NOTICE:  This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity 
between consenting persons.  If you are not of legal age to read such 
material, or if you find it offensive, then stop reading now.

This story is (c) Copyright 2002 by Wiseguy and may not be reposted on 
any for-profit system.  Posting on a noncommercial site is normally 
okay, but check with me first and do not alter the story in any way.

The full text of this and all Wiseguy stories is available for download 
(text or PDF) or for on-line viewing (HTTP) at my web site,  
/~Wiseguy.

I welcome all comments from readers (wiseguy35@hotmail.com).




Empirical Research

(c) Copyright 2002 by Wiseguy



It was one of those high-inertia nights.  I'd been having a 
lot of them lately:  nights where I just sat in front of 
the computer, aimlessly surfing, telling myself that 
eventually I'd come up with an idea and start writing.  Any 
time now.  Really.

The phone rang.  It was a bit late in the evening for 
telemarketers, so I went ahead and answered it.  "Hello?"

"How many hypnotists does it take to change a light bulb?"

I chuckled.  "Just one -- but it has to really want to 
change.  How are you, Carolyn?"

"I'm fine."  Her voice was as smooth and sexy as ever.  
"You've been keeping a very low profile; perhaps I should 
be asking that question of you."

"I'm all right," I said.  "Really."  

"Are you?"  I could hear the doubt in her voice.  Carolyn 
knows me too well.  "We'll discuss that later.  I was 
actually calling to see if you'd be willing to come over 
some time this week.  An afternoon would be ideal, or after 
work if necessary."

I thought for a minute.  "I'm taking a half day off on 
Wednesday to run some errands," I said.  "I could come by 
then.  What's up?"

"A reporter from Online Life was here today," she 
explained, "researching a piece on erotic hypnosis.  When I 
mentioned that I happen to know Wiseguy, she said that 
she's a fan of your work, and did I think you'd be willing 
to be interviewed for the article?  It seemed like a good 
idea to me, so I promised to try and arrange it."

"At your office?"  I was missing something, I thought.

Carolyn's voice was nonchalant.  "Why not?  It's neutral 
ground.  You can be interviewed as Wiseguy, without 
revealing your real name or particulars unless you decide 
you want to.  And it's been a long time since I've had you 
on my couch, Mark.  We might even do a little ... 
demonstration."  

My interest was piqued.  Carolyn's hypnoerotic 
demonstrations had inspired stories for me in the past; I'd 
be a fool to pass up a chance to see another.   And, I have 
to admit, the idea of being interviewed for an online 
magazine was flattering to my writer's ego.  "Okay, I'm 
game.  What time should I be there?"

"I'll need to verify schedules," she hedged, "but why don't 
you plan to come at three?"

"Okay," I said, then added jokingly, "but when should I 
arrive?"

"Don't tempt me," she warned, laughing with me.

I hung up the phone shortly after with a tingle in my gut.  
Carolyn was a professional hypnotherapist.  I'd first 
gotten to know her by her Internet name, under which she 
had a thriving web site devoted to online hypnosis and 
erotic stories.  We'd met in person shortly after, when I 
was researching a story, and become casual friends.  She 
made a great technical advisor, of course, and was easy to 
talk to.  What actual hypnosis experience I have came from 
Carolyn putting me under in her office, usually to 
demonstrate a suggestion or try out an idea, which often 
ended up in a story.  It was a mutually beneficial platonic 
relationship.


Wednesday afternoon found me parking in the lot at 
Carolyn's home, which had her office attached.  She met me 
at the door with a warm smile and a friendly hug.  "Come 
in, dear," she said, leading me to her office area.  "I may 
have told the reporter three thirty, so we can sit and talk 
until she gets here."

That would explain the absence of unfamiliar vehicles in 
front of the house, I thought dryly.  Was it deliberate?

Carolyn sat in her therapy chair, a leather-bound armchair 
flanked by end tables.  In the drawers of those end tables, 
I knew, were the various tools of her trade:  fixation 
objects, minidisk recorder and a supply of disks, notepad 
and pencil, tissues, and a discreet little travel clock 
whose face was visible only from that chair.  I took a spot 
on the far side of the victim couch, leaving the middle 
position for our guest.

I had barely settled down when I became aware of Carolyn's 
intense scrutiny.  "You look haggard, Mark," she observed.  
"Why don't you take a deep, slow breath, relax, and tell me 
what's going on in your life?"

I didn't think I was that tense, but the breath was 
surprisingly soothing.  "The usual crap," I answered on the 
exhale.  "Get up, go to work, put out network fires for 9 
or 10 hours, come home, eat, hit the computer and try to 
write a little, go to bed.  Repeat ad nauseum."

"What about the weekends?"

"Laundry, shopping, picking up the house, writing … you get 
the idea."

"Wow," she remarked, pursing her lips for a moment.  "And 
here I thought you might not be getting out enough."

"Getting out is overrated," I countered.  "I'm a solitary 
creature, Carolyn – an unequivocal INTP, remember?"  

"I remember.  I also remember you having a social life, and 
seemingly enjoying it, when you were still with Lynn."

"That was her social life, not mine.  And it was a long 
time ago."

