Even on the second evening of the con, Carmella still had a little bit of trouble responding to her scene handle. She didn’t post much online, and the few people she did talk to had gotten to a first-name basis with her long before they cajoled her into attending her very first ‘erotic hypnosis event’. So when a gangly Caucasian man with unkempt, sandy brown hair and deep blue eyes stopped dead right in front of her, did a double-take, and said in a British accent, “You’re Soporiffic, right? From the wall?” it took Carmella a moment or two to even realize that he was talking to her at all, let alone what the hell he was talking about.
When she finally parsed it out, Carmella was very grateful that her ebony skin swallowed up her blushes. She’d gone up to the wish board yesterday in a fit of enthusiasm and scrawled, ‘TURN MY BRAIN INTO A FLUFFY PINK CLOUD!’ in great big letters, signing her scene name underneath it and dotting the ‘i’ with a little heart. It felt incredibly liberating, confessing the fantasy that she’d spent most of her post-pubescent life nurturing to an audience of people who could genuinely fulfill it, and Carmella had spent most of yesterday wandering around as though she expected a hypnotist to pop up in a puff of smoke like a genie.
It hadn’t happened, though, and she went through the second day more than a little subdued as she adjusted her expectations to match the realities of the event. It turned out that a lot of the convention involved going to classes, listening to lectures, and taking notes; even last night’s play party turned out to be a lot of people Carmella didn’t know clustering in small groups and chatting about ordinary things, with only a few scenes taking place here and there on the periphery of events. Her friends all told her that this was perfectly normal, that a lot of folks spent the first night catching up with people they hadn’t seen in months, but Carmella couldn’t help feeling like maybe her dream wasn’t going to come true.
But all of a sudden, she had her very own genie standing right here in front of her... always assuming that your mental image of a genie was a skinny dude with floppy hair wearing a white suit with a black shirt that made him look like he was auditioning for the Pet Shop Boys. He had a white tie that somehow managed to make him seem even skinnier, a button on his lapel that said, ‘Ask me about my Pre-Talk!’, and a badge that listed him as ‘The Goblin Viscount’. She’d seen him in passing a few times, and she recognized that scene name from the schedule, but this was the first time she’d spoken to him the whole con. And here he was, seemingly very interested in fulfilling her oldest and most enduring sexual fantasy.
The whole thing felt so unexpected that Carmella was reduced to stammering, “Um, yeah, that’s... um, yeah, that’s me, from the wall, yeah,” like her brain had already turned into cotton candy inside her head; but thankfully, this was Day Two of an erotic hypnosis con. She was pretty sure that by this point, she could take off her clothes and do an a cappella rendition of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’, and nobody would bat an eye.
Sure enough, the Viscount just gave her a little smirk and said, “And has someone already fluffed your brain tonight?” She could understand how he got that impression, even before she did her inadvertent Valley Girl impersonation; she’d dressed up for the play party in a bubblegum pink frock she repurposed from a Queenie Goldstein costume she did a few years back, and her cheeks and eyelids were dusted with bright pink glitter.
But she hadn’t even gotten her hypnosis cherry popped yet, let alone had her brain melted to a cotton candy slurry the way she dreamed about. “I wish,” she grumbled, trying to make it sound playful instead of vaguely resentful. She wasn’t sure she entirely succeeded; this was already Saturday, and while her friends all assured her that there would be plenty of informal opportunities for trance on Sunday evening after the con wound down, Carmella was painfully aware that this was the last official play party. She was starting to feel like Kaylee at the ball, all dressed up and no one to dance with.
Then the Viscount’s smile widened, a charmingly crooked grin that suddenly made it clear why he took his name from David Bowie. “Well, your wish could be my command,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief at the play on words. “Would you like to find somewhere to talk about what you really want to do? If I’m not interrupting, that is.”
Carmella glanced over at her friend Monique, who responded by grinning widely and waggling her eyebrows the way only your very best friends can get away with. “Um, I think I can spare a little time,” she mumbled, momentarily pretending that the Viscount’s shoes were the most interesting thing in the whole world.
A few minutes later, and they were in the convention’s informal dungeon, trying very hard to ignore the squeals of a busty white girl who was apparently hypnotized to come every time she heard the sound of a bell. “Really, giving her jangly earrings seems almost like cheating,” the Viscount muttered appreciatively, before tearing his gaze away from the shuddering woman and putting his full attention on Carmella. “So tell me,” he said, his smile fading into sincere interest, “what does ‘turn my brain into a fluffy pink cloud’ mean to you?”
