THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF LOUIS AND ELLE.
Chapter Nineteen. The Big Podcast of 2019.
“You’ll recognize me when you see me,” Mistress Selene had told Elle Murphy over the phone. “I have long dark hair and I’m … not very big.”
Elle had been unconsciously expecting someone tall and imposing; after all, Mistress Selene was one of the more famous dominatrices online, with a thriving website and a popular podcast, “Dominos,” that introduced newcomers to BDSM and sponsored discussions on female domination. In other words, a large figure in the subculture.
But when she saw Selene at the arrivals gate at Tri-County Airport, she didn’t find her physical presence disappointing—quite the reverse. The hair was not just dark but spectacular, thick, straight, and lustrous, hanging well below her shoulders. She was tiny, just a fingernail above five feet tall, and slender. She wore an outfit that revealed little but managed to invite imagination: dark embroidered vest over a silky all-but-see-through white pullover, dark Spandex leggings, and medium-heel ankle boots that discreetly added length to her legs. The overall effect was not boyish; Selene was beautifully proportioned and thoroughly female, with graceful posture and a leggy build. Elle took all that in at first glance; but then her gaze met Selene’s quite remarkable eyes: deep ponds that seemed to take up half her face, beautifully framed by dramatic cheekbones above a small, full, pouty mouth. The size was not their only remarkable feature: The large, warm sea-green pupils were welcoming pools into which any man—and indeed, anyone, male or female, young or old—could easily sink and never surface again.
Her small size added to the effect: with her body, her clothes, and her devastating eyes made up beautifully, she looked like a figure out a dark but addictive dream.
It wouldn’t be correct to say that Elle had dressed to compete with Selene; nonetheless, knowing she was going to meet a famous domme, she had chosen her outfit carefully: long flowing peach colored silk trousers, a cream silky blouse, and subtly pink patent Blahnik medium-height heels with pointed toes.
Elle had already attracted attention on her way to meet Selene at the arrival gate; the two of them walking back through the terminal caused a bit of a stir—one hapless male who watched them come down on the escalator was so affected that he left his rollaboard at the bottom and had to go back and get it when his wits returned.
Despite her dark-dream appearance, Selene was engaging and warm, and by the time they reached the house in the East Hills, they were sharing their life stories. Selene had gone to college on a four-year gymnastics scholarship and had majored in dance. She was, she said, a good gymnast but not Olympic caliber, so after graduating, she’d gotten a Master’s in Physical Therapy and worked providing rehabilitation help for accident survivors and recovering surgical patients. During those years, she had discovered that her biggest clients—professional athletes and construction workers and just all around great big he-men—responded powerfully to being treated by a tiny woman. Many of them were model patients, trying desperately to please her; some tried to recover slowly, to keep the sessions going, and even to continue physical therapy after they had fully recovered. She’d dated a couple of them after they graduated from therapy, and pretty soon she understood that their attraction to her was so strongly erotic because they enjoyed being bossed around by someone her size. The romances had ended, but by then she had realized that as a professional domme she would be addressing the needs of her clients as surely as when she had been performing physical therapy.
Except as a domme the money was better, she never needed to bill insurance companies, and she enjoyed her new work clothes more than the old ones.
“I like the dress-up part of it,” she said. “I usually wear something domme for the first meeting with a client—a leather corset, a vinyl miniskirt, thigh-high boots with 15 eyelets—they are all fun as long as nobody’s telling me I have to wear them. After the first session it doesn’t matter what I wear; they are so hooked they don’t care. Every now and then I come out in a new outfit to keep them guessing, but once they belong to me I can wear sweats.”
“Yes?” Elle asked. “How do you hook them? Rope play, flogging—what is it that keeps them coming back?”
Selene waved a hand in the air, dismissing the idea of BDSM scenes. “Oh, no. Sometimes, if a boy is really really good, I will have a scene with him. But that comes later—first, he has to prove he is faithful and submissive and worth my time. At the beginning, I just win them over with logic.”
“Logic,” said Elle. “How does that win them?”
“Well, when I first meet a new vict—sorry, client, I wait for him to put his eyes back in his head and then I conduct what I call an orientation.”
“Orientation?” Elle said, imaging what being oriented to a dominatrix would involve.