"Yes, it was.  Almost a year, if I remember it correctly.  
It's time for you to get back out there and live your life, 
Mark.  This degree of isolation isn't good for you.  It 
shows in your body language, and it shows in your writing."

"Hey!" I protested.  "I've written some damned good stuff 
this year:  'Triad,' 'Thrill Ride,' 'Business Class' ... 
what's wrong with those?"

"There's nothing wrong with the stories," she said, her 
voice remaining smooth and even.  "But how long did it take 
you to write them?"

She had me there, and we both knew it.  "Okay, so my 
productivity is way down.  But the quality is high.  Maybe 
I'm just getting slower because I'm getting better."

"Maybe.  And maybe you're running low on inspiration, Mark.  
Your best work has always come from your life experiences, 
and lately you haven't been having any.  That's not 
healthy, and I don't just mean for your writing."

"And what's your prescription?"

Before Carolyn could answer, the doorbell sounded.  She 
rose quickly from her chair.  I started to join her, but 
she waved me down.  "Stay.  I'll be right back."

As good as her word, Carolyn returned a minute or so later 
with a young woman in tow.  She looked to be in her mid 
twenties, with a pleasant, girl-next-door face.  Long sandy 
hair tied back behind her head and a pair of round wire-
rimmed glasses gave her a studious look to go with the 
oversized satchel she carried on one shoulder.  She wore 
faded jeans, good running shoes, and a camel-colored 
parachute jacket.  "Brooke, meet Wiseguy," Carolyn said 
while I stood up to face them.  "Wiseguy, this is Brooke 
Jenson."

Brooke took my hand and shook it.  "I'm really happy to 
meet you," she said, with absolute sincerity.

I looked into her eyes -- sparkly gray eyes with little 
bits of blue and green in them -- and forgot how to speak 
for a moment.  "Thanks," I finally stammered lamely.  "It's 
a pleasure meeting you, too."  The room felt suddenly about 
10 degrees warmer to me.

Carolyn cleared her throat.  "I don't think you'll be 
needing your jacket in here, Brooke.  Wiseguy, why don't 
you take it for her?"

"Sure."  I held the satchel while the reporter slipped off 
her jacket, then exchanged the bag for it.  Under the 
jacket Brooke wore a plain yellow top that buttoned down 
the front.  It clung just enough to give a good idea of 
what lay underneath: a slender physique, tight and flat in 
the middle but proportionately rounded above and below.  I 
caught myself admiring for just a moment too long and 
quickly turned to hang up the jacket.  When I returned to 
my seat, Carolyn was smiling knowingly at me.  I began to 
smell a set-up.

Brooke, meanwhile, was rummaging in her bag.  She pulled 
out a small tape recorder, a spiral notebook and a 
mechanical pencil, then set the bag aside.  "I'm glad you 
agreed to the interview," she told me.  "I've been a fan of 
your stories for a couple of years now.  I wrote to you 
after 'Fan Mail' came out, but I don't expect you to 
remember that."

"Afraid not," I admitted sheepishly.  "But that was over 
two years ago.  Did I at least answer?"

"Oh, yes.  I'd written to tell you how much I enjoyed the 
story, and asked a question about the ending.  You sent me 
a very nice thank-you note, answered my question, and 
suggested a couple of other author sites that I might like.   
And I did."

"That's me," I quipped.  "Perverting the innocent since 
1999."

She smiled slyly back at me.  "What makes you think I was 
innocent?"  All three of us laughed.  Brooke had an 
enchanting laugh, throaty and real, with a hint of 
worldliness in it.  She laughed with her whole body, too, 
not just her mouth.

"Well," I suggested, seeing how her notebook was now open 
to a blank page.  "Is it time to break out the 
thumbscrews?"

"Forgot 'em," she replied.  Her eyes sparkled and she 
started toying with one of the buttons on her top.  "If you 
seem reluctant to answer a question, I'll just undo a 
button and ask again."  I got to hear that delightful laugh 
again, then she squeezed the Record button on her tape 
recorder and set it down between us on the couch.  "Let's 
start with the basics:  why do you write about erotic 
hypnosis?"

"That's easy," I told her.  "I don't -- at least, not 
primarily.  I write about people, usually people in love, 
doing things to please each other.  The hypnosis part, when 
I use it at all, is just a means to that end.  When people 
make love, they expose and share their bodies with each 
other, yes?  With erotic hypnosis, they are also exposing 
and sharing their minds.  It's the most intimate, trusting, 
thing two people can do together."

We talked writing, hypnosis, and erotica for the next hour 
and some.  It started out as question and answer, with 
Brooke taking careful notes and the tape rolling. ("The 
tape is a backup," she explained at one point.  "The note-
taking is what really cements the information into my 
head.")  As the time went on, though, we fell into a more 
conversational pattern.  Brooke would toss out a question 
or an observation, I'd respond to it, she'd agree or 
disagree and add something on top, sometimes Carolyn would 
chime in with an opinion and we'd  all respond to that.   
By the time we finished it had ceased to be reporter and 
subject and turned into three acquaintances talking 
together.  And through it all, I was aware of Brooke's full 
attention on every word I said.  It was incredibly 
flattering, sitting there, thinking out loud, while an 
attractive lady paid rapt attention and took it all down as 
if it was really worth remembering.

