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Please be advised that this story contains adult content and

non-consensual acts. The person I originally wrote it for (the you in

the narrative) approved of and appreciated being depicted as she is.

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"Why did I agree to this again?" you ask.

"Who says you agreed to it?" I say.

"I do. I said yes. I'm just questioning why."

"Sure, you said yes. But, was it really your decision to make? Or, had I already made it for you? Perhaps you were under hypnotic compulsion to say yes."

"Oh, I see," you say. "You hypnotized me before in order to make me agree to being hypnotized now. Wow, what a creative use of mind control. While I was under, did you also give me a suggestion to be suggestible? And then make me forget that I forgot?"

"Note to self: Pre-hypnotic subject rejects sly, mind control humor," I say. "Anyway, what we're going to do isn't exactly hypnosis."

"Not exactly hypnosis. Ooh, intriguing. Now I can totally see why you hypnotized me to get me to agree to being not exactly hypnotized."

"Note to self: Pre-hypnotic subject is a snarky wench."

"Note to dorkwad: Get over it, and get on with it."

"As you wish."

"What I wish is that I didn't agree to this. But, sadly, I did. So let's do it. Where do you want me?"

I indicate a chair in the far corner of the room. You walk over to it. There are no overhead lights in that area, and I have them dimmed throughout the rest of the room, making it not so easy for you to see what you'll be sitting in. You peer at it, trying to glean details.

"Second hand from a barbershop?" you ask.

"Podiatrist, actually."

"How fitting for your fetish."

Knowing there is no judgment in your statement, merely observation, I smile.

"I thought so. It took some modification to get it to function the way I want. But starting out with articulation points that raise and lower sections of it saved me a lot of effort."

"Looks comfortable enough."

"That's the idea."

"But why bother with this contraption at all? I can stare at a swinging pendulum or a swirling spiral on your sofa, in any chair, or even on the floor."

"True. But I'm not exactly going to hypnotize you, remember?"

"Ah, right, the whole not exactly hypnosis thing. Got it. Which is to say, I don't get it at all. But I did agree to it, and I presume you know what you're doing, so I'm going to take my seat."

You move to sit down.

"Shoes off," I say.

"Of course," you say with a knowing nod. "Socks, too?"

"Of course."

You unzip your stylish faux leather boots, pull them off one at a time, then peel off your socks in the same order. Now wearing a cami, skinny jeans, and nothing on your feet, you enact for me exaggerated, mock photo shoot poses. You make sure in every pose to put your bare toes or soles front and center in my view.

"Gorgeous," I say with no sarcasm.

"You flatter me. Which you should do, given what I'm about to let you do."

Then you sit in the chair.

"Yeah, pretty comfortable," you say in confirmation of your earlier surmisal.

"Glad to hear it. All right, time to get started."

I tap a button on my phone, and the corner you're in lights up from a score of previously hidden LEDs.

"You couldn't have done that before, when I could barely see anything?" you ask.

With an apologetic shrug, I tap another button. Two smooth bands rise up from the chair's armrests to encircle your forearms. You look down at them in surprise. Then, you test them by trying to pull your arms free. The restraints do their job, keeping your arms locked in place.

"What are these for?" you ask.

"You're indulging me in two of my fetishes this evening. I figured I could return the favor with some light bondage."

"Nifty," you say. "I mean, it's not really enough for me, but I appreciate the sentiment."

I tap another button. Two more bands slide out from the chair to encircle your calves. Then a larger one does the same around your shoulders, followed by one around you midriff, and then a final one over your thighs. A moment later, they all tighten until they press against you.

You gasp and grow flushed.

"Is it enough for you now?" I ask.

"Hell, yeah," you say with wide eyes and a wider grin. "Sorry I doubted you."

"No worries. And now, one final touch for me."

In response to another button tap, the bottom-front part of the chair begins to raise up. In a few seconds, it and your legs are perpendicular to the floor, and your soles face me.

"Delightful," I say.

"Happy to oblige," you say, wiggling your toes. "Not that I had much choice in the matter."

