreamed about, but she knew she’d enjoyed it - and that meant it was all fine.

She showered her nightly sweat away and shrugged into baggy casual clothes for her day. Today didn’t involve filming, after all.

Downstairs, she fixed herself breakfast, poured a cup of tea, and sat at the table by her window, watching passers-by come and go while she made plans for the day.

She definitely needed to call Ivan and ask him if he’d be willing to hypnotise her again. There was no particular reason to pick any given time for that, so she settled on ten - and knew somehow that it was important not to miss that time even by a few moments.

But that still gave her time to check through yesterday’s recording first, at least some of it. And she really, really thought she should. Something had gotten into her, and she needed to reassure herself that it was fine.

Intellectually, of course, she already knew it was fine. Ivan was always right, so he wouldn’t have made a mistake. This had to be fine. But some part of her kept protesting that there was something wrong with that argument.

Her phone rang again, but it was only Mick, so she hung up on him without answering. She already had plenty to do. Didn’t have time to bother nannying him through whatever frustrations he had.

She finished breakfast and went down to re-watch the recording of that pre-talk, just so that anxious, worried little voice at the back of her head would leave her in peace.

*

She wasn’t a complete fool, of course. She knew the extra window Ivan had provided had been the visuals that had hypnotised her, and she had no intention of dropping because of that. So she only called up the screen recording of her own face, plus the audio.

“Right,” she heard herself say. “I think, you know, I’m ready.”

“OK, good. So. You’ve got a multi-screen set-up over there, right?”

“Yep.”

Honestly, Lizzie was never a great fan of watching herself in these recordings. She had to check for things when she was editing, but she tried to avoid actually studying her own expression; her discomfort also showed itself in the way she deliberately left her derpiest facial expressions in. Turning it into a joke made it much more comfortable.

“Cool. I’m sending you a link. Can you open it in your spare screen?”

Lizzie saw herself nod. She watched her eyes flick across from the screen where she was chatting with Ivan. As they settled on the sight on the other screen (it was all she could do to stop the pattern superimposing itself on her vision again), she could see her own surprise.

“I wanted to use a visual focus,” Ivan continued, “as that way, for the video, we’ll get the visual interest of your eyes in any clips you use.” Which made a lot of sense to Lizzie right at that moment; she was known for her big, expressive eyes, and watching them shine brightly with interest was… actually helping Lizzie cope with the usual awkwardness of staring at her own expressions. Ivan had been saying something, but she’d not really noticed, being too occupied following her eyes as they darted from spot to spot. “Don’t try and stop it happening,” Ivan continued. “Just watch the screen.”

“Obviously if I put a spiral on my chat you don’t have my expressions for your viewers to play off. If I’m swinging a pendulum we could end up distracting or even trancing any susceptible viewers. And we don’t want that. So the solution is a screen like this.”

It hadn’t occurred to Lizzie that susceptible people could be tranced by much less than his clever graphic. She felt a thrill of excitement run through her; she wasn’t clear on why, but it started when Ivan had accidentally reminded her that some people were susceptible.”

Lizzie lost herself for a while just watching her own eyes. Had she been hypnotised by this point? Was it her imagination that they seemed to have a difference in focus from how they’d started?

Big, expressive, glassy eyes…

“Would you be happy to hear you’re showing signs that you’re already almost ready to drop?” Ivan asked, and in sync with her voice on the recording, Lizzie said “Yes.”

She said “Yes,” again a few moments later, not hearing her own echo, not registering Ivan’s words. And then “Yes?”

“Sleep now,” Ivan said, and Lizzie felt herself dropping, a giddying high that felt like the floor had fallen away from below her. Her scalp and spine tingled with excitement at just how different everything felt as her sight blurred and was lost altogether. Her head hit the padded headrest on her computer chair as she flopped backward and almost bounced.

*

Lizzie opened her eyes. It took her a while; waking up seemed to be a journey. And the closer she came to wakefulness, the more she was aware that ideas and information she’d had was staying down where she’d been while asleep. She was still in the afterglow of her trance; even knowing she was forgetting things, her suspicions over that were outweighed by the sheer enjoyment she was taking in being hypnotised.

Yes, she definitely needed to call Ivan and ask about being hypnotised again. Maybe she should make it a regular thing? Or ask if she could, at least. She supposed she could find other hypnotists, but she honestly had to believe Ivan was the best. After all, Ivan was always right.

She looked at the time - half past nine - and instantly made two decisions. First, she wasn’t going to try editing her video until she’d spoken to Ivan again, just in case. Second, she needed another shower and to make herself presentable before appealing to Ivan.

Lizzie wanted something from him, and he’d responded well to her sex appeal. She’d happily use that same sex appeal to make sure she got what she wanted.