I found myself studying Brooke as we talked.  Admiring the 
curve of her throat into her shoulders; enjoying the 
sparkle behind the glasses every time she looked at me; 
relishing the soft energy in her voice.  She was clearly 
very interested in the subject herself, not just completing 
an assignment.  Okay, I admit it:  I was smitten.  

Carolyn sat and watched us, injecting the occasional 
comment, looking insufferably pleased with herself.  I 
wondered what exactly she had up her sleeve.

Finally, the notebook closed and the tape recorder went 
back into the bag, a 90-minute cassette now nearly full.  
"I want to thank you again for this," Brooke told me.  
"It's been the most entertaining interview I've ever done, 
and I'm sure it's going to add something special to the 
piece."

"Not so fast," Carolyn interrupted as Brooke started to 
rise from the couch.  "What other research have you done 
for this article, Brooke?"

Brooke's nose wrinkled as she thought.  "I've talked to 
you, of course, Dr. Fields.  And another hypnotherapist, a 
Dr. Ellis -- he's more of a mainstream guy, he doesn't do 
anything with erotic hypnosis.  I've done chatroom 
interviews with a couple of web site owners and people 
who've either been hypnotized for sex or who do the 
hypnotizing."

"That's all second-hand," Carolyn pointed out.  "Haven't 
you done any empirical research?"

"Empirical research?"

"Experience, my dear," Carolyn explained.  "Before you 
write about hypnosis, you should try being hypnotized 
yourself.  Or hypnotize your boyfriend and have some fun 
with him.  Have you tried that?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," she answered.  "Dr. Ellis 
offered to hypnotize me, but there wasn't time and I never 
did make a follow-up appointment.  But I'm not sure it's 
really that important.  You don't have to be a pilot to 
write about flying."

"No, but it helps if you've at least been on an airplane 
before."  Brooke didn't argue, so Carolyn pressed on.  "Why 
don't you stay a little longer and we'll try a simple 
demonstration?  I think you'll enjoy the experience, and it 
will give you a whole new perspective from which to write."

Brooke looked to me, as if for guidance.  "You can trust 
her," I said simply.  "I do."

"I feel like a character in one of his stories," she said 
to Carolyn.   Then she turned her eyes back to me, the 
lenses of her glasses making the irises seem a little 
larger than they really were.  "What's going to happen if I 
agree to this?"

I shrugged.  "Nothing that you aren't willing to let 
happen."

"Of course."  Brooke shifted a little on the couch and 
turned to Carolyn.  "Okay, why not?"

Carolyn's face took on a satisfied smile.  "Excellent.  Why 
don't you take off your shoes and loosen your clothing a 
little if you can?"

"I can do that.  Mind if I use the bathroom first, too?"

"Please do.  Wiseguy can show you the way.  You do 
remember, don't you?" 

I grinned.  "Barely.  This way, Brooke."  I offered the 
reporter my hand and led her through a second door in the 
office, which led to an adjoining bedroom that Carolyn used 
for her couples' sessions.  "Right through there," I said, 
indicating the attached bathroom.
 
Carolyn had dimmed the lights and put on some white noise 
when I returned.  "You're plotting something," I accused.  
"What?"
"You'll have to stay to find out," she replied, letting me 
see the anticipatory gleam in her eye.

"That's Brooke's call.  I'm not sure I'd want someone like 
me around the first time I got hypnotized."

"But I do," Brooke said, coming back in from the bedroom 
area.  "I want a witness I can cross-examine later if I 
want to.  Besides," she added with a wink, "after reading 
so many of your stories, I feel as though I've had a good 
look at the inside of your mind; the least I can do is 
offer you a peek at mine."

I wasn't going to argue with that -- I'd been willing to 
leave her alone with Carolyn, but it would have been a 
major letdown for me.  Instead, I fluffed pillows while 
Brooke settled herself back on to the victim couch.   
Carolyn reached under the end table and produced a large 
item in a black velvet hood, which she set on the coffee 
table in front of Brooke.  

The girl wriggled once more, settling into a comfortable 
position in a nest of pillows that supported her whole 
body.  "Ready," she said.

Carolyn pulled the hood off the shape on the coffee table, 
revealing a small shining globe on a turnstile base.  The 
eight-inch ball was faceted and had a mirrored finish that 
reflected light in all directions.  She flipped a switch on 
the base and the ball began to rotate slowly on a hidden 
axis.

Brooke laughed.  "A hypnotic disco ball?  This has to be a 
joke."

"Not at all," Carolyn assured her, returning to her seat in 
the armchair.  "You'll be amazed at how effective a tool 
this is in helping you to focus your attention.  It's 
surprisingly relaxing to look at, don't you think?  All 
those tiny facets, twinkling and turning, tend to grab your 
eyes and take them along for the ride, don't they?"  

As she was speaking, Carolyn slipped quite naturally and 
easily into her hypnotic voice:  a smoother, softer, very 
soothing version of her normal voice.  That familiar tone 
struck a chord or two in my own mind, and I found myself 
relaxing automatically as I watched and listened.

"It's so easy," she continued, "to go into hypnosis.  So 
very easy.  All you have to do is watch and relax ... feel 
your attention focusing on the ball, watching it swirl and 
spin, taking you deeper and deeper into yourself.  Notice 
how your breathing slows as you concentrate even more 
completely on the ball.  You take a nice, slow, deep 
breath, holding it just a little longer than usual, and now 
as you let it out, you feel your entire body sinking just a 
little bit deeper into the couch.  A little deeper with 
each breath.  Deeper and deeper."

