Golden Slumbers

Alexander was lying on the couch when Lillian entered, shielding his eyes so that only his mop of sandy-brown hair was visible. The butler showed her into the sitting room, the same one that they'd played whist in a few evenings ago, but this time there was nobody else there. Not even the butler, after he announced her presence to the supine figure with his arm covering his face. She was entirely alone with another man for the first time in her nineteen years. Lillian froze, her blue eyes cast toward the floor, fighting a sudden urge to flee the room.

"You don't have a chaperone," Alexander said, without uncovering his eyes. He sounded dreadfully exhausted. "You didn't have one the other night, either. Unless you were Bessie's chaperone, in which case her family should doubtlessly sack you for allowing her into my house."

Lillian stammered out a response. "No. I mean-I'm not. Bessie's chaperone, that is. We're friends. She, um, she wanted to come. Not tonight, the other night. She and I slipped away from our companions. She said you were a..." She trailed off. She felt certain that Alexander de Witt was fully aware of his reputation, but it seemed somehow crass to bring it up to his face.

"A frightful libertine?" he interjected. He sat up, removing his arm with a grunt of pain. "Guilty as charged. Although frankly the mornings make the evenings scarcely worth it. I've been up for three hours, and this blasted headache is only now easing up." Lillian tried not to be scandalized. It was already half past six, and Alexander looked as though he was still wearing the previous evening's clothes, but it seemed unfair to take offense at the exact qualities that had led her to choose this visit.

"Um, yes," she said quietly, blushing all the way to her blonde curls. "She said she always wanted to see what a libertine looked like up close."

"She sounds like a daring young girl," Alexander said, reaching for a teapot that sat on the low table next to the couch. He poured himself a cup of strong, hot tea, then splashed a dollop of whiskey in after it. "A regrettably terrible whist partner, perhaps, but definitely bold. But she's not here, and you are. Now why might that be?"

Lillian paused, the words dangling on the edge of her tongue but refusing to let go. After a moment, Alexander looked up at her. "Oh, damn. Where are my manners? Sit down, have a cup of tea. Have some whiskey if you want as well, I really couldn't care less. The one grand thing about having a ruined reputation is that you have very little to lose by behaving exactly as you want."

As if in a dream, Lillian found herself proceeding to the couch across from Alexander. She poured herself a cup of tea with trembling fingers, and waved away his proffered flask. The hot drink steadied her nerves just a touch, and she found the courage to meet Alexander's gaze. He had the strangest eyes-they were hazel, almost green, and despite the bleariness that shot them through with threads of red, they exhibited the most extraordinary piercing quality. Lillian found herself torn between the urge to look away and the urge to keep staring.

She felt oddly disappointed when he broke the stare instead. "So yes, you and your friend Bessie. You gave your chaperones the slip and engaged in a little harmless debauchery by drinking brandy and playing whist in mixed company. The Queen would not approve, of course, but I can only assume that since you aren't here with your mother, we didn't do anything that would require a marriage proposal to maintain your honor. So why are you here?"

Lillian took another swallow of tea, plucking up her courage to speak. "There was a woman. The other evening, I mean. Here at your house."

"Well, yes," Alexander said, favoring her with a devilish grin. "That's rather the other grand thing about having a ruined reputation." He must have seen the look of sudden fear in her eyes, for his expression softened a bit. "Which woman were you thinking of?" he said, a bit more gently.

"Her-her name was Clara," Lillian said, her voice barely a squeak. "She came into the room about an hour after we began playing, during the third hand of whist. She was wearing..." Lillian felt her face growing red and hot all over again, and she felt certain that Alexander must think her to be some new species of ambulatory beet by now. "She was wearing only her chemise, and she seemed dreadfully confused. You stepped away from the game for a moment to guide her back to her room..."

Alexander nodded. "Yes, I remember. I'm sure I was gone rather longer than a good host should be." He smirked, clearly unable to resist the urge to provoke her blushes. "Was that why you returned? Did you require an apology?"

Lillian couldn't reply-she seemed to have swallowed all her words for a moment. Instead, she tried to convey, with a gesture and a slight shake of her head, her lack of offense. She took another gulp of her tea, grateful for the pause it provided, as her mind returned unbidden to the strange scene she had witnessed that night.

It was Clara's face she remembered clearest of all. Her manner was unusual as well-she walked like a somnambulist, hesitant and without purpose. But her face had the most odd expression to it. It wasn't dementia, more like a vacancy of thought. She looked as though she had woken from a sleep so profound that her mind had not made the return journey yet, and her eyes seemed to have a glassy quality to them. It felt disturbing, and yet...Lillian trembled slightly to remember the way it affected her.

"While you were occupied," she said at last. "Mister Barron, he said...he said that Clara had been too much in your golden slumbers of late. The phrase has troubled me ever since, and I...I found myself curious. I wanted to find out what he meant by it."

Alexander's demeanor changed. He straightened his posture, abandoning his rakish slouch to pay her closer attention. His gaze took on a calculating air, as if he was measuring her to fit an imaginary garment. "Curious enough to leave your chaperone behind again to come and see me," he muttered, as much to himself as to her. "Interesting."

"Tell me, Miss Lillian," he said, raising his voice to conversational levels once more, "are you familiar with the work of Hippolyte Bernheim?" When she shook her head, he tried again. "Jean-Martin Charcot? Albert Moll? Etienne Azam? James Braid?" Each one elicited only another confused denial. "How about Franz Mesmer?"

Lillian nodded at that last one, excited to finally hear a name she recognized. "He was the man who invented mesmerism, yes? The one who hypnotized all those women-oh." She felt a sudden understanding stir her, an emotion so powerful that she could scarcely feel the edges of it. She remembered Clara all over again, this time with new understanding of her glassy eyes and somnambulist's walk. "Oh!"

