The starter course was over, the waiter had just lifted the plates from the table, Liz had said thank you and had glanced over to the mirrors set into one wall of the restaurant when she first caught sight of the man making his approach.

He stood out; good-looking - just her type, in fact - and that had definitely helped him catch her eye but mostly the thing she noticed was that he was walking toward her table with his eyes on her - not in the mirror, but directly on her. She glanced over her shoulder toward him, briefly uncertain.

He met her eyes and smiled, and moments later he was sitting down opposite her and there were suddenly two people at her table, not just one.

“Hi,” he said, and then paused. “Sorry, was this seat taken?”

“I… ah…” It wasn’t the question she’d expected. “It wasn’t taken, but-“

“Good, then.” And he smiled. “I know this sort of thing can be terribly awkward when there isn’t enough room for everyone to have a table to themselves, but I’m sure we can make the best of it.

“I’m Pete, by the way. And your name is…?” He looked at her expectantly, and she saw an air of amusement in his eyes that almost seemed to be masking something she couldn’t quite read.

But she would have felt awkward (that word again, the one he’d just put in her head) to refuse to answer, and they were in a public place and somehow that would have contributed to her embarrassment, and so she said “Liz,” and tried to marshal her thoughts.

“Liz,” he said. “Pleased to meet you,” and he was holding out a hand to be shaken and looking at her like her shaking it would be the most obvious thing in the world and she didn’t know at all what to make of the way he was acting, but she took his hand and shook, and he held onto her hand, his eyes still on hers, and he said,

“Liz, I’d like to take you on a bit of a journey. I hope you don’t mind, but looking at you across the room I thought; this is a dreamer. I don’t mean that as a bad thing. I just think you’re prone to imagine things.”

He grinned, and Liz must have responded in some way because he carried on, saying “For example, I’ve noticed that your eyes have stayed glued to mine the entire time we’ve been talking,” which was true, she suddenly realised, and she wasn’t at all sure why or how, “and you’re probably imagining reasons it might happen.”

He’d started talking very fast, almost breathless, and he was slowing down, not all at once but gradually, little by little, though he drew out his words enough that there never seemed enough space for her to inject a comment of her own.

Now he seemed to be speaking almost in a rhythm with the way his hand was shaking hers, which he was doing to a steady, monotonous beat as unwavering as any metronome. Liz found that the rhythm he was setting was impossible to avoid, that the more it went on, the more it seemed like everything around her was following the same beat.

“And you can easily imagine, Liz, that somehow your attention is just captivated, that something about what I’m doing holds your focus, and that as the world around us seems somehow less important, less relevant, less clear to you, you can easily imagine that I have some… kind… of hold… over you.” He was smiling, an implacable confidence that sent a shiver down her spine.

It was all too easy to imagine. She believed him entirely, could feel his hold settling over her without any real resistance. She could feel it, and she believed it, and a wave of inevitability washed over her, dizzying her, so that her head spun even as she gazed unblinking and unresisting into his eyes.

“An imagination like yours, Liz, is a playground for someone like me. It’s easy to manipulate and easy to lead, and you already knew you were led around by your imagination, didn’t you? Just nod your head.” He said the last so gently that it didn’t even seem patronising at the time, and without thinking about it or hesitating, her head still swimming, Liz found herself nodding.

“That’s a good girl,” he reassured her. “Your imagination is powerful, but it’s also very easily led, just like you. And like you, it can easily be led into areas of uncertainty. You’re not at all sure what’s going to happen, are you?”

Liz found her head was shaking, wordlessly, even as her eyes refused to move from his. Was this how being hypnotised worked? She had no way of knowing, felt like she was discovering new rules of how it might work through experiencing them being imposed on her.

“Good girl,” he said again, and something about the way he said it made her feel she wanted to please. “You must feel like you’re entirely out of control, or more accurately, you feel like you’re entirely under the control of someone else. Isn’t that right?”

Liz’s head moved up and down fractionally in a wordless nod, her eyes still never leaving Pete’s.

“Very good,” he said. “Now, Liz, I need you to be very calm and peaceful and unthinking for a few moments. And the thing is, Liz, you have a little button on your forehead that makes you that way, until someone taps it again. Did you know that?”

She shook her head, lost but somehow excited, the very idea confusing her but making her eager to discover what he meant.

She was vaguely aware that the waiter was returning to their table when he tapped the button on her forehead.

