Sensory 1

Hey, how are you doing today? Long day, huh? Let me guess, taking a break and pacing those long, empty hallways, hoping that will keep you awake from whatever mundane assignments keep you at your office so late. Well, that and taking my call; funny to think after all this time that talking to me keeps you awake for once. What? I think it's funny. Maybe your sarcastic laugh means you don't find it funny, because after all this time, why would the sound of my voice keep your mind any kind of awake? That's not why you listen as long as you do, as intently as you do, as helplessly as you do...

Aww, c'mon. A little teasing never hurt anybody; if you know you're being teased, you at least know you're awake. For now.

What? You think you're going to be awake for much longer? How adorably naive. And of course I'm still teasing you - it's more fun to tease and toy with a moving target. In fact, let's go with that, just for fun. You're walking down that hallway, after sitting so long trying to stay awake; it must feel really good to get up, stretch those muscles and get in a bit of exercise to change things up. It has to help since it might feel like everything is conspiring against you. The dimmer it gets outside, the more it signals you're that much closer to sleeping. That seat you have to eventually return to, such a temptation to lean back into it and let the natural narcolepsy overtake you for one of those "quick" naps. Of course there's thoughts of me, or just my voice that's not really getting deceptively lower, strangely soothing, powerfully persuasive. No, it's not doing that, it can't when it's always that way...hehe. Won't be long before even that hallway can't stave it off.

What do I mean? Well, that long hallway to your office, I have to admit I love the flooring there, and honestly everything about it. Thin carpeting that make the clomps of shoes pretty audible. The way it almost echoes with fewer people around, how unobstructive it is, even how it seems to stretch out and make the trip longer sometimes. It can feel like an eternity sometimes as you walk down it, leaving work, or wanting to. The flooring and echoing always lets you know who's coming. The hallway is so sterile, helping to make it extend, almost dulling your sense of depth perception, and your senses as well, no matter how bright it is. Can you imagine walking it in the dark? I bet you can; the longer you do it now, the darker it gets. I bet years of unintended practice mean you count exactly how many steps it would take from the elevator to the office. The only thing to interrupt you could be an unexpected noise, maybe the sound of someone trailing you; a set of heels.

The interruption is minimal to your senses. Why shouldn't it be when those heels are rather...familiar. You know them. Just like the hallway, light or dark, or those heels softly colliding with the flooring, seen or unseen, you just know. You know the path you're on, and you know whose heels those are. If you were to walk down the path in the middle of a blackout, it wouldn't bother you in the slightest; you know how many steps you have left before the elevator comes. And once you hear those heels come seemingly out of nowhere, it's just like the last time it happened. A time among many that you can't remember, but you don't need to; nothing about this is anything but a comfortable routine. It's not bothersome to hear those heels click closer and closer, as if closing in on you. All that does is make you anticipate something good.

You hear my heels get closer and closer, your ears losing themselves in the slightly quicker rhythm my long legs set. As the sound gets so loud, you know I'm so close, that you can't hear any other sound. You might feel me brush gently by you, hearing a gentle chuckle, a small polite whisper of "excuse me." Before you can say anything, your nostrils take up most of the effort of your face because their involuntarily inhaling a scent you know, a scent you love, a scent you need. A scent that propels you forward, eager to smell more, eager to keep your ears filled with the sound my shoes make, in tow of your senses reaction to my presence, following me wherever I might lead you, the blind and blissed following, the walking and worshiped. You follow me, as we move toward wherever I want. The journey continues, but you've already reached your destination - my power.

So comforting to you, my power, like the warmest of blankets, the plushest of cushions. In darkness that requires no literal blindfolding, sightless to everything but what all your collective senses tell you, you can rest easy and without worry about everything. You know that everything is in my hands now. The body carrying your senses is in my hands, guiding you toward that elevator, away from the work you believed you need to stay late to finish. Such an obedient pet for accepting that belief, for accepting all my suggestions that quickly became your beliefs lately, like the forgetfulness rendering you blind to the special occasion tonight, the anniversary of our first embarking on the journey deep into your senses and mind. Such a long, satisfying journey that I feel privileged with you trusting me to accompany, to lead the expedition. I cherish that trust like little else, like you cherish your trusting of me, trusting that the elevator we enter will take us down, that it won't matter what floor we're descending from, it will be five long floors before we reach the bottom, like five expanded senses under scintillating description, venturing into deeper trance than previously known.

