The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Kissing Factor

(by S.B.)

18 — The One That Got Away

Meanwhile, stage hypnotist extraordinaire and all-around fantastic person Deanna Queen, had just finished another gig and was relaxing in her dressing-room, a glass of Chardonnay in one hand, and a handwritten message in the other. It was from Jim, one of her long-time admirers, an elderly gentleman who had been accompanying her career since early days. He was usually there in the front row of every spectacle to cheer her on and delight himself with her wonderful performances and, when he couldn’t make it, he would send her a bouquet instead and a signature calling card to make up for it. He was one of the most respectful persons she had ever met and seeing him sitting there with his wrinkled hands on his lap or reading his trembling lines after the show always made her smile.

In all the years she had been a part of the entertainment industry, Deanna had identified three types of people that usually appeared in her shows: the genuine enthusiasts like Jim that made everything worthwhile; the curious ones looking for a good time even if they didn’t know what to expect; and the annoying skeptics hellbent on ruining everything for themselves and everyone else. While she genuinely loathed them, there was something intriguing about getting inside one’s head and, little by little, change the way they thought about hypnosis and other assorted things. It was a guilty pleasure, but not one she indulged herself in a lot. When playing with minds and perceptions, boundaries were the most important thing to consider, and she did it with calm and restraint. There was also a sub-group that only showed up because of her boobs, but she mostly ignored them, for that was the right thing to do.

Thirty-eight-year-old Deanna was a buxom beauty with dangerous curves everywhere. She could have easily been a top model or a porn industry superstar if she were up for it, but after a deciding moment in her life, the entrancing route was the only way to go. If anyone asked her younger self what she wanted to be while growing up, hypnotist would have never been a choice, for she didn’t even know what the word meant. No, “Princess” would be the most obvious answer for even back then she loved to be spoiled and pampered, despite not believing it to be a birthright or anything similar. However, dreams of perpetual royalty were just that or fantasies of the mind she enacted at behest of others. Unlike Gloria, she had never lost her way and she never would.

While she was in perfect balance nowadays, things hadn’t always been like that. As a child, she was plagued by nightmares and constant insomnia. She also suffered from a hyperactive imagination. The combination of both put her in a lot of trouble more times than she could number. Often misunderstood by friends and family, she created a bubble for herself in which she could hope to live out her ideals but, at the same time, she became more and more reclusive, a social pariah with poor communication skills. Years of counseling and many sessions of both therapeutic and self-hypnosis turned out to be the key to shatter said bubble, finally giving her the strength to rebuild her whole personality from inside out. It was also the starting point for her future career.

The older she got, the stronger the attraction for mental manipulation became. It was like a warm tingle on the back of her spine, a comfortable feeling she sought to replicate time and time again. While she loved to help people live out their innermost dreams with her finely crafted trances, she shied away from healing practices. She wasn’t a therapist nor had any intentions of ever becoming one. Her genuine passion laid under the spotlight, in those moments where having everyone’s gaze focused on her allowed for subtle suggestions to slip through. There were always a few pre-arranged numbers within the audience, of course, but improv played a huge role in her success, too. It had been one of those moments that had fascinated young Kabir so many years ago and now the stars were aligning for him and his friends to become a part of her life in the strangest of ways.

Dianna finished her nightcap, a ritual of every successful performance, and confronted the well-lit circular mirror before her. Though she had a classic look that had become her trademark in most venues—short, bodycon see through dress, deep cleavage, and a shining pendant nested in it —, sometimes, she changed things up to catch everyone by surprise. The sleeveless baby blue blazer and matching trousers had definitely done that, but people seemed more taken aback by the colorful contact lenses and blonde wig she had added to the ensemble that night. Even she was surprised at how much different she looked. It was like staring at a twisted version of Marilyn Monroe, one for whom diamonds were only a girl’s best friend because they were a perfect fixation point. She removed the purple-tinted contacts, laid down the curly blonde hair to the side and massaged her natural dark-brown, almost black scalp.

There was a faint knock on her door and a man’s voice echoed in her ears:

“Dee? Are you decent? May I come in?”

“Please do.” She replied without even looking back.

The door opened and a five feet eight balding man with a terrible taste in outfits stepped inside her personal sanctuary. His name was Walter Jennings, and he had been her agent over the last decade. In the early days, she hated having him around, for he was usually the bearer of bad news like canceled shows or delays in payments, but things had stabilized with the rising fame and her hard-working ethics made sure nothing failed ever since. His fashion taste had remained atrocious throughout, though. Few men can rock a pink floral brocade tux and look stylish in it. He was not one of them.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He smiled from head to toe. “Another wonderful performance tonight! That new act right at the end of it was something else.”

“Glad you liked it. You know me, always trying different things...”

