Things were a little hectic, but then again things always got that way when the wife arranged our vacations. She’d already headed out of town with the kids, and work obligations kept me at home for a few more days than I would have liked.

Book deadlines, project deadlines, labor hours to bill, invoices from research assistants to pay, references to review, the massive army of details that made up my professional life were almost neatly stacked in the corner of my mind, but I wasn’t quite done yet.

The knock on my front door was unexpected, and the young woman responsible for it was also not expected, at least she wouldn’t have been, not until after we were home from out vacation.

“Hello Tania,” I said, as I comported myself appropriately, “has their been a scheduling mistake?”

I asked, while keeping my focus to her gray green eyes, and not to the revealing nature of her uniform. Our cleaning service, which this young woman worked for, required uniforms, and for most women they would be flattering as was their intention, but on this particular cleaner, it seemed to be all but immodest.

“Oh no Mr. Baker, your wife specifically asked me last week to come in today, to make sure the house gets a proper once over before you leave.”

Tania’s lips, like her nose, her eyes, and her cheeks, were sharp and angular, which in her black dress and white apron, were she to frown of which I’d seen her do a time or two, always reminded me in some way of a stern and disappointed nun more than an undergrad supplementing her earnings.

Needless to say, I’d never seen a nun with quite so much décolletage.
It helped me, I admit, to remain distracted from her considerable breasts, to think of her in such a way. I am happily married and not keen to wander in any way, but their size and prominence, combined with

the near comical fetishism of the fact she is also required to wear a white headpiece, has served what I assume is its intended purpose, to entertain the male gaze.

“Hmm,” in truth I always wondered why my wife was so partial to this service, but she insists that they are the highest quality. I have long assumed her tangential connection to the owner, who was a sorority sister of my wife, is the reason. “I suppose she thinks I can’t make too much of a mess in a day or two, do come in.”

Tania was tall, and she was as statuesque in her frame as she was her face. I never spoke directly with her for more than a moment or two, as this was all my wife’s business, but I have assumed she has some immediate eastern European heritage.

As the buxom young woman, and there was no more fitting way to describe her as I found myself glancing over long whilst she bent forward on some matter of her own needs, went to work so too did I return to my tasks at hand.

An hour later, there was a knock on my office door.

“Mr. Baker?” She stood in the hallway, and I was certain this was a matter of settling up and signing off, as she had to have finished her labors.

“Yes Tania?” There were several pressing correspondences, and between slack, discords, emails, and actual physical mediums of communication, those specifically relating to commerce, I was in a swamp of

“No, you’re busy, just sign here.”
Her nails were painted black, with white tips, and as she handed me the invoice and a pen, I could tell

there was something pressing on her mind. Many of my students, during my time lecturing would also find themselves flummoxed about expressing their curiosity. I signed her sheet and smiled, “What is it?”

“Are you a hypnotist?”” There was a curious sparkle in her eye, and her question, about a subject that was both whimsical, misunderstood, and of no small passing interest, could be understood as a difficult one to

musterH.ypnotism,perhaps,wasmoreakintoséances,cardtricks,orlevitation,inthemindsofmany,andI smiled at her mustered embarrassment and interest.

“I wouldn’t say that I am, only that its connections to parapsychology, and its values in exploration of the self have brought me some understanding of it for my previous book. Why do you ask?”

I watched her smile with some relief, realizing she was not only able to, be encouraged to ask me questions. “I’ve always been curious about it, and you have so many books on so many interesting things. And the ones on hypnotism always stood out on your bookshelf for some reason.”

“Oh it’s not a curious thing, our minds are drawn to our interests, so when we see what fascinates us, those details tend to stand out.” This, of course, was correlation, an experience many were keen to link to some form of psychic phenomenon.

Not all of my work resources were in my office, many were in our converted library, a spare room with no closet that served no other purpose for us, and there is where she had seen said books. “Have you ever been hypnotized Mr. Baker, is it hard to be hypnotized?”

A condition of teaching, or of being passionate about knowledge is its contagiousness, the way another’s interest can cause one such as myself to become curious and engaged, and this odd world of questioning from such a source was compelling to say the least.

“I wouldn’t say it was hard to be hypnotized, after all, there are entire shows and cultural practices predicated on the ease in which many can be compelled into theatrics, but for myself, when I sought out the experience I think my curiosity and engagement hampered the possible experience. Have you?”

She adjusted the white lace headband that sat atop her long black hair, itself pulled into a tight French braid, “I haven’t, but it seems fun. It seems like, from what we studied in class, that the more you know about it, wouldn’t it make it harder to go into trance, or easier?”

“Ah, so you’ve taken some psychology courses,” my mind raced to some vague detail in the back of my mind, “isn’t one of the professors at your university something of an expert?”

