Nancys Descent

I write fiction often, but this is the first time I have written erotica. It's hard for me to completely bypass character development and plot, so sorry if it's not porn-y enough for some readers. I would describe this as a

slow burn

. Just thought I would give a little warning in case that's NOT what you were looking for, right now. I plan to write this for awhile, as it is a fantasy of mine I've had for a long time, and Nancy has a long way to go. Enjoy!

*****

Nancy Rinard parked her dry cleaning van across the street from the home with a red door. She pushed the gear into park and sighed, glancing at the door. She had gotten to the point where just seeing that door gave her the willies. It wasn't terrible, she reminded herself. She'd gotten the creeps before from men, and Nancy had not gotten the sense from Mr. Hoyden that he would harm her or even seriously harass her. No, he was just a standard of the mill lech. She could handle that, she told herself. She only wished her uniform was less...flattering. Nancy looked at her image in the mirror briefly and considered taking out one of the wipes she kept in her purse to remove her makeup. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. It wouldn't help. Nor was it worth quitting her job and going through the uncertainty of finding another one again. And the last thing she wanted to do was move back in with her mother. She had finally begun to feel a sense of control over her life, for the first time.

The job she had gotten the previous week for Shoeman's Cleaners had been a godsend. She had moved out once before when she was seventeen and lived with a friend. Unfortunately, she'd lost her job and to top it off, living with Melissa had proven to be too much a strain on their friendship. Nancy was never great with friends, she tended to prefer being on her own. So she decided she would find a way to do just that. It had taken some time to find a decent enough job, but she found it a few weeks after moving back in her with mother. The job had been for a call center, and the work was boring and thankless, but it paid well enough and she was determined to save her money for the next two years, no matter how shitty it was living with her mother.

She graduated from high school a year early and promptly enrolled for college. She had only saved enough for the first semester, but she had been so sure she would receive enough grants and scholarships that her future would be mostly paid for. Her grades were excellent. But it hadn't worked out that way, and Nancy refused to go into debt. Not after watching her irresponsible parent struggle with it for years, before finally getting a divorce and chasing after their respective childhood dreams. Neither of which seemed to be working out. Nancy had to drop out of college for the time being, work full time and save money.

She was nineteen now, and it had been nearly a year since she'd put the down payment on her condo, when she was laid off. She'd sat in her car that day and found herself in tears. Eventually, she decided she'd spent enough time throwing pity parties. People got fired, people got laid off, people's parents sucked. That was life. She'd find another job, and she did. Shoeman's was a pay cut, but it was thirteen an hour plus tips, full time and she got to drive around town, which was more interesting than sitting in the same chair day after day wearing that damn headset.

Nancy slid out of the seat and made her way to the back of the van and removed Mr. Hoyden's newly dry-cleaned clothes, checking to make sure the garment bags were zipped and it was all presentable. She walked towards the house with his clothes in tow until she stood in front of that red door beneath the awning. She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. She could hear music playing softly from inside, and after a moment Mr. Hoyden opened the door. His glance at her tits was brief and he smiled appreciatively at her.

"Good afternoon, Nancy," he said, taking the bundle she handed to him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hoy-" Nancy paused when the bundle slid from his grasp when she'd handed them to him. She immediately bent to retrieve it.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. She was well aware it hadn't been her fault, but having spent so much time in customer service, she was conditioned to apologize and 'make it right', as Shoeman's slogan was, during training. Nancy became aware that her shirt had drifted forward, and her bra and cleavage were on display. Her necklace swayed in front her as though to garner attention and she glanced up. Mr. Hoyden had bent forward slightly and was admiring her displayed skin. He looked back up at her and smiled. They straightened up at the same time, and Nancy cleared her throat.

"Sorry about that. See you next Monday," she began to turn, and Mr. Hoyden held up his free hand.

"Oh wait one moment, Nancy. I have something for you," he said, and Nancy started to speak, before realizing it was probably his tip. He always tipped her well, and Nancy stood with her hands clasped in front of her, while he left her at the door. A part of her just wanted to go, but then again, at least if he tipped her well it would feel a little like compensation for being ogled. She wondered briefly if he had dropped it on purpose, and bristled at the thought. When he returned, he gave her a fifty dollar bill and Nancy looked at it a moment before looking up. Her mouth had turned down, and Mr. Hoyden cocked his head.

"Please, take it. I forgot to tip last time."

"Are...are you sure?"

"Of course, of course," he said with a smile. He had leaned an arm against the doorframe, and it made his belly pooch out more, but it also made his form seem larger and more intimidating. Nancy gave a quick nod.