"Speaking of choice, I want to remind you about what you agreed to."

"You don't have to remind me. I agreed to let you hypnotize me--or, I guess, not exactly hypnotize me, as the case may be. Anyway, you can try to put me in whatever kind of suggestible trance state it's going to be and then see what you can make me do."

"That's right. But, I just want to be clear that when I put you under--"

"If you put me under," you say.

"Sure, if I put you under, there are no limits to what I'm allowed to make you do."

"Right, no limits. Agreed before and re-agreed now. Although, asking a girl for her agreement when she is bound to a chair is hardly fair. It's not that I'm complaining. I'm impressed, and I'm digging the bondage, but I'm not complaining. I'm just saying that asking for agreement now isn't all that fair."

"Noted. Next time I'll confirm agreement before engaging restraints."

"Next time? Not with this gorgeous, delightful girl. This is a one and done kind of deal."

"Really? Are you forgetting about being hypnotized to allow yourself to be hypnotized?"

"Not exactly."

We share a chuckle at your poignant joke.

"Ready?" I ask, when our laughter naturally dies out.

"Nope."

"Too bad."

"Yep."

I make a grand gesture of pressing another button on my phone.

You hear a soft whoosh behind your head. Looking over your shoulder, you see that curtains colored the same as the wall--which you hadn't even noticed before in the low light--have opened. They reveal what at first looks like a torchiere lamp directly behind the chair. But as you watch, the head of the lamp begins rotating downward. It is made of brushed metal, and as it shifts position, it quickly loses any lamp-like qualities. Now its shape and motion remind you much more of a salon hair dryer.

"What the hell is that?" you ask.

"Eyes front, please," I say scoldingly. "I knew I should have added in head restraints."

"Seriously, what is that?" you ask again, as you turn your head back to face me. "Because I suddenly feel like I'm in an electric chair."

"It's what we in the know call a hypno-helmet."

"A 'hypno-helmet?' Are you kidding me?"

"It's a classic brainwashing trope."

"Whoa, hold the phone there, sport. Brainwashing? Who said anything about brainwashing? We had an agreement about you trying to hypnotize me and seeing if you could make me do some fun, crazy stuff. Where did brainwashing come in?"

"No limits. I said it. You agreed to it."

"No limits as in, yeah, make me cluck like a chicken, forget the number four, or even do a strip tease for you. Hell, give me a post-hypnotic suggestion to sing along to the Friends theme song or jiggle my boobs whenever the Netflix chime sounds. But there is a limit, and brainwashing goes way past it."

I raise my eyebrows and stare at you, indicating I disagree.

"Wait a minute, why am I even arguing with you about this?" you say. "This whole thing is a gag. I mean, the chair and the restraints are neat. I can see you put a lot of effort into them. But this hypno-helmet--"

The device slides into place around your head as you speak.

"--is clearly just a prop. It's a discarded hair dryer from a salon. You can't hypnotize someone with it, much less brainwash them."

You laugh. My expression softens, and I join you in your laughter.

"You got me," I say.

"Well, you got me, too. So, this whole thing is, what, a joke? An elaborate role-play? I kind of hope the latter because, well, you did a great job with the restraints. I am very into them."

"Yeah, it's all for role-play."

"Well, you could've said so from the start. But anyway, fine. No problem. Let's do this thing. Brainwash me via not exactly hypnosis from this hypno-helmet."

"As you wish."

I tap a button. A rhythmic hum sounds within the helmet. Pale, pulsing lights soon join it in time with the beat.

"Nice effects," you say. "Good job on the electrical and mechanical work."

I smile and nod appreciatively.

"Oh," you say. "Oh. That tickles. Ooh. That really tickles. I don't like this part. Hey, can you stop this? It's a bit much. Actually, it's too much. Way too much. Jeez, it's not just on my scalp. It's on my feet, too. I'm not sure how you're doing that, but, can you stop it? Please. Seriously! Make it stop! Please!"

