Note: This story follows the exploits of these previous stories: Goddess Hannah's Harem, Mistress Alexis' Harem, The Dazzling Lady's Harem, and Flashes of Haremism.
And thank you to Mistress Alexis and Goddess Hannah for inspiring this story.
The low, rhythmic rumble of the club could be felt from more than a block away, and set the long line of people trying to enter to the beat as they tapped designer shoes and heels, waiting and hoping to be ushered in.
Across the street from it, a pair in the car subconsciously shook their heads to it, looking over the paperwork about the newest club in the area called the "Whisper," and the illustrious designer, a sound engineer hailing all the way from Munich, Max Albrecht.
"Gotta wonder if they're technically breaking any city ordinance with that sound; feels deceptively-far reaching," Tricia commented.
"Most of the buildings around here are businesses closed for the night, except for the convenience stores, but they're drawing revenue in from the Whisper's crowd, so I doubt they're going to complain," her junior partner Kali solved what seemed like a nagging riddle for Tricia.
"Why is this even a story?" Tricia complained, shuffling through all the details of the club in paperwork from her employing publication that seemed as interested in Whisper as the veteran reporter felt uninterested.
"Probably because some investor on of the club called in a favor for some technically-free advertising in the form of our reporting," Kali answered, deeply involved in the research papers by comparison.
"Are you going to answer all of my questions like a bored teacher's pet?" Tricia shot Kali an annoyed look.
"That's my favorite question so far tonight, as you know that's practically why I was hired, someone with a dispassionate passion for the stories. And before you pivot to asking my least favorite question, the one you've worn out the most-" Kali interrupted Tricia's attempt to bring up what was really troubling her.
"It was a bust, Tricia. I'm sorry, but that lead just didn't pan out. Would've made for a hell of a story, 'a secret cabal of hypnotists controlling minds,' especially if we were ready to submit unprovable fiction."
"Can you even remember why it didn't pan out, Kali? Doesn't it seem odd that we just stumbled onto something like that, and then even our interests just...drops?"
"That'll happen when you try to turn some random party where a hypnotist performs a trick or two like a clown at kids parties into a big brainwashing plot the Manchurian Candidate writers would be proud of. The guy stumbled into some of his shtick more than we stumbled onto the story," Kali sighed, willing to laugh at the memories of it if it didn't seem so pathetic.
"Aren't you a little young to know what that is?" Tricia took another barely indirect swipe at the younger Indian woman's age.
"Research knows no ageism, unlike you, senior, forgetful reporter."
"I wish I could forget, but everything just says it doesn't feel right?"
"What does feel right to you, Trish? Do you actually believe in this...Kalatravaasa?"
Something flickered in Tricia's eyes as she heard that sharp, triggering word cut through what seemed like critical thinking.
"What if...just humor me, but what if we got there and it was exactly like we expected it to be? A bunch of people dancing around all mindless, unknowing marionettes to someone's tune? Just dancing, falling into the music or words in their heads or speakers or something, loving it and waiting to be told what to do? And what if we met that person, and they just...got to us somehow. Not with a spiked drink, but something more subtle, just the way they talked, or got us to focus on something, until just focusing became an oxymoron of a word by itself since there was nothing to focus on except focusing on everything of theirs, and then those puppet strings got onto us, into us, telling us to....forget, and then we obeyed that command, believing after that it was all some fluke...is that...possible?"
Tricia's wandering thoughts took her to a place she thought was real, or just wanted to believe was real, a cacoethes driving a listlessly-passionate speech nearly to self hypnosis. Kali in the seat next to her tried to play off how the papers dropped out of her loosened grip like it wasn't an accident brought on by the compelling speech Tricia tried to manifest from wild imagination. Neither women wanted to admit to the wetness thankfully dark seats could mask beneath them.
"I take it back, let's definitely publish this somewhere, anonymously in one of those rag papers, since we'd get fired for trying to pass off bullshit this as a sweet-smelling substance," Kali's dispassionate voice intoned, briefly letting it slip how much appeal it held.
"And before anymore fiction spews out of you, Mr. Albrecht has arrived," Kali intoned with insistence, putting her papers away and stepping out of the passenger seat, giggling to herself as Tricia almost emerged disheveled from the driver's side.
Both reporters walked towards the entrance to Whisper in almost matching skirts, blouses, and high-heeled sandals with a few buttons undone at the top for suggestibility. Despite Kali being shorter, wearing glasses and having a darker skin tone, they practically looked like twins, approaching the rock star designer being applauded.
"Excuse me, Mr. Albrecht," they both spoke together in a rehearsed, almost air-headed cadence, looking and sounding like walking fetish fantasies. "We're from the local branch of Metro Times, and wondered if you could answer a few questions."
His reputation in and out of clubs netted Max Albrecht lots of attention from the fairer sex, and with options about, Kali found his thing for twins a way to get in with him where others might falter.
"Why of course," Max's thick-accented English crooned at them. "Anything for an eager press." As was his habit since it opened recently, Max always picked up a few women at the front who caught his eye, who'd be grateful to be let in to an exclusive club, grateful enough to thank him later. He was hoping to get the same plus good press along with it as Max escorted Tricia and Kali inside.
Walking through the club, both reporters could see what made Whisper so special, due to Max's speakers that were advanced or evolved versions of subwoofers, allowing for a pulsing base, but a clarity in the treble that was unheard of before. Watching everyone react to the music vividly brought Tricia back to her hypno-fantasies still teasing her with being on the possible side of actuality. That side of her gently tugged at the chance for her to get lost in the crowd and dance to her fantasies.
"Kali can handle things, let her nerd out and interview Albrecht while you interview the customers," Tricia tried lying to herself as her footsteps could've easily let her drift into a crowd, but she managed to not be led astray, walking up the the stairs to the owner's office. Kali was thankful she walked behind Max so as to not let him see her wobbly, unaccustomed feet deal with the high heels.
"Why did you choose these death shoes," Kali chided her superior.
"It was your research that came up with his inclinations; sorry you're a victim of your own success," was fired back.
