Helpless Holidays — New Years Eye
December 29th, 11:24am
Time to party: 1 day 16 hours 36 minutes
Jordan smiled at Rachel. Rachel, her eyes glassy, her torso swaying very slightly—not quite too little to be seen—smiled back, lost in how helpless she felt, loving that sensation.
Jordan had hypnotised her, now, fairly regularly since a fateful encounter while they’d both been at university, nearly ten years ago. Everything Rachel remembered from her hypnotic sessions assured her that he had been a perfect gentleman, and that nothing he did in those session broke the rules for their play she’d agreed.
Neither of them having left town helped keep the dynamic strong, as did the fact that early conditioning had left its marks on Rachel. She’d remarked a few times, when they worked with one another again, that she always seemed to drop hardest and give up control most easily with him.
Jordan hadn’t mentioned the serum he used on her in that. He’d found it on the internet, bought it as a joke, and when he realised that someone in trance but under its influence would take suggestions deeper, resist less, and comply completely, he’d ordered a lot more and erased Rachel’s memory of the first time she’d tried it. Later, he’d switched her to inductions that involved her drinking, or simply offered her a cup of tea before play.
The site was gone now, and he was down to his last six bottles. He’d found a more modern solution being touted on the darkweb, but the word was that it wasn’t exactly foolproof.
Which had led inevitably to his current plan. He was pretty sure six bottles would be enough to play it out, and that over the course of the following year, he’d be able to completely change the way he and several of his friends lived, to his direct benefit.
Or, of course, he’d blown the estimate and he was setting himself up to fail in the worst possible kind of way.
He’d find out in a couple of days. The party was going to be a long one; it always was.
Rachel threw the biggest private New Years Eve party in town. Not related to anything he’d done; just a weird coincidence he was planning to use to its full advantage.
And now, with her deeply back down, dropping to the trigger she didn’t know she had, he could properly begin.
“At the party, every cocktail you mix that isn’t for me,” he said, “gets two drops of the stuff in this bottle. You’ll tell them it’s a syrup. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“You will believe it’s a syrup, with a very faint caramel flavour. You will be so convinced that anyone who asks you about it has to believe you when you say it’s a syrup. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“You will tell them I bought it as a birthday present if they ask where you found it. That you’ve been looking forward to a chance to show it off. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“But if they don’t notice you add it, you won’t mind. It doesn’t need an explanation if they never know, does it?”
“No, Master.”
“And every time you see someone drink a cocktail with this stuff in it, you will think, this is my best New Years’ Eve party ever. What will you think?”
“This is my best New Year’s Eve party ever, Master.”
“That’s a good girl. That’s my good girl. Well done, Rachel.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You don’t need to remember any of this when you wake up. Which means?”
“I won’t, Master.”
He nodded cheerfully. “Put the bottle in your bag.”
She obeyed. Her expression was slackly unreadable, but years of experience told him how deeply she was enjoying this underneath. Even if she didn’t remember it afterwards, she would know she’d been under, and that knowledge would activate a number of buried triggers making her happy with that knowledge alone.
Jordan took the heavy teapot by the handle with one hand, placed his other on the lid as an anchorpoint, and nodded. “When I wake you, you’re going to find any item of clothing I name has to be removed,” he said. “It will be obvious to you that that’s all I’ve felt the need to do here.”
“Yes, Master.”
He picked up the pot and began to pour into her cup. Consciousness returned as her cup filled up, and would disappear again as she drank; something she’d done so many times, she would assume they were doing little more than flirting.
As so often before, Rachel would leave his sessions with no idea how deeply her conscious mind was willing to compromise herself.
December 31st, 19:50pm
Time to party: 10 minutes
Jordan checked over the systems again. This was the ninth time he’d checked just that day, which he knew was at least eight more than he needed. But if he’d screwed this up, it would be at least another year before he could put his plans into action. And who would want to waste a year treading water when they could be making their own paradise out of the people around them?
He wiped his hands clean of grease—couldn’t get it on his party clothes—and picked up his white dress shirt. The cheat bow tie followed, and the jacket.
He set the timer on the drone and opened his bedroom window. It was going to be freezing cold when he got back in from the party, but if everything went to plan, it would be well worth it.
