“Sergeant,” the officer said with an acknowledging nod, having viewed the detective’s presented badge.

Carlie nodded back, then ducked under the cordoning tape that the officer dutifully raised for her. She normally wouldn’t have had to duck much, if at all, but her high-heeld boots gave a much desired boost to her short stature.

Entering the open door to the warehouse, she skillfully weaved through the throng of police personnel who went about their business. She saw another open door and headed towards it. Inside, she saw who she was looking for.

“Detective,” she said in greeting to Elisha, a competent young detective who she had previously worked with.

“Sergeant,” the junior detective said back. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. Always happy to drag my sleepy carcass out from my warm, cozy bed in the dead of night to answer a call about a case I have nothing to do with.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, ignore me. I’m over it. I’m fine. I will get my revenge when you least expect it. But, really, I’m over it, and I’m fine.”

“Good to know.”

“So, you needed my expert opinion on something?”

“That I did. Take a look at this.”

Elisha stepped aside.

“Well, well, well,” Carlie said.

“You know what it is?”

“Yep.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Some backstory first. Have you heard of Mesmero the Mind Master?”

“Um, yeah,” Elisha said, after thinking for a moment. “Schlocky mentalist or magician or some such that was popular a few years back.”

“Right. Real name of Cyril Wellington. Pretty sure that when you check the records on this place, you’ll find that he owns it. Or did.”

“We checked, and he did. That’s why the lieutenant wanted me to call you.”

“That makes sense. She knows that I did quite a bit of research into Mind Master Cyril. The guy was indeed a schlocky stage performer. Back in the day, he did a magic act. Employed a sexy female assistant. Sawed her in half, levitated her, made her disappear, and all the normal stuff. He was good at it. And he made sure his assistant was, too. Audiences ate it up. For a while. But, tastes changed. Interest and profits waned. So, he spiced things up.”

“How did he spice things up?”

“He added a hypnosis bit to the act. And, it worked. Folks loved seeing his sexy assistant put into a trance and made to follow his every suggestion. At least, they did for a while. But then–”

“Interest and profits waned.”

“Right. So, a bit more spicing up. He added a bondage element. He restrained his assistant before hypnotizing her. More pervy, to be sure. But more profits, too. For a while.”

“Jeez, how spicy did he make it?”

“Quite a bit more. He went from silly and maybe slightly risque suggestions to brainwashing.”

“Brainwashing?”

“Yeah. Memory alteration, personality changes, instilled submission, and full-on enslavement. Oh, he assured everyone it was only for the duration of the act, and his assistant parroted him when asked. But then, she didn’t stick around very long after that. Neither did the next one, or the next one after that. And so on. Needless to say, not everyone was convinced that it was just part of the act. The department wasn’t convinced. And neither was I.”

“Holy crap.”

“Or unholy crap, to be more accurate. And he still wasn’t done. He took it even further. He started sending his hypno-whammied assistant into the audience to select another sexy woman to bring up on stage so he could do the same routine on her.”

“What the hell?”

“My sentiments exactly. Oh, but just like with the assistants, all the hypnotized audience members later swore that they hadn’t really been brainwashed. Sure, they were suggestible and did a few things on stage that they wouldn’t normally do. But it was just for the act. Just for entertainment. Once he woke them up, they were perfectly fine.”

“What ended up happening?”

“We investigated it, didn’t like what we found, and broke it up. But we never caught Mr. Mesmerellington. Case is still open. Which brings us back to this…”

Carlie gestured at the this that Elisha had asked her to take a look at.

“This,” Carlie said, “is the bondage chair he used on the women. Not just any bondage chair, mind you, but one with a hypno-helmet added, a contraption designed by him to induce his subjects into a trance in order to brainwash them.”

“Okay, well I’m slightly relieved that this isn’t an electric chair, because I really thought it might be. But hearing that it’s a bondage-brainwashing chair is still majorly creeping me out.”

“As it should, Detective. As it most definitely should.”

“Well, as sorry as I am for dragging you out here, everything you told me is going to be invaluable for our investigation.”

“Happy to help. Seriously. But also seriously, couldn’t this have waited until morning?”