You begin squirming. As thoroughly bound as you are, you can't move much. But you try all the same. You jerk your head from side to side. You clench and unclench your fists. And, you kick and thrash with your feet. All the while, you verbally protest.

I watch intently, saying nothing. It has been about 30 seconds since the process started. I wait for the next phase, which will begin presently.

Your struggles lessen. So do your protests. Your head lolls forward. Your eyes close. Your feet twitch slightly. And then, you sit still and silent.

Mere seconds later--from your perspective, at least--you open your eyes. They find me. They narrow into the soul-drilling orbs they can be when I annoy you.

"So, your fetishized version of brainwashing me is tickling my head with a tricked out hair dryer to the point of driving me crazy?" you say.

"Pretty much, yeah. But also, don't forget about the cool bondage chair."

"Oh, I won't forget about that. It's the one good part of all this. We may just use it again for one of my fantasies. But, come on, for all the effort you put into this rig, couldn't you have devised some soothing scalp massage? Something to relax me and make me feel good? I mean, the hum and the lights were cool. They were suitably hypnotic for a hypnosis role-play. But the rest of it, I'm sorry, it just didn't gel with my idea of being hypnotized...or even being not exactly hypnotized."

"Yeah, I understand. I'll rework it for next time."

"No next time for this gorgeous, delightful girl. I already told you that."

"You did indeed."

"Okay. Party's over. Release the kraken, por favor."

I tap a button, then another one. In response, the bottom-front of the chair lowers down. Then, the bands retract into their housings, freeing you to move again. You sigh, then stretch, then stand up, then stretch again.

"Up for binge watching something on Netflix?" you ask, all annoyance having left your voice.

"Sounds good."

We exit the room. You don't seem to notice your discarded boots and socks as you walk past them. I eye them, and then you, but say nothing.

A little while later, we lounge on the sofa. Plates and bowls of snacks reside on the coffee table before us, along with a glass of wine in front of you, and a mug of hard cider in front of me. There is also a tray with some small bottles and a stack of towelettes on it. The new, serialized procedural that we've heard good things about plays on the TV.

You've been sitting upright for a while, when you decide that you'd rather stretch out. Not wanting to put your feet on the table with our food and drinks, you turn and unfold across the sofa. This move places your calves on my lap with your feet hanging over my thighs. We continue to watch the show.

Soon, you grow restless again. This time, you bend your knees slightly, bringing your heels in contact with my legs. You pull gently with them. I scoot a bit closer to you. My movement causes you to relax your legs, which tells me it was what you wanted. But there is no reaction on your face. You simply continue watching the TV.

Then, you bend your knees a little more. This places your feet flat on my lap, or more specifically, on my groin. Still watching the show, you absently begin moving your feet slowly and casually back and forth. The motion causes a not unexpected response from me, giving your feet something more substantial to run along and over. You don't seem to notice the change, though.

"Hm," you say, finally pulling your attention away from the screen.

"What?"

"These jeans are just a little long on me. They're supposed to sit above the ankles. But they cover my ankles and rest just above the tops of my feet. Normally, I don't care. But I don't want them to get stained."

Though I have thoughts on the matter myself, I start to ask you what would stain them. But, I decide against it when you place your feet on the floor and stand up. Instead, I watch in silence as you take off your jeans. Now in just your cami and panties, you sit back down and take up the same position you were in before. Seeing your lithe, naked legs and once again feeling your bare soles on my crotch elicits even more of a physical reaction from me than you had previously gotten.

"No," you say. "This still won't do."

You begin tugging with your toes at the button and zipper of my own jeans. You undo both, then nudge me with your feet. Now I repeat your earlier motions of standing up, taking off my pants, and then sitting back down.

"Everything off," you say, withholding your feet.

I slide my boxers down and step out of them without getting up. You nod approval. Then, you place your feet back where they were and continue their slow, steady movement.

"A bit dry," I say.

"Sorry," you say, lifting your feet up once more.