*

The main meal was over, the waiter had lifted the plates from the table, and Pete was smirking at Liz as if he knew something she didn’t, which of course she was quite sure now was true.

Liz looked around the room at the other diners, but nobody from any other table was paying particularly close attention to them both. Whatever had happened after he tapped her button, she evidently hadn’t caught anyone’s eye.

“Did you just hypnotise me?” she asked, once she felt the waiter was out of earshot. He smirked again, which didn’t exactly give her the information she wanted.

“What do you know about hypnosis?” he asked, and then, “Did you enjoy the food?”

Immediately he asked the question, Liz remembered eating it, smiling, even some moments of polite conversation. The impulse she’d had all along to rebuff his confidence had gone away, somewhere after he tapped her button, and she didn’t know where.

“I did,” she said, “thank you.” And her mind slipped away from the unanswered question she’d asked (and, for that matter, from the unanswered question he’d asked.)

“That’s good,” he said. “Now, Liz, are you planning on going anywhere after this?”

“I was just going to go straight home.” This time she did pluck up the courage to say, “and you’re not invited,” and Pete smiled in acceptance and nodded.

“That’s completely reasonable, Liz. I won’t ask you to invite me.” He reached across the table and he tapped the button on her forehead.

*

Liz sat down in the driver’s seat of her car and the front doors closed. She felt a little dizzy, a little spacey, and sat for a while before switching on the car, waiting to be sure her head was completely clear.

She thought back over the bizarre dinner she’d just had. The approach, the strange behaviour, the button on her forehead, the hypnotic effect he’d had on her, it all honestly seemed more like a dream than anything else. The small talk had been odd, too, now that she was thinking about it.

One particular exchange had seemed completely reasonable while they were both eating, and now, in hindsight, seemed not just bizarre but rude and distasteful.

“Liz,” Pete had said, “I’m going to ask you something. And your answer is going to be ‘Pete, I’d love to… whatever it is I’ll ask you… for our enjoyment.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she’d said, without even stopping to think how strange it was to give her both his question and her answer, without considering what he might actually go on to ask.

“Liz,” he said again, “would you let me play with those luscious, full tits of yours?”

“Pete, I’d love to let you play with these luscious, full tits of mine for our enjoyment,” she had answered, and it had not seemed outrageous, or like she was joining in with a joke, but it had simply been her agreeing as casually as if a friend had suggested going for a couple of drinks after work.

Liz shook her head frustratedly, having lost the peaceful meal she’d planned before heading home. Eating solo always ran the risk of a weirdo, but this one was so strange it didn’t seem real.

She’d thought of it as dreamlike earlier, and she’d sat in the car before driving in order to help herself wake up. Like most dreams, it was gone as even a memory before too long.

*

She unlocked her front door, took the keys back out, and fumbled them somehow, dropping them beside the path. She stepped off the front step and stooped to pick them up before stepping in and closing the door against the outside world.

She paused there, sighing in relief. The whole working week was gone now, the weird encounter was gone, and most importantly…

She reached behind herself under her sweater and unsnapped her bra. Immediately the weight of the world seemed to fall away; the day’s worries and concerns were officially over once the bra came off, and while she wasn’t quite there yet, she wasn’t far from it.

Stopping off in her bedroom to shed the work sweater and her dress pants, she quickly slipped into her comfortable pyjamas and was headed to the lounge when it occurred to her that a drink would be just the right next step in getting comfortable.

She poured herself a glass of wine and then made her way to the lounge and settled in her favourite chair. Leaning her head back against the headrest, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. Whatever weirdness had interrupted her Friday, it was over now. She had the house to herself, and-

“There,” Pete said. “Comfortable?”

Liz’ eyes snapped back open in shock. She saw Pete seated on the sofa, legs crossed, smiling back at her. He’d poured himself a glass of wine too, by the looks of things.

It should have been terrifying, but it wasn’t; while it was shocking, she didn’t feel frightened. At most she would have described the realisation as eerie, but she was strangely at peace with his presence.

She just didn’t understand it. “How did you-“

“Are you comfortable?” Pete asked. She blinked.

“Yes, I am,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “And it’s nice and peaceful here, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”

“A much better place for me to play with your luscious tits.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”

What was she saying? What was she thinking?

“You asked me, earlier, if I’d hypnotised you,” Pete said. “Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” Liz said. The more she agreed with him, the more she felt herself getting floaty and absent.