“It’s really just an explanation,” Selene said. “I tell him the facts of life. I explain to him that if he wants to have me in his life, he’s going to have to obey me without hesitation—but that it won’t be a problem since he won’t even be able to imagine resisting. ‘You’re going to obey me because it just makes sense,’ I say. ‘I’m your superior in every way. I am smarter than you. I am better looking than you. I am more powerful than you. I know more than you do. I understand men better than you understand women,. I understand you better than you understand yourself. I know what is best for you far better than you do, and I don’t care what you think is best for you. I am a woman and you are a man and men should obey and serve women. And I am special; I matter and what I want matters to me and to you; you are not special and you don’t matter and what you want doesn’t matter to me and soon it’s not going to matter to you either. You are going to tell me everything about your life, and I will tell you what to do about it and you will do it because I say so and that’s all you need to know.
“I am not going to hurt you or tie you up. I don’t particularly like that and I don’t do what I don’t like. Beyond that, there are really only two possibilities. One is that you don’t like being hurt either and so why should we waste our time together with it? The other is that you do like it and want it and if that’s the case this will be a very good lesson to you, because it will simply be the first of many things you will have to give up like when you serve me. And giving things up—getting rid of your wants and wishes and imagining and plans and devoting yourself to mine—that’s going to be the best feeling you can imagine, you won’t worry anymore about what you should do or who you should please, you will do what I tell you and you will try desperately to please me and I will become the only thing that matters, I am becoming bigger and bigger and you are becoming smaller and smaller and soon you will be standing in the palm of my hand and I will be able to pop you into my mouth and swallow you and you will beg me to do it.”
“The logic—,” Elle began, then stopped, her throat for some reason a bit scratchy. “Well, it seems inescapable.”
Selene laughed merrily. “Very few of the boys ever do escape,” she said.
They were sitting in her basement study and Elle found herself wondering whether she had set the thermostat wrong—the room seemed hotter than usual somehow.
Selene explained didn’t have sex with most of them; she simply bossed them around in no uncertain terms and let them enjoy the thrill of obeying. She’d been doing it for a couple of years, and by now she had a certified arborist who mowed her lawn, a state police captain as her driver, a local celebrity chef fixing her meals, a general contractor as her handyman—and, when on occasion a client became difficult, a pet FBI Special Agent to pay a call on them. She started a well-read blog full of instructions to would-be submissive men and would-be dominant women. She had a phone coaching service, in which she instructed submissives—no phone sex, just indoctrination—and their owners. Word traveled around subculture circles, and here she was—famous under the internet name Selene.
“And do you have a regular boyfriend?” Elle asked.
Selene threw back her small head and laughed heartily. “Oh, no,” she said. “I feel about men the way W.C. Fields felt about elephants—I like to look at them, but I wouldn’t want to own one.” Instead, she said, she allowed a few favored pets to escort her to dinner or social events; the more delectable ones might be asked to stay over a few times, or even allowed to treat her to long weekends at resorts of her choosing. But it was never the same boy twice in a row, and seldom on enough occasions that a fortunate sub might get the wrong idea. “I treat them badly,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It keeps them coming back for more.”
Elle remembered her single days, when her view of men was roughly the same—although she had had a series of temporary “monogamous” boyfriends, each of whom she had eventually tired of and demoted to the status of helpless yearning slave. The ex-subs had formed the same kind of service network that Selene described. Selene’s life sounded like a lot of fun; but it was clear to Elle that her own way of living today—with her adored and adoring Louis in a faithful and intimate marriage—was for her the best life of all.
Elle had never had a sister. Now she felt a kind of big-sibling bond with the little domme; at the same time, she could appreciate how sexy Selene would seem to men who carried about with them the burden of appearing rough and strong but who secretly yearned to give up all control and serve and obey without thought, and who fell for her harder precisely because her dominance over them was so unexpected and improbable. It must be electrifying to realize that they were twice her size—but that after a few words from her, they had no power, no strength, no choice but abject desperate submission. Selene’s personality was not particularly imperious; it was clear even in this first conversation that her power simply lay in knowing exactly what she wanted to happen— and making that clear to others with a clarity that gently but firmly brushed aside any hesitation or uncertainty. Elle found herself imagining what it would feel like to yield to the tidal pull of those eyes and sink under Selene’s spell. Quickly she suppressed that thought, and replaced it with another at least as compelling: those huge eyes growing tired as Elle whispered to her, the lids growing heavy, then closing as this tiny beauty succumbed to Elle’s power …
That was quite enough erotic speculation, she thought sternly. Selene’s visit was a matter of business. “So your use of language is very—vivid,” she said. “Have you studied hypnosis?”