Her mind made up, she stopped toying with her tits through her hoodie with her right hand and used it to pause the video playback of the actual video interview, taking her left hand from between her legs to lick it clean of her taste.

It wasn’t until she’d got up and headed for the shower that it occurred to her to wonder why her hands had been doing that, but she didn’t have time to think about it. She barely had time to get clean, dry, and presentable for Ivan.

She supposed she must just have been overly excitable the past couple of days; it felt like she’d been much more sexually charged than usual.

If only she had a boyfriend, she mused, she’d be able to work it all off much more efficiently.

She was stepping into the shower before she remembered Mick was her boyfriend, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Mick didn’t matter.

Standing in her bedroom, towelling herself dry, her eyes wandered to her closet. She knew she wanted to make an impact, but did she want to look like she wanted to make an impact? Would Ivan be more likely to agree to what she wanted if he thought she could vamp that hard without trying, or if he knew how desperate she actually felt?

She couldn’t come up with an answer she felt confident of. She knew how Ivan made her feel, admired his skill, understood how right he was. But she didn’t know him, didn’t know his preferences.

She regretted not thinking about this the night before. She could have messaged her friend Mary to get the benefits of her prior experience. No time now; just over ten minutes before she needed to be back in her chair and starting the call.

Okay. If she didn’t know which would be better for Ivan, could she at least decide what would feel better for her?

She didn’t have long to make up her mind, so she decided to go with something simple. She had that clingy white lace negligee, and if she was nude under that, Ivan would definitely get the message. Rather than worry she didn’t have time to dry her hair, she chose to make a virtue of it. Keeping her hair up in a towel would send that “I had to call you as soon as possible” message - which should make Ivan feel flattered.

She didn’t want to offset that with a well-made-up look, so she took the extra time to apply a natural look. A very subtle lipstick - enough to pop the colour but little enough that a man would probably not register she’d done anything - completed the look.

She took a step back and admired herself in the mirror. She didn’t see how Ivan would be able to resist that.

Then she realised the time and hurried downstairs, wanting to place her call on the hour on the dot.

*

As the call connected, Ivan met her eye with a sly smile, obviously not surprised that she’d got back in touch. But that made sense, hypnosis felt so good, and of course everyone kept coming back.

Being hypnotised is best. Being hypnotised is blank. Being hypnotised is arousing.

Lizzie met his eye for only a few moments, then looked away and blushed. By the time she looked back, his eyes had drifted down. She preened slightly, pushing her tits out with a gentle shimmy of her shoulders. Let him look; the more he enjoyed the way she looked the more likely she was to get her way.

She might even be able to push him to use hypnosis and blend it with something more sexual. She’d really like that. And given the way Ivan looked at her, she figured she’d be able to persuade him he liked it too. If he hadn’t already realised, obviously.

Silence reigned for a few moments, Lizzie having become too distracted by enjoying the feel of his attention to remember her main goal. Strange, really; usually she went out of her way to make sure that her attractiveness was only a minor factor in her persona. A woman could dress in a sack covering everything and the internet would still sexualise her; she often felt dirty just moderating her channel’s comments.

To be enjoying a man’s attention wasn’t new; to be enjoying his attention when it came through the lens of a camera actually was.

Ivan broke the silence first. “Not that I don’t enjoy the view,” he said, and Lizzie grinned wider, preening again, as giddily happy he enjoyed her body as if they were still in the honeymoon phase of early dating, “but I didn’t really expect a call this morning.”

Lizzie flushed. She’d been sure he understood… but looking at his smirk, she saw she had nothing to fear. Far from not expecting her, she was sure he did understand. Not just her need to be hypnotised; possibly even her secret arousal about the idea. “So, um… I want to say thank you for yesterday…” she began, stumbling over her words.

“Oh? Well, that’s very kind of you. Thank you so much.” Ivan’s smile looked practised and polite, but there was a hint of something more to it, something almost predatory.

She was sure he was waiting for something. Was there some magic phrase she needed to say?

“I, um…” She couldn’t meet his eye. “I was hoping you might be interested in, uh… continuing. To hypnotise me.”

Ivan sucked a breath in audibly. “Are you asking for my professional help, Lizzie? As a therapist?”

“…No,” she said sheepishly, feeling suddenly very small and embarrassed.

“Then what do you want?”

Lizzie hesitated. “Do you remember before we recorded the actual show yesterday?”

Ivan chuckled. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I imagine I remember more of it than you.”

That sent a shiver down Lizzie’s spine. Not just his easy confidence with the idea, but the simple fact he was right didn’t hurt.

“You remember you found out I’m…” She hesitated. Saying it out loud, unprompted, was embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as admitting her secret, of course. The heat of embarrassment washed through her, and she bit her lip.