“Do you think you’ve been hypnotised?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why have you been hypnotised?”

“So you can play with my luscious, full tits for our enjoyment.” Liz was smiling now, smiling openly and warmly back at him. She felt light, somehow; not just the worries of the week but all worries had left her, and she was sitting up straighter as a result, too.

“I do like that idea,” Pete said. “And I definitely want to indulge in your hospitality that way.”

“Thank you.”

“But that’s just what I want,” he said. “I think we can give you something you want, too, Liz.”

Liz was confused. The only thing she could think of that she wanted was for Pete to play with her tits.

“We agreed earlier that your imagination is easily led,” he said. “Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“And we agreed that your imagination was like you in that way. That you’re easily led.”

“Yes.”

“Another word for easily led is docile. It’s a good word, Liz, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she agreed. Agreement was so much easier than thinking about things. It let her just continue to enjoy the way she was feeling.

“And docile is what you want. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

Pete nodded, and Liz felt a curious happiness swell up inside her. She was, she felt, an observer in her own body; to act would have taken a degree of agency she didn’t seem able to muster up, but she was watching how events unfolded and her reaction to them with a strange, excited intensity, like she was evaluating her own reactions.

God, she thought idly, she really did think too much.

Pete set down his glass decisively and rose, stepping across the room until he stood above her, looking down on her. She looked up at him and smiled that same dreamy smile.

“Your imagination is useful, Liz, because you follow it, and it follows me. Your emotions, your desires, and above all your lusts are useful. But your mind… is your mind useful?”

Liz opened her mouth but didn’t speak. In that sleepy, dizzy headspace it was hard for her to tell if she understood the question or not. It would be much easier to answer if she knew; if she understood, she could give him a proper answer. If she couldn’t, she could guess and not spend time worrying that she could have worked it out. He smiled into her hesitation, running his fingertip down the side of her face and among her jawline.

Liz shivered happily. It didn’t matter that this charismatic stranger was taking every liberty with her he seemed to feel like, although if she was honest with herself, it might be enjoyable but a part of her felt it shouldn’t be and was protesting quite firmly.

“Don’t know, huh?” Pete chuckled. “Well, let me put it another way.

“I think you think too much, Liz.”

Her dreamy smile widened and she nodded eagerly, not seeking his praise but simply proud that she and he felt the same way about something, because surely that meant she was right. He’d said so many other things she agreed with, this one had to be true as well.

He stepped around the chair, standing behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders. “So I think what you want is for me to fix that. Do you want that, Liz? Do you want to be a mindless, docile titty toy?”

Making the decision involved thinking. But she thought too much. She tried to resolve this problem without any thought in silence for a few seconds, not even questioning what a titty toy might be, and eventually it came to her that there was a solution, which was to guess what the right answer was.

And she agreed with Pete so much…

Her head tilted back to look up at him, she bit her lip and nodded.

Pete slipped a hand down from her shoulder and inside her pyjama top, finding her breast with the same urgency and eagerness she now felt for mindlessness. Her eyes almost fully closed, but they’d been looking directly into his, and she wanted to watch his reactions.

Or she was caught looking into his eyes again. It didn’t matter. Why was she even thinking about it?

“So I don’t know if you knew this, Liz, but it’s possible to milk your mind, to have all of your thoughts,” and his thumb and forefinger found her nipple, and he tugged forward, and it felt SO good, “drained away, and if I do this right, if I milk your tits right, your body will realise it can’t produce thoughts as fast as they drain away and it’ll stop, and there you’ll be; mindless.”

And he tugged again, and she whimpered happily, and she was sure she felt one of the background thoughts in her head suddenly drop out of her head and surge out of her.

His other hand was sliding down the upper slope of her chest, making its way inside her pyjamas, and Liz was smiling slackly, her eyes glassy, not really aware of anything but his hands on her chest and his words in her head.