"Aright. Well, thank you. Thank you very much. Have a good weekend, Sir."

"You do the same, Nancy. By the way, just out of curiosity, what is the name Rinard, French?" he asked. Nancy nodded.

"Yes, Canadian French. I was born in Montreal."

"Ah, interesting! And you moved to the States with your family?"

"Yes, Sir. When I was four."

"I see. And now you're here in Scottsdale, Arizona," Mr. Hoyden blew air out of his pursed lips and smiled with a shake of his head. "Talk about a big change."

"Yeah," Nancy agreed, smiling. "I don't remember Canada really well, but I do remember the ice storms. Quarter of an inch of ice on everything, even spruce needles. It was beautiful. And very treacherous. It is hot here, it's insane how hot it is. But travelling is never as hazardous, so there's that."

"Very true. Well, I'm glad you're here, you seem like a very nice young lady."

"Thanks, Mr. Hoyden. See you Monday."

When she was back in the van, Nancy frowned again, and wiggled in her seat a moment. She was suddenly and curiously slick between her thighs, more so than just a usual random little discharge. No, this was different; she was wet, soaking wet. She bit her lip and looked in the glove compartment for a tissue, but there was nothing. She sat back in the seat and let out yet another sigh, before putting on her seatbelt. She was just going to have be uncomfortable until she dropped the van off at the store and could get to the bathroom.

"Hormones are so weird," she mumbled to herself, and made her way out of Mr. Hoyden's neighborhood.

By the time Nancy had gotten home, she was worn out. It had felt like a long day, but she supposed it was mostly because it was the end of the week. She dropped her keys on the counter, toed off her shoes and let her bag fall onto the bench next to the stairs. A few minutes later, she was sitting on the couch with a turkey sandwich and watching reruns of Twin Peaks. Friday night was always the best, the very beginning of the weekend. The knowing there was no work for the next two days was often somehow better than the two days themselves, which often felt so brief and unfulfilling.

Nancy squirmed on the couch, feeling restless. She was also wet again, and contemplated touching herself before bed. She was trying to remember the last time she'd had an orgasm.

That night, Nancy stood in front of the mirror, naked. She was petite and very trim, but she had a charming hourglass figure and full, pert breasts. She lifted her arms and clasped her hands behind her head, pushing them forward and up. It was hard to imagine someone seeing her naked-a man seeing her naked. Nancy had only ever kissed a few times, and once, she had had a boyfriend for a few months that had touched her beneath her clothes.

The guy she was currently seeing she had only known for a couple of weeks, but she really liked him. His name was Sam, and he had dark, lovely eyes. She liked the way he looked at her and how he spoke to her like she was special, in some way. It was hard to tell if that was genuine, but time would tell. They'd made out a little, but when it started to go beyond that, something stopped her. Perhaps some fear that the reality of sex would be a letdown, that it wouldn't be worth the pain or the inevitable attachment she'd observed in other women after they'd had sex. Some part of her liked that it hadn't happened, yet. She liked the anticipation of it, the knowing... like Friday nights.

She let her arms float back to her sides. She didn't intend to stay abstinent indefinitely, but she felt satisfied with the current state of her innocence. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and got in bed. But when she began touching herself, she felt a touch of nausea. She continued for a while, unable to really get close and eventually grew frustrated, falling into a restless sleep.

~

As Nancy slept, Mr. Hoyden came into the living room holding a glass of brandy. He sat on the couch, listening to Dizzy Gillespie on the old Studebaker turntable. As the glass warms in his cradled hand, he thinks about the girl, Nancy. He had considered himself 'retired' in more than one sense. It had been about four years since he'd retired as a hypnotherapist, as well as from his own recreational opus. He always liked to call it Blooming the Bud.

It had begun with regular hypnotherapy, injecting little suggestions here and there with a few patients, just to see how and if it manifested. Nothing sinister or anything that would damage them or interfere with their therapy, but just little pushes in a certain direction, unrelated to their issue. He had gotten one man who had come for help with persistent migraines to become an avid jazz fan. Previous to his treatments, the man had professed his disinterest with jazz, saying that it all just sounded like chaos and he didn't understand the appeal. By the time he had gone through seven sessions with Mr. Hoyden, he was migraine free and telling everyone how incredible Billy Strayhorn and Duke Ellington were. He had even begun his own vinyl collection.

