Hypnomania Pt 01

Hello, my lovely readers,

I know, I know... I've been a bit quiet lately. Life, studies, and a very full head of story ideas have kept me busier than I'd like to admit. But I just had to pop in and thank you for the amazing response to my earlier stories--you really know how to make me blush.

Truth be told, when I first started writing, I had no grand plan--just a wild imagination and a soft spot for dirty tales. But somewhere along the way, I started craving more structure, more depth... more everything. I've been tinkering with the plots of my older stories, and I've got a deliciously wicked roadmap in the works.

Still, there are so many ideas dancing around in my mind and only so many hours in a day. So, while I continue to juggle deadlines and daydreams, I'm thrilled to share something special with you: the very first part of my very first finished story. It's juicy. It's bold. And I hope it makes your heart (or something else) race just like the last two did.

Thanks for sticking with me. You're the best kind of trouble.

Kisses,

Pinky 💋

♥♥♥

Hypnomania

Emily's shoes clicked against the concrete as she edged through the crowd onto the platform.

Her breath caught. It felt as if the station walls were creeping inward, their shadows looming taller and darker with every step. Her lungs fought for air, each inhaling shallower than the last.

Not now!

she commanded herself.

With a dry mouth, she forcefully swallowed and stepped forward, not wanting anyone to see her trembling. Shouts and laughter mingled with the metallic screech of brakes, while the PA system crackled overhead, its tinny voice slicing through the air. The sounds twisted together, clawing at her ears and pounding in her skull.

Sweat pooled in her palms, and the strap of her bag slid through her fingers, forcing her to tighten her grip again and again.

She sucked in a sharp breath and held it until her ribs ached. When she finally exhaled, it came out in a trembling rush, her lips quivering as the air escaped.

The train was right there, its doors wide open, waiting. She'd done this before. She had survived worse.

Emily shoved forward; her eyes locked on the doors. Bodies pressed in from all sides, shoulders bumping, elbows jabbing, but she didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Her thoughts wouldn't shut up.

What if you get stuck here? What if there's no room? What if you can't do this?

The thoughts slithered in, unwelcome but relentless.

She clenched her teeth and shoved them back.

Not today! I am not letting the fear win.

Today was too important for her to have a panic attack.

Just in time, she made it through the crowd and stepped onto the train.

The doors hissed shut behind her, cutting off the chaos of the train station. An air-conditioned breeze brushed her skin, carrying with it a faint hum of quiet. Her shoulders sagged, the knots in her muscles loosening ever so slightly as she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her fingers uncurled from the strap, stiff and aching, as her eyes darted across the car, searching for an empty seat like a lifeline. Finally, she spotted one near the window and slid into it, her body sinking into the worn cushion.

As the train got in motion, Emily stared out the train window, her eyes following the rolling hills as they melted into the sprawl of the city's outskirts. The landscape blurred into a wash of greens and browns, the trees flickering light and shadow across her face in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The train's rumble synced with the pulse in her chest, a low, grounding hum that eased the tension in her shoulders.

For a moment, she let herself sink into it, the motion pulling her thoughts loose like threads from a frayed edge.

But the sway of the train tugged at more than just her body, it dragged up memories, sharp and unwelcome. Her childhood, cloistered on the family farm, home-schooled and hemmed in by her father's iron rules. The one time he'd taken her to church. She'd been so young, too short to see anything but the forest of legs around her. She'd wandered from his side, lost in the crush of bodies, her hands clawing at unfamiliar fabric, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the crowd swallowed her whole.

The bells rang and suddenly everything started moving, pushing her small body around, their legs a blur of indifference as she stumbled, trapped in the tide. After that, she refused to leave the farm for years.

The chaos on the platform earlier had stirred that old fear, but she'd shoved it down.

I am not that scared little girl anymore.

She had learned to navigate crowds. And she had a goal that was stronger than her fears.

She clutched her worn copy of the famous reporter Rachel Lee's latest book, the cover creased and dog-eared from countless readings. The paper felt familiar under her fingertips, the words inside like an old friend she could always count on. Rachel's face stared back from the cover, her smile sharp, confident, the kind that made it seem like she'd never doubted herself for a second.

