General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity or explicit adult situations, 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 hot wet thrusting monkey-sex in your on-line pornography, then for goshsakes stop reading now!
Permission granted to re-post for free to any electronic medium, as long as no one's being 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, 2005.
Mary woke up and stretched, stretching her arms and listening to the delightful crackling in her spine.
In doing this, she caught sight of the Light, and was instantly pulled into its endless shimmering depths...
Deeper and ever deeper...
More and ever more beautiful...
She floated there forever, then drifted free and took stock of her surroundings.
It was a lovely sunny morning. She was sitting on one of her bar-chairs, and her Light-hand was still floating. She pulled at it half-heartedly, but the force of the Light was just too strong, it was like pulling against a huge steel cable, and she quit trying.
Something soft was touching at her toe, and she looked down.
It was her slave, Rebecca. Or rather, Rebecca’s tongue.
The rest of Rebecca’s underwear-clad body was crouched on the carpet, still asleep, her fine blonde hair spilling down around her face.
Watching this was almost as good as falling deeper into the Light, but of course, they both had more important things to do today.
“Wake up, Rebecca.”
Rebecca’s eyes flipped open. She stopped licking and stared at Mary’s feet.
“Yes, Miss Hobhouse.”
Something nagged at Mary. She leaned back and tapped her fingers on the bar, as she narrowly studied the room, searching for something out of place. Furniture, Rebecca’s clothes, Rebecca...
“What were we just talking about, Rebecca?”
“We weren’t talking about anything, Miss Hobhouse. We were asleep.”
Mary rubbed at her temple for a moment then smiled. Yes. Rebecca was right. Such a clever little slavegirl.
“And did you have any dreams?”
“No, Miss Hobhouse. I never dream.”
“Of course. Sit up now, Rebecca.”
“Yes, Miss Hobhouse.” Rebecca sat up on her haunches and placed her hands on her thighs. She stared up at Mary with worshipful eyes.
Mary fingered some strands of the other woman’s hair for a minute. It was very soft and fine, if not, overall, as impressive as Angelita’s. While red was better than blonde any day, she had nevertheless been jealous of that texture, before..
Now.. Being jealous of a slave? That was ridiculous.
Mary rose to her feet, and stretched again, digging her toes into the carpet. Well, digging her toes against the carpet; it wasn’t nearly thick or nice enough to dig into. She wondered if there was some feasible way to correct that.
She was also eager to play with her toy, but that would have to wait until later. Until the evening, after they both did their chores, and went to work and made money.
Made money for..
She suddenly wavered, both mentally and physically. On the brink of remembering something, making some glorious and all-important connection...
But then it was gone, and inside she wept a little.
But only inside. You didn’t weep in front of your slave.
“Prepare yourself for the day, Rebecca.”
“Yes, Miss Hobhouse.”
Rebecca hopped to her feet, gave a curtsey, and scurried over to where her piled clothes were waiting for her.
Mary swept into the bedroom, and prepared herself for the day.
After taking a quick shower, she felt strangely dissatisfied as she worked her way through her wardrobe, trying to pick something out. Everything was suddenly too.. frivolous. Even her work ensembles; how could she have allowed herself to go in this stuff? She would definitely have to go shopping for something more in keeping with her station.
Something stricter and sharper.
With more discipline to it.
She pictured Rebecca assisting her with her dressing, and smiled.
Yes. The weekend was coming up, she would go over to the Von Borg outlet at the mall, and pick out a couple such somethings.
Assuming she could find a spare moment. She seemed to have so few of them any more.
She finally cobbled together the best outfit she could, skirt and blouse and pumps, powdered her freckles and performed her other standard bathroom chores, and stalked back into the living room. Rebecca was waiting there by the sofa, wearing her clothes and coat and holding Mary’s spare apartment key laying in the palm of her upraised hand. A slave waiting to report. She raised the key higher.
“I must go now, Miss Hobhouse. I have duties to perform.”
Mary was again horribly tempted to use her slave, maybe as a footstool while Mary sat in her chair...
But instead, she patted Rebecca on the head.
“Yes, yes. But, Rebecca..”
“Yes, Miss Hobhouse?” She hadn’t moved.
“Today, while you are performing those duties... who will you tell that you are my slave?”
Rebecca blinked at her, looking for a moment like an earnest blonde owl.
“I will only tell important people that I am your slave, Miss Hobhouse Only they have a right to know such things.”
“Good. And who is important?”
“You, Miss Hobhouse, and Angelita, and...” Rebecca’s eyes fluttered down to white slivers for a moment. “..I can’t remember. Was there.. someone else, Miss Hobhouse?”