“No, it couldn’t. The techies are going to be here in–” Elisha checked her watch. “–just under five hours to haul this away and perform whatever sciency-dark magic they do on weird things like this. Once they get their mitts on it, I won’t have access to it for however long until they’re done. And I wanted you to see it first-hand, in case you knew what we had here. Which you most certainly did.”

“Fair enough. Revenge when you least expect it is canceled. Probably.”

“Thank you kindly.”

“If I manage to be back in bed in under 30 minutes, then you will be welcome.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carlie was not back in bed within the half hour. But that was by choice.

She sat in her car a block away from the warehouse, watching the police presence slowly dwindle as their nighttime activities wound down. By the time another half hour had passed, the site had been locked up and everyone had left.

Carefully but confidently, she exited her car and made her way back to the warehouse. She possessed a master key that opened police locks meant to secure an under-investigation site. With gloves on to ensure she left no fingerprints, she skillfully broke in and made her way back to the room where she had spoken with Elisha.

She stood there in the silent darkness for a minute, staring at the barely visible silhouette of the bondage-brainwashing chair.

“The mother load,” she said finally.

As it happened, Carlie had a bondage fetish. She got off on being restrained. When she was fortunate enough to have a lover who she truly trusted, she would ask them if they were willing to indulge her desires. Most were. But not all were good at it. Still, she took what she could get.

What she could also get was self-bondage. But it took a lot of time and effort to do it right. And ‘right’ in that case needeed to not only sate her lust but also allow her to safely undo her bonds while alone.

Now, she stood in front of an infamous piece of bondage hsitory. She had thoroughly researched this equipment, along with its equally infamous designer. And she had known from the moment she laid eyes on it that she had to explore it further.

Well, she had approximately three and half hours to explore it further before the techies took it away. The clock was ticking. But, as she well knew from her indulgement of self-bondage, safety was key. So, she took out her LED penlight and began examining the chair. 

Her examination revealved an active power source that looked not only undamaged but in working order. On an exterior side of one armrest, she found a streamlined pocket containing an item the size of a small smartphone. It, too, had a working power source.

She turned on the handheld device and found it to be an app-driven remote control. Selections on it were easy to understand. The choices included individual operation of restraints, simultaneous operation of them, chair component movements, hypno-helmet power cycling, and hypno-helmet activation.

The chair was operational. It could be used here and now.

At that point, she paused. Was she really going to do this? After the slightest hesitation, she told herself that, yes, she was.

She took off her boots and then her stockings, diminishing her height by several inches. The floor was starkly cold beneath her naked soles. It didn’t bother her, though. In fact, she found it invigorating.

Wiggling her toes, she wondered why she had left out one detail when earlier telling the sordid tale to Elisha: Wellington always insisted that his assistants and audience members be barefoot before he bound and brainwashed them.

Maybe she had simply thought it was an unnecessary detail in already overlong story.

Or maybe, she didn’t want to give away to a skilled detective trained in noticing nonverbal signals that she was turned on by that one perverse detail.

Anyway, now wasn’t the time for pondering or reverie. She had precious little time to do what she was here for. So she got back to the task at hand. She removed her gloves and undressed down to her bra and panties. Then she sat in the chair. And then she picked up the remote control.

Before she went any further, she reviewed the controls again. She had to be careful and safe. She only wanted to experience masterful bondage. She had no desire to experience the machine’s hypnotic induction, regardless of whether or not its rumored irresistibility proved to be true.

Her review completed and her confidence in being able to deftly work the controls renewed, she sat back fully in the seat. She placed her neck, arms, and legs into the open restraints. Then, she took a deep breath and tapped a button on the device’s screen.

The forearm restraints clicked audibly closed. She gasped. And smiled. Then she tapped another button.

The leg restraints clicked audibly closed. Her smile widened. She tapped again.

The neck restraint clicked audibly closed. She moaned with delight. Then she tapped again.

The front of the chair that her legs were secured to began raising up. In a moment her feet were perpendicular to the floor. She closed her eyes, remembering the pictures she had seen of women seated this way. And she imagined herself on stage, bound as she was, her bare soles facing the audience.

Her very real bindings along with her daydream caused her to blush. And grow warm. And become wet.