You reach for the tray and pick up a particular bottle. It contains a scented oil, which you apply liberally to first one foot, then the other. When you are finally ready, you lower your feet back onto me. By now, I am large and solid. Within seconds of your renewed rubbing, you begin to sigh. Then, you start to moan.

"Oh, my god...feels so good...so good...oh...oh, yeah...oh, oh, oh, ooh..."

By all rights, those should be my words. Because I am more or less thinking what you're saying. You utter them through panting breaths, drawn out sighs, and protracted moans.

One advantage to you using your feet on me is that your hands are free. You slide one up under your cami and take hold of your rock hard nipple. At the same time, you slip the other down into your panties. Then, you begin working on yourself with the same cadence that you have going on me. Your reaction and mine both increase rapidly.

"Oh, god...oh, god...oh, god...I'm going to come...I'm going to come...I'm going to come!"

Your words and the rising crescendo of your voice match my thoughts exactly. But then, before either of us climax, you first slow your movements and then outright pause them.

"May I come?" you ask. "Please, oh, please, may I come?"

I wait for as long as I can bear it. Then, as calmly and authoritatively as I can, I speak.

"Come now."

In a fervor, you renew your hand and foot motions. Immediately, you throw your head back and scream in the throes of orgasm. You continue screaming, as you continue orgasming.

The third time you come, I explode, as well, pumping fluid onto the toes that knead, soles that rub, and heels that push down upon me.

And then, at last, we both finish. We sit, breathless and spent. Your feet are covered in my mess, and your hands are wet with your own.

After a minute or so, you pick up the towelettes and begin cleaning us both up. When you finish with that task, you help me get dressed. Then, you put your own jeans back on. Finally, you sit back down, placing your legs over mine as they were earlier.

"Well, that was fun," you say casually, as if discussing a board game or an outing for ice cream.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I say, trying to gauge what you're thinking from your nondescript tone.

I know what I expect you to be thinking. But, I can't yet tell if I'm correct.

"Thanks. Hopefully, you did, too," you say. "I'm up for the next one if you are."

You're looking at the TV. And, you're talking about the show we just watched--or didn't really watch, as it happened.

That was my expectation.

"Sure, I could watch another one," I say.

And we do just that. We eat, drink, relax, and watch several more episodes.

"I think that's enough for me," you say after the last one.

"Done for the night?"

"With TV, yeah, but not in general."

"Cool. What do you want to do?"

"Something different."

"Like what?"

"Well, you're always talking about wanting to try hypnosis," you say. "You could try hypnotizing me."

"Really? You'd let me?"

"Sure, why not? It'll be fun."

"Even if I make you do crazy stuff? Embarrassing stuff?"

"You know what? If you can make me cluck like a chicken, or forget the number four, or even do a strip tease for you, then all power to you. Hell, give me post-hypnotic suggestions to sing along to the Friends theme song or jiggle my boobs when the Netflix chime sounds."

You gesture at the TV where the red, corporate "N" prominently displays.

"It's just some fun between you and me," you say.

"What about kinkier stuff, and more intense stuff?"

You laugh.

"Kinkier stuff? Please. If I'm letting you hypnotize me, of course I expect you to indulge your foot fetish. Otherwise, what's the point of having a gorgeous, delightful girl like me under your control? As for more intense stuff, do you mean actual brainwashing? Hey, as long as you don't make me psychotic or politically conservative, sure, give it a shot."

"You're awfully agreeable about all of this."

"Yeah, well, I'm bored, and it's something new to try."

"But are you really being agreeable?" I ask. "Or are you really under hypnotic compulsion to be so open minded."

"Oh, I see," you say. "You hypnotized me before in order to make me agree to being hypnotized now. Wow, what a creative use of mind control. While I was under, did you also give me a suggestion to be suggestible? And then make me forget that I forgot?"

I shrug and smile at what you believe to be infallible logic, as if I'm conceding to your rationale.

"So, are we going to do this, or what?" you ask.

"We are definitely going to do this," I say.

And for the not the first time, and certainly not the last, we begin....