Brooke's body sat totally still, her eyes fixed on the 
rotating ball.  I saw the beginnings of a vacant stare 
through the prism of her lenses, and I knew Carolyn would 
have an easy time of it.  

"Even now," she intoned, "you are starting to become of 
aware of how very heavy and sleepy your body has become 
while you stare at the swirling, sparkling ball.  You may 
not have noticed it yet, but your eyes are becoming very 
tired, very heavy and drowsy, and they begin to blink more 
often.  That's okay -- you can let them blink as often as 
they please.  As often as they need to.  That need to 
blink, and the growing reluctance to open again after each 
blink, is just your body sinking inevitably into hypnosis.  
You're already there, Brooke, already in hypnosis ... you 
can let go now and let your body experience it, let your 
mind experience total relaxation.  Each blink lasts longer 
than the one before.  Each breath takes you deeper inside 
yourself.  Down, deeper and deeper.  Soon your eyes will be 
so tired and so heavy that they will blink and just stay 
closed.  Soon, Brooke.  You can feel it happening, and it 
feels so good to just let it happen.  Let it happen."

When I go to a hypnosis show, my favorite part is always 
the induction.  Even in a public setting and at a distance, 
watching someone -- particularly an attractive woman -- 
slowly, inevitably, sinking into trance always puts a rise 
in my Levis.  In the intimacy of Carolyn's office, watching 
Brooke's face as she succumbed to Carolyn's induction was 
indescribably erotic.  Her eyes fluttered heavily, fighting 
the need to close, until there was no more will to fight.  
They closed, and her head slumped down slightly, causing 
the glasses to slide down her nose a little bit.  As I 
watched that I felt my own head bob, and realized with a 
mild start that I was half under Carolyn's spell myself.

Carolyn kept going, taking Brooke through a couple of 
standard deepeners, until the girl's body looked as if 
she'd been poured onto the couch.  I watched and listened, 
vaguely aware of a raging hard-on, wondering what my friend 
had in mind for the demonstration.

I didn't have long to wait.  "Now, Brooke," Carolyn 
intoned, "you are in a very deep, very satisfying hypnotic 
state.  You can let your mind float in this state for as 
long as you wish, enjoying the sensations of being so 
completely relaxed, so completely open to my suggestions.  
You will always want to follow my suggestions, Brooke, 
because all of my suggestions are designed to bring you 
pleasure.  If I ever give you a suggestion that you truly 
object to, you will simply say 'No, thank you' and that 
suggestion will fade from your mind without affecting you 
at all.  Also, I want you to remember that all of my 
suggestions will be cancelled and no longer effective when 
you leave my home, even if I haven't explicitly said so in 
the suggestion itself.

"Now that you've experienced this deep state of hypnosis, 
you'll naturally want to return to it again and again.  In 
fact, every time you hear me say the words 'off the record' 
today you will immediately stop whatever you are doing and 
return to this wonderful, happy, deep state of relaxation.  
You won't think about it -- your conscience mind won't even 
realize that you've heard the words -- but whenever I say 
'off the record' you will instantly return to the state you 
are in now, ready to receive and follow my suggestions.

"In a few moments, I am going to count to three.  As I 
count, you will feel yourself rising out of your trance, 
returning to your normal waking state.  At the count of 
three, you will be fully awake and alert, feeling refreshed 
and completely normal.  However, when you wake up, you will 
find that Wiseguy and I have become invisible.  All of your 
other senses will act normally, but Wiseguy and I will be 
completely invisible to you.  Any objects we pick up or 
move will appear to be floating or moving themselves, just 
like in a movie.

"I'll begin counting now.  One ... beginning to wake up ... 
two ... feeling the heaviness leaving your body and energy 
returning to it ... three ... eyes open, wide awake."

Brooke's eyes opened slowly and her head rose off of her 
chest.  "Did I --"  She stopped in mid sentence and looked 
around the room, confused.  Carolyn and I watched in 
silence as Brooke pulled herself back into an upright 
position and looked again.  "Hello?"  she called out.  "Dr. 
Fields?  Wiseguy?"

"We're right here," Carolyn said, rising from her chair.  

Brooke stared wide-eyed at the seat of the now-empty chair, 
apparently looking right through Carolyn's body.  "Where?"

"She's right in front of you," I said, getting into the 
game.  "Don't you see?"

Our victim's head snapped in my direction and continued the 
incredulous stare.  "Wiseguy?  Where are you?"

"I don't think we need this anymore," Carolyn remarked, 
picking up the disco ball and turning off the motor.  

Brooke turned back toward the voice and gasped, her eyes 
bugging out as she watched the disco ball appear to float 
off the coffee table and back to its spot next to the 
couch.  "How did you do that?"

"Like this," I answered.  I waited for Brooke to pivot back 
toward me, then tossed a pillow at her.

"You're both invisible!" she cried, catching the pillow.  
"But that's impossible.  It has to be impossible."

"Of course it is," I said.  "Completely impossible.  Right, 
Carolyn?"

