Countdown 12

"One." You hear yourself say. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, your mind still foggy as awareness gradually comes back to you. Across from you, your hypnotist sits, watching you with a smug look on his face.

"Welcome back" He says, smiling.

As you slowly get your bearings, you feel a word in your mind, cutting through your thoughts. Before you can stop it from happening, it escapes through your lips. "Two."

Your hypnotist's smile grows larger. "Wow. You must be really eager to get to ten."

You bristle at the self-satisfied tone. You remember the suggested he planted in your mind just before he brought you out of trance.

"When you wake up, you're going to start counting from one to ten, with a variable amount to time, no more than a few minutes between each number. When you reach ten, you're going to drop into a deep trance for me. Now, naturally, you'll try to resist each number, but you'll find the more you resist the more turned on and aroused you become." He had said.

"The arrogant bastard!" You think to yourself. You weren't going to let him drop you back into trance so easily, but it seems he'd anticipated that. That's fine. You'd show him anyway. Turned on or not, you're determined to stop the countdown.

"I know exactly what your plan is," you say. "You're not going to win this time."

He leans towards you. "You're supposed to know what the plan is." He pauses for effect, melodrama radiating off of him. "It more fun that way. Watching you know exactly what's going to happen. Watching you resisting more and more. Watching your face as the hope that you might win this time grows. And then watching you reach that last number and drop so deep into trance for me."

You feel your pussy throb as he talks. Trying to ignore it, you put on a brave face. "I think you're underestimating me."

"Maybe," he replies. "We'll see." He leans back. "By the way, what number were you up to?"

"Thr...," you catch yourself before you finish saying the number. A pulse of pleasure and arousal run through you in response. "Nice try," you say through gritted teeth.

"Try?" He asks. "Whatever do you mean? I was just asking a simple question."

"I know what you're doing," you say. "You're trying to trick me into saying that number."

"What number?"

"Three," you respond before you realize what you're doing. You groan to yourself.

"There there," he says soothingly. "You've got plenty of numbers left before you drop and melt into a deeply conditioned obedient doll for me."

Your pussy throbs again at the mental image his words paint in your mind. You try to ignore the feeling and focus on beating him. "You say that like you've already won."

"Haven't I?" He asks. "Look what your hand is doing."

You look down to see your hand gently caressing your breasts. "Dammit." You think to yourself. You will your hand to stop, with more difficulty than you'd like to admit. "That doesn't mean anything." You say with far more confidence than you feel. "I was just scratching an itch."

He smiles at you. "I see." And I guess when your hand moves lower, that just means your pussy is itching, right?"

You feel your hand move on its own in response to his words, gently sliding down before you manage to catch yourself. Your pussy throbs angrily at you, denied the touch it wants. Before you can do anything else, the number "four" escapes your lips. Distracted by the sensations in your pussy you completely forget to concentrate on not counting further.

You look up to see your hypnotist grinning widely at you.

"You're doing that on purpose" you say accusingly.

"Doing what?" He asks.

"You're distracting me so that I'll keep counting."

"Am I?" He raises an eyebrow. "Seems to me that you're doing a pretty good job distracting yourself all on your own." He gestures at your hand.

You look down to see your hand now gently rubbing your clit through your leggings. You sigh. "This doesn't mean anything," you say.

"Oh, I know." He says knowingly. "Sometimes you just need a little relief." He pauses a moment to watch your hand. "Besides, with all the pleasure and frustration building up in your body, I imagine it needs an outlet."

Your mind goes fuzzy for a second as pleasure pulses through you at his words. Before conscious thought can reassert itself, the number five flashes in your mind. You clamp down on the impulse to say it aloud with an iron will you didn't know you possessed in the moment. Unfortunately, this results in a considerable increase in arousal. You curse your hypnotist's name as your feel your hand starting to rub faster. You idly note that moving it away from your clit isn't even an option anymore. Trying not to think about it, you look up to see him watching your internal struggle with amusement.

"Something wrong?" He asks.

You glare at him. "This is your fault." You say. "You're doing this to me."

He tilts his head quizzically. "Doing what? Making you feel good?"