"Yes," Alexander replied, clearly gratified by her reaction. "The woman you saw the other night was hypnotized-not for medical purposes, but for her pleasure. She was experiencing a sort of induced euphoria, a trance state that left her mind in a waking sleep and allowed her to experience a dream of bliss while still conscious of her surroundings. My social circle and I sometimes refer to it as a 'golden slumber'. For discretion's sake, naturally. There are some things that are best not spoken of openly in the company of others."

Lillian felt the heat of a blush, but it was nowhere near her face. She found herself suddenly breathless, picturing once again the look of vacancy in Clara's expression as she wandered into the room. She remembered the way Alexander whispered in Clara's ear, the thoughtless and distracted nod she gave before she allowed him to lead her away once more, and it distracted Lillian as well in a way she'd never imagined before. She tried to speak, but her throat felt unaccountably choked by the weight of what she wanted to say.

Alexander didn't wait for her to ask. He fixed his stare on her eyes and said, quietly and calmly, "There are women who...privately and discreetly, of course...desire to experience these golden slumbers. Clara was one of them. You could be one of them as well, Lillian, if you want to. Would you be interested in such a thing?"

Lillian was almost astonished that he asked. She felt pinned by his gaze already, unable to look away as she imagined the same thoughtless pleasure that transfixed Clara taking root in her own expression. She could already feel her body growing strangely weightless as her concentration grew more and more fixated on his stare. She had never experienced any kind of mesmeric trance before, but somehow Lillian felt as if she knew exactly what to expect from seeing the beatific smile on Clara's face. She nodded wordlessly, unable to trust her voice not to break from the excitement.

"That's a good girl," Alexander said. He stood up, and Lillian followed his gaze without any conscious effort on her part. It tired her eyes slightly to look up at him, but somehow that exhaustion took on the most delicious character in the context of his efforts. She wanted to feel sleep stealing over her. She welcomed it like a trusted friend. "Watching deeply now, staring deeply, looking into my eyes and letting your own become heavier...and heavier."

Lillian let out a soft sigh as she leaned back onto the cushions of the sofa, her eyes magnetized to his stare as he stepped around the low table to come closer to her. Somehow, though, it seemed more as though his eyes were growing larger, filling more of her gaze as she continued to watch him and listen to his words. "More and more relaxed, Lillian, your body growing heavy to match those heavy, fluttering eyelids. My words are drawing you down, deeper and deeper into a warm state of mental sleep."

Lillian nodded, unable to find words anymore. Words required thought, and Lillian felt too sleepy to think now. Her body was impossibly heavy, and yet somehow her head felt like she was floating in some delightful warm bath. "You are getting more and more drowsy, Lillian," Alexander said, "more and more relaxed and sleepy as you listen to my words. In a moment, your eyes are going to close, and when they do you will find yourself open and responsive to my words. Your mind will be deeply asleep, but your body will move under my direction. Deeper and deeper, more and more relaxed, falling into a helpless trance...now."

Lillian's eyes fell shut. And her mind went into a golden slumber.

It felt ecstatic. She could hear Alexander, but his words seemed to come to her through a distant fog of rose-scented mist. She found her body lazily responding to his commands, moving to lie supine on the couch at his direction. "I obey," she heard herself say, but she couldn't remember anymore exactly what it was she was agreeing to. It didn't matter, though. Not when she was like this. Lillian couldn't remember ever feeling so good in her life.

Her eyes opened once more, locking onto his instantly and easily, but it seemed as though the same fog that was in her head covered her vision as well. Everything seemed dim, her eyes refused to focus properly, and she knew she must look just like Clara as she repeated Alexander's commands in a dull monotone. "I am lost in your golden slumber," she heard herself say, and she could feel the words sinking into her dreamy mind like a hot stone dropped into a vat of warm butter. She readily surrendered her control, unable to think of anything other than the bliss she felt like this.

She didn't feel any shame when he commanded her to spread her legs. She didn't feel anything but bliss when his hand slipped inside her drawers, touching her womanhood and insinuating his fingers inside her. She only gasped his words back at him, chanting, "I obey," in a trembling voice until the pleasure built far past her ability to bear. Sticky warmth covered her undergarments and Alexander's questing touch as she lost herself in a transcendent peak of pure ecstasy that she had never before thought possible.

Lillian lost track of time after that. She felt another such peak, and then another after that, and then it all melted into a blur of euphoric bliss in her mind as she surrendered all concept of consciousness to Alexander's words and touch. She only remembered that she wanted to experience this again and again, that the desire for it was like a leash tugging at her thoughts. She would only be able to leave it behind so far before it dragged her back to him to beg for another dive into this well of thoughtless joy. And every time, she would sink deeper and more readily into his power. Lillian wanted that so much.

When she finally awoke, it was to the sight of Alexander tucking his...Lillian blushed all over again as she realized just what he was looking at. Tucking himself away, she mentally finished. She had a vague memory of her hands wrapped around something, her fingers sliding up and down as she repeated words she could not remember, but then she blinked and it was lost. It would come back to her in time, she knew it.

"Please do feel free to come back anytime, Miss Lillian," Alexander said, flopping back onto his couch and closing his eyes. "Assuming you can get away, of course."

"I...yes, of course," Lillian whispered. She heard it then, in her own voice. The ghost of obedience, the whisper that her mind was never again to be truly her own. A part of her slept forever in Alexander's golden slumbers; and as Lillian saw herself out, she knew that she accepted that surrender willingly.

THE END