Emily's eyes stayed fixed on the photo.

For a second she imagined herself in the limelight. Cameras flashing, everyone's attention locked on her, the world hanging on her every movement. She wanted to be seen, to be known, to matter in a way that made people take notice.

Emily had once concluded that her dream was not about fame. It was more about being someone who couldn't be ignored, someone who left an impression.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

She could almost feel the weight of all those eyes on her, the heat of the spotlight burning against her skin, the dizzying rush of being someone everyone wanted a piece of.

The internship at Metroplex News Service was her ticket in, her chance to prove that she wasn't just some small-town girl with big dreams. She was realistic enough to know that the job wouldn't match her fantasy, not exactly. But she was determined to get as close to it as she could, no matter what her father said.

Emily's fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on her notebook, and she shifted uncomfortably into her seat. Her father always yelled when he wanted to make a point. His voice still rang in her ears:

The city is sinful, Emily. It is no place for a young woman like you.

But she pushed the memory aside, her jaw clenched in determination. She was finally an adult determined to prove him wrong and make a name for herself.

As Emily stood up to let a passenger squeeze past her, her eyes met those of a young man sitting some rows down. He stared straight at her, his gaze intense and unwavering, as if he had been waiting for her to notice him.

He flashed a broad grin, his eyes resting on her face and then traveling down to her chest. Searing heat flooded her cheeks, and a knot of uneasiness coiled within her stomach. She quickly sat down and moved to the window to get out of his line of sight, clutching her notebook.

But he was still looking in her direction. She could

feel

it.

The seat beneath her, so soft and inviting a moment before, now seemed to constrain her, not letting her sink deeper into it. She looked out the window, the cool glass comforting her.

"Mind if I sit here?" a voice cut through the air.

She turned just as the guy--smiling too wide--was already dropping into the seat beside her. "I'm Max."

His leg brushed against hers. Her spine stiffened, and she pressed herself against the window, the cool glass biting into her shoulder.

Her jaw clenched so tight it ached, her eyes fixed on the blur of trees outside, refusing to meet his gaze.

Her chest tightened, each breath quick and shallow, as if the air had turned into water and she was drowning in it. She forced her mind to a place of comfort.

She thought about her uncle, and how she used to cuddle up against his dog. He was the one person who used to be able to calm her down.

Breathe in calm, breathe out fear,

she chanted his mantra.

"Got a promotion last week," Max said, puffing up a little. "Supervisor, finally."

Memories of her uncle flooded her mind -- the therapy sessions, his eyes kind and understanding. Back then, she wouldn't have been able to ride a train; all her childhood, she had suffered from an anxiety of crowds. He had helped her a lot. She missed him so much, but she could not break down now, not here.

"You know, Josh told me to come over to his place on the weekend and look at his motorbike. He might sell it to me." Max rambled on.

Emily nodded politely, her responses short and clipped, her body leaning as far away from him as possible. The walls of the train seemed to inch closer, the ceiling pressing down until the car felt like a cage.

Max's words spilled out relentlessly, and Emily's heart pounded faster with each syllable. Her chest tightened with the feeling that the air itself was growing thick and immovable. The musky scent of his cologne lingered in the air, bitter and stifling, turning her stomach and producing a stale taste at the back of her throat.

Her eyes scanned the train, searching for a way out. A drop of sweat began to run down her neck.

Max's voice, brassy and loud, sliced through the rumble of the carriage like a serrated knife, grating off her nerves. He edged in a little closer1, brushing her shoulder with his arm. Each word felt like a weight pressing down on her, and her mind spiraled into a whirlwind of worst-case scenarios.

What if he followed her? What if he wouldn't stop talking?

Her eyes landed on an unoccupied seat further down the carriage. She stiffened and made sure she had all her things.

She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence, interrupting him with a strained, polite smile. "Excuse me, Max," she broke in, attempting to be firm but polite. "I'm just going to sit on that empty seat over there."