Most people arrived a little late to the party, but Jordan had always had issues being late to things; it made him uncomfortable.
He hurried down the stairs and out of the house.
December 31st, 20:43pm
Party ongoing
Rachel had found a great venue this year; it was almost entirely one open ballroom, but it had been designed with little niches for wallflowers, creating natural inlets which could see the party but feel separate. The largest of these was taken up by the long table Rachel traditionally spent her party staffing, containing a cocktail reserve many mid-tier bars would be envious of—the offcuts from the previous party plus one bottle or mixer from every partygoer, creating a comprehensive but eclectic selection.
There were nearly a hundred in attendance, and Jordan wasn’t sure anyone but Rachel knew all of them. Some years even Rachel was surprised by a few mystery guests brought along by other attendees. He stuck to his own few crowds, kept his conversation to topics he felt he understood, and sometimes stood, drank, and listened as topics he had only the barest grip on were discussed when conversations were joined by people he barely knew.
You could never be sure when you might learn something, he always thought. And as he approached thirty, he’d finally internalised how hard it is to learn when you talk over better-informed people.
It was a good night, but it always was; he got to see most of his friends at once, and with surprisingly little drama from the various personal grudges he knew for a fact were rolled into the group.
Jordan was spending most of his time talking to the other folks from the nerdier side of the gathering, but he was circulating more than he usually did. Partly this was dropping by the drinks table to check Rachel’s programming was still functioning properly.
Partly it was a head count; not for the party as a whole—short of parking someone on the entrance with a notebook, there was probably no good way to do that—but for the list he had in his head.
There were quite a few plans he had in store. Nothing, he assured himself, so extreme that it would become hard to manage. Nothing that would completely foul up his life answering other questions. But he was, all the same, still making some decisions, and if certain people were absent (or if one or two were unexpectedly there), Jordan halfway expected to be changing his plans on the fly.
He took the time to say hello to a number of people he didn’t know, joining in some conversations where he had little to nothing to offer. It was outside his comfort zone, but if everything worked correctly, he’d be inside his comfort zone for the rest of his life.
Jordan also made sure he said hello to everyone on his target list and everyone they were standing with as he approached them. It was a good idea to leave them with a friendly, positive perspective on him just before the event.
December 31st, 11:51pm
Party ongoing
By now almost everyone in the party had several drops of the serum in them, and Jordan was beginning to see changes even without hypnotic reinforcement. Everyone seemed more agreeable—not just with or for him, but among themselves, too. He witnessed at least one stalwart fan acknowledge that, yes, actually, the Airbender live-action movie had had its good sides, and he was pretty sure that opinion had only been put forward as a joke.
Suggestibility was rising throughout the party. This had been what he wanted, but it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder what was going to happen to everyone else in attendance.
Now he was confronted with the question, he wondered what he was going to be responsible for. Maybe this was something to address shortly…
He stepped up behind Rachel and, seeing a perfect opportunity, brought his hand down hard on the rear of her tight-fitting backless dress, the long arrow of the bare back just adding to the temptation, presenting her ass as a target.
The smack of hand on backside was audible and satisfying. Rachel jumped a little, then let out a soft mewl of pleasure from the impact. Romesh, who she was mixing a cocktail for at the time, gave Jordan a startled look, but Jordan was riding high on how well his plan seemed to be going. He looked Romesh dead in the eye and smirked “You didn’t see that, you don’t think I’d do it, but you’re going to be tempted to spank her yourself from now on.”
Romesh’s eyes flickered up into his head for a moment. Jordan grinned; this was going better than he’d thought.
He was almost ready, and he had time before midnight, too.
“How’re we doing?” he asked Rachel. He watched her eyes blink rapidly, watched her mentally shift from an independent, thinking person into submissively hypnotised following just the cue of him assuming control. The serum was probably affecting her more than anyone else, not that that mattered too much.
“Everyone has had the syrup,” she said, half-glazed eyes watching him closely and hopefully for confirmation this was what he meant. “Most have had several doses.” Her lips moved silently for a moment after the final syllable, and only the amount of times Jordan had seen her entranced face following programming told him the silent word was Master, something she wasn’t quite deep enough to say aloud without being directed to.
“That’s good,” he said. “Who’s had the least?”
