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.