She sat there, breathing heavily, basking in her arousal, and thinking how, later on at home, she would have to reimagine this scenario and take care of business.

The screen on the remote flashed. With her eyes closed, she didn’t see it. The button for hypno-helmet power cycling lit up for a brief instant. In response, a low hum sounded from the hair-dryer-like helmet that hung half a meter above her head.

Carlie heard the hum. She opened her eyes just in time to see the screen flash again. She looked at the remote and saw the hypno-helmet activation button light up.

“What? No!”

She tapped the button to deactivate it. The humming continued. She tapped the button to power it down. That didn’t work either.

Now the helmet began a slow descent that, unless she could get the suddenly ineffective remote to work, would end with it covering her scalp.

“Come-on-come-on-c’mon-c’mon-c’mon! Stop-stop-stop-stop!”

The machine ignored her pleas as readily as it did her button pressing.

“No-No-No-NO-NO-NO-NOOO!”

With a soft, mechanical whoosh that was purely for dramatic effect, the helmet slid into place around her head.

“Well, fuck,” Carlie said, as realization took hold that she was indeed going to experience Wellington’s nefarious brand of hypnotic induction.

It began. The machine bombarded her with strobing lights, rhythmic droning, and neuro-electrical stimulation.

Despite possessing an enviable amount of willpower, she quickly found herself rendered dizzy and overwhelmed. A pervasive drowsiness soon followed. Her eyelids fluttered and drooped. She lost the ability to form coherent thoughts.

And then, she desired nothing more than to sleep. She had to sleep. She had to. And she did.

After a minute or so, her mouth began moving. She began forming words, at first silently, then whisper quiet, and then loud enough to be heard.

“Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carlie opened her eyes.

She remembered the pictures she had seen of women seated this way. And she imagined herself on stage, bound as she was, her bare soles facing the audience.

Blushing, warm, and wet, she sat there, breathing heavily. She basked in her arousal, and thought how, later on at home, she would have to reimagine this scenario and take care of business.

Now, though, she had to wrap up this scenario.

She tapped a button on the remote. In response, the front of the chair lowered. Another button tap prompted all the restraints to open at once. Now free, she stood up. She dressed, put her shoes back on, and with re-gloved hands began wiping down every surface she had touched.

Exiting the warehouse, she made sure everything was in the same, pristine condition she had found it in. She checked her watch as walked back to her car. More time had passed then she had realized. But the techies weren’t due to arrive for a couple more hours yet. So, she had planned appropriately.

“You’re welcome, Elisha,” she said to herself with a grin.

Driving home a few minutes later, she couldn’t stop thinking about sitting in that chair. It had really done it for her. But that wonderful memory she would soon put to good use in the privacy of her home kept getting interrupted by another:

The magic show assistants and audience members sitting in that very same chair with the hypno-helmet in place over their scalps, mindlessly intoning a conditioned mantra, “Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says.”

No, she had to put that image out of her mind. She wouldn’t let it ruin her personal time or diminish her much needed release.

But the image wouldn’t go away. By the time she arrived home, stripped naked, and got into bed, it remained firmly lodged in her head.

And yet, she surprisingly found herself no less aroused. She remembered her time in the chair and began working on herself. She imagined sitting in it on stage, her bare soles facing the audience, Mesmero the Mind Master standing over her. And her body responded.

“Cyril Wellington is my master,” she said aloud. “I am his slave. I will do whatever he says. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave….”

She lay back after climaxing, reveling in the afterglow. Should she worry that she had just gotten off by fantasizing not only about bondage, but also about being brainwashed?

No, she assured herself. It wasn’t real. It was just for fun. She wasn’t brainwashed. Cyril Wellington wasn’t her master. She wasn’t his slave. She wouldn’t do whatever he said. There was no need to worry or dwell on it.

In fact, she now understood that all of those assistants and audience members were right. They had never been brainwashed and had simply acted on some entertaining suggestions a stage hypnotist had given them. Why had she made such a fuss about it?

Well, that fuss was now over and done with. And so was her investigation.

She smiled in relief. And realized that she wanted more. She closed her eyes, fantasized about being in the chair, and began again.

“Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says. Cyril Wellington is my master. I am his slave. I will do whatever he says…”