The party carried on late into the evening, with a multitude of pretty people eating fantastic food and sipping strong drinks. Among the throng of guests, a man and a woman found each other and took to talking. Their conversation piqued mutual interest but also suffered under the overloud drone of the crowd. The man proposed retreating to a quieter place and, upon agreement by the woman, led them to a small, unoccupied den on the second floor. In their new venue, the noise from below subsided to a tolerable hum. They could now hear and think and enjoy their discussion.


The man introduced himself as Cyril, and the woman as Sasha. He had a nondescript face, though he dressed well and possessed a strong animal magnetism. She was anything but nondescript in appearance. She had natural, radiant beauty and an inherent sexiness. Her outfit of a light sweater and flowing skirt flattered her body, but so would have nearly any clothing.


They sat in catty-cornered armchairs, with mellow amber light spreading out from a Tiffany table lamp set between them. She had her legs drawn up under her, with their bare skin showing beneath her skirt. Her shoes lay on the floor in front of her, having been dropped there the moment she had sat down.


"Sure, I like to go barefoot," Sasha said, wiggling her toes. "But it's just for comfort. It's not a fetish or anything, and I don't find it sexy."


"What about the tactile aspect?" Cyril asked.


"Yeah, it feels great to walk on a plush carpet or slip between silky sheets. But I don't like anyone touching my feet. That creeps me out."


"Really? So no pedicures? Foot massages? Playful tickling?"


"No, no, and no way in hell."


Sasha laughed as she said the last.


"What shame," Cyril said with a shrug. "You're missing out."


"How so?"


"Toes are like fingers, and soles are like palms. They're sensitive for a reason. They're meant to feel and be felt."


"You make it sound like a spiritual experience. And I guess for some folks it is. Just not for me."


"I wonder."


"You wonder what?" Sasha asked.


"If you truly wouldn't enjoy a foot massage," Cyril said.


"I guess I'll never know because I'll never get one."


"What if you were...drunk?"


"It's rare that I get drunk. And even when I do, I don't lose control. I'm the same old me, just a bit more giggly."


"What if you were..."


Sasha waited curiously, as Cyril dragged out his pause.


"Hypnotized?" he asked finally.


"Hypnotized? Huh. I don't know what I expected you to say, but it wasn't that."


"Do you think if you were hypnotized you could be compelled to enjoy a foot massage?"


"Well, I mean, maybe. But, wait. No. No, I couldn't. Because a hypnotized person can't be made to do anything that they wouldn't do while they were awake."


"Where did you hear that?"


"I don't know. In some show or class."


"It's not true," Cyril said.


"No? And you know this from experience?"


"That's right."


"From being a hypnotist or a subject? Never mind. With eyes like yours, you'd have to be the hypnotist."


Cyril smiled and nodded at the acknowledgment. Sasha smiled back.


"If you wanted," Cyril said, "I could hypnotize you, and then we'd see."


"See what?" Sasha asked.


"If under my influence you would enjoy a foot massage."


"That's okay. I think I'll pass."


For the briefest instant, Cyril's gaze turned cold. Sasha noticed the change, but it came and went so quickly that she immediately doubted if she had actually seen it. Then his warm, friendly smile reappeared.


"Fair enough," he said. "On another note, did you hear about..."


The new topic of conversation had nothing to do with either feet or hypnosis. Very quickly, it put Sasha at ease, and she happily took part in it. As the discussion continued, she decided that she really enjoyed Cyril's company. Even more so, she discovered, she was very much drawn to him. His eyes had a quality that made her want to focus on them and not look away. If you asked her what color they were, or what their shape or size was, she couldn't have told you. All she knew was that they pulled pleasantly at her psyche, captivating and soothing her at the same time.


Many minutes passed, and the farther along the conversation went, the less Sasha seemed conscious of what was being said. She kept talking and listening, but little by little, Cyril's eyes became the whole of her world.


Then, she saw his gaze move away from her own. She followed it to the side, where it ended at his right hand that he held up at eye level. Loosely closed, his hand moved slowly back and forth. From its grasp hung a length of slender, silver chain ending in a delicately ornate pocket watch. The motion of his hand transferred to the watch, which swung rhythmically as it glinted in the lamplight.


Without her even realizing it, Sasha's eyes left Cyril's, moved onto his hand, down the chain, and finally settled on the watch. She locked onto it and followed its graceful motion to the exclusion of all else. All the while, Cyril continued talking, never missing a beat. But a different tone now entered his voice, one that was firm and commanding, while also as calming as a cat's purr.


As Sasha grew ever more more enthralled by the swinging watch, Cyril began using carefully chosen words designed to further disarm her and open her up to suggestion. She had guessed correctly before that he was a hypnotist, but she never would have thought that anyone could so deftly and skillfully maneuver her into such a position of mental vulnerability. Yet there she was, wholly entranced by a swinging watch and completely accepting everything that was told to her.


In another minute, Sasha closed her eyes in slumber. Cyril stopped swinging his pocket watch and lowered his hand.


"You are now deeply hypnotized, Sasha," he said. "You have no will of your own, and you will obey me. Do you understand?"


"Yes," Sasha said in a soft, sleepy voice.


"I am your master, and you will address me as such."


