A Deal With the Devil

Rosie Verona had never felt so overwhelmed and out of her depth in her entire life.

She stood beside Severna Strickland in a palatial office. Ms. Strickland wore an exquisitely tailored business suit and designer high heels. Rosie wore a nice sweater, skirt, and nothing on her feet. She had been keenly and uncomfortably aware of being barefoot from the moment she’d been directed to remove her shoes at the door. And she surmised that reaction was completely intentional on the part of her host.

Ms. Strickland gestured toward the object that she and Rosie stood before. It resided in a well-lit alcove set into one wall of her office. In form, it resembled a cross between a barber’s and a dentist’s chair. Plushly padded and designed to cradle its occupant from head to toe, it looked to Rosie like it would be incredibly comfortable to sit in. And yet, something about it disturbed her greatly.

“What is that?” Rosie asked.

“Simply put,” Ms. Strickland said, “that is both the revenge you seek and the price you must pay for it.”

Rosie eyed the chair warily. She swallowed, understanding that her price would involve sitting in it for a purpose that she didn’t know. How would the experience differ from that of the person she sought revenge against? Or would it differ at all?

“Do we have a deal?” Ms. Strickland asked.

Rosie wanted to know more, to understand what would be asked of her in return for what she would get. But she knew that Ms. Strickland would not wait for an answer. The game might be Rosie’s to play, but it was Ms. Strickland’s to call.

“Yes,” Rosie said in a faltering voice. “We have a deal.”


*****


It had all come about by chance.

Rosie had asked to borrow a spare laptop from her best friend, Nicole Atwood, while her own was in the shop. Nicole had gladly provided it to her.

“Any files or sites you need to delete before I take this?” Rosie had asked teasingly at the hand-off. “You know I like to snoop around.”

“Nah,” Nicole had said with a laugh. “You won’t find anything personal, private, or pornographic on there. I always empty the trash and clear my history.”

But as it happened, Nicole proved to be less careful than she claimed. Without even meaning to--her snooping comment was purely humorous--Rosie stumbled upon several unrestricted video files on the machine’s hard drive. When she opened the first of them, she couldn’t believe what she saw. She watched it three times in a row, then proceeded to watch the rest of them.

After viewing the last of them, she sat in stunned silence. Her world had been shaken. Her faith and trust had been destroyed. She had been betrayed and used by the woman she thought was her best friend. And the evidence of it all was right there in front of her.

The first video showed a hypnosis session. Rosie remembered it, or at least she remembered what had led up to it: Weeks before, Nicole had suggested a fun little game where she’d try to hypnotize Rosie and see if she could make her friend do silly little things. It probably wouldn’t work anyway, Nicole had said, and if it did, it would just be between the two of them. Rosie could even try it on her afterwards. But it hadn’t worked, and they had dropped the game.

That’s what Rosie had remembered, until she watched the videos. Now, a new reality was revealed to her: Nicole successfully hypnotizing her; making her do things that were neither silly, nor insignificant; conditioning her to behave subserviently when in a trance; implanting post-hypnotic suggestions to further trigger and control her behavior; erasing her memory; hypnotizing her again and again; and recording all the sessions for posting on the Internet.

Rosie had been brainwashed into being her supposed friend’s obedient and unknowing plaything. Her humiliation had been exposed online for countless anonymous viewers to watch, laugh at, and do whatever else to. She felt sick. She felt like one big open, bleeding wound. She didn’t know what to do.

And then the anger welled up, overtaking the weakness that would have otherwise consumed her. The anger deepened into rage. She knew then that somehow, some way, she would make this better. She would make Nicole pay. She would get revenge.


*****


Rosie had never expected an invitation into Severna Strickland’s office.

She knew of the highly successful and extremely reclusive businesswoman, as everyone in the city did. She had also heard, as everyone had, the rumors that abounded regarding Ms. Strickland’s less than ethical, likely immoral, and probably illegal business practices. Of course, no one could ever prove that Ms. Strickland ever did anything outside the law. And nothing ever came of the occasional allegations that surfaced against her.

The connection that led to Ms. Strickland began with Rosie posting anonymously online that she sought to break the hold an unscrupulous person had over her, and then turn the tables on that person. She took care to not offer too many specifics about what had happened to her, lest she give away her identity as the hypnotized sucker in the trending videos. From her posts came many responses, and as expected they ranged from ridiculous to mildly helpful.