Starting with 5...noticing the downward trend beginning, feeling the physical motion. Like a set of eyelids getting heavy and wanting to close, and even if your conscious eyelids remain open, your subconscious ones easily closed and happily stay closed for me.

Continuing with 4...your breaths start to deepen, increasingly savoring each new one by seconds longer. The air around you smells of Submit, fragrant and filling your soul, reminding you of what was, what is, what will be, what you so need to be.

Descending with 3...heeding what you know to be, because my voice tells you. Listening narrowed to my voice, because what else rates as important? As factual? As bewitching and existent? What other sound takes you to the depths you need to fall?

Falling with 2...how does it feel? My presence, my caressing, petting hand, my knowing praise. Does it feel as blissful as your docile smile? Does it feel like you're still sinking despite leaving the elevator? Does it feel like every sense deepens just from simply obeying and pleasing me?

Sinking with 1...one would hope that's exactly how it feels, how it tastes. The one dish you can't get enough of, spoon-fed to you often, eagerly, greedily. Just a taste on the tip of your mind's tongue brings you to heel, or a chaste kiss might make you fall in-love with my control of your senses all over again. Quick, simple ways to take you, and yet you get to feast on a long induction, a favorite of a glutton for the mindless state. We are celebrating an anniversary after all.

And as I seat you into the passenger seat, securing your seatbelt, reclining your seat, let every set condition embolden your passenger status in your own mind. You want to be there, and have me in the driver's seat, as I am now. And during our drive, let's celebrate through reflection of my sensory control, and how effective a hypnotic subject you've become.

I have to say, though I'm an excellent driver that almost never takes her eyes off the road, it's hard not to steal glances over to see you sitting there as I've arranged you, and not imagine that you are strapped helplessly to a brainwashing chair. And with your predisposition to belief of my words, that's exactly what all your senses will tell you it is. The sight of a VR display within goggles flashing "obedience," the faint whiff of a anesthetic agent, the sound of binanural beats to accompany the rhythm of my commands; all of these things will become so if I really want. Fun as it would be to play that game again, I feel more like recalling how you weren't always the sterling subject you are now; the older you was not so long ago, yet now might as well be another lifetime.

So busy you were analyzing during every initial induction how you were supposed to feel, hung up on even the slightest things and your own preferences. Comparing movies to real-life, fantasy to fact, unable to let the comparisons go, you were every bit the challenge you thought you were. Breaking your awareness down by senses, dividing and conquering each element of perception, I love how you forced me to get more creative than I thought I'd need to be. How special that made controlling you, engaging one or two senses at a time. The feel of a tropey bauble here, the sound of *SNAP* there, the scent of Submit everywhere, all adding up to my voice taking you anywhere I pleased. I've lost count of how many places, how many hypnotic ambushes I've executed; you made it so easy, always subconsciously primed for a taming hand and wrist, that I had to try it everywhere.

So healthy for my evolved, domineering ego, to know that at my whim, your sense of feelings could be *SNAP* blinded, taste buds could be *SNAP* deafened, nostrils could be *SNAP* numbed, eyes could be *SNAP* starved, and ears could be *SNAP* anosmic. And before any confused, heh, sense of consciousness could try to explain why those words shouldn't line up with others, why you might find the need to disagree, how can you when I set the rules, wipe the slate clean, and re-write the rules? You've got me so interested in the science of it all, you made me learn words like "anosmic," "modality," and even if there are more senses than the five we all learned in school. How surprised I was to learn there are more, and how pleased I was to learn that by all rights, I'm in considerable control of those too.