You ignore the question. Choosing from a long list of responses as arousal continues to build in your body, you go with the obvious and growl softly at him. He chuckles in response which only serves to antagonize you further.

"I may have misjudged how you're feeling if you've gotten to the point where you can no longer use your words." He says, smiling.

You frown in annoyance at him. This isn't going the way you planned. You open your mouth to tell him off. "Five." You say before you can even think to stop yourself. You watch as he smirks at you. You groan in frustration. "Why is this so hard?" You wonder to yourself. You try to slow your breathing down and collect your thoughts.

"That's right. Just take a deep breath and relax," he says. "You always feel better when you relax for me."

You feel your body relaxing at his words before you catch yourself. "Fuck." You think to yourself. You know you'd have more of a chance if you could just regroup and just think. You've already burned through half of the numbers you have before you fail. Your nipples are rock hard. You can't stop your hand from rubbing your clit. There's gotta be something you can do. Why was it so hard to think right now?

Your hypnotist watches passively as you furiously try to come up with a plan. And he's just sitting there. He's barely doing anything. So why is that making this even worse? Five more numbers. You have five more numbers. You look up, ready to challenge the asshole sitting across from you.

Before you can say anything he asks, "what comes after five again?"

"Six," you blurt out in response. Dammit! How? Why? Four numbers. There are four numbers left. Four numbers until I drop deep into a deep trance and become a deeply conditioned, deeply obedient doll. Your mind blanks for a moment, lost while imaging what would happen to you. Your other hand moves to your breasts, caressing it; joining the hand rubbing your pussy, overwhelming your mind with pleasure.

"Still there?" He asks, snapping you out of the pleasure spiral. "We don't want you losing so quickly, do we? It's more fun when you're defiant to the end."

Against your will, you feel yourself blushing at the idea of being caught out like that. Unfortunately, this has the effect of sending a new wave of arousal through your body, which only serves to make you blush even harder and continuing the cycle.

You take a deep breath and steel your resolve, ignoring the gentle caresses of your hands on your body. You glare at your hypnotist. "I can do this" you think to yourself.

"What number are we on now?" He asks.

"Sev..." you begin, before stopping. The pulse or arousal momentarily blanks your mind before you regain control of yourself. The gentle caresses of your hands becomes more forceful, more needy. You may not have said it out loud, but the number seven is bouncing around in your mind, and no matter what you do it won't go away.

"Tsk. Almost had you there," he says, tauntingly. "I guess I'll just have to settle for watching you get more and more turned on." He sighs dramatically. "The sacrifices I have to make for you."

"Fuck," you think to yourself. The number won't leave your mind. And the more you resist saying it aloud, the more the arousal is beginning to overwhelm you. Your hands won't stop moving and any thoughts that aren't about the number or about your impending trance and submission are fleeting. A part of you is still putting up a strong resistance, but you're getting to a point where you're honestly not sure why you're doing it.

"Are you okay?" Asks your hypnotist, breaking you out of your reverie.

You look up to see him looking at you with a smug expression; the expression of someone who knows he's going to win. No. It's the expression of someone who has already won. He knows it. You know it. You can feel it deep inside you. In the part of you that's already submitted and deep in trance and just waiting for the rest of you to drop. The part of you that wants nothing but to sink so deep that you melt into his control. But there's another part of you. A part that is fighting, and will continue fighting until the last possible second.

"Fuck. I can't give in." You hear yourself say out loud. You don't know if it's intentional, but between your hands and now your mouth, it's like you're losing control of parts of your body one at a time.

"No. You can't." He responds to your verbalized thought. "But have you considered why?" He watches for a moment as your hands continue to roam all over your body, teasing, rubbing, caressing, as only your hands know how, before he continues. "Are you resisting because that's what you really want? Or is it because you know that after all this resistance, all this arousal, all this effort, that the drop at the end will be even more intense?"

"Fuck." You hear yourself say out loud, as his words hit their mark. Like that always do. You know he's right. You know that your resistance is only going to make you drop even harder for him. You know that if you let yourself fall into trance, you'll go deeper and feel better than ever before. Everything that's happening now is his fault. Him and his words. A part of you wants to keep resisting. And another part, a growing part, wants to give in and drop into the deepest, most amazing trance you've ever been in, and become so obedient, so controlled, so deeply conditioned.