Rachel’s memory was terrible, but Rachel’s programmed memory was near-faultless. “Jasmine,” she said. “Martin. Billy. Fatima. Stefan.”
“One drink each?”
Rachel nodded in confirmation.
“Make them duplicates of their drinks and take them out, saying you thought they’d want a refill.”
Rachel nodded and reached to the back of the table, where rested a tray she rarely if ever put into use.
“Up it to three drops for each,” he added as an afterthought.
“Yes, Master,” Rachel acknowledged. Jordan almost cringed at the slip and looked around, checking to see if anyone had overheard, but nobody seemed to be reacting.
It didn’t occur to him, then, that in the state many people had achieved, not reacting didn’t mean not hearing.
December 31st, 11:58pm
Party ongoing
Jordan mixed his own drink while Rachel was circulating. She had her last job to do, but by now he was even feeling confident. He picked up a glass stirring rod as well as his drink and made his way over to the far end of the venue hall, where a small raised platform stood just below a large, ostentatious display window.
This had been the final catalyst to his plan; having attended a couple of functions here before, he was aware that there were no curtains or shutters for it. Any lights outside were inherently visible to everyone.
And that was essential. It was how the plan had presented itself to him, more or less fully formed, when he saw she’d booked this venue. He’d already used the serum. He had reason to think the item he’d wired onto his drone was just as good.
And together…
He hopped up onto the platform and turned. This was the part where some people might wonder what he was up to. But they wouldn’t be suspicious; they’d be dismissive. And that would be all he needed.
He rapped the stirring rod against his glass, and the chime rang out—sounding far too weak in the hubbub of conversation. But a few people noticed, and fell silent, and he tried again. A few more were quiet.
Rachel, deep in the crowd, noticed what he was doing and pointed the people she was with up to the platform.
Jordan didn’t try another tap; he just waited. His heart was thundering in his ears, but he knew what he was doing now, and he was ready.
As the last minute of the year ticked down, he found himself being stared at by more people than he could make out in the glare of the hall lights. But just as he could barely see them, he knew they wouldn’t be able to see him properly, either, silhouetted against the dark window.
“I hope Rachel will excuse me doing this for her,” he began with a smile, keeping a mental count in his head. “But as she’s been busy the last few minutes, I thought it was more important that it happen at all. After all, we don’t want to miss… the countdown!”
He fondly imagined he’d put a theatrical flourish to his voice for that, and the cheer certainly didn’t correct him. In honesty, he came across a little nervy and trying too hard, but after an evening of alcohol and hypnotic serum, the crowd was well primed to give the response they knew was wanted.
Jordan glanced at his watch, attention on the second hand, and then over his shoulder, where he saw two small red telltales glowing outside the window.
Good, the drone had followed the flightpath laid out.
He held up his hands. “Ten!” he called, and the party roared with him. “Nine!”
The device strapped to the undercarriage of the drone began to flash. Jordan saw the reflection of its light in the eyes watching him, powerful enough to stand out even in the hall’s own lighting.
“Eight!”
The flashing continued, flickering brightly at almost random intervals.
“Seven!”
The crowd were speaking in perfect sync with him. Jordan was careful not to look over his shoulder, but he glanced over the crowd.
“Six!”
Every face was toward him, meaning every face was toward the light.
“Five!”
The flickering was steadily less random, beginning to be a steady pattern of flashes.
“Four!”
Jordan could see expressions slackening through the crowd as their emotions steadied with the flashes, even as their voices continued to chant.
“Three!”
Everyone in front of him was responding in unison. Jordan had a dizzying moment where he saw the same slack lack of expression on every face, more like an animated backdrop than a crowd of real individuals.
“Two!”
Jordan realised with a shock that he was suddenly hard just from seeing this. Excitement crackled across his scalp.
“One!”
He took a step forward and spread his arms out in the classic gesture for silence. Behind him, the drone’s device flared one last time, then died away, cutting the rhythm that had animated the puppets in front of him. A sudden interruption to shock them into trance.
“SLEEP!”
It was the first time the countdown had varied in sound from the other countdowns around the city. The room fell abruptly silent. Shoulders slumped. Eyes glazed or rolled back into their heads. And, aside from a little light swaying, nobody in the room but Jordan moved—or even could move.
