Note: all characters depicted in this story are over 18. And it’s fiction, so probably don’t try any of this at home. I hope you enjoy it, and send any feedback or suggestions for future expansion to hypnosockslave@yahoo.com.
[Chapter 30: Working Late]
When my eyes opened, I was no longer at Dr. Einschlafern’s desk, but instead lying back in the large recliner at the other end of the room. Dr. Einschlafern was sitting in a wheeled, swiveling, operator’s chair beside me, hands resting in her lap. I didn’t remember getting up and changing seats—not really. Though on realizing I had done so, an image popped into my head of myself, slowly walking, deep in trance. Dr. Einschlafern’s voice snapped me out of daydreaming about it.
“You respond exceedingly well to conversational hypnosis inductions,” she was saying. “I presume you have some experience being hypnotized in that way?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s fun when I don’t see it coming, when it catches me by surprise.”
“Of course, that makes perfect sense, given your particular preferences.”
“I guess so, yeah...”
She paused for a moment. It might have felt like an awkward pause, if not for the pervasive feeling of calm that had followed me up out of trance.
“So, since you asked about my research,” she said, “I thought perhaps it might be interesting to you to return to that topic. Do you recall our conversation last week about how the mind actively seeks and takes suggestions of its own accord?”
I nodded.
“One of the most interesting features of hypnosis and suggestibility,” she went on, “is that a comparatively small amount of stimulation can have much larger psychological results, if administered with the right timing and in the right way. Shall I give you a demonstration?”
I nodded again. She smiled, a tight-lipped grin.
“In that case, what I would like you to do is simply allow your mind to wander. This should be no problem, since it’s the end of the workday, and we all get a little tired, or find our concentration waning. Can you allow your mind to simply wander idly for me now?”
“Okay.”
“Excellent. I will remain silent for the next few moments, to avoid giving your mind any verbal stimulus. All you need do is allow your thoughts to drift wherever they may. We will begin now.”
With that, she crossed one leg over the other, and simply watched me. I met her gaze for a moment, which seemed to draw on forever. Then she broke eye contact, and I found myself looking around the room, scrutinizing the decor a little more closely. On the table across from me sat a machine I had not noticed before. It looked a little like a round flat-screen monitor. I wondered what it was for, and how it worked.
How many people had it hypnotized? Was Mistress Lauren among them? She had undoubtedly sat here, right where I was, in this very chair, perhaps watching as that screen showed a spiral or some other hypnotic image. I could almost picture her nodding slightly, accepting suggestions from Dr. Einschlafern. Maybe even helplessly murmuring ‘yes’ as her eyes fluttered, her mind readily accepting the suggestion that her eyes were quickly growing too heavy to keep open. I caught my own eyes blinking a little more slowly as I pictured it. My cock twitched and started to perk up.
Then my train of thought was promptly derailed by the sound of a zipper. I turned to see the dean slowly easing down the zipper along the side of her knee-high matte black leather boot. I wondered why she was taking it off; to tease me, surely? But then she surprised me: she didn’t continue removing the boot. She just resumed sitting there, watching me like a lab rat, her face still in that enigmatic, unrevealing, tight-lipped smile.
My eyes began to wander again. I couldn’t help but wonder what the dean was doing to me. Thinking about it made my mind feel oddly fuzzy, but I enjoyed the possibilities. Was she deliberately trying to arouse me? It was had to say; in my brief time knowing her, it had become abundantly clear that she could have that effect quite easily. And if she wasn’t making the most of that, wasn’t trying to tease me just to make me hard, then she must have some ulterior purpose or goal. It couldn’t be as simple as wanting to sleep with me; something told me she could have managed that quite easily without this extra rigamarole.
And then my thoughts were again interrupted by a sound, this time a soft, muffled, thud. I turned back to the dean, to see her setting her boot down on the floor beside her. She was wearing a white, ankle-high, sock underneath. Hardly the kind of thing that usually fit with professional attire. It was obviously meant for me to see. And yet, she kept her foot just out of sight, blocked just so slightly by the large raised edge of the chair. My cock twitched again in anticipation.
Just what was her goal, her aim in all this? She was clearly teasing me deliberately—but what did she hope to accomplish through it? Was I playing right into her hands? Did she have some secret plan to make me her hypnotized slave? Something told me that was beyond the realm of feasibility. And yet, part of me knew it was to some extent possible – it was almost what Mistress Lauren had done to me. My thoughts turned back to the first few times Mistress Lauren had hypnotized me—how she had taken me so completely by surprise, and left me feeling so exquisitely helpless and at her mercy. I nearly shuddered thinking what her mentor might be able to do, if she really wanted to.
