Her Wildest Dreams Ch 03

[Author's note: Harper James has turned to hypnotic scripts as therapy for her anxiety condition. However, they are opening up a new world of possibilities for her and her husband Peter.]

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EXECUTIVE ASSISTANCE

Peter drove into the long-stay car park at the airport. Harper was in the passenger seat, dressed in a neat jacket and a skirt that stopped just above her knee. She'd opted for bare legs and low heels, and had coiled her long, dark hair into a neat bun. He parked the car and turned the engine off, plunging them into silence. He hesitated.

"It'll be fine," Harper said. "Even if it doesn't work, I've got you right there with me. My companion animal. I also brought some pills I can take."

She looked down at the handbag on her lap.

"I don't want to take the pills, but if it's an emergency. Plus it's not a long-haul flight."

Peter could sense that his beautiful wife was talking herself up. The original trip had been twelve hours of flying, into another country. The follow-up was to the client's regional office, three hours away. It was the only reason he'd agreed to try. Harper had done short-haul flights before and survived without an attack. On the face of it, there were a lot of control factors.

Beyond that, Harper had taken to the suggestions well. Packing for the trip last night, she'd done it as Germaine Priestly, picking and choosing from among Harper's wardrobe for items that a confident, no-nonsense boss woman would take on a business trip. He'd left her to it, noticing the way that even though it was all a trance trigger, his wife had readily accepted that she was now the effortlessly in-control heroine of one of Harper's own stories, even embellishing on her character beyond the tight confines of the character synopsis that Harper had supplied to him.

"Ready?" he asked, trying to keep the nerves from his voice.

His wife nodded, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt, settling into her seat. She looked straight ahead, took a deep breath, and then turned her head to make eye contact with him.

Peter felt the butterflies in his stomach. There was something about the directness of his wife's gaze, the way he could see her gradually losing focus as she stared into his eyes, that did something for him. She was succumbing to her conditioning, hypnotizing herself, getting ready for the trigger that would drop her under. It seemed fantastical to Peter that they'd made so much progress in a few weeks, that he could watch his wife slipping into trance without either of them saying a word. She was what the online literature had called an ideal subject: intelligent, willing, highly imaginative. It worked because she wanted it to work.

Slowly he raised his hand to his wife's pretty face, watching her eyes widen in anticipation. He clicked his fingers. "Sleep."

Harper's eyes drifted closed, and that was it. His wife's beautiful face became slack, her posture relaxing, and it was like she wasn't there anymore. The lights had been turned off, and there was nobody at home. Peter hesitated, stealing a moment to gaze at his wife's lovely features, the contented half-smile, the dark red lipstick she'd chosen, the carefully-applied eyeshadow. He was painfully aware of the curves of her body, the soft mounds of her breasts beneath the prim, white blouse, the way her chest shifted slightly with each languid breath.

"Now, feel yourself sinking down. Drifting into warm, comfortable, darkness. There's a large wooden box. It's upholstered with plump, red velvet, so soft to the touch, so welcoming. There's a glass door in front of it, so you can see in. Who's in there?"

Harper shifted in her seat, her soft lips parting at last.

"She is..."

"And she's ready to come out, isn't she?"

"Yes," Harper breathed.

"Reach out and open the door. It's not locked, is it? You can swap places at any time."

"Yes... not locked."

"Let her out now and take her place. Watching her stepping out of the cozy box. Sliding into the box yourself. Closing the door behind you."

"Yes."

"Hear the click as the door closes. Feel the warm, comfortable velvet, like the softest armchair you have ever sat in. So warm and safe and comfortable in there, looking out, watching her. Are you comfortable?"

"So comfy," Harper whispered. "Snug."

"That's right, snug and safe and able to watch everything she does. You can open the door at any time and come out if you need to. You can also suggest things to her, but now I want you to sink back into that comfortable velvet and let her take control of your body, just for a while. Okay?"

"Okay. Control."

Peter marvelled at his wife's slack features, bracing himself to issue the command that would transform his lovely wife into the woman she'd invented. A woman not prone to her anxieties, who wouldn't be encumbered and prevented.