But he’d explained to her how it all worked and there was no way he was wrong and in between every tug there was a quick stroke of the sensitive underside of her tits, her luscious full tits as he’d called them, or a squeeze of the tit in general, and the way his hands moved on her body was exactly what she wanted, seemed to anticipate what she might want like this stranger had had years of practice, and he tugged with both nipples at once now and the sound that escaped her was a moan and a gleeful giggle and something else, all at once, something helpless and heedless and mindless and god it wasn’t just his touch or what he was doing, the noises she was making in response were helping to turn her on and she was squirming in her chair, the skin along her thighs suddenly alive and hypersensitive and responding positively to any stimulation and she had never felt like this, never, but there was a heaviness to her tits and a lightness to her head which she knew was her thoughts being drawn out of her mind so that another tug would express them out of her body, and… oh, god…

She was starting to pant in between tugs, moaning each time, her eyes open but unseeing, her mind wide open and empty of thought, but the noises she was making were helping and the soft grunts of pleasure he was making now he didn’t think she had any attention to pay were just as hot, maybe hotter, some part of her was deliciously, deliriously proud to be what was causing those.

She arched her back into his hands and her own rose to keep his close to her body, to keep his hands on her, tugging and teasing her thoughts away. Her head felt empty now, a pristine, white space, welcoming, full of possibility, with all her thoughts either in her tits or leaking away entirely.

He kept going for a while longer, then let go of her tits despite the feeble efforts of her own hands. “Take over,” he told her. “Keep going.”

Liz yanked her pyjama top down until her tits were fully revealed and gave her shoulders a quick shimmy to settle both of them on top of the fabric. Her hands descended on her tits with a zeal and a hunger that could not have been achieved if any part of her mind was still given over to thought, but in a state of docile obedience it was the simplest and most natural thing in the world.

Pete took her head in both hands, stooping to kiss her forehead, then winked. “There really isn’t a single thought left in that pretty little head of yours, is there?” he asked, and then gently, almost lazily, he turned her head from side to side, shaking her head for her, taking steps on her behalf to deny she had a single thought in her head.

“You are mindless and docile,” he told her. “Repeat.” And as she continued to toy with her own tits, she opened her mouth.

“I am mindless and docile,” she said. After a couple of moments of expectant silence she began again. “I am mindless and docile.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Keep going.”

“I am mindless and docile,” she answered. “I am mindless… and docile. I am mindless and… docile. I… am mindless and docile. I…” Each time, with less going on in her head beyond her need and arousal and her need to please, even the mantra seemed more like work. But Liz was prepared to work very hard indeed, if she was only led to the work. “…am… mylesh… an’… dossle…”

Pete put his hands on her shoulders and gently guided her forward off her chair and onto her knees in front of him. Her pyjama bottoms were of sturdy enough fabric not to feel the coarseness of her carpet, as Liz knew from previous occasions she’d found herself kneeling there.

Her eyes crossed for a moment as they rolled back down to give her actual visibility, and as her eyes and her head stopped gently moving she found herself on eye level with his crotch.

Pete was unbuckling his belt, and Liz was excited and not thinking about why.

Out came his cock, and she watched his hand slide under it, lifting it as if for her inspection, before his fingers closed around it and he began to stroke.

Without thinking, some part of Liz recognised the arc he would spill his seed over. As she continued to play with her tits, she hefted them slightly, making them an offering, prompting Pete to do what they both knew was coming.

He was looking at her just before he came. His lips pursed, blowing her a kiss, and she felt a wash of bliss flood her at the same time he coated her tits with his cum. Liz shuddered in orgasm, eyes rolling back in her head, at the peak of the satisfaction possible for a mindless, docile titty toy - which is very satisfied indeed.

*

The two of them were snuggled up on the sofa, drinking wine, Liz’s head in Pete’s lap and looking up. “That was… I went way deeper than I usually do.”

He nodded. “You respond very strongly to the more intense scenes,” he said. “Especially if your head has to pretend that you can’t resist and hypnosis works like in your favourite stories.”

“Oh, like you don’t enjoy them just as much.”

Pete laughed. “Probably. Maybe a little less but that leaves a lot of room for enjoying myself anyway.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t flop in the restaurant.”

“Well, we’d been practicing your not-flopping for a few weeks…” He shrugged. “The trick was making sure you didn’t drive off until you’d properly come out of trance.”

Liz grinned. “And I still didn’t see you!”

“It’s your bratty side, babe. I just tell you it’s a chance to brat yourself, so hide things from your conscious.”

“And I obey?” She was surprised, but found the idea very cool.

“Like the good girl you are.”

“Mmm… calling me that is cheating.”

“Sure.”

She snuggled in closer. “Next time can you pick me up in the park or something? That way you can walk me home without me knowing.”

“Or knowing but unable to stop the ‘stranger’?”

“Oooh… I’ll have to think about that.”