Ivan smiled politely and waited. No help there, no escape there. If she wanted to make her case, she was going to have to make it for herself. Her lips shaped the next word, but it wouldn’t sound.

Maybe if she took a run-up to the word.

“You found out I’m open,” she swallowed, and lost her momentum, but it was all out there now, “open, malleable, suggestible?”

Not as shameful as the fact hypnosis turned her on, but still quite embarrassing enough. Imagine hypnotising someone and finding out only midway through that your subject really, really got off on the idea. Ivan had to have felt uncomfortable at the idea.

To his credit, he didn’t show any of his discomfort. His expression stayed pretty bland - probably a useful skill for a therapist - until he took a deep breath and nodded. “That was the phrase,” he conceded. “You’re open, malleable, suggestible.”

The embarrassment in her face flickered away for a moment. “Open,” she echoed. “Malleable. Suggestible.” And the emotion and personality flooded back, her big, expressive eyes focusing back in again.

“I’m not quite seeing the connection, though,” Ivan said, but there was amusement all through his voice.

“I want to be… changed.”

“So this is therapy.”

“No, not really,” she said slowly. “I don’t know if I want to change permanently. But I want to keep changing. To keep feeling the differences in my mind.”

Ivan chuckled. “So you want to be hypnotised so you can be controlled.”

She looked away again, head down, hoping that her hair would hide her reaction - although just looking away was probably enough.

“Don’t you?” Ivan asked.

Lizzie felt her thighs clench as she squirmed, but in due time she admitted “…yes.” It shouldn’t have surprised her that Ivan would say something about her she hadn’t even realised was true. Ivan was always right.

His voice was so teasing now, so confident. She was suddenly sure now that he’d known everything that was coming. “You want me to control you?”

He must have put it there. She should hang up. Stop this call. But…

But she was open. “Yes,” she said, and immediately wondered if she’d only said that because she was suggestible, like he said. And was she only suggestible because he’d made her that way? That didn’t make any sense - did it?

“You must have some idea what kind of control you want,” Ivan said, and clucked his tongue thoughtfully. Lizzie waited while he deliberated over his words. “Right?”

She shrugged helplessly. Lizzie still wasn’t looking at the camera.

“Oh, come on, Lizzie,” he continued. “You started this call. You want me to find out.”

It sound like he was just pointing out some basic logic. The problem was, at the forefront of Lizzie’s mind was how suggestible she was, and the way he’d put it was definitely a suggestion.

And no, she decided, that wasn’t an accident. Ivan was doing this deliberately. There was almost no possibility he hadn’t set this up somehow.

How much of this was her, and how much was him tricking her?

And should she let that hold her back?

She’d spent so much time, the day before, fantasising about being controlled. About her head being twisted and reprogrammed and her body being taken, used for fucking. It had been a secret fantasy of hers, unearthed by her first brush with hypnotic potential. And now, just a day later, here she was, in a sheer white number, feeling her own wetness seep into it and the chair below her, working up the nerve to ask someone to use her as an obedient pleasure puppet.

(Where had that phrase come from?)

She shook her head, not wanting to answer.

“If you don’t tell me, and you still want to be controlled, Lizzie,” Ivan said, a hint of amused ‘threat’ in his level tones, “I’ll just have to decide how to control you.”

Lizzie bit her lip. Was this worth the gamble? Or should she be fleeing?

She nodded.

“Lizzie?”

“Yes?”

“Sleep now.”

Her breath came out of her in a soft, happy whimper as her eyes crossed slightly and rolled back. Her posture shifted back to fully upright and stiff-backed, her mouth opening slackjawed.

“Good girl,” Ivan purred.

*

Lizzie opened her eyes again. Her chair had moved, a foot or two further back. She’d have to lean forward to reach her desk now.

Evidently so had she; her screen displays had been changed. One of them was still showing the pattern she found so easy to fixate on; the other screen showed Lizzie’s own camera view. She barely noticed that at first, her concentration split between the pattern and…

…And in front of her, laid out where her keyboard would normally be, were a selection of her sex toys. That explained why her filming lights were off; they’d been unplugged so that her wand would have power.

She’d done this. Ivan had ordered her to do this and while she was completely unaware, her body had just risen and followed orders. Under his control. She’d been controlled.

She took in a deep breath of excitement at the idea, which was when she discovered she was in that corset she’d bought years ago and rarely if ever had excuses she felt justified wearing it.

The pattern on one of her screens winked out, and in its place she saw Ivan’s face reappear, smiling. That made it much easier to turn her gaze across to the view through her own camera - something she was curious about now.