"Completely," she confirmed, returning to her seat.

Brooke's head swiveled back and forth, trying in vain to 
find something to look at.  Finally she addressed herself 
to the armchair.  "But how?"

"I'll tell you," Carolyn promised, "but you have to promise 
me that this is strictly off the record."

On hearing the magic words, Brooke slumped back in her seat 
and went limp.  Carolyn encouraged her to go deeper, relax 
more, making sure she went all the way back to her deepest 
state.

"Very good, Brooke," she commended, a satisfied smile on 
her face.  "You are such a good, obedient subject.  Now 
we're going to try an erotic suggestion.  I want you to 
search your memory for me.  Think back to a time when you 
had an especially strong, powerful orgasm.  Try to remember 
the best, most satisfying, most intense orgasm you've ever 
had, and when you can remember that experience I want you 
to say 'ready' to me.  Start now."

I watched silently as Brooke's chest moved slowly up and 
down.  After a minute or two, her lips moved.  "Ready."

"Good.  In a few moments I'm going to count to three again, 
just like before, and you will once again return to your 
full waking state.  Wiseguy and I will no longer be 
invisible; we'll be right here, fully visible in our normal 
condition, just as we were before you were hypnotized.   
Once you are fully awake, your body will take the memory of 
that exceptionally strong, most satisfying orgasm ever and 
replay it, the way a tape recorder replays sound.  You will 
feel every sensation that you felt when you had the orgasm, 
every touch and kiss and caress, right up to the point 
where the orgasm ended, but two things will be different:  
it will be twice as pleasurable, twice as intense, as when 
you originally felt it, and it will be a continuous orgasm 
instead of just a single one.  You will keep experiencing 
orgasms, one right after another, and each one will be 
stronger and more intense than the one before.  You will 
realize after the second orgasm that the cycle will 
continue until you remove both your shirt and your jeans.  
Once both your shirt and your jeans are removed, you will 
have one final orgasm that will be twice as intense and 
pleasurable as the one before it, and lasts twice as long 
as the others, and then the sensations will stop.  You will 
then return to your normal physical state, fully awake, and 
the suggestion will be finished.

"One ... beginning to wake up ... two ... feeling the 
heaviness leaving your body and energy returning to it ... 
three ... eyes open, wide awake."

Once again, Brooke opened her eyes and slowly sat up.  
"There you are," she said, looking from Carolyn to me.  
"That was ... oh!"  Suddenly her mouth fell open and her 
eyes widened behind the lenses.  She looked sharply down 
into her own lap, then back to me.  "Oh, my!"

Her breathing grew heavy, and her body seemed to relax back 
into the couch. "It feels like ... unh! ... somebody's ... 
oooh!  ... giving ... me ..."   Her words fell off into 
moans, and her body started gyrating on its own, moved by 
unseen forces.  Brooke gave up trying to speak and lay 
back, letting the sensations take over.  

It was very exciting to watch.  I took in every detail 
while Brooke panted and moaned next to me, her body 
heaving, legs open wide.  She had a very brief lucid period 
after the first one -- just enough time to look at Carolyn 
and say, "Wow."  Then the replay started again and Brooke 
lost herself in it just as before, moaning uncontrollably.  
"Okay," Brooke panted as the second wave subsided.  "I get 
the point.  You can stop ... now ... ahhhh!  ... Oooohhh!!"  

Carolyn grinned sheepishly at me as Brooke became 
incoherent once again.  I shrugged, returning the grin, and 
watched the continuation of the show.  Brooke writhed and 
wriggled on the couch, but this time her hands were working 
desperately at the buttons on her yellow top.  As Carolyn 
had instructed, she knew now what to do to complete the 
suggestion.  It must have been difficult for her to undo 
all the little buttons while her body was in full orgasm, 
but she managed it.  In the aftermath of her third climax, 
she yanked at the last couple of buttons and flung the top 
at me.  "There!" she grunted with a huge sigh.

Carolyn and I just watched, smiling with our secret 
knowledge.  Brooke eyed me quizzically for a second, then 
her face changed to surprise and chagrin as a fourth climax 
hit.  Her mouth moved, but whatever she wanted to say 
turned into a long, impassioned groan as she fell back 
against the pillows again.  

She was starting to sweat, I noticed as I watched the rise 
and fall of her chest.  She was wearing a simple white bra, 
the seamless kind that doesn't show under clingy tops.  Her 
fingers worked hurriedly at the buttons on her jeans and 
got them loose enough to show a flash of white panty by the 
time the storm passed.  Brooke gave me an exhausted, 
pleading look, put her feet in my lap, and managed two 
words:  "Help, please."

I grabbed her jeans at the cuffs and pulled, and she 
managed to wriggle out of them without losing her panties.  
She had just enough time to say "Thank you" before the 
grand finale hit.  I held on to her legs, mostly to avoid 
getting accidentally kicked, and admired the way her 
muscles moved while she rode out the last climax.  Her 
scent and her touch and her passion had me painfully close 
to the edge myself.  

Carolyn sat back and watched us both, looking thoroughly 
pleased with her handiwork.  After a while Brooke was 
breathing normally again; she lifted her head and peered 
over at me through the tops of her glasses, then withdrew 
her legs and swung back around to a more-or-less sitting 
position.  Another quick breath or two, and she pushed her 
glasses back into place and sat up, holding her panties by 
the waistband to keep them from sliding off.  She looked 
back over at me, smiled gratefully, and said, "Thanks."