Selene blushed slightly. “I have to admit—” she said. “Well, yes, I have read about hypnosis, and I do some hypnotic scripts because some of the boys beg me to—but I wouldn’t call myself a hypnotist. It’s really more like role play.”
“Have you ever been hypnotized yourself, or had any hypnotherapy?”
“No,” Selene said. “In college the psychology professor tried. He spoke to me in a soothing voice, and it was relaxing. But then I couldn’t go any further; he seemed a little too eager, like a car salesman, and I couldn’t let go.”
I’ll be he was eager, Elle thought. “You’re probably safe then,” she said in a casual tone. “But if you want to learn about hypnosis, listen carefully later when I put Louis under. You will learn a lot watching him.”
“Speaking of which, I am dying to meet Louis,” Selene asked.
“Soon enough,” Elle said. “Why don’t you go ahead and set up your equipment, and when it’s time I’ll summon him?”
She had asked Elle to be a guest on “Dominos” so she could explain the basics of hypnosis in the context of a female-led household; Selene had asked whether Louis would be willing to be interviewed as well. Elle had answered that Louis would be willing to do anything that Elle told him to do. But now she found herself strategizing on ways to fulfill that promise while making sure that her obedient husband—such a delicious hypnotic pushover—did not accidentally fall into Selene’s alluring eyes.
Elle wasn’t exactly jealous of Selene, but her antennae were tingling.
“Makes sense,” Selene said, and unpacked her digital recording equipment, which included a professional digital recorder and a large studio-quality microphone, setting it up between them on a coffee table in front of the couch. Elle watched carefully, and asked Selene to explain the controls. As she was finishing, Elle said, “I am going to call Louis now.” She closed her eyes and put both hands to her forehead, screwing up her face in an expression of deep concentration. After a few seconds, she relaxed. “There. He’s on his way.”
Selene’s mouth fell open. “That was calling him?”
“He and I have been working together a long time.”
She could see skepticism and belief dueling in those huge eyes. Elle’s claim must surely have struck Selene as absurd; but then again, Elle knew how many people secretly wanted to believe that hypnosis was not only powerful but magical, and that Elle, as a powerful hypnotist, could summon her husband from a distance like the Great Vorelli summoning the helpless Yvonne Romain in DEVIL DOLL.
Two minutes later, the study door sprang open and Louis came in carrying a tray. On it were two cups of hot coffee, a cream pitcher, and a sugar bowl. “Put it over there, darling,” Elle said, pointing at a side table next to the couch.
Louis obeyed silently.
(It doesn’t need to be said that Elle had not actually summoned Louis with her mind; she had given Louis a hypnotic suggestion that he would fall back into trance at precisely 3:15, prepare coffee for two, and serve it without speaking. Then she’d set up Selene’s expectations that Louis’s appearance would be magical. She hadn’t quite claimed it was, but she’d let Selene’s imagination do the rest.)
“Thank you, darling,” Elle said after Louis had served. She reached up, snapped her fingers in his face, and said, “Back to work. There’s nothing to see here.”
He left, not looking to left or right.
She turned to Selene with the smile of a well-fed canary-eating cat. The tiny domme was obviously astounded. “Was he—”
“Yes, dear,” Elle said. “He was hypnotized. I sent him back to work; he’ll wake up back at his desk and not remember he came down here. When you’re ready for him to talk, I’ll call him back. Believe me, he will tell you anything you want to know. But first, have you some questions for me?”
“Oh, yes,” Selene said. She pressed a button on the recorder, then leaned toward the microphone on the coffee table. “Hello, lovers,” she said in low, seductive tones. “This is Mistress Selene and it’s time for another episode of ‘Dominos,’ the podcast that knows your secret wishes and tries to make them come true.” Her voice was slightly breathy, and, like her eyes, impossible to ignore. Elle enjoyed the musical sound.