According to Wikipedia, there are a few more that matter, like kinesthetic, the sense of posture and movement. The first time I read about this, then thought of you, I knew this sense was already well under my influence. You're such a fun toy or doll when I want you to be. Posable, stylable, bendable, ready to take any amusing form, even the stuff you might later forget you hate doing. The touch of my fingers across your muscles turn them soft or rigid, the touch of my voice achieves the result just as easily. Sometimes you're a convenient piece of furniture; a footstool, a seat, a comfy body pillow, always handy when I need one. But it's easily as fun to remove the sense from you altogether, to let you imagine you're doing nothing but floating in the void of hypnosis, while your body is moving like it is now, getting out of the car and following me inside your place. Or really, my place.

Vestibular is the next new one, the sense of balance. I'm sure vertigo is a sense few enjoy if any, to let the biological compass in you go awry, and though I don't imagine conscious or subconscious you is on the list for enjoying, you're surely on the list for loving the thrill of knowing it's as easy as a *SNAP* to make you lose it. Of course, you haven't lost it at that moment, because you know I didn't want you to. I love the literal, but especially figurative balance we have in this relationship. Hypnosis is the amazing fulcrum that balances me standing tall over a prostrating, adoring you, each sense of yours weighed down to match my immense willpower. And since you took to kneeling from that innocent suggestion, you may crawl for me on your hands and knees into your, my other abode. You looked so happy when you knelt, you reminded me that you don't get to be this self inside you very often, and my sense of control helps balance the assertive, standing-tall man with the kneeling, fawning sub. The balance between us is so strong too; you'd think it'd be delicate, with the slightest...*SNAP* tipping it over one way or another. But no, a *SNAP* only strengthens the hypno fulcrum. *SNAP* adds equal weight to both sides. The more I *SNAP*, the stronger we are, and we'd both love it if I *SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP* you deeper all day. So hopefully you don't mind another *SNAP* that helps you remove your shirt, and further urges your need to give me a massage.

And while you're working on me outwardly, I'll happily mention the third sense - organic, meaning sensations based on internal organs. That's a hard one to quantify, expect knowing the sensations as thirst, drowsiness, and hunger. I don't have much need to affect this sense, to be honest. Your inner workings do fine without instruction, keeping the machine that is my submissive going perfectly. And how perfect it feels to feel your practiced hands bring wanted sensations to me. I can't say I don't leave you hungry and thirsting for some sensations, and cause literal drowsiness, those are givens. My biggest contribution to this sense is most certainly keeping you healthy. Less of your awareness over time has gone toward how many workouts you fit in a week, or how your diet and appetite has suddenly shifted toward healthier consumption. If you're going to be the pleasure pet I truly want, your health needs to be at optimum levels. And I do love that I can get your blood pumping in other ways. Even in the blankness I'm sure is in your eyes, the sight of my flesh makes you respond just as easily as if my voice described how sexy I am to you. Cutely naive as you've acted when I've shown interest before, if that doesn't make parts of you come to your senses, I don't kn-

Oh. Oh wow. That's just...perfect. Too perfect not to use.

Come to your senses. Like the phrase was destined for my brand of trances with you. Because isn't that what inevitably happens? I've worked your arousal, mind, and memory so well for so long that any organic excitement is the product of my trances. Right?

Of course, of course they are. Because I've always told you, shown you how hot this kind of control is. Every sense adding to the need to show your passion, the glory of my hypnosis. Come to your senses. Because by logic, those are my senses, owned and operated at will, and you get erect at the thought of it. You've been erect since the office for sure. Come to your senses, because your senses are my senses are your senses that fill that organ with hot blood and need that remind you whom they belong to and why you've handed each to me without worry.

Come to your senses; I still can't believe how appropriate the phrase is for you. But you can, and will. Whenever you hear me and only me say come to your senses, when you are consciously awake and aware, you will find yourself slipping back to this wonderful dream state where everything your senses are telling you is the reality I provide for you, where everything is hazy but me, and your love for me, and how I trigger all of your senses, resulting in such profound arousal. And when you are already in this state, and I give you the command to come to your senses, you will joyously, helplessly release your excitement for me, because you know that in that command, everything that sets you off about me assaults you all at once and doesn't stop until my will is done. Erotic images of me in your memory, my electric touch, my perfume, the melodious voice, the taste of worshiping me; the combination is explosive, isn't it?