I shrugged, started to say, "My pleasure," but thought 
better of it -- given the circumstances, it just wouldn't 
have come out well at all.

Carolyn  leaned forward in her chair to address us both.  
"Shall we continue?"

Brooke was incredulous.  "You mean there's more?  I'm not 
sure I can take it -- I'm almost out of clothing as it is."

There was that Cheshire cat grin again.  "Trust me," 
Carolyn assured her, "you'll enjoy this part.  But it's 
strictly off the record."

Once again, Brooke did a fast fade and slumped back into 
the couch like a dishrag.  Carolyn saw that as well as I 
did, but despite the good reaction she lowered her voice 
and went into another deepening speech.  Her words flowed 
smoothly and easily, and I found myself responding to them 
even as I watched for their effects on Brooke.  I 
remembered those words from earlier sessions, when it was 
me going so deep for her.

Time passed.  Through a light fog, I became aware that the 
deepener had ended and Carolyn was giving suggestions 
again.  " ... and this time when I count to three, Brooke, 
you will open your eyes and sit up, acting as if you were 
fully awake, but remaining deep in hypnosis as you are now.  
When your eyes open next, you will no longer be a reporter 
researching an article; instead, you will be a character in 
an erotic story, a beautiful and irresistible hypno-domme, 
and your deepest desire will be to hypnotize Wiseguy.  
You'll find it so easy to hypnotize Wiseguy; he will have 
no choice but to fall deeply into hypnosis and to obey your 
every command.  You will hypnotize him deeply, then lead 
him into the bedroom and use him for your mutual pleasure, 
just as if you were both characters in one of his stories.   
One ... two ... three."

For the third time, I watched Brooke open her eyes and 
slowly sit up.  Her head turned slowly in my direction.  
Her eyes sparkled and her lips formed a predatory smile; 
she stood up slowly and deliberately, her eyes never 
leaving my face.  "That's right, Wiseguy," she said, her 
voice falling into the same smooth, low tone that Carolyn 
had been using.  "Look right into my eyes.  Deep into my 
eyes.  Don't move or speak or nod your head or make any 
sound unless I ask you to.  I know that you can hear me, 
just as you know that you can hear and understand me.  If 
you keep looking into my eyes and listening to my voice, 
nothing can keep you from entering a very deep, pleasant 
state of hypnosis in just a few seconds."  

The frames of Brooke's glasses became the limits of my 
world, the fences that held me captive within their bounds.  
I sensed her leaning over me, letting me fall into her 
eyes.   "Your eyes are locked onto mine now; you can't look 
away, even if you want to.  In a moment I'm going to tell 
you to try and look away, and you'll find that you can't.  
Go ahead now and try, try to look away from my eyes.   Try 
to look at my breasts; they're so close to you now, but you 
can't see them because you can't look away from my eyes."  
I tried -- I really did try -- but, as Brooke had 
suggested, I couldn't make myself look away.  "And now 
you've tried to look away, and you know that you can't, so 
stop trying.  It's okay to stop trying now, and just give 
in.  I'm going to count down from five to one now, and as I 
do you will find your eyelids growing heavy, droopy, 
drowsy, and sleepy.  With each count they will grow heavier 
and heavier, more and more tired, wanting more and more to 
just close and obey, until I reach the count of one.  When 
I reach one your eyes will close and stay closed, too heavy 
and sleepy to even think of opening them, and you will go 
deep into hypnosis for me.  Five ... eyes so sleepy 
already, eyelids so heavy ...  four ... blinking so 
heavily, so hard to keep them open ... three ... two ... 
almost impossible now, impossible to stay awake, your eyes 
feeling as though heavy, heavy weights were pulling them 
shut ... closing completely now as I count to one.  Sleep 
now.  Deep asleep, deeper and deeper ..."

My eyes grew heavy and slammed shut on command, as if we'd 
done this a hundred times before.  Brooke kept talking, but 
the words became fuzzy and far away as I slid helplessly 
into trance.  I floated that way for a while, barely aware 
of the buzzing of female voices, barely aware that I even 
had a body.  I watched, as if from a vantage point 
somewhere deep in my own head, as my body opened its eyes, 
stood up, and allowed Brooke to lead it by the hand into 
the bedroom.  

Brooke spoke again, and the fog lifted partially.  I became 
aware that I was naked, although I didn't remember 
undressing, and that we were standing together next to the 
bed.  Brooke was my Mistress, and it was vitally important 
that I please my Mistress.  She turned her back to me and 
waited while I carefully moved her hair aside and opened 
the two little hooks at the back of her bra.  I kissed her 
shoulder as I slid the straps down her arms, letting the 
bra fall to the floor.  My arms went around her and my 
hands found her breasts, each one fitting neatly into a 
palm.  I kneaded them lovingly, teasing the erect nipples 
with my thumbs, while I tantalized her with tiny kisses 
along the side of her neck.  It pleased and aroused me to 
hear her moan softly and relax against me.