As she looked at the screen properly, she watched a blurred image of herself suddenly resolve in her mind. Ivan had kept her from seeing herself and kept her from feeling the presence and absence of what she was wearing. He must have been looking forward to watching her reaction, and she couldn’t blame him.

Suddenly understanding she was nude aside from the corset thrilled through her and her expression went from glassy wonderment to delighted arousal. This was her fantasy - or maybe Ivan’s fantasy, inserted into her and written over her own.

Whichever of those it was no longer mattered to Lizzie. She had already given herself up to Ivan, to be as controlled as he liked.

“Do you know what you’re about to do?” Ivan asked her.

A little embarrassed, she shook her head, unwilling to make it true by saying it aloud.

“That’s alright,” Ivan said. “Part of you does.”

…That should not feel so good to hear.

“Begin with the wand,” he said, and Lizzie said “Yes.” Still she sat in her chair, unmoving, until he snapped his fingers. Lizzie leaned forward and collected her wand, thumbing it into life on the lowest setting. She spread her legs wider open and began to play the wand across her inner thighs. She was already so aroused, but there was no need to rush things. She wanted to put on a show for Ivan. And besides, she had the feeling there was something else about this. Something that would take time.

Something she wasn’t allowing herself to know about.

Her hand was moving without her mind’s intervention, but that was fine. The back of her head accepted this as a natural part of her new world.

She continued to play her wand across herself, in something between a rhythm and her own understanding of her best pleasure. It took her a few more moments to realise she was chanting in monotone, repeating something over and over.

“I am addicted to hypnosis. Hypnosis is bliss. Ivan is my hypnotist. Hypnosis is blank. I am under Ivan’s control. Hypnosis is pleasure. I am addicted to hypnosis…”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been repeating it, but the idea was mingling with the pleasure she felt.

“Hypnosis is bliss. Ivan is my hypnotist. Hypnosis is blank. I am under Ivan’s control. Hypnosis is pleasure. I am addicted to hypnosis. Hypnosis is bliss…”

Her words were no longer dully even, caught up in the excitement and the arousal and the pleasure. It wasn’t just words anymore. This was her mind, open, malleable, and suggestible as it was, and these are its new thoughts.

“Ivan is my hypnotist. Hypnosis is blank. I am under Ivan’s control. Hypnosis is pleasure. I am addicted to hypnosis. Hypnosis is bliss. Ivan is my hypnotist.”

“The bullet, now,” Ivan said. Lizzie nodded, too caught up in her mantra and her pleasure to do anything else. He snapped his fingers, and without Lizzie’s input her hand fell open, the wand tumbling to the floor, still buzzing. She leaned forward again, still chanting, mind tumbling helplessly, caught in the ever-tightening bonds of her new need. Her hand closed around the bullet and she sat back, moving it where it could do most good. Her breathy gasps took on a new intensity, but the chant continued.

“Hyp… hypnosis… is… blank. I… am under… I- Ivan’s… control. Hyp… no… sis… pleasure… addict… addicted… hypnosis… hyp… no… sis… blisssss… Ivan…. My… hypno… tisss. Hyp no sis isss blankkk…”

“Obviously outside hypnosis, you still have plenty to do,” Ivan said, and she registered his words even over her own self-conditioning, even through the haze of pleasure. “You’ll do your job. Live your life. Maintain your friendships. But you’ll check in once a day for this. Won’t you?”

Lizzie’s answering nod was more frantic. She managed to squeeze an “Uh huh” in through her tumbling, frantic words.

“I… under… Ivan’s… c-control… hyp… nosis… is… pleasure… I… addict… hypnosis… hypno… bliss… I… van… my… hypnotist… Hypnosis… blank… under… Ivan’s… control…”

She was right on the edge of orgasm, but Ivan was talking. Only the need to feel his control as he spoke held her back.

“I’m going to arrange for you to visit Mary,” he said. “You’ll come out for a week. Stay at my house. You’ll only have to wake up to shoot your collaborations.” Ivan licked his dry lips, eagerly enjoying her performance. “And sometimes, you and Mary will collaborate while deeply under.”

Lizzie’s eyes rolled back into her head. She saw only the hypnotic pattern Ivan had conditioned her to.

“Hyp… no… si…” Her mantra was suddenly gone, vanishing into the loss of control she felt as the pleasure flooded her and she gave herself to orgasm, and gave herself anew to Ivan.

Ivan was smiling when she recovered. Sweat dripping from her brow, she met his eye and smiled, comfortable now with the ideas that defined the limits of her new world.

“Are you Mary’s hypnotist too?” she asked. Ivan shook his head fractionally. “We’ve progressed things a bit, she and I. I’m her Master.”

Lizzie wasn’t sure what to think of that, but that was OK. Ivan was always right.