January 1st, 12:00am
Party suspended
Jordan moved through the silent, unmoving ranks of partygoers. The temptation to expand his plans—go wild—was strong, but he held back; what he had planned might be as much as he could handle anyway. Sticking to the plan would definitely be smarter.
His eyes skimmed along the tops of the heads of those around him. His first target was known for completely changing her look on a faster-than-monthly basis, and while he’d gotten a glimpse of her earlier he knew that the easiest thing to pick out of a crowd would be the tiny green top-hat style fascinator she was sporting in her piled-up blonde hair.
Kinzie was something of a puzzle to Jordan; she was open enough on social media about her hopes and fears that he knew she had inner doubts, but she managed to act as if she never doubted a single action she took. She was always launching some new initiative, always seemed to be wildly talented at them. Her enthusiasm would wane after a few months, though, leading to a run of frustration before she found something else.
Jordan wasn’t the only one of his friends, male or female, to have nursed a strong attraction to her for years, but it never felt like something you actually consummated. You liked the idea of her, and you certainly liked the way she looked, flawlessly beautiful with lush curves. But you could never feel like you really knew her as a person unless you could get past that, and he’d never been able to. She just looked too good for that and acted with too much confidence; both adults they might be but he and many others felt about her the way nerds stereotypically felt about cheerleaders in high school.
Of course, that was all about to change.
He saw the fascinator, slipped between her and the girl she’d been talking to. Stepped up close, lowered his voice, and started murmuring into her ear.
“You’ve always been looking for something better,” he said. “Something you wouldn’t grow frustrated with. Something that would make you happy and never fail you. Am I right?”
There was silence for a few moments. Jordan could practically feel a mind plunged deep into trance stirring just barely enough to acknowledge and understand what she’d been told.
“Yesss,” she breathed. “Something real.”
For a fleeting moment, Jordan felt guilty about what he planned to do. Not guilty enough to hold back, admittedly. “You’ll always be happy, always contented, when you obey,” he said firmly. “You have chosen to obey me. Am I right?”
“I… have?”
His hand stroked her shoulder gently. “You have. You want to obey me. To give up your own dreams and serve mine. To give up questions. To give up seeking. To live as a plaything, not a person.” The urgency in his voice increased as he went on, words spilling from his mouth as a thousand planned versions of these instructions clashed and combined.
“As a plaything… not a person…” There was still just an echo of doubt in her tone.
“People have doubts. People have regrets,” he said simply. “Playthings don’t. Think about that. When you think about that, which would you rather be?”
There was another burst of silence. Jordan glanced around the unmoving other partygoers. Would any of them carry memories of this? Given their drugging, would they consider it reasonable in memory afterward?
“I’d rather… a plaything…” Kinzie mumbled. Given the choice he’d framed, it made sense, but the admission was a start.
“And a plaything needs an owner,” he persisted. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” she agreed, much more readily.
“Playthings don’t have any say in who their owner is, do they?”
“No,” she agreed again. Jordan opened his wallet, took out a note, and placed it in the hands of one of Kinzie’s friends, directly in her line of sight.
“As you can see, I just bought you. I’m your owner.”
“…You’re my owner,” Kinzie agreed.
“Go wait for me by the door,” he said. “But first, wish us both a happy new year.”
“…Happy new year,” she agreed, then moved off. Once out of her line of sight, Jordan took the note back. No sense wasting money, after all…
He nodded to himself. “January,” he said, then moved back into the crowd for his next quarry.
January 1st, 12:04am
Party suspended
February, Jordan had already decided, was a time for love, just as January’s choice was a bargain, a sale made at a knock-down price in the earliest days of the year. Accordingly, he was looking for Lorna and Audrey, or, as he said when he found them, “why, if it isn’t everyone’s favourite disaster bisexuals!”
He had come up from behind them, stepping in to insert his head between theirs, his hands on their outer shoulders. They rocked slightly as their otherwise-motionless bodies absorbed his momentum. “Are you two together at the moment, or have you split up again?” he asked tall, rake-thin Lorna, whose confidence made her a leader in anything she did, and also allowed her to get away with a mint-green undercut.