He'd seen part of it last night, packing the suitcase. It had been unnerving to watch her change and become her fictional heroine, but Harper had reassured him after that it had felt like play-acting. She'd been playing a role, and was still in charge. The trance had just made it easier, more real.

"I'm going to count to three, and when I say wake, Germaine is going to wake up, ready to take the flight with me. You'll experience everything, but you're safe. You're tucked away in your snug little box, just watching. I'm going to count now."

Peter took a deep breath.

"Three. Feeling yourself slide deeper into warm, soft velvet as Germaine begins to stretch and awaken."

Harper's body shivered.

"Two. Feeling the peace descend on you as her thoughts begin to stir, as the energy flows into her body.

"One. Perfectly calm and at rest as she gets ready to wake up and take control."

Peter hesitated, watching his wife intently. "Germaine, wake."

She opened her eyes, stretching. She looked back at him, frowning.

"When does the flight leave?" she asked.

Peter didn't reply, smiling back at her.

"Uh, hello? Do you speak? When's the flight?"

"It's in an hour, Germaine," Peter replied.

He watched her eyes flare. "Ms. Priestly will be fine, Mr. James. I hope you have the tickets to hand."

She opened the car door and got out. Peter stifled a smile, forcing his features into a neutral expression. He got out too. She looked across at him from the other side of the car, frowning.

"Well?" she said at last. "Are you going to keep staring or are you going to bring my luggage?"

With that, she turned away, heading towards the terminal building without another word.

Peter watched her go. She walked with confident strides, her hips swishing in her tight, sensible skirt. There was something unbearably sexy about the way she moved. She glanced over her shoulder without breaking stride.

"Today, Mr. James," she called out.

Peter found himself hurrying to retrieve both suitcases from the car. He scurried after the woman who had taken up temporary residence in the familiar body of his wife.

Peter caught up to her in the check-in line for the flight. She scowled as he approached.

"I don't appear to be in business class, Mr. James."

Peter stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. Harper really had disappeared, replaced by a woman who expected nothing less than excellence and the world to conform to her orders.

"Sorry, G... er... Ms. Priestly," he stammered. "Last minute. We couldn't get business class."

We couldn't afford business class, Harper, he thought to himself, wryly.

"Well, I suppose I should just be thankful you were able to procure us inside seating."

Peter's eyes went wide, but then he suppressed the incredulity. She really was Germaine now.

"Well, are you going to stand there or are you actually useful, Mr. James? Check us in." She tutted loudly. "I hope they at least have decent wine in cattle class."

They made their way gradually to the front of the line. Peter stole glances at the woman next to him, telling himself that he was watching in case Harper resurfaced again. They had been doing regular sessions twice a day, with Peter taking over the schedule of the online scripts, and he'd been able to trigger Germaine last night, but this was in public now, with more noise and distraction. Harper had proved herself adept at maintaining trance in the confines of their home. This was a new level.

But, when they were called to the desk, the woman next to him merely gave him a look that told him in no uncertain terms that manhandling the suitcases onto the conveyor belt was beneath her. He stepped up to the older, blonde woman behind the counter.

"Two of us," he muttered.

She gave them both a practiced smile. "Of course. ID?"

Peter handed over his driving licence and then he froze. He hadn't covered this. He turned quickly to the woman next to him to find that she'd already dipped into her handbag and was staring at the driving licence she'd found. Without hesitation, she handed it over to the woman behind the desk.

"Thank you. Can you just pop the cases up and we'll get them weighed?"

Peter complied, keeping an eye on his wife's face. She was tracking him with a steely gaze.

Once the suitcases were checked in and they had their boarding passes, Peter led them away.

"So, it's one of these, is it?"

Peter looked across, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Travelling in economy, under an alias. I should have guessed. They do this every time."

"I'm... uh, what?"

"Come on, Mr. James. Honestly, I thought I was very clear about this trip. If anything, you should be the one travelling under false pretenses. At least the photo was a passable likeness of me, but honestly, Harper? Harper James? It makes me sound like a romance novelist."

Peter found himself sucked along behind the self-assured woman as she deposited her phone and handbag in the tray to go through the security screening. She was already in motion by the time Peter was picking up his wallet and phone and once again he scurried after her.