“With us here today we have the famous Madam Irene”—she was using Elle’s Internet pseudonym, chosen in tribute to the woman (“the woman”) who had made such a deep impression on Sherlock Holmes. “Anyone who has been on the Internet knows that Madam Irene is a leading—maybe the leading authority—on erotic hypnosis, hypnotic domination, and the use of hypnosis in female-led relationships. Madam Irene, welcome to ‘Dominos.’”
“Hello, Selene,” Elle said. She realized she was pitching her voice lower, more seductive, than usual. There was no need for that, she though, slightly annoyed at herself. Her voice was more than adequate. “Great to be here.”
“Tell us what it’s like to be the hypnotist and the domme in a true marriage.”
For the next half-hour or so, Elle took Selene’s listeners through their daily lives—how Louis not only took care of all the shopping, cooking, cleaning, and laundry but signed over all his income to her without even opening the checks to see how much they were for, accepting anything allowance she chose to give him—and how, thanks to her helpful suggestions, he wrote every day, ate well, worked out regularly, spent his spare time thinking of gifts to give her and places to take her, and found his role as her personal maid intensely sexy. “Honestly, Selene,” she said. “We’ve been married three years and I don’t think I’ve washed a dish in that time.”
“We’re also going to speak with Madam Irene’s husband and submissive—” Selene glanced at her notes—“Hugo.” This was Louis’s Internet name, drawn from the hypnotically controlled doll in SPELL OF THE HYPNOTIST. “Can you summon him again, Irene?”
Elle had, of course, not been able to program Louis in advance for this, since she didn’t know how long the interview would last. Instead, she pressed the intercom on her desk. “Yes?” Louis’s voice.
“Hello, darling,” Elle said. “Listen carefully. SNAP. Come down here right away.”
After 5 minutes Louis entered the room. “Sit,” Elle said. “Now answer all of Selene’s question.
“Umm . . . hello, Selene,” said Louis. The snap had put him into a light trance; as he emerged, he spoke in a huskier than usual voice; it was a sexy sound. The podcast audience would be undergoing hormone rush at this point, Elle thought.
“Welcome to ‘Dominos,’ Hugo!” Selene said. “Thanks for being here and talking to our listeners today about living in a hypnotic female-led marriage. Can you tell us what it’s like being married to Madam Irene?”
A big lazy smile broke over Louis’s face. He seemed to come fully awake, losing the blank look of deep trance. Elle was reminded—as she often was—that Louis was the best submissive she had ever met—not the weakest but the strongest. He had a strong spirit and a brilliant mind, one who understood his role in their marriage, treasured it, and thought long and hard about how to make things between them even better than they were. He was eager to please and creative and an astoundingly responsive hypnotic subject. He not only wrote brilliant stories that had supported them in luxury, he was constantly studying Elle—her thoughts, her likes and dislikes, her desires and whims—and he devoted considerable conscious thought to fulfilling them. He knew her taste so well that when he shopped for antique jewelry, vintage shoes, or fine lingerie he never failed to find something that suited and delighted her. She remembered stumbling on a cache of books he had hidden away in his dresser; she’d at first been furious because she assumed they were some kind of secret porn stash—this was not permitted and he would have been in trouble!—until she leafed through them and discovered they were quite serious and detailed self-improvement books on how to improve a woman’s experience of oral sex.
She’d put them back without saying a word; let Louis think his secret was secure—it was going to redound to her benefit.
And it had.
Without thinking about it, she fanned herself. Was it hot in here? Again she wondered if she should check the thermostat.
Louis meanwhile was looking at Selene. His eyes came into focus and that lazy smile turned into a knowing, complicated one. Watching the effect on Selene, Elle realized she might have been worrying about the wrong pair of eyes; the little domme looked as if she wanted to climb straight onto Louis’s lap.
Elle maneuvered herself to see how much eye contact was going on between the two of them. She would need to work a bit with Louis on his memory of this, she thought.
Then she forgot to be jealous, because Louis said, “You have to understand, Selene, I’d been wanting and needing Irene my whole life—without knowing it, without understanding it, she is the one and she has always been the one and there’s nobody else for me. Sometimes I think that I knew her in another life, or that I knew her in college—I almost remember that she was with me in college, though I am not sure she really was—* but I do know that I have always needed her to allow me to be the person I was born to be.”
“Can you explain that?” Selene asked, studying Louis’s face with a disturbingly rapt expression.
