General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity, this hypnofetish story does contain examples of fictional characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to other fictional characters. If you are under the age of consent in your community, are disturbed by such concepts, or want graphic sex in your online pornography, then for goshsakes stop reading now!
Permission is granted to re-post for free to any electronic medium, as long as no fee whatsoever is charged to view it, and this disclaimer and e-mail address (email@example.com) are not removed. It would also be nice if you told me you were posting it.
Copyright Voyer, 2015.
Specific Disclaimers: Something of a work in progress, but enjoy it for what it is.
Dedicated to Doctor Goldfoot.
It was intensely quiet.
A light. A regimented strip which flared to life in a sharp instant, revealing that the walls of the corridor were pitiless banks of mirrors, glaring at each. Two women marched down the corridor, silent, side by side, their reflections bounced back and forth off into infinity: one shorter and curved and pale, the other taller and slender and dark, but otherwise nearly identical, their bare feet slapping against the seamless metal floor in perfect unison. Their hair (smooth blonde and rather fuzzy black) pulled back from their temples, curled up in regimented knots at the base of their necks. Their sleek tight-fitting garments leaving the legs and arms bare. Their equally-seamless collars wrapped tight around their necks, shiny silver which stood out again the gray of the uniforms. They also both wore slim, elegant, if ultimately rather prosaic-looking digital wrist watches. And, if a hypothetical witness was particularly observant, he or she might notice implanted discreetly behind their right ears a small disk, a silvery match for their collars.
There were two differences: their collars were labeled using a black and menacing script, S-42, S-23. And the blonde woman, S-42, carried a briefcase in her right hand, a slim but sturdy metal thing that looked as if it could survive being run over by a tank.
As they progressed, the light followed them, snapping on ahead and only gradually dimming into blackness behind, concealing the corridor’s length.
Which proved to be substantial, but when it ended, it did so abruptly, at an unmarked metal panel, recessed just enough into the surrounding wall to show that it was a panel. Mounted into the wall on either side of this were matching rectangles, small, glossy and black, chest-high. Again in perfect unison, 42 placed her left hand on the left, 23 placed her right hand on the right. The edges of the rectangles flashed, knife-edges of red, and the panel revealed itself to be a heavy door, sliding silently up and open.
They stepped over the lip in the floor, passed into the space beyond, which revealed itself to be a short section where they were left immediately facing another panel-door. The aperture behind them closed, and the lights overhead dimmed but did not go out, instead pulsing in a slow almost thoughtful fashion. Additionally, finally, there was a faint sound, air being huffed and puffed in and out through various hidden vents. The two women stood, statues, unmoving except for the rise and fall of their chests. Staring straight ahead, eyes barely blinking, as more lights, targeted lights, flickered around them, tracing the curves of their bodies in much the same way the rectangles had been marked. Finally satisfied, the air settled into its new configuration. The lights scattering around them ceased, the ones overhead came back to full strength. The second door slid up and open. Spilling out Colors, and a new noise, a consistent rumblehiss so deep that it gnawed just at the edge of hearing. They twitched, in unison, and they again stepped forward. There were no mirrors here. Behind the Colors that swirled, filling the air, this chamber was white, almost painfully so, and multi-walled, stopping just short of being circular, with elaborate overlapping geometric shapes just visible on all the various sections, shapes colored slightly-less than dazzling white.
The door slid shut behind them, disappeared into the texture of the room.
There were objects, scattered about asymmetrically. A flowerpot, so large and white and elegantly shaped that calling it a flowerpot was something of an insult. From it twirled up a collection of stems, or perhaps even small trunks, which exploded into a healthy-looking mass of leaves and spiraling blossoms, the scent of which tastefully tinged the air. Large bumblebees buzzed between the blossoms, simultaneously lazy and industrious, coming and going through slits in the pot’s base.
A looming grandfather clock, a black monolith topped with turrets hacked from obsidian. It ticked, swung its pendulum endlessly back and forth, back and forth, but there were no hands or numbers on its stark white face.
A thick tube of water, running floor to ceiling, in which floated a collection of swirling glowing globs, all various colors, trailing bits of themselves, mixing and intertwining, rising and falling, rising and falling.
An empty stone pedestal with a wide flat top.
The darker woman clicked to a stop. The blonde woman took another step forwards, positioned the briefcase on the pedestal with machine-like grace. It gleamed spotlessly under the lights. She took a step back so she was beside her compatriot, froze into position. For a long moment, nothing happened, and then nearer the middle of the chamber, two circles began to glow faintly on the floor, lightest blue against the white. They stepped forward, each stepped into a circle, sank down with their legs gracefully curling up under them, twisting themselves into elegant knots, their arms and then their hands sliding into place and locking, the latter resting on their knees, curled fingers pointing ceiling-ward. As soon as they did this, the Colors started swirling and squirming with renewed vigor. All around them. Down inside them. Their collars throbbed in sympathy against their flesh.
Time passed. An occasional bee wandered out to do a circuit of the room, do a circuit around one or the other woman’s head, provoking not the slightest reaction, then returned to its work on the plant.
And finally a new circle formed on the floor, larger than the first two, far more centrally located, a brighter shade of blue that faded into black.
Something clicked and whirred, very faint, and the new circle was no longer part of the floor, but a shape, rising up, a roughly humanoid shape, disquieting in its proportions but stocky and powerful, sitting on a throne that was a good match for the clock, except possibly even darker, blacker, more jagged and slicing. Even in the whiteness of the room seemed unable to reveal specific details.
As if it wasn’t really there at all.
But in the center of it all, under perhaps a crown, perhaps framed by a pair of glasses, was very definitely a pair of eyes, vast and swirling and all-devouring.
A Voice did not speak. It instead caused the two small disks to buzz, buzz deep inside the two women’s heads, the sound of a thousand bees all ruthlessly aimed at a single point. It caused the Colors to splatter, caused the globs in the tube to break into spinning twirls. “Good morning, my pets.” They did not reply with words, but there were responses nonetheless. “I trust your mission was a success?”
This time their voice were deployed, speaking in perfect chorus. “Yes, Controller. Mission completed.” On the pedestal, the briefcase silently swiveled itself, flicked its own latches, lifted its own lid, revealing the glow of the contents. The eyes studied this, returned to the two women.
“Ah. Excellent. I am pleased.”
Small squeaks escaped the women’s throats, their fingers twitched, were still again. “Deepen your trance to Level Four.”
Again in perfect unison, the women’s own eyes rolled up into their heads and locked into place, leaving only white.
“Wipe your memories of all mission details.”
“Our memories are wiped, Controller.”
“Reset to standard.”
Their eyes unrolled.
“We are reset to standard.”
“Good. Soon I will have another mission for you. But for now, you are dismissed.”
“Yes, Controller.” A gesture was flicked, and all around the wall, panels slid up, spilling forth even more Colors and swirls of gas, revealing a collection of alcoves. More Sisters, African and amazonian, Asian and petite, Latina and somewhere between, all of them. their legs knotted, their hands and arms locked, their eyes wide and spinning and empty and filled with Colors. Two of the alcoves were unoccupied. 23 and 42 unfroze, crawled out of their circles, crawled to their position, reassembled, refroze. Another gesture, and the panels slid shut. 23 and 42 and all their Sisters floated deeper into the Colors.
Return to the
story pageAll contents © Voyer, 2015