She turned again to face me, placed a hand behind my head, 
and started a long, soft kiss.  I felt my lips melting into 
hers, our tongues meeting and teasing each other, and my 
need to please her redoubled.  My hands wandered down her 
back and slipped inside her panties to caress her backside, 
pulling her in closer, letting her feel the iron of my cock 
pressing against her.  Her lips left mine, kissed their way 
up my cheek toward my ear, and whispered a command:  "Take 
them off."

I dropped to my knees and peeled the damp fabric down her 
legs, letting the scent of her arousal wrap itself around 
my brain, inflaming me all the more.  My nose led me to the 
source of the scent and I buried my face in her thin, 
trimmed thatch, kissing her mound, burrowing deeper.  She 
moved back and sat on the bed, spreading her legs to allow 
me access.  I adored her with my tongue and my lips, 
kissing and caressing and gently nibbling  at her folds, 
luxuriating in her taste and texture.  The sound of her 
moaning and the increasing pressure of her thighs around my 
head spurred me on.  Then my mistress spoke, and I found a 
new, more powerful motivation:  everything I did to her 
body, every kiss and lick and stroke, I felt on myself 
also, as if she were doing the same thing to me.  I ran my 
tongue up and down her fold and felt a loving tongue 
running up and down my fuselage; I sucked gently on her nub 
and felt the same electrifying contact on the head of my 
achingly hard cock.  I continued, relishing each touch, 
feeling the growing, aching need to come, but knowing 
somehow that I wouldn't, couldn't, until Mistress gave the 
command.

Brooke's body began to gyrate, and I recognized both the 
sounds and the rhythm of her movement from when I was 
holding her on the couch:  she was coming, with an 
intensity that caused her to fall backward onto the bed and 
forget everything except the sensations I was causing.  I 
felt her climax in my own body, waves of pleasure that ran 
from my groin like the rings caused by a stone thrown into 
a pond -- all the pleasure and excitement of a real orgasm, 
but without the physical release.

I kept at my task even as Brooke writhed in pleasure, happy 
to keep on adoring her until I received other instructions.  
Those instructions came in the form of strong hands 
gripping my head and pulling me upward.  My face was coated 
in her juices, which mingled with her other tastes as I 
kissed my way up to her face once more.  Her hands let go 
of my head and found the steel-like shaft between my legs.  
There was a tearing sound, and then the unmistakable feel 
of latex rolling over my member.  My hips moved on their 
own, trying to fuck her hands as they made sure the condom 
was seated, then followed as she guided my piston into her 
center.

Every nerve ending in my body sang out as we locked 
together.  Her legs clamped around my bottom and pulled me 
in tightly while her hips tilted to receive as much length 
as I could give her.  Even through the condom I could feel 
the slight bump inside her that marked the sweet spot; I 
clenched my muscles to press that spot.

My efforts were well rewarded by Brooke's ecstatic cries.  
"Oh ... yes! ... yes!! ... COME ... NOW!!!"  At her 
command, the dam burst and I felt the hot rush of my seed 
flowing into the end of the condom.  Every muscle in my 
body clenched and released together, time after time, while 
my cock jerked and fired.  I looked down into Brooke's 
face; our eyes met, and in that moment of shared orgasm I 
felt that our spirits were joined as intimately as our 
bodies.  Then she said something, my body became suddenly 
heavy and tired, and the world slipped away.



It was weirdly disorienting waking up on my back, in a 
strange bed, naked, with an equally naked woman nestled 
against me.  It took a few moments for my brain to engage 
and remind me of how I'd gotten that way.  She was already 
tucked inside my arm; I hugged her gently, kissed the top 
of her head, and let my hand idly caress her side.  

Brooke stirred under my touch, rose up to one elbow, and 
brought her lips to mind for a long kiss.  "Welcome back," 
she said softly, her face hovering above mine.  "Did you 
have a nice nap?"

She was mostly lying on top of me, so I put both arms 
around her and stroked the smooth skin of her back.  "Very.  
Any time I can wake up like this, I'm happy.  You?"

She kissed me again before answering.  "Very nice.  This is 
the first time I've ever done this -- gone to bed with 
someone I'd just met, I mean.  But I feel so comfortable 
with you.  It's as if I already knew you through your 
stories, so we're not really strangers."

"Maybe so.  One thing I've learned from artie is that 
writers can't help but embed a piece of ourselves in 
everything we write."

"I'll have to be careful with this article, then, or my 
editor will know I've been getting too close to my 
sources."  

We kissed again, luxuriating in the feel of our bodies 
against each other, until a discreet knock on the door 
interrupted us.  "You're welcome to stay as long as you 
like," Carolyn said through the barely-open doorway, "but I 
thought I should warn you that I have another appointment 
at 6:30, so the outer office will not be empty much 
longer."

I thanked Carolyn for the heads-up while Brooke stretched 
forward and groped for her glasses, which had been hastily 
tossed aside at some point.  That put her breast within 
easy reach of my mouth -- too easy to pass up the 
opportunity for a quick taste.  She laughed a little and 
sat up; I cupped one hand around each breast while she put 
her glasses back on to look at the clock.  "Mmmmm," she 
said, pressing her hands against mine.  "Tempting.  But we 
only have twenty minutes, and I need a shower before I can 
get dressed again -- I seem to have worked up a sweat, 
somehow."