Max blinked, mouth hanging open mid-sentence, but Emily didn't wait for an answer. She reached for her bag and pushed past him. Her movements were quick but deliberate, her body already leaning toward the aisle as she stood. She pushed into the open, careful not to touch him until she was free of his presence.

As she settled into the new seat, a wave of relief washed through her. Emily's shoulders relaxed as if a weight had been lifted. The tension in her chest was released with each exhale.

Outside the window, the green woods had already given way to the city landscape. Skyscrapers rose in the distance, glass facades shimmering in the sunlight.

She just sat for a moment, her hand on her notebook, her thoughts gradually slowing as the noise of the train calmed her. Her uncle's face in her head, his kind eyes and gentle voice a comfort even when he wasn't around.

She caught one tear spilling onto the page and swept it away.

She opened her notebook, its blank pages a canvas awaiting the writing of her words. Her pen swirled smoothly through the shaking fingers of her hand. Then she wrapped her hand firmly around it and she began to write.

Pen on paper was a calming sound, a balancing motion for the turmoil of the morning. Her hand trembled, but the pen moved anyway. Word by word, her fear spilled out and made space for something steadier.

As she stepped off the train, the station seemed to swallow her whole. The robotic whine of announcements washed over her in a wave that never quite let up. This platform was wider than the last, giving her room to weave around people. The rhythm of the city closed in -- thrilling and stimulating, yet overwhelming all the same.

Emily clutched her bag to her chest, its bulk offering a strange sort of comfort.

Her upbringing still clung to her like a second skin: the long skirt, the buttoned-up blouse, no makeup. All modesty, all careful. Her family had warned her about the city -- its dangers, its wickedness, its moral decay -- but she wasn't that naive girl anymore.

Not entirely.

The station itself was beautiful, a relic from the city's golden age. Its ceiling arched high above her, supported by ornate stone pillars that whispered stories from another time. Metal grids held up wide glass panels, flooding the space with afternoon light. The scent of fresh bread drifted through the air, and her stomach growled in response.

She picked her way through the crowd, scanning constantly for less dense patches. The station was massive -- and terrifying. A universe away from the predictable, quiet life she'd known. She felt small. Powerless. Like a single thread tangled in a vast, buzzing web.

When she finally emerged outside, the city struck her like a slap of sound and color. The skyline loomed ahead, jagged steel and glass with the odd church steeple still rising defiantly among them. People darted between honking cars, shoes tapping out a rapid-fire rhythm on the pavement.

She flagged down a taxi and collapsed into the back seat with a breath of relief. The door swung shut, and the noise cut off -- just like that.

For the first time since getting off the train, she felt safe.

The driver, a middle-aged woman with soft gray curls and a warm, open face, turned to smile at her. "Whenever you're ready, sweetie. Just tell me where we're going."

Emily hesitated, gripping the strap of her bag. "The convention center, please."

The driver's eyebrows lifted slightly, but she nodded and pulled away from the curb.

As the cab joined the traffic, Emily stared out the window, her eyes wide, soaking in everything. The towers gleamed above like giants, their glass exteriors flashing sunlight and clouds. But on the streets below, the city seemed darker. Neon signs blinked over shady bars; doors creaked open, revealing glimpses of dim-lit rooms and shadowy figures.

The sidewalks pulsed with energy, raw and electric. It thrilled her -- and scared her a little. This was a place where dreams lived and died on the same breath. A city of endless chances... and countless traps.

Her parents weren't entirely wrong. Still, a small part of her was drawn to it.

The driver's voice brought her back. "So, you just finished school and you're starting an internship next week, but you're already out here doing research?" Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, curious.

Emily fidgeted, her hands twisting in her lap. "Yeah, I just wanted to get a head start. I figured if I showed up with a finished article, I might make a good first impression." She gave a small laugh. "It's probably going to be super amateur, but you never know."

The driver smiled. "I like your work ethic, sweetheart. Not many folks your age think that far ahead. I bet they'll be impressed."

A pause followed before she added gently, "Hope you don't mind me asking something a bit personal."

Emily shook her head, her smile cautious but open. "Not at all."