“Indeed, indeed.” He closed the door and glanced at her abandoned wig. “You might want to not use that one again any time though.”

“Why not? Didn’t it look good on me?” Deanna handed him the bottle of wine and a new glass.

“You look good in everything, my dear, but your natural color is too pretty to be hidden, that’s all.”

“Is it? Because it sounds like you’re trying to butter me up right now.” She immediately retorted. Walter also loved to pretend he was smarter than her, but that was a falsehood as big as his latest “Ibiza tan”.

“What? Me? You know I don’t do that!”

“You haven’t done it in a long time, yes, but it’s obvious that’s about to change so... What’s up?”

“Fuck, Dee, you don’t miss a thing, do you?” He filled his glass all the way to the rim and sat in a small rotating chair at the far end of the dressing room.

“Being observant is part of the job.” She shrugged and turned his way, upturned smile telling him she was in no mood to fool around. “Well?”

“Okay, something did come up, but before you say ‘no’ like you always do, please hear me out. This is big!”

“How big?”

“A quarter million dollars big, dear. And all for one night.”

“That’s a lot of money, but I don’t do private shows any more, Walt, so forget it.”

“Hey, you promised to hear me out before refusing!”

“No, I really didn’t.” She smirked. “Those things never work out the way they’re advertised, so I’m saving you the trouble from the start. Besides, this tour is over, anyway. I need some rest.”

“Don’t you want to hear who offered you the job first?”

“Nope.”

She had a good reason for that, perhaps the only true blemish in an otherwise successful venture. Shortly after meeting him and the two of start working together, he booked her a series of birthday parties and even a wedding or two for brand recognition and easy cash. They were all low-key affairs except for one when the client became so enamored with her he quickly devolved into a nightmarish stalker even before the main routine was done. It was messy, it was brutal and didn’t give her any rest in more than a year. It was also the last time she did something like that.

“It’s been so long, Dee. Why can’t you just move on? Do you have any idea how much money you’ve left on the table since then?”

“Money’s not really the problem. You didn’t see what I see, didn’t hear what I heard. It’s better this way. Keep your dollars.”

“But, Dee...”

“My decision is final, Walt. Please, don’t push the subject any further, okay?”

“Fine!” He sighed and emptied the glass in a single gulp. He loved her and everything she had done for his career, but her stubbornness was as legendary as her rapid inductions. Lamenting the quick bonus he would get out of it, he left the dressing room sulking like a ten-year-old whose parents had just denied him a bigger allowance.

Alone with her thoughts again, Deanna found herself going back to that dreadful moment when a full-grown man had turned into a monster over a silly hypnotic obsession. She hated it. It turned her stomach around and gave her cold sweats in the dead of night. However, worse than people who fell victims to their own aggrandizing delusions were those that had consciously turned them into a way of life, predators lurking underneath a facade of care. She despised all narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths for whom being toxic and doing harm was as natural as breathing. No justice would ever be enough for anyone that betrayed another human being’s trust to the point of leading him or her on a spiraling self-destructive path.

“Fuck, Walt! Why did you have to bring everything back tonight?” She muttered before pouring herself yet another drink. A poor drinker, two was her limit before she became all too talkative. She read Jim’s note again, praised the heavens there were still good people in the world and finally got changed. It was time to call it a night and head home for a good night’s rest.

Or so she hoped.

Twenty minutes later, she sat behind the wheel of her Ford Focus Electric, a melancholic sci-fi soundtrack playing in her ears. The night was cool, the streets not too busy, and her muscles were finally unwinding. Few people realized it, but it took a lot of concentration and stamina to be up on a stage for over three and a half hours, making sure every ‘weapon’ in her hypnotic repertoire worked the way it was supposed to. No matter the planning and the quality of the team of assistants and technicians behind her, live performances were always a Petri dish for unexpected glitches that could turn a smile into a sobbing wail in the blink of an eye. Keeping up appearances and the illusion of control when everything all around was falling apart was the hardest part in the biz.

A month off. That’s how long she would have to recover her strengths before going back on the road. After visiting twenty different states in the last five months, it was a relief to be back home and enjoy a time where she could just be herself and not the mesmerizing machine people dreamed of. Losing sight of the road for a moment, she yawned.

It was precisely then that a shadow jumped from the right of the curb, snapping her back to attention and forcing her to hit the brakes. Clawed hands grabbed the rear-view mirror, and she screamed. It was a young woman with rope burns on her wrists, glass shards sticking out of her ripped clothes and glazed eyes like she had been drugged. Running behind her were three dark figures, two women and a man, their visages distorted by unnatural anger as if they had leaped from a post-apocalyptic zombie movie.

“Help me. Please, help me.” Denise begged before collapsing by the passenger’s window.