I remembered a bit of where she said she went to school while she’d been in conversation with my wife. I hadn’t taught at her college, and we’d only found ourselves living here by chance, after my book on the psychology of mysterious thought was published.

I watched Tania smile, “Yeah, but she’s on sabbatical, for like a couple years I think. I just wondered about that, and since you know about these things, it’s something like, since hypnosis is real, you can understand and appreciate its systems so you know how and what to do? But also since hypnosis is a series of tricks, knowing what’s coming means you know how it works, so won’t it not affect you because of how tricks work on you?”

about hypnosis is that you can know what is happening, in fact in nearly every case of practiced clinical or theatrical hypnosis, people are being told overtly that they are being hypnotized, and in process as I understand it, laying out the steps and the behaviors, creating a sort of corridor for the mind to follow, actually creates a more stable and effective opportunity to induce trance.”

“So,” I watched as Tania brought her hand up to her throat, “if you were to hypnotize someone, and you told them everything that was going to happen, and how everything was going to affect them, even if they also understood how that structure worked, it would still be effective, like a doubly direct guided suggestion, or like a triple-strength kind of induction process?”

“Well, I suppose yes,” her hand slid down from her neck between her cleavage, then back up, and while it was not lost on me, it felt neither scandalous nor particularly remarkable.

I myself have a habit of fidgeting with my ear as I speak, or when I think about things while in compelling conversation, one’s personal gesticulations and fidgeting habits are just that. “But hypnosis is always based on willingness, and even surprise or covert trance techniques still requires the subject to be a participant, either through a desire to be active, or to be passive.”

“I see.”

Her smile denoted some fundamental understanding, and while her questions could be seen as forthright in some ways, they were engaged and progressive for someone with likely only a 100 or 200 level exposure to the broadest elements of psychology.

“It’s funny you know,” I could see her interest continuing to peak as we spoke, and her enthusiasm was found in her voice as well, “hypnosis on TV is always this sort of ritual, but it seems like it’s mostly just talking right? And I’m sorry, I just wanted to say thank you for talking with me, I’ve always wanted to talk with you, but you’re always busy, so it’s nice to have this moment with you to just talk, and you’re really helpful, you’ve cleared up a lot of stuff that’s really interesting to me.”

Her finger had continued its up and down journey from her neck to her cleavage and back, and I’d found myself, perhaps in spite of myself, watching its journey. “I’m always happy to talk, and it’s nice to have a moment away from work, even though I’m only working this hard so I could step away from it longer.”

She laughed, ”I know what you mean, it’s like finals, you’re cramming at the end, just so you can be done, and even though you’re so close to being finished, you still need a break sometimes right? Like, your mind still needs a chance to relax in the moment because it’s happening now, and it really is nice to talk finally, I’m sure it’s kind of a relief to you too, since your wife likes me, and trusts me, but I’m still a stranger that comes inside your house, and I’m sure I’ve been on your mind, so it has to be nice to talk now, when you have so much else on your mind, and you can talk to me now, like letting go of some weight you didn’t know you were carrying, right?”

As she spoke, my eyes had found themselves bound to the casual up and down motion of that finger, not in that it was leading my gaze ever and always back into her cleavage, but because the motion of it had become a physical act of thought and consideration, a piece of the conversation I was engaged in, and so focused had I become on her that I hardly realized the shift in my shoulders as I did feel a weight drop.

“I think you’ve also been curious about me too, because we’re both curious people, and I’ve always been curious about you. It’s a relief to finally get to talk to you, and it’s nice to know we can just talk isn’t it?”

me smile to see her feel more comfortable with me, for in truth as I found myself ever more fascinated by the motion of her finger, feeling no shame as my eyes continued to be lured into the depths of her cleavage, I too was feeling a much desired sense of relief.

There was a compelling sense of comfort to the swell of her breasts, and I, being only human, was still drawn in so small way as anyone else would to such a full and pleasing sight.

“It’s nice to be here with you too, I appreciate your trust in me, your wife trusts me, and she knows me, sometimes we talk, but it’s nice to know you can trust me too, and you should. I think about that, how I come into your life, how I come into your home, and letting someone into your life requires trust doesn’t it? That’s why you know you can trust me, because you wife does, and you do, because I’m here now. But I’m just talking right now, I’m just talking and talking, but you’re looking more relaxed, you’re looking much more relaxed, and I know I’m just rambling now, but you’re so focused on me, and that makes me feel really good, but I think you’d probably like to go into your office, you’d be more comfortable and we can keep talking, because I have another question for you.”

By the time I realized her finger had stopped its journey, as she too had ceased her speech, I found myself clearly and unabashedly staring directly between her prodigious breasts, and therein I did have to admit that perhaps I’d become somewhat enamored with such a sight, though I did realize I’d be better served to step back inside my office and sit down.