“No, that’s fine. Run along.”
Rebecca curtsied again, closed her fingers around the key, and departed.
I can’t remember
Mary bit at her lip. That connection again...
Something so important..
Just out of reach...
She shrugged, and reached for her purse.
It wasn’t her purse sitting there in the usual place.
Then she shook her head and blinked. Yes, of course it was. It was her old one, the one she’d stuffed into the back of the closet after replacing it a few months ago; the new one had been on sale at one of those trendy little shops downtown... The old one, the one she was looking at now, was well-made, and could probably serve as a good emergency sandbag or bulletproof vest, but it was so big and clunky.
But today she’d started using it again.
She hefted the thing and slung it over her shoulder.
Even worse than she remembered.
Maybe she could clean it out when she got back home. Or supervise while Rebecca cleaned it out...
She headed for the parking lot; she made it as far as the end of the hall before she remembered that she had made lunch for herself, and went back for it.
On her second attempt, there was another complication. Reaching the security door downstairs, she saw an unfamiliar man standing on the other side, holding a cardboard box, which, evidently, somewhere back near the start of a long and eventful existence, had contained a large quantity of Zowie Bars.
chocolate.. when’s the last time I had chocolate?
She hung back for a moment, not wanting to open the door unless..
But the door-alarm buzzed, and the man hooked it open with a spare finger. Someone in the building was expecting him. Now that he was closer, she could get a better look at the new arrival. He was short and skinny, and had long hair that didn’t really suit him. His T-shirt, however, said DON’T PANIC in large friendly letters, and she decided to take its advice.
“Morning, Red.” He flashed a smile as he passed. He might as well have had the words ‘I AM A GOOD-HUMORED SMART-ALECK’ tattooed across his forehead.
She eyed him in return.
“Good morning, Skinny.”
He grinned and started whistling “When Irish Eyes Are Smilin’” as he disappeared in the direction of the stairs.
Watching him go, and biting back the further reply that would have just dragged her in deeper to an Unimportant conversation, she noted that there was a messy clump of wires trailing out of the top of the box, evidently attached to something inside. She supposed that other people in the apartment building needed things with wires sometimes, but still, she wondered if ‘Skinny’ was a friend of Mr. Krish.
She didn’t know that Mr. Krish had any friends.
He must be very lonely...
She got in her car and drove out into the street, her emotions strangely mixed.
Part of the mixture was fear that the Glow from the Light would fade away again, but the drop off was far less than before, and never disappeared completely. Her work at Adeline had never been particularly challenging, but now she found she could do it completely on auto-pilot, using about one-quarter of her brain. Blah blah blah, type type type, print print print, talk on the phone to the usual parade of drooling morons...
She considered clothing possibilities, and looking again for a masseuse job, and more things to have her slave do that evening, and the nature of Important people.
Behind it all was the no music, hammering away worse than ever. She’d have turned on a radio, but that was one of the many things on Brown’s forbidden list.
At lunch, she ate her salad and fruit cup in the corner again, along with a Zowie Bar bought from the company vending machine. The Zowie didn’t taste as good as she remembered, and she only ate half of it.
Chewing at it, she watched the other employees yak and gossip.
They were like a bunch of monkeys in a zoo. Humorous, but very Unimportant, way off on the other side of a thick sheet of glass. She half-expected them to start picking fleas off each other, and wondered how they would react if she had also bought some peanuts from the machine and started chucking them around.
She also wondered what she could ever have possibly seen in Harry.
Or any man, really,
besides who? Skinny?
She smiled, finished her lunch, and got back to work.
Then work was over, she had made her money for the day, and she could finally get on with the Important things.
She drove over to Hayestown.
She’d always been a good driver, but now it was as easy as working, at least once she found a classical music station on the radio. As some orchestra played, Mary thought about her destination and recalled a history class from high school. (Which was something of miracle, really. Old Mr. Greenglen the history teacher could have made a quite good living as a hypnotist or maybe one of those doctors who knock people out so they can be operated on, if he hadn’t made the unfortunate decision to go into public education instead.) As Mary recalled, years and years ago, the Hayestown neighborhood had once been, as the name suggested, a town in its own right, perched on a low rambling hill south of and overlooking the city that eventually had swarmed up and devoured it. There had been some kind of juicy scandal surrounding the town’s founder and namesake, he went crazy and murdered a bunch of people or something like that; maybe that was why the lesson had stuck with Mary, even though Greenglen had of course glossed right over that part of it.
Something about that scandal was still around, maybe, because Hayestown was and always had been the ‘funky’ part of the city, the place where the dead-beats and the slackers and the artists hung out. People grumbled about it, then took their out-of-town relatives to visit it.