I heard the dean’s skirt rustle, and my gaze snapped back to her to see her removing her other boot. I stifled a gasp. Her facial expression didn’t react in the slightest. Keeping that same placid, cryptic, half-smile, she slowly raised her foot and propped it up on the arm of the chair, almost touching my arm.
“This is much more comfortable. I trust you will not mind if I relax and make myself comfortable, as I have afforded you the same luxury. I think in this situation, it is appropriate for us to relax some of our usual inhibitions somewhat. Do you agree?”
I nodded. It did make perfect sense. And with my hands still limp on the arms of the chair, there was obviously no hope of hiding the rather large bulge in my slacks. I stared at the doctor, amazed and deeply confused by how acutely aroused I had become. I nodded vigorously, and then immediately felt her toe make contact with my arm. She slid her foot forward until her toes were resting on my forearm. I did nothing but stare. She began to drum her fingers softly on the table beside her, each nail making a quiet little click against the polished wooden surface beneath. In the near-total silence of the room, the clicking of each individual fingernail was impossible to miss. Then, slowly, she began to wiggle her toes rhythmically, in time with her fingers. I just stared on, totally perplexed yet very much enjoying the sensation.
As the sound droned on, I found my eyes fluttering. It was getting harder to keep them open. I let out a slow, deep breath—a breath I hadn’t noticed myself taking—and noticed the drumming of her fingers slowing down a little to match. I was slipping into a trance. And without so much as a word of suggestion to do so. It just felt so easy and so natural and so tempting to just letting the sound spiral me down deeper and deeper. And so that’s what happened.
Then a new feeling snapped my eyes open. It was her toe sliding down the length of my arm. The dean he nestled her foot under my hand, placing it literally in my grasp, sliding her toes between my thumb and my fingers as if prompting me to take hold of it. She began to rub the ball of her foot against my thumb, as if giving herself a foot massage with my limp hand. The hand, of course, soon began to reciprocate until it was mindlessly kneading slow circles, perfectly in time with the droning click click click click of her nails rapping on the table.
I didn’t even notice how my cock was throbbing in time with that same rhythm too. I let my eyes droop shut, let my head tilt back against the soft leather headrest. All thoughts of the ulterior motive of her machinations faded away. It was too hard to think about anything right now. I just wanted to let go. The silence unbroken except for the clicking of her fingernails, I drifted deeper, unbidden, spiralling downward, around and around, in time with her movements.
Unsurprisingly, I lost all track of time as I drifted deeper. After what seemed like a while, the movement of her foot in my hand stopped, and it remained still. Limp. Limp like my body—and probably my mind too. After an even longer time, the clicking of the dean’s fingers stopped, and I was immersed in silence.
When her foot moved again, it wasn’t in small circles like before. It slid forward, underneath my limp and flaccid fingers. I felt the soft material of her sock give way to smooth, soft, skin as her leg slid onward. I felt fabric snag against my fingers, and realized in my faraway conscious mind that it must be the hem of her skirt. But I didn’t have the time to consider the implications of that fact any further. Her foot made contact with the bulge in my pants. My eyes fluttered as I instinctively tried to look in surprise. But then she started drumming her fingers again, and my heavy eyelids sank back down and relaxed again. The droning click, click, click of her fingernails spiralled around me, spinning and twirling as I sank deeper once more.
My cock quivered, bulged, throbbed, pulsed. Her toes probed, feeling through the fabric of my slacks, until she found the sensitive vein on the bottom of my shaft.
The cyclic clicking of her fingernails began to gradually speed up. The feeling of her stimulating my cock grew more and more intense, until it was almost too much to bear.
I let go. I gave in. I surrendered. She was going to make me come. I knew that. And while some part of my mind wasn’t sure I wanted that, I resigned myself to the knowledge that it was simply going to happen, whether I was reluctant or not. There was nothing I could do to stop the pleasure from continuing to build. I let out a gasp, then a soft, heady moan. The clicking grew faster in response, and I gasped again, head rocking back in ecstasy.
And then I felt her bring her other foot to my crotch, embracing my cock through my pants. The electric feeling doubled. Then doubled again. It wasn’t my cock trembling now, it was my whole body, convulsing in response to her every movement, in response to every click of her nails on the table.
Then the sound of her fingers drumming on the table stopped, along with the movement of her feet on my cock. I lay there, feeling utterly helpless, vulnerable to the core, consumed by arousal and wishing the sensations could continue. I was on the edge of orgasm, I knew not for how long.