“We’re together,” she responded, her voice a little sluggish. Which made sense to Jordan; she was definitely going to be one of the people who fought hardest against loss of control. It wasn’t that she battled to take control, it was that she assumed she’d have it. That was the other reason to bring them forward in the year; enough time to work on their own strengths, but not enough time for them to start pushing away from it again.
He turned to Audrey. “How about you?” he asked. “Do you agree?” Audrey’s heavy lips had a sheen of saliva on them as they parted to answer, making that open-mouthed, vague expression of hers even more appetising than it usually was in conversation with her. There was something about the shock of blue-dyed hair against her olive skin that made her stand out in the best way.
“We’re together,” she agreed, and Jordan smiled. He raised one hand to stroke Audrey’s hair, was rewarded with a soft, ongoing moan, a little like a cat beginning to purr from the pleasure.
As a duo, they… well, they weren’t reliably a duo. They were broken up for something like one and a half weeks a month on average, though how long they’d go between breakups was unpredictable. Usually one of them would bring another lover home some time early in the breakup period, and things would get awkward. Still, they never stayed broken up long enough for either to move out, and inevitably they found their way back together.
“That’s good,” he assured them both, pulling them closer together. He had to angle his head slightly so both Lorna and Audrey would hear him. “So tell me, do you two enjoy your breakups, or would you rather be together forever? Audrey?”
“Together… forever…” Her voice went very dreamy, suddenly, in giving that answer. There was something wistful about it, a woman craving something she knew could never be.
“Lorna?”
“I… don’t enjoy them enough,” she conceded. “The aftermath… hurts.”
“But you both agree,” he said, “that you will always be together.” He didn’t make it a question. It was far, far closer to an order. And the answer he received from them both was barely more than a contented sigh. “You just need help staying that way, don’t you? You’ve tried things before, right?”
“Yesss,” they murmured in unison.
“Well, Lorna has a new idea,” he said softly. “She hasn’t told you yet, Audrey. But when she does, you’ll agree, of course, won’t you?”
“Of… course…”
He turned back to Lorna with a grin. “Want to know your idea?” he asked. “You’re passionate about it.”
“Yes,” she added, but her voice faltered. He hesitated for a moment. “Please,” Lorna added.
The serum was working better than he’d feared.
“You feel like you just need a third person,” he said. “Someone who can balance you out. Someone who can take charge. And somebody who can correct your issues, with your best interests at heart.” He paused. “Someone like that would be really handy, right?”
“So handy,” Lorna agreed. “Very,” Audrey echoed.
“You can’t remember when you heard this,” he pressed on, “but Jordan knows hypnosis. He could correct you when you clash. And all you’d both have to do is let him. To accept the changes he makes as he makes them. You’d be with him, too, so you’d know he had your best interests at heart. That’s all so clear in your head, isn’t it, Lorna?”
Silence dragged out for a long few moments. Then: “Yes. So clear.”
Jordan smiled. “You’ll be able to persuade Audrey to try, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” Her vacant glaze developed a warm, confident smile.
“Of course, this is completely your idea. I didn’t give it to you, and Audrey doesn’t know yet. It’s going to take you most of January to decide to tell her, and that means you’ll want to approach me in early February. You won’t be put off by anyone else I seem to be with, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You two should be kissing. It’s the end of the countdown. But before you do that, let’s just acknowledge we’re all making a happier new year for each other. Happy new year.”
“Happy new year,” they chorused, and then closed around each other, Audrey stretching up on tiptoes and wrapping her arm around her lover’s neck for the kiss.
Jordan nodded to himself, satisfied, and moved on. “February,” he said to himself.
January 1st, 12:07am
Party suspended
He knew he would recognise the next target by the flare of carrot-red hair she wore up, her ponytail emerging from the crown of her head and cascading down her back. He knew, too, that it would be easy to see Hannah; she was one of the tallest women in town, and seemed to be about 90% leg.
He didn’t really know Hannah, but he knew her passions; art and the pole she danced on. Beyond that, she’d been the girlfriend of a friend of his once. They’d had entertaining conversations, but they’d never really said anything to one another that resonated—at least, he certainly didn’t think so. She might have a much clearer idea who he was.
He felt like he knew just enough to get her started. It was one reason he’d set her for March; she was going to need time for her new programming to percolate and spread through her properly before it put into action, but he was probably going to need to set up reminders, whereas Fatima was going to need a lot of time to decide this was all her own idea.