They reached the gate and sat down, but Peter still felt like he was trying to catch up. Whatever Harper had planned went a lot deeper than the character synopsis he'd instilled into her hypnotised mind. She turned to face him, leaning closer so they couldn't be overheard.

"Look, I don't mean to offend, but when I asked them, I did give exact specifications for my requirements."

"Uh, sorry, Ms. Priestly."

"You're aware, of course."

Peter gaped at her. She shook her head.

"Obviously chosen on looks rather than brains."

"Pardon?"

She seemed to relent at last, surveying him closely.

"I told the department I'd be travelling on business."

"Department?"

"Good God, man, where did they find you? I hope they screened you for IQ as well as looks."

Peter had the feeling that he was out of his depth. They were inside one of Harper's stories now, playing roles. Eventually, she continued.

"I'm sure you can appreciate the issues I face, Mr. James. My lifestyle does not permit, uh, a great deal of casual socialision. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, I guess."

"Guessing. Okay. Not promising, but let's work on that. I went to them and specified blue eyes, blonde hair, tall but athletic rather than bulky. I suppose it does make more sense for me to be travelling under an alias given my profile."

Peter blinked at her, and she frowned again.

"It's very hard to juggle my line of work while also selecting an appropriate partner. Tell me, are you up to it?"

"Up to...?"

"To breed, Mr. James. I'm in the correct part of my cycle and will require you regularly for the next few days to maximise my chances."

Peter stared back at her, stunned.

"You can barely handle a flight booking, but I'm assuming you can fuck."

Peter clicked his fingers quickly. "Sleep," he said.

His wife's eyes drifted closed and she settled gently against his shoulder. He stared at her slack face, astonished. He was already way out of his depth and they weren't even on the plane. Worse, he would still need to wake her up to get her into her seat and then off again at their destination.

Worse than that, he was supremely conscious of the way she was snuggled against him, with her short skirt and her perfect makeup, deeply in his trance. She wanted to fuck him, and she had no difficulties in saying so, unlike Harper. This woman wanted his body for her own personal use and wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

He still hadn't worked out his plan when the announcement came to board the flight. Reluctantly, he counted her up from three and told her to wake. She sat up straight, then checked her phone. She tutted, and that left Peter in no doubt that Ms. Priestly was still in the driver's seat. That meant something significant. It meant that Harper didn't want to assume control. She was content to let Germaine Priestly remain in charge.

She stood up, glancing down at him. "Come on, Mr. James," she said, crisply.

Peter stood, but she was already in motion, brandishing her ticket. Once again, he was scurrying to catch up.

They encountered the boarding queue at the end of the gangway, hemmed in with other travellers as the airline crew welcomed each person on board. Peter kept a close watch on his wife's face, but there appeared to be none of the stress that Harper would have been feeling. He supposed that to her, she was ensconced in a little box inside Germaine's head, looking out like it was a show. It felt odd, thinking of his wife like that, shut up in a little box while someone else inhabited her body, someone who truly believed that she'd paid very good money to an agency to supply her with a companion for the next few days, with whom she would breed.

They found their seats. He'd booked her into the window as usual, and he took his place next to her. She gave him a look, and then promptly ignored him, scrolling through the in-flight entertainment.

This had always been the easiest part of managing Harper's crowd anxiety. She could watch a movie and pass the time, but it was the crush of people getting onto the flight and off again that triggered her. Dropping her into a trance in her seat would have been an easy way to mitigate against the flight itself inducing the panic attack, but now he was left with a choice.

If he let her watch the entertainment, she'd lapse out of trance at some point and then he'd be dealing with having Harper back again, disembarking from a full flight. He chose the second option.

"Ms. Priestly?" he called out.

She turned to him, her eyes locking onto his raised fingers. He snapped.

"Sleep."

Her eyes went blank, then drifted closed, her body relaxing deep into trance. He was amazed that it had worked, packed into the airplane, with the hullabaloo of people trying to stow luggage, find seats, appease children. But she'd dropped on her trigger without a hint of a struggle.