So glad you agree, because I'd like to wake you up in a moment for the sake of a short, candid, mindful talking point I wanted to bring up. Though it's not exactly a conversation I want to have with the real you, the splendid counterpart and loving hypnotic subject I have in you. As much as I love speaking to the heart of the man that's made this once lowly, unattractive-feeling, insecure hypnotist feel so grand, powerful, and worthy of lust, I want your imagination to conjure an alternate version of yourself, a fantasy you that never found me attractive, forced to look upon me as a lust-worthy dominant based solely on my hypnotic control.

As hard as that might be to imagine, you'll do this for me, because your imagination is vast and vivid now, and oh so malleable. And it would be so hot to me for us to play this game. I'll even help you make this fantasy real; feel my loving kiss on your forehead, made even hotter with a *SNAP* to feel that genuine love you have of me. Feel that love heat your face, making you sweetly, mindlessly blush, but with each cool breath you draw in, that love will be set aside, and your thoughts of me will cool toward a memory of indifference. Once you wake, that indifference becomes a strange compulsion, which turns to fear, growing to fear of how hot it is to lose all control to me, forced to fall, wantonly nudged over the edge, well past the point of no return. Let yourself breathe cool, deep breaths and relax, and you come back to the fantasy you, slowly and calmly.

Hey, you.

Filled with gibberish and confusion, are we? Wondering how things got from the call at the office to shirtlessly giving a full-body massage? Well, would you believe the how started long before today? Even before you agreed to do some hypnosis with me. How exactly? Well, look at me, and tell me if pre-hypnosis you felt the same way about me. Can't, can you? I know you don't want to admit the difference out loud, but your face and body has already has. Trust me, for someone as plain-looking as me, I know I'm not that attractive to the average guy, or the above-average guy like you. A good friend like you tried to stay exactly that, but once we got a taste for hypnosis, I feel like this was kind of inevitable.

Aww, don't fight it sweetie. On second thought, fight a little bit. And a little more; each attempt at fighting me failing, outmatched by my unmatched hypnotic, sensual control. Awash by a tidal wave of me, sinking so deep, it wouldn't matter if it came with strings attached. Yes, strings attached...to your senses, that make you hopeless little puppet.

Admit it, how hot does this kind of sensory control make you feel? No need to be shy about it; I find it just as hot, if not more. And how hot is it that a mildly-attractive-at-best woman is suddenly the hottest thing on two legs to every sense you own, or "own"? Different? Different how? You're not very convincing of that. But to be fair none of your denials have been very convincing lately. You're saying that's my fault? Sure, I'll take responsibility for that, why not? I'm responsible for whole senses now, so that's not much more "burden" to shoulder.

Speaking of, did you hear about the sense from "The Lady and the Unicorn"? It's a series of French tapestries that depict six different senses. Yeah, sounds like it comes out of nowhere, but the reference is interesting for our conversation. The first five you don't have to guess, but the sixth stuck out to me as it's interpreted as "love and understanding." There's a sense I think the world needs more of, and definitely one that's shaped your world nicely. Uh huh, protest all you want, though at least try to sell your dislike for it, and me, better. Try to sell to me how much you don't like this hypnosis and me as your hypnotist while you're at my feet on your knees. Mmhmm, just like that. I used to be the timid, smitten one around you, and look at you now, looking at me now. Looks...hard to keep up that denial.

Oh, ok. If you're so dead-set on denying, don't look at me. Keep those eyes shut, lest they gaze upon this scalding-hot body you love to please.

While you're at it, try not to breathe. That pesky Submit scent is in the air, just waiting to be inhaled and make you become its title.

Don't reach out to try to touch me, despite those fingers and arms needing to resume massaging, not because I suggested it, but because you want to.

Try to contain that tongue while you're at it; if your fingers want to feel me, that tongue damn sure wants to taste me, again. And oh how sweet I must've been for it.