Louis frowned in concentration. “Selene, we live in a society that prizes conformity and compliance over individuality. Most of what passes for intelligence is just jumping through hoops. I think that for many people—maybe for most—it’s hard to believe that they are able to—no, allowed to—really be themselves. When the person is an artist, or writer, or musician, or any other kind of creative person, it’s even harder. Everybody needs permission—and often it’s hard to get from teachers, from family, even from friends. I knew from middle school on that I wanted to be a writer, and that I wanted to write the stories that I was feeling inside me. Most of my teachers either thought it was a silly idea—which was discouraging—or that it was great and began to tell me what kind of writer I had to be—which is also pretty damned discouraging. It’s hard enough to get internal permission to write at all—but then there are a whole lot of commands beyond that about what and how you are ‘allowed’ to write. By the time I met Irene I’d struggled through a complete book and most of a second even though neither book was really what I wanted to write. I was writing to impress others—I was hoping to impress an old girlfriend named—” he gave a start—“Good heavens, you know, I can’t remember her name.” (He didn’t see Elle’s satisfied smile.) “But anyway, I was having such a hard time. It was like trying to drive a car with the handbrake on—the engine may be powerful but there’s a lot of smoke and bad smells and the car doesn’t go very fast. Then I met Elle. I fell for her in about 30 seconds. Once she hypnotized me, I realized I had never known true freedom until then.”
“Can you explain what you mean by ‘freedom’? Most people think of being hypnotized as losing their freedom.” Selene’s voice was softer and breathier than ever; she looked as if Louis could breathe on her and knock her over. Elle shifted with annoyance—but she too was fascinated by what Louis was saying, which he had never told her in these words before.
“Those are people who’ve never really been hypnotized,” Louis began. “I suspect there are two kinds of men—hypnosubs and those who’ve never been hypnotized. But that’s another question. What I mean by freedom is this—in order to write, in order to be myself, I used to spend a lot of time fighting with myself, reassuring myself that I was allowed to do what I was doing, worrying about a dozen other things I should be doing, worrying that my writing would be no good or people would laugh at me or that the kids in my freshman creative writing seminar would say that my dialogue wasn’t perfect or that I was going to go broke and die in an alley. But now when Elle waves her hand, I go into a trance and those worries just drift away—like balloons into a blue sky, or fish swimming away in a clear blue sea—and all that’s left is myself and Irene. People say that your mind goes blank when you’re hypnotized but usually it doesn’t for me. When I go into trance, I have my thoughts, I understand what’s going on—but those thoughts suddenly aren’t the most important thing in my mind at that moment. Elle turns them into fish or birds and they sort of swirl around me and I know they are there but I don’t need to pay attention to them. What is important is Irene’s words. They become my thoughts because everything Irene says comes from my thoughts, or maybe everything I think comes from Irene’s words, and everything she tells me to do is what I really want to do and I have permission—I don’t even need permission—Irene wills it and I do it because she is in charge. And of course I am in love with Irene—she knocked me over the moment I met her—and submitting to her, pleasing her, worshiping her body, serving as her erotic toy—is an honor, I feel very special. If I am lucky, Irene hypnotizes me every day. Sometimes she just snaps and I find myself doing the next thing she tells me without any hesitation or planning. Sometimes I realize that I have done things—cooked and served breakfast, or cleaned up the house—in a trance and I have no memory of doing it. See what I mean by freedom? That’s an amazing feeling. I don’t ask whether or how, I just do it. Sometimes she puts me down and tells me to imagine I am her footstool, the way I just was, and I drift deeper and deeper—and a lot of ideas for my writing or other projects just come bubbling up after one of those sessions. Sometimes she whispers in my ear at night and I obey the next morning without realizing that I have been programmed. I remember once I was finishing a novel and Irene wanted to go away for the weekend to Fire Lake. She knew I really wanted to finish but probably wouldn’t be able to by Friday afternoon without a miracle. I would be mopey and distracted if I had to stop to go away for the weekend. So she whispered to me Thursday night that I would write and write and write the next day, nothing would distract me, and when I woke up I went straight to my study and I wrote 7,000 words and finished the book. It wasn’t till we got to the B&B at Fire Lake that she told me what she’d done.”
“How did that make you feel?” Selene asked.
