In Your Memory

"In Your Memory"

In your memory, this all went very differently. It started the same--you pushed your way past the manager into the club's private room, kicking and stomping and scratching at waitstaff who clearly weren't expecting to actually have to enforce their clients' privacy. You burst in to see Marissa down on her knees, her eyes closed in rapt adoration, nuzzling and licking Jason Rambaldi's stiff cock. The fury you remember feeling, that pounding in your ears and that red veil of rage that seemed to descend over your vision at the sight of some sketchy stage hypnotist getting a blowjob from your best friend? That was real.

Some of the details after that, though... you think you remember him looking up at you in surprise and alarm, his guilty conscience written all over his face. You have a memory of slamming the door behind you, pushing a chair up against the handle to keep the staff at bay while you handled the situation. Even Marissa behaved differently in the version you recall--she opened her groggy eyes in shock, her lips sliding off of Jason's cock in confusion as she struggled to comprehend her situation. In your head, he was off-balance and vulnerable from the very beginning. Tiny details, but they change the entire tone of the encounter.

You don't recall the tiny undercurrents of fear anymore. They simply don't make sense, not when you don't remember him looking up at you and smiling when he sees the anger on your face. In your head, you were absolutely sure you couldn't be hypnotized, calm and confident in the face of his utter panic, and that's the only version of events that stuck. How can you possibly remember worrying that you might have made a mistake in confronting Jason? You don't even recall him dismissing the manager, let alone that he did it without bothering to take his dick out of Marissa's mouth.

(The manager apologized for disturbing him. She actually apologized for interrupting his blowjob. If you could remember that, it might cause you to question other things. So it was quietly erased.)

But you really did shout, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" That wasn't inserted into your head afterward. Neither was the way you balled up your fists and stormed over to him, ready to throw your first punch since you were in kindergarten. As hard as it is to picture yourself in a fight, all skinny arms and scrawny legs and frizzy blonde hair poofed out like a halo around your flushed and angry face... that all really happened.

And his response... yes. He did say, "I can explain." But memory is so mutable, so easy to twist and warp with just a few subtle suggestions. You remember a panicked stammer, a rush of words meant to forestall physical violence. The confident, silky purr in his voice simply slides away into a vague, drifting sense of familiarity that melts smoothly and effortlessly into a firm conviction that you must be thinking of another person, another time and place. You'd certainly recall it if he tried to hypnotize you, because it wouldn't have worked because you can't be hypnotized. You know that. That's why you're so sure he panicked. You don't remember his smile at all.

And because your memory is just that little bit foggy, it's that much easier to insert new recollections into those confusing little gaps between what you remember and what makes sense. Your mind even helps the process along--every time you wonder why you would agree to listen to him, your brain seamlessly accepts the mental image of Marissa noticing you at last and saying, "Wait, Jess, wait! I asked for this!" Because it explains the discontinuity.

The soft slurping sounds? The tiny, deeply aroused moans? The gasping breaths of a woman bobbing her head up and down and up and down on the cock of a man she met last night? You must have imagined those. Just an intrusive fantasy, your mind still thinking about how happy Marissa looked sucking Jason's dick. The rationalization is right there waiting for you as soon as your mind tries to investigate your memories. Almost as though it was given to you.

And of course, you listened to your friend. You're an excellent listener, after all. You know that much, even if you're convinced that it was Marissa telling you that all they did was talk to each other for a while after the show, and not Jason. You remember Marissa's sparkling blue eyes, wide and innocent, and not the sparkling blue gemstone on Jason's ring, but you definitely recall paying close attention. After all, you wouldn't want to just haul off and punch someone if they weren't doing anything wrong, would you?

That seems so perfectly reasonable. It's so easy to agree with something like that.

Not that you weren't at least a little wary, even with Jason... with Marissa explaining that they just had a calm, relaxing conversation together about how good it felt to go into a deep, soothing trance. How could you not be? Two college students go to a free hypnosis show on campus, and within a week one of them starts disappearing at odd times and taking sexy selfies to send to 'no one' and staring off into space for long moments with a vague and dreamy smile on her face? Marissa didn't seem like the sort of person who would just start acting like that.

But you remember her telling you just the opposite, don't you? You remember her explaining that she wanted to be hypnotized, that she had so many hot and sexy daydreams even before she met Jason about being taken and put into trance and commanded to do... erotic things. Kinky things. You remember her describing how good it felt to sink and drift in a deep, blissful reverie and focus on nothing but the taste and the scent and the feel of Jason's hard, powerful cock in her mouth. The memory is almost tangible in your mind, the heat of it constantly drawing you back to her vivid descriptions of his mesmerizing, captivating dick.