“Open your eyes and come out of trance now, Derek.”
She was smiling a little wider now, looking almost pleased with herself.
“Tell me about what you just experienced,” she said simply.
“What I experienced?” I panted, “I experienced you, um...rubbing...me.”
“With my feet, I presume?” She wiggled her toes slightly.
“Yeah.”
“Watch my feet for me now, please, Derek.”
I complied without needing to be told twice. As I stared, mind still so full of lust, she drummed her fingers once. Her feet remained still. I could see them perfectly clearly. But I felt them move all the same. I felt her stroking my cock, slowly, teasingly, up and down.
“Is that uncomfortable?”
“No,” I sighed, breathing hard.
“Is it pleasurable?” she asked, drumming her fingers again. A shiver went down my spine.
“Yes,” I moaned.
“Look at me, Derek.”
So effortlessly and so directly, she drew my gaze to hers.
“I have not moved my feet since I placed them in your lap. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” I nodded, feeling a heady mix of arousal, grogginess, and helpless oblivion.
Then she started drumming her fingers again. Click. Click. Click. Click. Repeat.
I gasped. I squirmed. I moaned a little. My cock throbbed hard, the head swelling more.
“It is precisely as I described to you earlier. I apply a small amount of controlled, targeted, directed, stimulus. And your mind takes that stimulation, and constructs much more potent suggestions from it.”
Click. Click. Click. Click. Repeat.
“Have I mentioned arousal to you, or spoken to you with any metaphors about building or intensifying sensations?”
“No.”
“And yet your arousal has built up considerably, has it not?”
“Yes.”
Click. Click. Click. Click. Repeat.
Watching me with that same look of scientific fascination, she probed me with her toes, stroking my shaft to feel it. I convulsed.
“Yes, indeed. You seem to me to be extremely aroused right now, in fact. Is my assessment correct?”
“Yes,” I sighed, chest heaving.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Repeat.
And the next time, the cycle ended—with the snap of her fingers. My cock erupted, spurting hard. My hips bucked instinctively—once, twice, then again slightly a third time, as more and more come pumped out, spreading a warm wet patch in my trousers.
“Have I brought you to orgasm?” she asked, in a detached, utterly nonchalant, totally factual way.
I nodded sheepishly, feeling the heat of flush in my face.
“Are you certain?” she asked, probing deeper. “Did I overtly suggest that you would orgasm when you heard the snap of my fingers? Did I mention orgasm at all, in fact? Or any similar theme, such as release or explosion or the like?”
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
“No,” I whispered.
“Indeed. Your mind supplied that entirely on its own.”
She grinned, a strangely detached smile, almost like a teacher delighted with her student for understanding a lesson. I didn’t think it was possible for me to blush any harder, but I felt it happening nonetheless.
“There is no need to be embarrassed. You don’t control your unconscious mind any more than I do. It is a perfectly natural response to the situation, given your particular constellation of sexual arousal triggers.”
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“It’s quite simple,” she answered. “First there is a directive stimulus. In this case, the act of taking off my boots and revealing to you that I am wearing socks caused your mind to drift towards sexual ideas and fantasies. The sound of my fingers provided an arbitrary repetitive stimulus for you to associate with based on that. Your mind interpreted the effect of that stimulus as increasing pleasure and increasing depth of trance. Along with that comes increased suggestibility, which feeds back into the stimulus provided by my deliberate choice of footwear. The deliberate placement of my feet was a slight additional stimulation, based on my assessment of your experience from our previous interactions.”
“So the rubbing on my hand was...like a hallucination?” I’m a smart guy, but her technical explanation was hard for even me to follow.
“To some extent, I suppose so,” she replied. “It was a result of you enjoying massaging my feet on previous occasions. Your mind followed that pathway from the stimulus to arrive at the sensation of movement and caressing.”
“And then the feeling of your feet...on my....on my penis?” I blurted out the word, hardly believing I had even said it.
“That was a transposition of the movement experienced by your hand to a different location on your body. Regions with high touch sensitivity tend to receive such suggestions quite effectively—as I imagine you can attest to.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, “You could say that. Intensely so.”
“I take it this has been an enjoyable and educational experience for you, then. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” My mind was nothing if not blown.
She smiled knowingly. I just stared in stunned silence as she extracted her feet from my lap and slid them back into her boots.
“In that case, I would say we are finished for today. As it happens, I have the same time slot in my schedule free next week. I will keep it blocked off in case you would like to come again.”
“Um...okay.”