Then, quite unexpectedly, there came a response that stood out from all the rest. It spoke of a person, the employer of the responder, who could most certainly help Rosie. The help was not guaranteed, and if it came, it would be costly. But, the responder said, it was worth seeking.

Desperate for any way to get back at Nicole, Rosie asked for more details. Many emailed conversations ensued with the responder. Finally, Rosie’s trust was gained, and when asked to divulge her identity, she consented.

Not long after, she received a phone call from a company known to be owned by Ms. Strickland. Further vetting of Rosie and her story occurred. And then, one more phone call led to an appointment between Rosie and Ms. Strickland herself.

On the day of the appointment, Rosie dressed as she would for a job interview or an important business meeting. When she arrived at the building, she was escorted by a lady to a lobby area outside of an executive office suite. She waited there for about ten minutes, until a receptionist told her that Ms. Strickland was ready to see her. The receptionist directed her to open the outer door to the office, remove her shoes, stash them in a cubby along the wall, and then enter the inner office space. Rosie did as she was told.


*****


“I am so happy we will be able to do business with one another,” Ms. Strickland said to Rosie, smiling at the acceptance of her proposed deal.

Rosie smiled back at her host, although there was no happiness behind it. She knew that she jumped into a shark tank, having thought that perhaps she herself was a barracuda, and now realizing she was merely a minnow.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“For my part of our deal, my associates will find and remove all the unwanted videos of you that exist online. At the same time, I will have my secretary procure all the information you have on this Nicole Atwood. Then, my associates will bring her here to this office. They will remove any and all remaining control she may have over you, and they will prevent her from ever controlling you again.. They will also render her subject to your control, should you choose to exert it over her.”

Ms. Strickland’s stare returned to the chair as she discussed the fate of Nicole. Rosie noticed this and moved her own gaze back to it, as well.

“This chair,” Rosie said, “is how you’re going to force Nicole to do what you say?”

“Yes,” Ms. Strickland said.

“What does it do?”

“It does much the same thing as what Nicole did to you. But unlike hypnosis, the effectiveness of which depends both on the skill of the hypnotist and the suggestibility of the subject, it is infallible. Its induction process is irresistible, and its control is unbreakable. Part of the process involves hyperstimulation of the brain’s pleasure and obedience centers.”

Rosie seemed not to hear any of the details after Ms. Strickland’s first statement.

“So, you’re going to brainwash her? In that chair?”

“Yes.”

Rosie smiled again, but this time in earnest. She imagined Nicole seated in that chair, unable to move (she could see openings in the head, arm, and foot rests where restraints likely emerged to secure an occupant), in a deep trance-like state, while Ms. Strickland’s associates thoroughly washed her brain clean of all malice, scheming, and will, and conditioned her to serve and obey Rosie forever more.

It was a glorious daydream. And then it ended, as Rosie remembered what Ms. Strickland had said: The chair was both the means of her revenge...and her cost for it.

“And what about me?” Rosie asked. “Are you going to brainwash me, too?”

“Hm. Brainwash is a strong word for it. I will program you to carry out a number of delicate tasks for me, and I will ensure that you remember nothing about them afterwards. I will also keep you in mind for future tasks that I may need carried out. If any arise, I will call for you, and you will answer. Again, you will have no memory of your actions while working for me in that capacity.”

“So the answer to my question is yes.”

“Hardly,” Ms. Strickland said. “Unlike the Atwood girl, you will not become a puppet. Aside from the work I assign you to do, you will have full control over your memories and actions. She, on the other hand, will be your servant, slave, or whatever else you want her to be, for as long as you want to keep her as such.”

“I see,” Rosie said, wondering doubtfully how much difference there really would be between her fate and Nicole’s.

“Good. Now, it’s time to begin.”

“Do you want me to talk with your secretary, to give her all the details on Nicole?”

“No, my dear. We will begin with your payment.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“But, I thought--”

“Sit in the chair.”

The reality of situation exploded on Rosie. What was she thinking? How could she offer herself up to this woman--this criminal--just to get revenge on Nicole? How could she let herself be used again? Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as what Nicole did to her, but how would she ever know? How could she trust this person to not brainwash her into a drooling, doting slave? And how could she know for sure that Nicole would be brainwashed that way as promised?