“I think—” his face flushed slightly and for the first time he seemed to be searching for words—“I really think that may be the sexiest moment of my life. To know how completely she owns and controls me and how she uses it for my own good without asking—I—well—Fire Lake is very pretty but I don’t think we left the bedroom the whole weekend, I really couldn’t stop making love to her, I was so completely totally aroused by her power over me and the kind and benevolent way she uses it.”
Selene looked roguishly at Elle. “Irene, was that lovemaking a product of his programming too?”
“That’s for me to know,” said Elle crisply, faintly annoyed—was she annoyed that Selene had asked her a personal question? No, she realized, she was annoyed at the interruption of her own reverie because listening to Louis’s story was so sexy Elle had begun imagining kneeling between his legs and giving him a blowjob that would make him scream for mercy.
Selene would not be a welcome guest at that party. It seemed like time to change the subject.
“That’s enough, darling,” she said to Louis. She waved her hand negligently in front of his face. “Back to ottoman.” His eyes came down like window shades and he slumped into the chair again. “Now stand up! Up on your feet! At attention now, you know it’s the most comfortable pose for you.”
Louis sprang to his feet and stood up straight, his shoulders back, his eyes closed, his face peaceful and still. “Good boy,” she said. “You are so relaxed, you will go deeper and deeper into blissful trance. You will see nothing, hear nothing, think nothing until you hear me call your name again.”
Selene was positively gaping at the look of pleasure on the sleeping man’s face. “He enjoys it,” Elle assured her.
“People listening, Louis—this very strong-looking handsome man—is standing at attention and yet he is fast asleep. I wouldn’t find it all that comfortable but he looks totally at ease. Well, Irene, your relationship, and Hugo’s devotion, are really impressive. I know a lot of my listeners would be thrilled to have a sub like Hugo. How did it happen?”
Elle smiled and, for reasons of her own, gave an entirely fictional account of how she and Louis had met.** She had, she claimed, met him at the public library, convinced him to buy her dinner, and then lured him home. In fact, they had met at a party where she’d hypnotized him for the amusement of the guests, and he’d asked her to dinner for the next night because she had told him to while he was in trance. “Louis was there in my living room, nice and relaxed from his cocktail”—in fact, Louis had refused to drink at all that night because he wanted to make sure Elle had a sober ride home—“and I knew I needed to put him into a deep trance before I could be certain that he would submit”—in fact, Louis had all but thrown himself at Elle’s feet—“and so I used my most powerful hypnotic induction”— in fact all she had done was show Louis a spoon and whisper the word “sleep.”
“Let me show you that induction, pay attention, Selene, and you’ll learn something about hypnosis,” she said, and turned to her sleeping husband. “Hugo, wake up! Wide awake, darling, open your eyes, bright and clear!” Louis blinked as if he’d been had a mild shock, opened his eyes, and looked around with a befuddled look. “Did I fall asleep?”
“For a little while,” Elle said. “Have a seat here.” She pointed to a chair nesxt to her. He sat down.
“Hugo,” said Selene in her breathy (breathier-than-thou, Elle sniffed to herself) voice, “Can you tell us—”
Elle silenced her with an upraised hand. “Hugo,” she said. “I am going to show Selene how I hypnotized you that night in my apartment after we had our first date at Greene’s. You remember, don’t you?”
Louis nodded. “Yes, Irene.”
“You were a difficult subject, don’t you remember?”
“Yes, Irene.” (This just showed how deep her influence on him at the moment was, as he had actually always been a pushover and, thanks to her suggestion, was proud of how easily he went under and often bragged to others about how much power over him his wife had from the very moment she he saw her.)
“But I talked softly to you, didn’t I? I said to you, ‘Listen to my voice’”—she used her most seductive growl—“and as you do you’re going to find your body relaxes, your eyes are growing heavy, heavy tired eyes, you just want to close them, you just want to let go, you are falling asleep, only my voice matters, as you fall asleep you want only to do what my voice tells you, sleepy, sleepy….”
She led him through a progressive relaxation, counting down from 5 to 1 as he moved deeper into sleep, walking down the dark stairway to the big comfortable bed with cool, crisp sheets. Louis’s eyes were closed and his body looked as if it had melted in the chair. “That’s right, and now I want you to picture me sitting here, and remember my shoes, my sexy pink patent leather high heels, you can’t stop thinking about them, you want to touch them, to hold them, to kiss them, you want to kneel, and when I snap you will kneel, and kiss my feet….” She snapped her fingers.