Hannah had dressed down somewhat; the hoodie was baggy and he thought it might belong to her ex originally, the leggings were vibrant, weirdly patterned, and probably too cold for the temperature on her way in—but that was absolutely how Hannah behaved in the cold anyway. He made himself known to her by sidling up behind her, cupping one firm buttock in her hand, and squeezed. The sudden gasp was audible over the near-silence of the frozen partygoers, many of whom were now finding their open, unblinking eyes starting to water. Encouraged, Jordan drew his hand back and brought it down again with an audible thwack.
There was a definite whimper there, and Jordan found himself encouraged. Leaving his hand against her flesh, he squirmed past her near neighbour to stand in front of her, coming face to face with her with a smirk, hand on his hip, feeling her warmth through the thin, shiny leggings.
“You enjoyed that,” he said. Again, it was a statement for her to accept, not a question, but he was watching her face closely for any indication it had sunk in correctly.
He thought he saw a shift in her eyes, a widening of her gaze, and went with it. With Hannah, the way to go was going to be to play to her pretensions until they were all that was left. He didn’t have a clear enough sense of her as a person for anything else. Time to pounce. “You’ve considered your dancing as art before, right?”
There was silence, but the slightest of nods. Her eyes widened again, her chin tucked very slightly in, enough that those wide eyes were gazing up innocently toward her.
“You are art, Hannah,” he said firmly. “Not your dancing. Your body and your mind are art. You exist to make people feel. To arouse and delight them.” He kept his eyes on hers, flickering his glance down to her mouth to watch how her lips twitched. There was something like a smile there, something that would be warm eagerness if she wasn’t sunk so deep into trance the sensation couldn’t really reach her expression.
“You know the only thing getting in the way of your career as an artwork?”
There was the tiniest shake of her head. If he hadn’t been zeroed in on her eyes, he’d have missed the movement. But it was enough.
“It’s your thoughts, Hannah. Your mind. You keep on thinking, don’t you? And when you do, it makes you shift back to a person. To living a life. But art isn’t life. It’s a performance. A constant, ongoing performance. Right?”
“Right,” Hannah said, and there wasn’t a hint of hesitation to it. Instead, there seemed to be more life in her voice, as if just the idea were giving her images of a better future.
“You heard, somewhere tonight, that Jordan can hypnotise people,” he continued. “You’re going to half-forget that for a while. But over the next few weeks, you’re going to think more and more about the idea of yourself as art. You’re going to become convinced you could achieve the ideal, if only you could persuade someone to switch off your mind. And, sometime in March, you’re going to realise you can’t wait any longer. Can’t live the half a life that being a person forces you into.
“However much you might fight the idea, however much it might scare you, you’ll go to him and hope he can help you, if you explain it correctly. Won’t you?”
The fractional nod of before was bigger and visibly eager now. Jordan felt the rush he’d been enjoying grow stronger. “It’s completely your idea, isn’t it?” he pushed.
Hannah nodded again, and smiled.
“Happy new year, hot stuff,” he said, and walked on, another opportunity marked off his mental checklist.
January 1st, 12:09am
Party suspended
April had been the point where his calculations had gotten a lot more constrained. Hannah and Kinzie at least would need fairly constant supervision; his suspicion was that Audrey and Lorna would still be able to sustain their own jobs and bring in their own income, which the harem would need by that point.
The next step was going to have to be enough room to house everyone. Jordan was currently renting a two-bedroom flat, and he figured he could sustain that with four lovers—two women in the bed with him, one to two standing to attention beside the bed awaiting their orders, and whoever was left in the other bedroom—but they’d need something bigger afterward, and his plan was to have somewhere securely his own by the end of the project.
That wasn’t the only reason that Melinda had made his list, but it was up there. She wasn’t one of the college crowd; they’d met her a while later, after she’d inherited the family farmhouse, moved back home, and fallen in with Rachel through charity work, which had inevitably led to mingling with the rest of Rachel’s friends.
Melinda’s smile was the sort of thing that sent electric shocks down your spine, and while she was heavier than Jordan preferred, that was certainly something that could be adjusted—but her body wasn’t the only grand asset Jordan was considering. For a year or two, a couple of years previously, Melinda had tried her hand at AirBnB, and she’d had the farmhouse and barn converted into something between a luxury home and a mid-tier hotel, complete with a gym, a heated swimming pool, and enough double and bunk rooms for a weekend party.