"If I could afford business class," he told his wife's slack face. "There's plenty of space there."

Gently, he slipped her earbuds in and pressed play on the script. It was a looping deepener, programming her to sink further into a blissful, mindless trance. He'd keep her under like that for the rest of the flight. It was, on balance, the safest thing to do.

Carefully, he positioned her unresisting body, clipping her seatbelt, tucking a blanket around her. It would look to anyone else like his wife had gone to sleep. Only Peter knew the truth, that he was emptying her mind out completely until she was deeply enthralled in hypnotic bliss.

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Peter brooded for the rest of the flight while his wife sat in a mindless trance next to him. He was acutely away of her shapely body, the press of her thigh against his. He kept looking across at her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. He'd stopped the script, but Harper showed no signs of surfacing from her trance. He wondered again how deep he'd dropped her.

The stewardess made her rounds, serving a snack and a drink. Peter didn't rouse his wife.

He kept telling himself that he was doing it for the best of reasons, but the reality was that he was struggling with the abrupt change in the woman he'd married. Harper had always been a little left-field, a lot more creative than him, but he'd never have imagined that he would have been transporting her vacant body next to him on a flight.

That's how it felt. Harper's body was pressed up against him, warm, soft, her lips pursed in a way that he found enticing. He put his hand on her knee and she didn't react at all. But Harper herself had been locked away, put into storage in a little box inside her head to which he held the key. It shouldn't have been possible to do this to another human being, to reduce her with a click of his fingers from his vibrant, sexy, complicated wife to an inanimate object.

The captain made the announcement that they were coming into land. Peter smiled grimly. Just another half hour to maintain, and then Harper would be back, safely on the other side of the experience.

The landing was bumpy, caught in a crosswind that made the pilot work a little harder for his wages. A few uncertain voices cried out, but the female form next to him remained serenely oblivious. Once the plane had pulled onto the taxiway, he nuzzled against her delicate cheek to whisper into her ear.

"Ms. Priestly, we've arrived. I'm going to count back from three and you're going to awaken, still in control, still wanting to get through the airport and into the cab."

He counted her back from three to one as usual, and then murmured, "Wake".

She stirred, muttering to herself, then realised she was leaning against him. She sat up abruptly.

"I'm sorry, I must have dozed off. I didn't mean to... are we here already?"

"We've arrived. You slept straight through."

"Unlike me. But, well, sorry for leaning all over you."

Peter chanced a smile. "My pleasure, Ms. Priestly. After all, it's reason I'm here."

The comment stirred her, and she sat up straighter, regaining some of her original hauteur. "Indeed. Talking of which, do you have the address?"

"It's all taken care of, Ms. Priestly."

She gave him a strange look. "That feels very formal."

"Would you like me to change? What do other people call you?"

She pondered her response for the moment. "My close friends call me Germaine, of course. But my staff call me Ms. Priestly, or some have taken to just calling me ma'am. One did attempt to call me boss, but I detested it so much I nearly fired him on the spot."

She looked him up and down. "Ma'am will do for now. Let's see how we progress from there, Mr. James."

Peter nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Now, could you make yourself useful and gather up the hand luggage?"

Peter did what he was told, following close behind as they made their way off the plane. Once again, there was no trace of the nerves that Harper would have exhibited. They emerged onto the concourse and headed towards the baggage carousels. The crowd had dispersed and they were walking along alone. It was probably safe to bring his wife back now.

"Ma'am, one more thing," he said, stopping.

She stopped too, watching him carefully. He raised his hand to her face.

She moved quickly, wrapping her hand around his fingers.

"I don't think so, Mr. James. We've had quite enough finger clicking."

"But..."

"No buts. Put your hand in your pocket and keep it there, do you understand?"

"Uh," Peter faltered, "Yes. Yes, Ma'am."

"Good."

That was all she said, all the way to baggage collection, and all the way out to the cab rank. She was ignoring him, expecting him to wheel their suitcases, load them into the cab, open the door for her and then sit quietly alongside once he'd given the address of the hotel to the driver.

"Look, I just wanted to say something," he muttered, keeping his voice low so that the driver couldn't hear them.