Louis was kneeling in front of her, kissing and running his tongue across her left foot with a practiced skill that sent shivers up her spine. Her husband’s total submission was still a gift she did not take for granted.
Then she felt another mouth, another tongue, this one on her right foot. Smiling, she looked down and saw the diminutive figure of Mistress Selene kneeling at her feet. The tiny domme was kissing her feet, her eyes closed, clearly unaware of where she was or what she was doing.
Elle had thought this might happen, and she had a plan.
“Hugo,” Elle said. “Sleep.”
Louis toppled over, limbs splayed on the carpet, and began, ever so faintly, to snore.
Elle had watched Selene closely when she started to record; now she leaned forward and pushed “STOP” on the digital recorder. “Selene?” she said, looking down at the entranced woman. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Selene opened her eyes and looked around in confusion. Clearly the last thing she remembered was hearing Elle hypnotizing Louis, listening closely on the mistaken assumption that she was safe from Elle’s powers. “Did I . . . fall asleep?”
Elle laughed. “Yes, darling, for a little while.”
Unconsciously, Elle reached up and touched her nipple through her blouse. Very few things seemed to her as sexy as inducing a deep trance in a subject too naïve and relaxed to realize what Elle was up to.
What usually followed those inductions was fun too.
“I—don’t know,” Selene said. “I was listening—”
“Sit up,” Elle said, and Selene re-seated herself on the couch, blinking and slightly flushed.
“So this is a lesson about hypnosis, Selene,” Elle said. “It’s best if your subjects feel safe when you induce them. I’d told you you were safe, remember? And so you listened closely without worrying about anything. When I began relaxing Louis you relaxed too, and then drifted into a trance. And you started thinking of my shoes, didn’t you?”
Selene nodded. Her huge eyes had closed again.
“Do you like them?” Elle asked with a slight smirk. She stretched her leg in front of Selene and flexed her foot to display the new Blahnik Neskov pumps Louis had bought her (he’d begged her to let him sell his baseball card collection to raise the funds). “Oh, Selene, darling, I think you may have accidentally fallen back into a trance, you’re going to kneel again, you’re going to kiss my feet—that’s it, dear girl.” The lovely little domme was on her knees again, licking the pink patent leather toe. “Now sleep!”
Now Selene was lying unconscious at her feet as well.
“Remember you told me you didn’t know what it was like to be hypnotized?” Elle said.
“Well, you know now, don’t you?”
“Does it feel good?”
“What does it feel like?”
“Very . . . warm,” the little domme said with some difficulty. “I… comfortable … safe … sexy…”
“Good girl. Now listen, every word I tell you is the truth. In a moment I am going to wake you up. You’ll feel wonderful, sexy, relaxed. And you will be eager to share this feeling with your submissives at home, including the ones who call you for coaching, yes? Nod your head.”
“Yes,” Selene said, nodding.
“And you want me to teach you to hypnotize them so you can help them feel this relaxed and helpless, won’t you?”
“Now, Selene, just between us, there are going to be some changes in your podcast, understand? Of course you do. From now on, I am the co-host of your podcast, it will be called ‘Dominos with Irene and Selene’ and every episode will feature a segment with you interviewing me about my week and me explaining about femdom hypnosis, and you will urge your listeners to buy my books and my mp3s. You remember that I hypnotized you easily, with a few words and a wave of my hand, and it was sexy, wasn’t it? Yes, it was, so sexy, you can feel it now, the joy of obeying me, your breasts are tingling, you are touching them, you are so aroused, you can put one hand between your legs, you are on fire, so aroused, when I snap my fingers three times you will have the most powerful orgasm you have ever had, you will scream my name and come and then fall back into a deep sleep ready to follow my every command in deep hypnosis.” She put her hand down next to Selene’s ear and snapped.
“Elle!” Selene breathed as she writhed on the floor.
“Louder, my poppet,” Elle said, and snapped again.
“And now—” Elle snapped the third time.
“OH GOD, ELLE!!” Selene screamed, arching her back as she massaged her breasts.