"Have dinner with me, then," I suggested.  "It's a little 
backwards from a normal date, but ..."

Brooke grinned.  "Now you're talking."  She climbed off of 
me and headed for the bathroom, pausing only to set her 
glasses on the night stand next to the clock.  I gave her a 
minute or two head start, then slipped in behind her and 
offered to scrub her back.  Somehow we managed to get 
cleaned up and dried off with a little over five minutes to 
spare.

We emerged from the bathroom to find our clothes collected 
and laid out neatly for us.  "Don't worry about the 
linens," Carolyn called in from the next office while we 
dressed.  "The service will take care of them in the 
morning."

With a little hustle, we were dressed and had the room and 
office picked up before Carolyn's client arrived.  "Thank 
you," I told Carolyn as we hugged in the doorway.  "It was 
a most inspiring demonstration."

"It was meant to be," she replied with a wink.  "Now go do 
something fun, both of you."

Our first stop was a corner booth at a nearby Silver Diner.  
At one point I became aware of Brooke studying me with an 
odd look on her face.  I looked the question at her, and 
she chuckled.  "I just realized I don't know what to call 
you," she explained.  

"Mark," I said, grabbing the little customer survey card 
from its holder.  "My real name is Mark."  On the blank 
side of the card I wrote my full name, address, and phone 
numbers, then slid the card across to her.  "Drop by any 
time.  Tonight, even."

Chuckling some more, she tore the card in half and wrote 
her particulars on the other half.  "How about if I take a 
raincheck on tonight?  I really do need to get started 
writing this piece or it'll never get done."

"Okay.  I may do a little writing tonight myself."

Her face lit up.  "Am I about to be immortalized in a 
story?"

I shrugged.  "Possibly."

Brooke's eyebrows crinkled down a little bit.  "If you're 
going to do that, I may have to confess a few things 
first."

She looked just the slightest bit guilty.  I thought about 
everything that had happened in Carolyn's office:  the 
conversation before the interview; how quickly Brooke had 
agreed to be a guinea pig; the ease with which Carolyn was 
able to induce a deep trance; Brooke's obvious willingness 
to accept some very personal suggestions, and to have me 
present for them.  

I smiled and squeezed Brooke's hands.  "Spent a fair amount 
of time dissecting my personality in that first meeting, 
did you?"

A bit of extra color rose to her cheeks, and she looked 
down at the table.  "Not dissecting, exactly.  But we did 
spend a lot of time talking about you:  what kind of person 
you are, and how that seems to come through in your 
writing.  How there's been this undercurrent of pain, of 
loss, in a lot of it."

"So you two hatched this little plot together." It was an 
accusation, but I tried to soften it as much as I could.

"It wasn't like that," she insisted.  "It was mostly just 
talking.  She said you were having some trouble with 
writer's block, and that maybe seeing a little bit of real-
life hypnosis might help you break through it.  I told her 
I'd think about it, and that was it until this afternoon."

"So that remark about feeling like a character in one of my 
stories wasn't a signal of some kind?"

Brooke gave me a profoundly puzzled look.  "What remark?"

"Right before you agreed to be hypnotized," I reminded her.  
"You said, 'I feel like a character in one of his 
stories'."

"I didn't say that," she maintained.  "You did.  That's why 
I asked you what was going to happen if I agreed."

It was classic Carolyn:  hypnotize Brooke, propose the plan 
while she was under, and plant a posthypnotic suggestion to 
say the code phrase if she was willing to go through with 
it after meeting me.  Then, to make her convincing, have 
Brooke forget she'd been hypnotized that day.  But why 
leave Brooke convinced that the key remark had been made by 
me?  The answer formed in my mind along with the question:  
so that I would know Brooke had given consent for the plan.  
All I could do was shake my head and marvel at Carolyn's 
ingenuity and at how well she knew her subject.

"What's funny?" Brooke asked.

"Nothing."  I raised my glass of iced tea.  "To Carolyn," I 
offered.

Brooke clinked her glass against mine.  "To Carolyn."



We parted company in the diner parking lot.  I went home 
whistling happy tunes, fired up the computer, and started 
writing.  The characters came to life for me, and the words 
flowed easily from my mind.  I was in the zone, and paid no 
attention to the passing of time until my doorbell rang.  
Seeing that it was after ten at night, I crept quietly to 
the door and peeked through the peephole.  A thrill ran 
through me when I saw who was on the other side; I flung 
the door open to greet her.

"I was getting ready to write," Brooke told me, "when it 
occurred to me that maybe my perceptions of our time 
together were distorted by the hypnosis."

"Really?"  I prompted, closing the door behind her.  "And 
what should we do about that?"

She set down the overnight bag she was carrying and looked 
at me earnestly.  "In scientific studies, they always set 
up a control -- an identical copy of the experiment, but 
without the extra element they are trying to test.  That 
way, they see how the different factors interact without 
the researchers' intervention."

I nodded in agreement.  "So you were thinking that we 
should duplicate the same set of factors as this afternoon, 
but without either of us being hypnotized, and compare the 
results?"

"Exactly," she agreed, closing the space between us for a 
hot, lengthy kiss.  "My research just wouldn't be complete 
otherwise."

So I carried her to the bedroom, where we continued our 
research.


-wg
1/9/02