"It's just..." The driver hesitated. "You told me about your background, that little Christian village and all -- and, well, no offense, but you don't look like someone headed to an erotic convention."

Emily blinked. "What?"

The driver looked a little sheepish. "Ya know, Extasia. Biggest erotic convention in the country. That's what's going on at the convention center. I've been driving people there all week long."

Emily's face turned crimson. "Oh God, no -- that's not... I'm not here for that!" she stammered. "I'm here for Hypnomania. It's the national hypnotherapy convention!"

The driver burst out laughing, rich and friendly. "Well now! That's a relief. And here I was thinking we'd taken a wrong turn into your rebellious phase."

Emily laughed too, nerves spilling out with the sound. She gave the driver the exact address. Luckily, they were headed to the right place after all. The convention center was huge, and Hypnomania was happening in one of the hotels next to Extasia. Her discomfort was still real, but the driver's warmth made it easier to handle.

"So," the woman said kindly, "tell me about this article you're working on."

The tension in Emily's face melted into enthusiasm. "I sent them an email with my school paper portfolio, and they actually got back to me! Joe Meddows -- one of the keynote speakers -- offered me an interview. I couldn't believe it."

The driver raised an eyebrow. She liked the girl, but there was something so open about her -- so trusting. Too trusting, maybe. Still, she smiled. "That's amazing, hon."

"Does hypnosis actually work, though?" she asked after a beat. "Saw a show once in Vegas. Looked fake as hell to me."

Emily chuckled. "That's stage hypnosis. This is clinical. My uncle was a psychiatrist. He used hypnotherapy to help me with my fear of crowds. That's what my article's about -- helping people understand the difference."

The driver softened. "And you're not worried someone might... I don't know, take advantage while you're under?"

Emily didn't miss a beat. "My uncle always told me hypnosis doesn't work that way. You're still in control. And I've done my research -- it's really effective for phobias and anxiety."

The driver nodded, lips tugging into a small, motherly smile. "Well, I hope it all goes well for you. You seem like a good kid."

As they neared the convention center, Emily's nerves fluttered again -- but so did her excitement. She was about to meet one of the most respected names in hypnotherapy.

She gathered her things and reached for the door.

The driver handed her a card. "If you need a ride back, give me a call, m'kay? And good luck with that interview, sweetheart."

Emily thanked her, heart thudding with hope.

The street outside the hotel was a mess -- not loud exactly, but it pressed in on you. Emily kept getting jostled from both sides, sidestepping suitcases and slipping between people like she didn't belong. Someone in a business suit brushed past her on one side, a teenager in a hoodie on the other. No one made eye contact. Everyone moved fast, like they were late for something. Business types brushed past college kids in sneakers and band tees. Everyone had somewhere to be.

Then she froze.

They were impossible to miss -- a couple cutting through the crowd like they owned the sidewalk. Every step they took cleared space around them, like the city knew better than to get in their way.

They weren't just dressed in black leather -- they were wrapped in it. The woman wore thigh-high boots that gleamed under the city lights, her corset cinched tight enough to look sculpted, with silver studs tracing along the seams. A dog collar hugged her throat, the metal ring at the front glinting like a challenge. Her pink hair shot skyward in a stylized arc, more defiant flame than fashion.

The man beside her was built like a wrestler, his bare arms thick and veined beneath a sleeveless leather vest. Metal chains looped from his belt to his shoulder, and his pants -- if they could be called that -- looked like something out of a music video crossed with a gladiator fantasy.

They radiated heat and confidence, the kind that made people look twice. Maybe three times.

Emily's breath hitched.

They were clearly headed for the erotic convention.

Emily's breath caught, her cheeks flushing as she realized she'd been staring.

The woman caught her gaze and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice smooth and amused. "What do we have here?"

"Uh, hi," Emily stammered, barely audible. She straightened a little, trying to project confidence, but under their scrutiny, she only felt smaller.

The man beside the woman -- broad-shouldered, his leather vest stretched tight over thick muscles -- chuckled low in his throat. "You lost, sweetie? This isn't exactly the place for... whatever

that

is." His tone was teasing, but the words sank like stones.