“Good girl. In a minute I am going to wake you up. You will feel wonderful and sexy and you will follow each and every suggestion I have given you but you will remember nothing that happened after you heard me say ‘sleep.’ Now—1, 2, 3—wide awake!!”
The lovely little domme sat up and stretched, then smiled, preening so proudly that Elle had to stifle a laugh. “You hypnotized me, didn’t you?” she said smugly.
Elle waved her hand in the air. “Forget about that, darling,” she said. “You came here to interview me. Turn on your recorder and ask your questions.”
For the next half-hour, Selene asked Elle questions about hypnosis, for all the world as if none of the foregoing sexy antics had happened. Elle explained her philosophy that there were two types of men—those who yearned, often without knowing it, to spend their lives serving women, and those who were beyond redemption and should not be allowed to breed. At the end, Selene said, “Well, that’s about it for this episode, this is your friendly domme Selene reminding you—” here her eyes went slightly blank and her tone of voice changed, became slower, more relaxed “do come back next week to hear ‘Dominos with Elle and Selene,’ when she will teach you more about the joys of hypnosis and they hypnofetish lifestyle. So for this week, obey!”
She turned off the digital recorder and then looked around with a dazed expression. “Is that all? Did we finish?”
“Yes, darling,” Elle said. “And now you need to get to your room at the Exchange Hotel.”
“I…do? I was thinking maybe we could all have dinner…?”
“Aren’t you a good sport, dear? But I can tell you are just worn out by your trip and your hard work podcasting, you really only feel like going to your room, undressing, and climbing into bed—you seem so heavy and relaxed, and imagine sleeping all night, safe, warm, relaxed . . . ..”
Suddenly Selene yawned broadly, and her eyelids fell to half-mast above those entrancing eyes. “I am kind of … worn out,” she said. “Don’t know … why … long week maybe…”
“We’ll meet for breakfast—Would you like to spend the day together—girlfriend shopping day?” Elle said.
Selene smiled and nodded dreamily.
“Good,” Elle said. “I can use some fashion tips from you.”
Ordinarily she took Louis shopping to carry the bags, pay for her purchases, and give her fashion feedback. But she’d decided to keep Louis and Selene apart. Her worry about him had been her usually silly jealousy. But now there seemed to be a realistic possibility that Selene would fall into Louis’s eyes, rather than the other way around.
“See you tomorrow, then,” she said. “I’m going to have my driver take you to the Exchange.”
“You have a driver?”
“Oh, yes. He doesn’t talk much. We call him Hagrid because—well, he looks like the character from Harry Potter. He doesn’t talk much. He’s not really scary though, especially if you just leave him alone. Pack up your things and wait in the car. Off you go!”
Meekly, Selene packed her equipment and left.
Elle turned to Louis, who was still standing at attention. “Louis, darling, I have some orders for you. When I snap my fingers you will wake up, remembering nothing that has happened since I called you down to the office. You will go to the car, Louis. You will be wide awake, totally alert and ready to drive, and you will get in the car and wait five minutes, then drive to the Exchange Hotel. There will be no one in the car. You will speak to no one and no one will speak to you. When you reach the hotel, you will drive to the drop-off area, park, open the back door, wait five minutes, and then drive back. And when you get back to the house, and only then, you will remember that I am waiting for you, that I am wearing these shoes and nothing else, and you will come to the bedroom and make love to me over and over until I tell you to stop, that will be all you want to do and all you can think about. Understand? Good boy! Now, off you go!”
Soon enough, she heard the car drive off, taking the charming little dominatrix with it. Elle sighed. She had enjoyed having Selene at her feet and felt sure that, given time and solitude, she could have thought of many amusing suggestions for her to follow.
Stop that, she said again. She realized that she had sent Selene away not solely out of concern for Louis.
But she was being silly, she thought. There was no need to avoid Selene. No need for Elle to avoid her, anyway. They were business partners now. They could record the podcast without being in the same town, of course. But still, maybe they should get together—once a quarter, say, or maybe once a month, or once every two weeks, who knew—in some other city where Louis would be in no danger and they would stay in adjoining rooms in a nice hotel with big comfortable beds and cool crisp sheets—
Stop that, Elle, she thought again. She had had such errant impulses before; but Louis, bless his submissive heart, was her true love, and she had learned what to do with the sexual energy others stirred.
Selene needed to find her Louis, she thought. And maybe Elle could help.