“Sit in the chair, Rosie,” Ms. Strickland said after a moment. “Or I will have you placed in it.”

“Please, Ms. Strickland, let me think about this. I didn’t understand everything when I agreed to our deal. I just need a little time…”

Ms. Strickland’s expression darkened, although her voice didn’t change.

“Sit in the chair.”

Rosie had seen the security guards around the building. She had no doubt that they could and would forcefully put her into the chair if she didn’t get into it now of her own volition. Her lip quivering in fear, she walked forward, turned around, and sat down.

Ms. Strickland removed a phone from her pocket and keyed an entry into it. In response, several restraints slid closed with a sharp click around Rosie’s forehead, wrists and ankles. Rosie gasped and shuddered as they did.

“You don’t need to strap me in. I won’t try to escape or resist. Can you undo them? Please?”

Fear and desperation tinged her voice.

“I know you won’t try to escape, my dear,” Ms. Strickland said. “But, no, I won’t undo the restraints. I like using them. I like seeing you in them. I like having you in my power. Feel free to squirm and struggle if you like. Or, sit there calmly, knowing there’s nothing you can do. Either way works for me. Either way, I enjoy this immensely.”

Ms. Strickland keyed in another entry. The front part of the chair began to raise up, unbending Rosie’s legs at the knees. In a moment, her feet sat perpendicular to the floor. Then, another entry into the phone started a hum within the chair. Rosie couldn’t move her head to see, but she could feel something moving behind and above her. Within a few seconds, it descended down over her field of vision.

“The next time you see this chair,” Ms. Strickland said, tapping once more on her phone, “it will be from my vantage point, and Nicole Atwood will be where you are now. But before then, you have some work to do for me. You will do it for me very soon.”

Putting away the phone, Ms. Strickland gave her full attention to the attractive young woman sitting bound and barefoot in the chair before her. Rosie looked out from beneath a transparent dome-like helmet that covered her head down to the top her mouth. Her eyes darted furtively back and forth, trying to assess her new prison and what was about to be done to her within it.

Ms. Strickland smiled, thinking how much of an improvement it was over previous designs to be able to see the subject’s face through the helmet. Even without the rising hum that emitted from the chair, she could tell when the induction process began: Immediately, Rosie’s eyes went wide and her muscles tensed, as a deep tickling itch erupted all over her scalp. She writhed and wriggled to no avail, in a vain attempt to get away from the maddening sensations. But held fast as she was within the chair, all she could do was utter a wavering laugh-cry.

Ms. Strickland watched the process unfold, almost mesmerized by it herself. This was her favorite thing. This was her ultimate pleasure. As Rosie moaned, “No...no...my head...my head,” and continued her feeble struggles, Ms. Strickland took a deep breath. She stepped out of her shoes and felt the luxuriously soft fibers of the carpet caress her bare feet. Then, she undid the buttons at and below her waistline. Slowly, never taking her eyes off Rosie, she slid her right hand into her pants.

Rosie fell silent, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Ms. Strickland began massaging herself. Rosie stopped struggling, and her breathing evened out. Ms. Strickland licked her lips, as she found and worked just the right spot. Rosie's eyes closed, and a dreamy smile spread over her face. Ms. Strickland smiled in much the same way. Rosie began moaning again, but this time in pleasure. Ms. Strickland made similar sounds. Rosie’s moans rose to a crescendo. Ms. Strickland began calling out, “Yes, yes!” in the same fever pitch.

And then it was over. Rosie uttered a last, warbling sigh before sinking into a dreamless sleep. Ms. Strickland let out a contented, “Ahhh,” and removed her hand from her pants. All emotion left her face then, as she buttoned up her clothes and stepped back into her shoes.

Taking out her phone once again, she spoke an extension to the voice-recognition system. The number auto-dialed, and one of her employees answered.

“The subject in my office has been processed,” Ms. Strickland said. “Bring up a conditioning team to retrieve and program her for the assigned tasks.”

The employee gave acknowledgment, and Ms. Strickland hung up.

She frowned. It had ended so quickly. It always did. But then, she would have the Atwood girl soon enough. Yes, she would get to repeat the process on that one, and it would be a full brainwashing. It would take a long time, and she would oversee the entire thing. She would do so alone.

She smiled. That would be a good time. That would be worth the wait.