She stood over me, near the arm of my chair, and she smiled, “I should be getting back to work here,” I should, and I must admit I was feeling refreshed and relaxed by our conversation and that indeed inspired me, “but I suppose one more question wouldn’t hurt anything, as long as it won’t keep you from anything.”

She laughed again, it was a short merry sound, and her eyes were bright with curiosity and mayhap some mischief I was unaware of, “ I was just wondering,” she leaned toward me and the vision of her cleavage became central to me in a wholly inappropriate manner, “if you were aware I just hypnotized you and put you into a light trance full of mild and easily accommodated suggestions?”

I went to speak, but I found myself pondering what she’d said.

“The act of inducing trance requires a willing participant, as you said, and it is simply talking in its own form, as you said, and I’m sure you realize Mr. Baker, that your trust in me, the trust you share with another authority, your wife who does keep you on a tight leash, yes she does, has acclimated you to be accepting, and now that you understand what I’ve said and done so far, even the role of my breasts in distracting your conscious mind, with the simple and repetitive act of running my finger between them, follows suit with effective and deliberate technique, technique that you understand and have responded to haven’t you?”

Her tone and manner had become like mine, discrete and authoritative, precise and elegant in its assertions. I sat there, sensing that the proverbial other shoe was about to drop, and despite the clarity I viewed my circumstances in, my eyes were fixed upon those breasts, looking down into the plunge of her black dress as she dared my eyes to look away.

“Now, Mr. Baker, I am going to hypnotize you once more, and as I do, by having you stare at my breasts as you are now, you are going to discover that my hypnotic authority will become soothing in the most overwhelming of ways, and your curiosity about my technique will only allow you to become more enthralled in my deliberate approach to inducing trance in you.”

imposed intimacy of her physical proximity, and the display she was offering.
“Instead of the last time you tried to be hypnotized, when your desire for knowledge limited your

descent, now it will only cause you to sink deeper and faster, aided by your trust, by the prescribed trust of your wife leaving you here with me, allowing us, no, WANTING us to be alone together, trusting me, trusting you, and trusting that you will do what she wants, she wants you to stare at me, because she understands that it’s really impossible not to, not even for a man of your character, isn’t it?”

Her assault on my logic, on my vision, and on my emotions was spectacular, and understanding that the strength of my wits and mental acumen was not a factor in the process of trance, I could not rationalize my way out of the continence and patter of her voice.

So, instead of contesting the point, as I sat in my chair, my mind marched onward into the trap she had laid out for me. My curiosity was as reflexive to her challenge as my lower leg would be to a rubber mallet to the knee.

Further, and this was in part due to the natural attrition of my resolve brought on by constant exposure, the sight of her buxom splendor caused my vision to narrow precipitously as my body started to melt.

These so sudden results, I realized, were my subconscious compromise at the hands of her earlier attempts to entrance me and ply me with suggestions as she had. I was, I knew, on the edges of her hypnotic web, made wholly more seductive both by her endowments and by her means of baiting me there.

She had not seemed to expect a vocal answer from her last question, and so instead of waiting for my candor simply continued her pronouncement of my induction.

“Your eyes have always been curious about my breasts, just like you’ve always been curious about me, wanting to know me as you’ve wanted to stare, but always questioning the permission of both, always asking yourself if you can or if you should, and here you are, you can, you should, and you are, because your wife wants this to happen, she trusts you to do so, to be alone with me, and all of my obvious allure. You have permission from her, and from me, both more important than permission from your self, and as you stare deeper into my cleavage, your eyes hungry now with the appetite only curiosity can inspire, you are also discovering how easily nothing else matters.”

She put her hands on either side of my chair’s back and leaned forward until her breasts were almost close enough smother me, “And as your mind, so weary from being full of details, so spent from work and anxieties, and so desperate now to embrace a want you dared not admit, becomes wholly consumed by the sight of my breasts, everything else can fall away. Everything else can sink down between my breasts, and disappear under the power of my cleavage, just like you.”

As she spoke, the tension in my body did not drain, but relocated to my waist, to my hips, to my butt cheeks, and to my penis, which had become swollen to such a degree with a suddenness that was perhaps long overdue all told, given the sight before me and her manner, and as this occurred I found it shockingly impossible to form a cogent thought or word to speak.

Instead, I stared, silent, cowed by the sight before me and the voice that had so expertly dismantled me. But, I reminded myself even then, I could resist any suggestion I disagreed with.

“Your curiosity is taking you deeper down into trance for me now Mr. Baker, and the deeper into trance you find yourself the more curious you are becoming about the truly and hypnotically distracting power of my

matter of conversation, but my breasts and so prominent in what is happening to you, aren’t they?”
I think I may have started to drool ever so slightly, and I may have blinked as well, but to say my mind

had been sucker punched would not be a mischaracterization of what her manner and tone had done and were doing to me.