As your thoughts spiral at his words, you barely notice when your self control slips and the number "seven" escapes your lips.

"What was that?" Your hypnotist asks.

"Nothi...," you start saying, wondering if it counts if he didn't hear it.

"No no no. I definitely heard you say something."

"I didn't..."

He interrupts you again before you can continue. "You said eight, didn't you?"

Even through the haze of arousal and pleasure and submission you manage to marshal enough brainpower to respond in confusion. "What? No! I said seven, not eight..." Dammit! How? How could you have fallen for so easy a trick? You try to ignore how turned on you are at the idea of being so easily manipulated.

Your hypnotist smirks at you. "Oh dear." He says. "Falling for such a simple trick. You just be even more distracted than I thought."

"Asshole," you hear yourself say to him. If you could think straight, or think about anything other than submitting to him, about dropping into the deepest trance you've ever been in for him, about becoming more obedient and controlled than ever before, maybe you could've responded more cleverly, but at the moment it was the best you could manage.

He smiles at the insult. "Thank you," he replies in a way to annoy you even further.

Your brain is working overtime. You've got only two numbers left. Your hands are actively and enthusiastically teasing your nipples, clit and pussy. Your brain-mouth filter is apparently not engaging when you need it to, which doesn't bode well as the next number begins to bounce around your mind with increasing force.

You try to ignore everything. The pleasure and arousal coursing through your body. Your hypnotist's knowing and smug smile. Your ever increasing sense of submission and obedience. You just need to focus on stopping yourself from saying the next number.

"It's not working" You hear yourself think aloud, before realizing you didn't manage to keep it internal.

"What's not working?" Your hypnotist asks, a caring but smug look on his face.

"Nothing," you reply, feeling the embarrassment etched on your own face.

"Nothing?"

"No," you respond, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Interesting." He says in that tone of his that always makes it feel like he's reading your mind. Sometimes you're not convinced he's not, somehow.

"Stop that," you say.

"Stop what?" He asks, still using that tone.

"Stop reading my mind," you reply. "I can feel you in there, digging around."

He chuckles at you.

"Seriously." You say.

"I'm not doing anything," he says, innocence radiating off of every word. "I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking." His tone turns serious. "You're broadcasting everything. Every thought, every feeling, every sensation. You're so turned on that you're practically convulsing. I can see your nipples through every layer of your top. Your hands haven't stopped since they've started and are more frantic than ever. Your desperate, needy arousal tells me that you are resisting with every fiber of your being. And considering you've only two numbers left, it's not enough. Because you know how much you really want to drop. You know how much you want to submit. You're desperate to drop so deep for me and be the most obedient, deeply conditioned doll you can be. You don't know even why you're resisting so hard when all you want to do is submit and obey. And you know, all you'd have to do is just mindlessly open your mouth, and the number will come right out."

"Nine." You say, entranced by his words.

"That's right." He says soothingly. "Doesn't it feel so good? To let go, to submit. You're so close now. So close to what you really want, aren't you?" His voice drops as he leans closer to you. "Why don't you tell me what you really want right now?"

You can't help but respond to his voice. His words. "I want to be hypnotized. I want to be dropped deeper than ever before. I want to be made into the most submissive, most deeply conditioned, most obedient doll for you." You feel your eyes glaze over with desire. "I want to obey you with no hesitation, no thought. I want to obey you before I've even realize you've given me an order. I want to show off for you. I want to be the best doll ever."

"Such a good doll," he says longingly.

"I'm such a good doll," you reply automatically. "Please hypnotize me. Please control me. Please condition me. I'll be so obedient for you. I'll submit. I'll be so deeply conditioned. I'll drop so deep for you." The words keep spilling out of you. You have no more filter. No more self control. Every thought is coming out of your mouth before you can stop it. All you feel is arousal and desperation and need.

"That's right. You will. All you need is to do one more thing for me." He says.

"Please. Anything. My mind. My body. My thoughts. Everything. You can have it. Please control me. Please hypnotize me."

"Tell me the last number."

Before it even occurs to you that you should be resisting, you say it without thought. Without hesitation.

"Ten."

Your world goes white.