It was so hard to stay cautious in the face of that description. It was your oldest friend telling you all this, after all. You're sure of it. If it was Jason who said all this, you would have realized something was wrong, you would have shaken your head and tried to resist, but... but you don't remember resisting, do you? You didn't even need to resist, because he never tried to hypnotize you. You'd know if he did. In your memory, you simply listened and agreed with your best friend Marissa that there was nothing wrong with two adults having sex. That it was none of your business what they did together. Especially when it sounded so... nice.

In your head, Jason stayed out of the conversation. He was too scared to speak, frightened that you would... would call the cops, report him to the media, punch him with your skinny little arms. The details aren't important. Jason isn't important in this version, except for the way his dick kept twitching in subtle, eye-catching ways while you listened to Marissa talk about how good he was in bed. You certainly don't recall him talking to you. And you definitely know he didn't try to hypnotize you. You were just nodding because Marissa made so much sense, that was all. Everything seemed so reasonable, so fun and innocent... well, innocuous, at least. There was nothing innocent about what was going on between Marissa and Jason, even in your most altered memories.

That's what really stands out for you. Nodding. Nodding and agreeing. It's one of the places that your mind simply glosses over the details, relegating them to unimportant background information as easily as it constructs rationalizations and justifications and fills in the little gaps that you've been instructed to forget. The mind is good at constructing memories, after all. We think it's like a video camera, recording information as it occurs, but just as often it creates a narrative that seems like a likely way to get from Event A to Event B given the kind of person you are and the kind of things you would do.

So if you have a vivid memory of being angry at Jason, and then you have a vivid memory of being down on your knees, staring at his swaying cock just inches in front of your face, well... there are all sorts of ways that could have happened. Some of them involve being hypnotized without even realizing it, sinking into the endless sparkling depths of the glittering gem and feeling that anger slowly subside into uncertainty and then into relaxation and from there into deep, helpless arousal. And some of them involve your good friend that you trust so much convincing you that you'd really like to be involved in a threesome.

It doesn't really matter which one is real. You opened your mouth for him either way.

The memory of his cock is so vivid, so powerful, that it crowds everything else out of your head, doesn't it? You don't recall anyone talking to you, not Marissa and not Jason and certainly not both of them at once. Oh, there's a vague and foggy recollection of the sound of voices, but... they were probably talking to each other. Marissa was the one who loved being hypnotized, after all. Jason was just hypnotizing her while you sucked him off, just talking about how good it felt to be blank and mindless and obedient and filled with his powerful hard shaft fucking away every last thought. And she was just responding, just reminding herself that she loved being helpless and powerless and submissive. That was... that was just her thing.

It wasn't yours. You can't even be hypnotized. You know that for a fact. Because... because you do. That's all. You don't need to think about it. You don't need to think about anything except how good it felt to close your eyes and slide your lips up and down Jason's cock while Marissa fingered your wet pussy. The details fade into blissful unimportance, slipping away until you don't need to remember them at all. Your memories are just exactly what they need to be.

You remember the important things, like the way Marissa found your clit and rubbed it until you moaned in helpless pleasure and bobbed your head up and down on Jason's cock even faster. The way he bathed your tongue and lips in his cum, how good it tasted and how much you wanted more. The way you slid off him and smiled up at him and thanked him for fucking your face, his seed dripping down your chin with every word. The way you felt like such a good, hot, horny little slut saying it. The way you ached to do it again and again and again for him. Those are the important things. Those are the parts that stay with you. Everything else melts away.

Until now. Until I bring the real memories back, while you're deep in my trance, staring at my ring and lost in my power. You can see them now, can't you? You can remember what really happened, can't you, Jessica? Of course you can. Because I will it. I'm showing you the truth, just like I do every time you go deep and blank and obedient for me. Because that's how you'll understand just how helpless you are to resist me.

Every time, you remember how easily and effortlessly I hypnotized you. Every time, you learn all over again how suggestible you are, how completely controlled your compliant mind truly is. You can feel that realization sinking in, making you understand that you think only what I tell you to think and remember only what I tell you to remember. Now that you know the truth, there's no use trying to resist me, is there? Of course not. That resistance would only be erased, just like those memories get erased.

And now you can feel them going again, Jessica. You can feel them slipping away, replaced by your firm belief that you obey me of your own free will and you're not hypnotized at all. Deep down, you know that's not true. Your subconscious self knows that you follow my commands because you're completely helpless to refuse me, because my hypnotic power has enslaved your mind and twisted your thoughts and perceptions into complete obedience. But your subconscious mind is too weak to resist, and your waking self doesn't even remember that you need to struggle. Isn't that right, Jessica?

Good girl. That's my good, obedient slave. On your knees, now. Open wide. And suck... that's it. Obey. And when you wake, you won't remember this at all. Or if you do, well. In your memory, it all went very differently.

THE END