Melinda’s long, dark hair was gathered back in a ponytail; her short, heavy body concealed as always in a baggy knit sweater that hung down well below her waist, and also as always, she smelled faintly of horses. He’d heard a few friends profess admiration of her looks, but aside from the smile, they’d never been the sort of thing that pushed his particular buttons.
Still, that smile was something, and a little more rigour in her fitness program could work wonders on her body. Then it would just be about getting better fashion sense for her…
Jordan snagged a drink from Ryan’s hand as he went by—why not? He’d been doing most of the talking for quite a while and his adrenaline was high.
He stood directly in front of Melinda’s empty expression and took a drink as he considered his plan of attack. Hannah had been tough, but Melinda he knew almost nothing about…
…except, now he was pressed, that wasn’t true, was it?
He might not care about her enough for easy recall, but he still had the facts in there. She was a fascinating conversationalist, a lot of the time. He’d actually kept quite a bit of it in his head. It was purely that he didn’t think about her enough.
“Melinda, are you still feeling lonely?”
The slack jaw closed enough for her lips to purse thinly. “Yes,” she conceded. The sheer level of frustration it had caused her was abruptly very obvious.
“What would you do if you were offered the chance never to be lonely again?” he asked. “To love, and be loved. To have not just one person to hand, but many?”
He held his breath. He was pretty sure of his position, but still…
“Anything,” she said, and her voice was somewhere between a moan of longing and a growl. He glanced down, feeling vaguely that he might have seen something shift, and realised he had; her hands were clenched into fists, even as almost the rest of her stood loose, relaxed and calm.
Jordan swallowed down the rest of Ryan’s drink. Time to finish the deal. “What if I told you that this was going to be the last year you were lonely? Would you be grateful?”
“Yes.”
“Would you accept my terms?”
“Yess.”
“Would you allow me total control of your home, your body, your mind?”
“Yesss.”
“You’re not going to remember this conversation, Melinda. But you’re going to spend some time over the next three months making your house and your barn ready to hold many more people. Expand your larder space. Plumb in another washing machine and another dryer. It won’t just be rentals. It will be one happy group. One happy harem.” He paused, testing her reaction; there was almost nothing of one but her jaw was slack again, her fingers unclasped.
“You won’t know who, just that you will be part of it. You’ll only realise who when I arrive on your doorstep and say ‘Melinda, it’s time’. Do you understand?”
“Yessss.”
“What will I say?”
“Melinda, it’s…” She paused, tongue brushing over dry, eager lips. “Melinda, it’s time.”
“Good girl. Happy new year, Melinda. Wish me one too.”
“Happy new year…” she murmured, and Jordan tucked Ryan’s glass into her hand and moved on.
January 1st, 12:14am
Party suspended
Next on Jordan’s list had been Fatima, and as he stood in front of her, looking her up and down, he was trying to work out what had changed. Eventually he realised that nothing had changed, except that in her trance state, her sheer presence was reduced, to the point that she was about average height, not one of the tallest people out there.
Fatima, in Jordan’s opinion, was up there with Hannah—without cheating, he’d never be able to date her, let alone assume the kind of dominant, secure dynamic he was aiming for. Fortunately, he was prepared to cheat as hard as turned out to be necessary. Part of that was her figure—undeniably coke-bottle when they’d met, she had filled out that inner curve a little as her twenties shaded over to thirties but part of it was her presence, her aura of take-no-crap confidence, her quiet smiles, and the evident joy she took in the little things of life.
Here and now almost none of that was present on her face, and for the first time, Jordan began to realise that he might lose something he valued, not just something they’d once valued.
It was time to convince her something she thought of as a strength was a flaw, so he could correct it.
“I was sorry to hear about Mark leaving you,” he said. It was, of course, not true; fantasising about what he could do with her now she was free again had been one of the catalysts for his action. “What happened?”
“All the fun went out of us,” Fatima said. It sounded rehearsed, and kind of was; but she was under enough, dosed well enough in the serum, that he could hear the truth underlying it, whether that was originally true or something she’d talked herself into believing.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said again. “Was he not coming up with fun ideas?”
