Amy had a secret.  It was why she kept staring into the spinning spiral on the television even thought there was really plenty of time to look away.  George was an amateur, not a very good hypnotist at all.  Amy would need to do a lot of the work of going into trance herself.  But that was OK.  That was her secret.

Rick had been a much better hypnotist.  He’d put her under and kept her under for weeks after their first and only date.  Once they’d fucked dozens of times, he tired of her and set her free.  He’d put post-hypnotic suggestions in her head that kept her from calling the cops, but… 

…she didn’t think she really wanted to.

Stacy had been a much better hypnotist.  She’d lusted after her friend Amy for years and made her move one night when they were alone together and Amy complained about her stressful job.  Stacy had helped her to relax… she’d helped her to realize that she loved Stacy… wanted to obey Stacy… wanted to be Stacy’s adoring love slave.  But Stacy soon realized Amy’s mindless devotion wasn’t what she’d really wanted.  She’d set her free, saying she was very sorry but leaving Amy with a post-hypnotic suggestion that she couldn’t call the cops.

She didn’t want to.

Doctor Samson had been a much better hypnotist.  Amy had thought his particular take on the eye test was a little weird, but she was happy to focus on the moving letters on his digital chart.  She remembered realizing how that they were spelling special words as they moved among one another.  There was a moment, just a moment, when she was the word “OBEY” come together and then drift apart.  She got so wet as she sank down into trance.  A few month later, after weekly visits with no medical necessity, she worked with a deprogrammer after Doctor Samson had been arrested.  Someone else had called the police.

Amy wouldn’t have.

The Great Mesmero had been a much better hypnotist.  Amy had gone to see his show every night for a month until he finally called her up on stage.  She had a note clutched in her hand that she passed along to him as she took her seat, before staring into the watch.  She barely remembered any of the next six months, during which time she’d become his assistant and mindless fuckdoll.  Just like she’d asked him in the note.  And just as the note had asked, when the six months were up, he set her free.  

Amy wasn’t sure how she felt about that last part.

And now, here she was, on her third date with George, who wasn’t much to write home about expect that she’d seen his browser history and suspected that something like this might occur.  Amy knew she was totally addicted to the experience of being hypnotically brainwashed, and one of these days someone would be unethical and criminally competent enough to make her their sex slave for life.  She’d never escape, never think for herself again.

At least, as she focused deeply on the spiral and let the inductions of those other, better hypnotists drift through her mind, that was what she hoped would happen.  Probably not with George, but there were much better hypnotists out there.