Her dress fell, and I found myself staring at two lacy white cups full of her flesh, “And as you see them now, seeing more of them, your mind is wandering down into the realm of possibilities, like all deep thinkers, like all curious people, you are wondering about what could be. What could my breasts do to your mind, to your resolve, to your very desires in the context of hypnosis? Could my naked breasts seduce you into compromise, could the sight of my nipples become your true fixation, causing your mind to fall into hypnotic amnesia, would the sight of my bra falling away become a symbol of your own mental walls falling down?”

She lingered on the act of unhooking her bra, and I sat still, focused on her chest, “Let yourself think of these things, discover your true curiosity, the power of want, the desire to feel what it would be like for all that I said to come true.”

I stared at her as she had bid me, watching, and as her bra fell to the ground and I beheld the sight of her considerable and beautiful naked breast, I found myself paralyzed by the most perfect and full offering of a woman’s breasts I had ever seen.

The strength of my convictions was a blatant weakness in the face of my curiosity, and that inquisitive desire had left me spellbound by the sight before me, and the cunning induction and suggestions of the woman who possessed such an enthralling chest.

She did not say a word as she licked my face, enacting some form of animalistic domination that paled in comparison to her removing my belt then pulling down my pants, only to see my erection, to slide her panties to the side, and then plunge herself upon it, sitting on my lap, her back to me, letting out a profoundly satisfied moan as she did so.

I felt the constriction of her vagina as she rode me and heard the sound of her tits bouncing, joining in her moans and my own belabored breaths.

I saw that she had her phone in hand, its screen illuminated, and the image of us, of her using of my body was being filmed.

I could not move, could not speak, I could only spiral deeper into her web as my consciousness, incapacitated by its seeming travel down between my legs, or if not that, out of reach of my other faculties, wandered over all the possibilities, and my curiosity became the slick warm contractions that were leading me closer to climax.

Up and down she rode, with no regard for me, my body truly a toy for her, and as she gasped out one more long, loud, orgasmic moan, she slide off me, only to consume my erection in the same valley of cleavage that had captured my better wits just moments before.

My climax was sharp and profound, silent, as my body betrayed my values more than my own intellectual curiosity had, but as the waves of pleasure subsided and the sight of my ejaculate covered her magnificent breasts, I found myself unable to care about what I had done.

I could only look at her handiwork as my refractory period began.
She made her way to the bathroom, and when she returned, she was naked and cleaned up, her phone

place, my pants and underwear around my ankles, my shirt still on, but not for long.
Without a world she beckoned for me to stand, and once I had, she stripped me naked as she was, and

wrapped her body around mine.
The words, “I own you and your wife now” escaped her lips as her hand began to fondle my scrotum

and massage my penis back into rigidity, her lips pressing hungry sucking kisses on my neck and my chest, always accompanied by her declaration of ownership.

“Wonder what that means, wonder what it could mean,” became the second half of her chant as she lead me by the hand into mine and my wife’s bedroom.

There, on the floor, she mounted me again, but not before once more consuming my penis in her breasts.

“My breasts own your body, and my voice own your mind, my cleavage consumes your world, and my words inspire your need to always surrender to the curiosity I inspire.” She said this to me time after time, as she began to perform fellatio on me, until clearly I had reached her desired size and girth once more.

Then, as simply as that, she repeated what she had done before, mounting me with the same vigor, leaving me to stare at her back, eyes unfocused, body arching.

And as before, when she had been wholly satisfied, at least for the time, she urged my climax to occur all over her breasts yet again.

I know not if it was the hypnosis, or the pure exhaustion of her sexual domination, but that is when I fell into a darkness of memory and time of which I cannot account.

I watched Frank’s face go perfectly slack as I took off my bra, and I smiled. His cock had made a tent in his pants that proved beyond a doubt that his wife Judy was right, he was a catch in surprising ways.

I called him Mr. Baker for the same reason I put on heirs the longer my induction went. It was about matching and mirroring, creating an environment that his subconscious would adapt to favorably, like a memory foam pillow shapes its way around the sleeper’s head.

I liked Frank, I always had, and I liked Judy too. She was sweet and demure but in a totally fake way, and once I used a little bit of the same mirroring with her, slowly seducing her into her own hypnotic compromise, I got a look inside her truly bitchy mind. That just made me like her more.

It wasn’t hard to plant the ideas in her head for the vacation, or for the scheduling to create this opportunity, but it did take a little effort to get her to tell me about their sex life.

She had that puritanical uptightness that came with being so solidly upper-middleclass that I was surprised she let me stay on and didn’t demand a less well-endowed girl from the service to replace me.

But then again, part of being a stuck up bitch was also being loyal to her sorority sisters, past, present, and future. And that was the crack I used to slip inside her mind.

It was also what I used to get a finger between her legs, and turn her into my pussy puppet too. Ask a