"Yes, Master."


"When I snap my fingers, you will open your eyes but not wake up."


Cyril snapped, and Sasha opened her eyes.


"Stretch out your legs and place your feet in my hands."


Sasha complied. Looking down at her feet, Cyril saw that were as pretty as the rest of her. She clearly took care of them, as they were clean, smooth, and unblemished.


"What is your favorite type of flower?" Cyril asked.


"Tulip," Sasha said.


"When I say the word tulip, you are going to feel pleasure deep inside you. Each time I say it, you will feel more and more of it. Do you understand?"


"Yes, Master."


Moving forward in his chair so that his knees were right beneath her ankles, Cyril let go of Sasha's feet, which dropped to rest on his lap.


"Tulip," he said, reaching out to gently caress her soles with his fingertips as he spoke the word.


Sasha gasped and smiled in delight. Cyril then repeated the word and the gesture. This time, he elicited a slightly stronger response from her. He did so again, and then again. Finally, she moaned loudly and desirously.


"Now," Cyril said, "I'm not going to say the word any more. But when you feel my fingers on your feet, you will feel the same escalating pleasure as before."


He brushed her soles with her fingers. Her response was almost an outburst, with an accompanying grin flashing over her face. Several more times he did this, until he decided her utterances might be loud enough to attract attention from those downstairs.


"From now on, you will always associate the touching of your feet with this pleasure. Whether the touch is a caress, a rub, a massage, or even a tickle, it will feel wonderful to you."


"Yes, Master."


"Are you ticklish?"


"I am extremely ticklish, Master."


"Good. Then this should be fun."


Cyril reached out again and wiggled his fingers under the balls of Sasha's feet and around her toes. She laughed and squirmed, and began to pull her feet back. Cyril grabbed her ankles, keeping them in place.


"You may laugh, but you cannot move," Cyril said. "You are frozen in place."


He continued tickling her, and she squealed in tortured glee, while remaining completely still. Finally, he stopped.


"How did that feel?" he asked.


"It felt wonderful, Master," she said. "So amazingly wonderful."


"Excellent. Not only will you always equate that wonderful feeling with having your feet touched, but you will also equate being barefoot with being suggestible and submissive when you are in my presence. You will not be consciously aware of this suggestibility or submissiveness, but you will act on it nonetheless."


"Yes, Master."


"The next time I snap my fingers, you are going to wake up. Initially, you will remember everything--our conversation, being hypnotized, obeying me, and the post-hypnotic suggestions I have given you. But moment by moment, the conscious memories of your time under hypnosis will fade, until you remember nothing of it. Only your suggestibility and submissiveness from being barefoot in my presence will remain."


"Yes, Master."


Cyril snapped. Sasha blinked and shook her head. Then, as her mind cleared, everything that had just happened came flooding back to her.


"What the hell!" she exclaimed. "You hypnotized me! You brainwashed me into having some weird foot fetish!"


She quickly pulled her feet back, tucking them under herself protectively.


"What are you talking about?" Cyril asked innocently.


"You...hypnotized me. You...you..."


"I what?"


"Brainwashed...me..."


"No, I couldn't have. All I did was give you a foot massage."


"You gave me...a foot massage?"


"Yes, don't you remember?"


"Yes," Sasha said, then more confidently, "yes, of course. You gave me a lovely foot massage. It felt wonderful! How could I have been so wrong about them?"


"Live and learn," Cyril said.


"Live and learn," Sasha repeated.


Cyril subtly gestured at Sasha's feet with his hands. She calmly stretched out her legs again and placed her feet back in his lap. He smiled at the effectiveness of his hypnotic skills and at the satisfactory results of his tested control over her. She smiled back, blissfully unaware of anything but how good she felt.


"I think," he said, "that it's almost time to go. It's been wonderful talking with you."


"It's been wonderful talking with you, too."


"We should see each other again. I'd be happy to give you another foot massage."


"We should see each other again. I'd be happy to receive another foot massage from you."


"Are you free tomorrow night?"


"Yes, I'm free tomorrow night."


"How about I come over to your place?"


"How about you come over to my place?"


"You can cook dinner, then we'll settle in for some fun."


"I can cook dinner, then we'll settle in for some fun."


"I'll make sure that you feel good," Cyril said, caressing both of her feet and then placing them on his crotch. "Then you can make sure that I feel good."


Sasha sighed blissfully.


"You can make sure that I feel good," she said dreamily. "Then I can make sure that you feel good."


"You can't wait to see me tomorrow, Sasha. You're going to wear something very sexy, but no shoes, of course. You're going to want to be barefoot while I'm there."


"I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Cyril. I'm going to wear something very sexy, but no shoes, of course. I'm going to want to be barefoot while you're there."


"Text your address to this number," Cyril said, handing her a business card. "I'll be there at 7. Until then, good night."


"I'll text my address to this number. You'll be there at 7. Until then, good night."


Cyril gently pushed away her feet. Then he stood and walked out of the room.


Still basking in the afterglow of the pleasure he had given her, Sasha absently reached down and began caressing her bare soles, fantasizing as she did that it was Cyril's touch that she felt. And with a desirous smile, she imagined how wonderful tomorrow night was going to be....