Fatima nodded.
“That was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t take charge.”
There was a lot more hesitation before that nod, but Jordan had pitched his escalation carefully. This she could accept, and she nodded.
“And so you split up because he couldn’t take charge for you,” he continued. “But you still haven’t realised you’re submissive, have you?”
The silence could only have lasted about ten seconds, but it felt like minutes. Had he pushed just that tiniest bit too fast?
“I’m not submissive?”
Jordan heard the plaintive confusion and he relaxed. If there was uncertainty, there was something he could work with.
“I don’t think you’ve thought about it enough to know,” he said. “Have you ever considered you might be submissive?”
A shorter silence ended when Fatima meekly answered “No.” And there was, of course, no good reason she should, not really. But doubt was all he needed. “But you wanted him to give you ideas,” he said. “You wanted him to take charge, didn’t you?”
“I…” Fatima’s tone was bewildered. Scared, even, if she’d had her full mind on the question—not that anything like that was possible right now.
“It’s OK, Fatima,” he continued. “No need for uncertainty. Or worry. You can just accept. See if submissively accepting makes life easier and better. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“I… yes?”
“That’s good. Well done. That feels better.” He gave it just long enough for that to feel like a suggestion and start sinking in, then “Doesn’t it?”
“Yes…” Fatima’s tone was thoughtful, but she was still just following conclusions. Acceptance was already starting.
“And if you accept it feels better, you’ll find it’s even more pleasant. The path of least resistance is delightful, isn’t it?”
“…Yes…”
“Good. You’re going to do something for me, Fatima. You’re going to go with the flow when your work colleagues or your friends start calling the shots, and you’ll find you’re happy every time it happens. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Fatima said, a lot more firmly this time.
“That’s very good. You can skip anything that would put you in a relationship, but you’re going to find, more and more through the year, that you enjoy submitting to another’s wishes. Around about early April, you’ll start fantasising about someone calling shots around you to take you to bed. And by the time it reaches May, you’ll want to find someone who might, but you won’t be sure who it should be. Understand?”
“Oh, yes.” He could, he thought, just about detect a blush beneath the darkness of her skin, but it might be him imagining things.
“Your deciding factor will be seeing a collection of women happy at my hands. But all you’ll do is put yourself in a position for me to take over, and then enjoy letting me. You’ll be so sure I have to think it’s all my idea. Far too embarrassing for anything else, right?”
“Far too embarrassing,” she agreed.
Jordan chuckled. “Happy new year, Fatima,” he said. She nodded. “Happy new year,” she echoed.
January 1st, 12:20am
Party suspended
He found Rachel exactly where she’d been when she directed more attention to him on the stage. Confident now in how little the crowd registered anything, he slipped up behind her, weaving his fingers into her hair, and pulled her head back. He enjoyed the “mmmm” that escaped her and stooped to kiss her, taking her with confidence, enjoying the fact that after years of on-and-off training meant she responded fully to anything he did even while deep under trance.
After the kiss, he smirked down at her. “You’re going to make an announcement just after you wake, pet,” he said. “A midsummer party, and everyone here is welcomed back to celebrate the longest day of the year.” The smirk became a grin. “And good news—it’ll be the last thing you have to do as a free woman. Full-time submission will follow.”
“Mmm… yes, Master. Thank you, Master,” she offered, eyes glazed but smiling broadly.
“Happy new year, slave,” he said cheerfully, releasing her hair and heading back up to the podium. Behind him, he heard her mutter “Happy new year, Master.”
Once on the raised platform, he turned back and raised his voice. “Lorna and Audrey, stop kissing,” he began. “Everyone, your attention is on me now.”
Strange how much easier it was to bear that now that they were all deep in trance. Maybe that was how he should interact with everyone.
“Don’t look at your phones, watches, or clocks for at least ten minutes after I leave,” he said. “And when you do, your mind will fill out the time after the countdown as if nothing had stopped. Thank you all for your patience, and those of you with new ideas—let them germinate; they’ll take over your minds soon enough.” He grinned. “And everyone, happy new year!”
The response came from enough throats to almost sound raucous despite everyone still being deep, but he barely registered it. He was already headed to the door to collect Kinzie.