Which made it strange that Teresa worked there. Mary had thought more than once that somehow Teresa and Clover had switched lives, or at least careers. Teresa, Miss Buttoned-Down Eyes On The Prize, worked with the weirdoes, and Clover The Wacky Party Grrl was up north rubbing shoulders with the ultra-snobs in Hinkley Heights.
Mary turned the last corner onto Alyson Street, under the benevolent gaze of the huge purple octopus which was the centerpiece of the mural painted on the towering brick hide of the old Commodore Hotel. Beyond the octopus’s garden, Tuneworld came into view. There were three branches of the franchise scattered around the city, but this was the first and the biggest, and stretched down the block in a drab brown bulk under its glowing neon sign. Even so, the slanted parking slots out front were usually all full, and Mary was glad to see that she had timed her arrival perfectly; a battered blue thing with wood paneling pulled out and departed in a cloud of exhaust and strange noises, and Mary pulled in.
There were speakers mounted on the outside of the store, playing more music. Not the right kind of music, of course, (something full of twanging strings) but it was better than nothing. She hesitated in the poster-festooned doorway, and fiddled with her “new” purse for a moment. Its weight was suddenly and strangely reassuring.
Were the lights tinged an odd green color?
She went in. The same music was playing inside. The main checkout counter with its huge old cash register was immediately to the right, but Mary knew from past visits that Teresa usually manned a station further back in the store, and pushed on, ignoring the pimply male clerk with the faceful of metal piercings. Once past a promotional display for something called “The Very Best of Rancid Crabtree’s Good Ol’ Filosofical Funtime Band”, there were the shelves stuffed full of CDs stretching off in all directions, with the upper bodies of browsers poking above them here and there.
Mary walked deeper in, and spotted Teresa manning her usual post; again, her hair was maybe not as noticeable as Angelita’s but you couldn’t miss that careful black ponytail.
She was talking to someone on one of the numerous phones mounted on her workstation, but saw Mary and gave a small wave with her free hand, which was holding a pen. She finished the conversation, hung up and spoke as Mary came into range, scribbling something on a pad.
“Hello, Mary. How are things in the world of the theater?”
Teresa finished with the pen, stuck it behind one ear, and looked at the watch strapped to her dark-skinned arm. (Her ethnic heritage was mostly black, but she had a bunch of other stuff mixed in there as well; Teresa, being who she was, had worked it all out on a complex genealogical chart, but Mary had never been able to keep it straight.)
“You caught me just in time. My shift’s just about over. You’re here for Reardon’s latest masterwork, I imagine? We just got the shipment yesterday.”
Teresa had turned to go, evidently to get the Reardon CD, and so turned back.
“No? How about the Rabid Mugwumps, then? They have a new one out, too. Not their best, a little too over-the-top frantic, but it’s still been getting pretty good reviews.”
“No. I would like something by...” Mary rubbed at her temple.. “..Mozart. Or Beethoven. One of those.”
Teresa hovered her fingers over a waiting computer keyboard.
“This a gift for someone?”
Mary found that she had to think about that one for a moment. It was more for the universe than any person in particular, bringing things back into balance. But that would take too long to explain. So she lied. Sort of.
“...No. It’s for me.”
The overhead lights reflected greenly in the lenses of Teresa’s sleek glasses, making it hard to read her exact expression. Finally she twitched a smile in the corner of her mouth.
“Right. Cute. I’ll just get the Reardon disc.”
“I’m serious, Teresa.”
“Oh.. kay. I’ll play along. You looking for anything in particular?”
“Do you know the Rule Ensemble?”
Teresa raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. They did do a couple of Mozart pieces on that Yellow disc of theirs.. what.. three, four years back. Again, not their best work. They did do an excellent Vivaldi collection.” A pause. “If you’re really serious about this, Mary, with Mozart.. or Beethoven.. one of the city symphony collections would be a much better place to start.”
A sudden, wondrous idea broke in on Mary.
Because the Light was Glowing. She didn’t even have to look down at it to know. The power was racing up her arm, into her brain.
She glanced around. No one was looking in their direction through the green haze.
She floated the Light, and spoke in a bright tone.
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you pick out the things you think are best, and swing by my apartment tonight?”
“What? No. Mary, going over there on the weekend is fine, but I have a date tonight. And I’m not- what the hell’s that gaudy.. looking..”
Mary shone the Light deep into Teresa’s mind, and Teresa’s mouth fell silent.
The power buzzed, and the words came easily to Mary’s mouth and tongue.
“You see only the Light, Teresa.”
“You hear only my voice.”