Then a woman named Christine had come in for help with alcoholism. He'd begun suggesting to her, intermittently throughout her sessions, that wearing a bra was uncomfortable and unnecessary. After a couple of weeks, she had come a long way with her drinking problem, and they were both pleased with the results. A few months later, she'd been sober for nearly two months, and had begun coming to the sessions without a bra. She'd even talked to him about it at one point, without prompt, and told him how she'd researched the effects of wearing a bra, and had discovered that there is evidence that it's actually healthier for breasts to not wear them. It even helped prevent sagging, according to her. Mr. Hoyden had just smiled and nodded, and told her he was glad she was finding new interests, especially interests concerning her health. She left him eventually, about two years later, free of the burden to drink, and free from the burden of undergarments all together.

From there, what he really wanted to know was how to make these suggestions stronger, to work faster and without the need for the subject to see him for multiple sessions. How could he get non-patients to bend to his will? It was all well and good to add little nuances to their therapy, but he did consider his job as something of importance, and to take it any further was a loss of integrity to both the craft and his professionalism. No, he needed to take it outside of the therapist venue. Out into the world. He had to do some experimenting, then. One of his favorite things to use was Silent Sound.

Silent sound involves recording spoken commands, filtering and changing their frequency using Frequency Modulation and adjusting them so that they are outside of the normal auditory spectrum. Although we can't physically hear what is being said, our brain receives and understands every word. He had used it before in some of the more chronic ailments, such as someone suffering from drug addiction for twenty years. It's effects could be heightened when combined with binaural beats, and after trial and error, tweaking his suggestions and methods, he discovered another important factor. What do the richest men in the world always say? You must spend money to make money, of course, but how does one choose to spend that money wisely? You make money work for you. Buy a vending machine for four grand, and it once you've made up for it, you are left with a passive income. How does that translate to mind control?

He began focusing his suggestions on external triggers. See the color red, and think of me. Hear this song and become aroused. See red and hear this sound and become aroused by me. If he made these suggestions something prevalent in most people's day-to-day lives, before he knew it, his suggestions were working for him even if the subject was nowhere near him. It built upon itself continually. In this way, he began to control those around him without them sitting foot in his living room for sessions. After all, the lovely woman working at the supermarket isn't going to come to his home for a hypnotherapy session. The woman working at the supermarket was named Rachel, and she'd been his first true guinea pig to the newly honed craft. All he needed was a tape recorder in his pocket. Much of the sounds they listened to were not even audible.

Oh, he'd gotten Rachel to do away with her undergarments, become sopping wet upon seeing his face or smelling his cologne. He'd gotten her to orgasm from the sound of an alarm on his phone while he stood at the checkout many times. Eventually, he began working in particular with obedience suggestions. After a time, he caught up with her at the end of her shift in the parking lot and asked if she might like to show him her breasts. She seemed offended and shocked, and yet her hands had raised her blouse to her chin and just stood there until he'd given a curt nod. She got into her car and left in a daze. In time he asked her if she might like to come by his house, and she did. He asked if she might like to come to his house in a slutty dress and heels, and she did. Then the serious fun had started. In the course of their fun, Rachel also decided that she wanted to go back to school and finish her BA. Mr. Hoyden liked to leave people better than he found them. Whether this was altruistic or narcissistic was hard to tell.

There had been a number of Rachels. Then he'd hit fifty and due to the fact that he was as wealthy as he ever wished to be, he took early retirement. He had thought it would be fantastic. He would travel, fish on the weekends, scour the world for rare vinyl's and spirits and finally just be. But he was bored. Then a few years later, Nancy entered the picture.

He had seen many beautiful women in his life, as many men and women have. There are many beautiful women in the world, and Nancy was certainly one of them. She had lovely dark auburn hair, big, sweet, light green eyes, an impeccably feminine and appealing body and the skin and hope of youth. But it was more than beauty; it was something difficult to put his finger on. He'd seen it before, but it was rarer than just a pleasing aesthetic. It was a distinct appeal, an appeal that pulled at more than one part of him. She had innocence in both the sexual aspect and in the sense of the heart. She was so...clean. And also a bit of a firecracker.

He'd seen the fire in her eyes the times she'd caught him blatantly looking at her tits. He liked that. She so fiercely wanted to be independent, and at once, so very lost and frightened. She had moxy, and at the same time, an inherently submissive side. She was a contradiction to herself, creating a constant discomfort with both her sexuality and her place in life. And there was something about her, both physically and mentally that seemed so very...supple. After the first week of longing, he decided to come out of retirement. He decided to make Nancy Rinard his Ninth Symphony.