Carmella was momentarily taken aback; despite two full days of classes emphasizing the importance of negotiation, pre-talk, and consent, somehow she imagined their conversation would begin with ‘Look into my eyes...’ and go on from there. She struggled to find a way to describe years of masturbation sessions, furtive explorations of highly specialized kink sites, and fantasies that always dissolved into orgasms so spectacular that she saw stars.
“I... I guess I just want to, like, not think?” she said at last, all too conscious that she already sounded a bit like a stereotypical airhead. “But, like, I want to be able to think enough to know that I can’t think, if you know what I mean? I want to know that it’s getting harder and harder to push my brain to work, and every time I notice it just makes me more and more horny and giggly and...” Carmella paused, her skin flushed and hot with arousal or embarrassment—she couldn’t tell which. “Um. Foggy. Like the cloud is filling up my head and pushing all the thoughts out until all I want to do is believe everything I’m told.”
The Viscount nodded. He didn’t seem to find Carmella’s fantasy silly or stupid at all, which helped her relax a little as he said, “So do you want to be mindless, then, like your brain is literally emptying out, or do you just want to feel dumb like a bimbo?” He must have noticed her wincing, because he immediately said, “Right, okay, the first one.”
Carmella shook her head rapidly. “No, no, the second one!” she blurted out rapidly, like a diner calling back a departing waiter with a last-minute substitution. “I just... I don’t like that word, I’m sorry. I know a lot of people like it, and that’s cool for them, but it kind of gives me bad memories. Can we not call it that?” She really hoped he wouldn’t ask why—the last thing she wanted was to dredge up a whole bunch of toxic shit from her teenage years when she was trying to get herself in the mood for her first official Hypnotic Sexytimes.
Thankfully, he just gave her a solicitous smile and said, “Sure. It’s no problem at all. We can stick with ‘intelligence play’, if you like.” Carmella nodded gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief inside. “But you do want to be less intelligent, and have a harder time thinking as you go deeper. Do you want to feel that way for a while after you wake up, or...?”
Carmella squirmed a little as she pictured wandering the con on the Viscount’s arm, her brain reduced to a little fluffy cloud of cotton candy as she giggled aimlessly and agreed with everything she was told. She imagined floating along in a haze of arousal, constantly horny and happy and compliant... then she imagined bumping into Monique in that condition. “Um, maybe not this first time?” she murmured, her voice high and nervous. “I’m sorry, I know I’m putting all sorts of conditions on this, I know I’m probably being such a pain, but...”
The Viscount shook his head vigorously, his eyes wide with concern. “No, no no no no no!” he said, sounding for all the world like an off-brand David Tennant impersonator. “You’re letting me know what a good experience feels like to you, and that’s really important!” He reached out to her, then paused. “Um, are you okay with touch?” he asked, his hand hovering uncertainly a few inches above her knee.
Carmella looked at him for a moment, almost too surprised to say yes. “Um, no, that’s fine,” she babbled after a moment, when she saw him start to withdraw his hand. “Sorry, I just...” She gestured at her knee, trying to somehow convey the complicated concepts of living in a world where black women normally didn’t get asked permission for a lot of things including but far from limited to touch. It didn’t really work. “Um, never mind. Yeah. It’s fine.”
The Viscount patted her on the knee. Somehow, it felt like he understood just what she meant. “Look,” he said, his hand warm and reassuring through the thin fabric of her frock as he spoke, “we both want this to be a really wonderful, happy session for you. The more you tell me about what you want and need, the better the scene is going to be. So don’t feel like you’re being too demanding, don’t feel like you’re doing something wrong by asserting yourself. The time to give up control is once the induction starts, not when we’re negotiating. Okay?”
Carmella nodded. “Okay,” she said, taking a bit of a breath to steady herself. She hadn’t expected to feel this anxious about her first trance; somehow, she’d imagined that someone would just walk up to her and sweep her off her feet and do everything she ever dreamed of without even saying a word to her. This was a little more work than she anticipated... but she had to admit, it was really nice to sit down with a white guy and have him actually listen to her.
“Alright,” the Viscount said, giving her knee a little squeeze. “So you want me to make you feel fuzzy and easily confused, agreeable and compliant, and very happy and horny, right?” Carmella nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. She felt like every one of the Viscount’s words was hammering away on her hot buttons, and she was pretty sure her voice would come out about an octave too high if she said anything. The room suddenly seemed hot and stuffy, like the air conditioning was running in reverse or something. Carmella had an absurd urge to dash off and check her makeup to make sure the glitter wasn’t running.
The Viscount blushed a little, his mouth opening silently for a moment before the words finally managed to find their way down to his lips. “Now, um, about the...” He coughed a little, and Carmella smiled. It was kind of cute, seeing him suddenly act all shy and stammery. “You said you wanted to be compliant, confused and horny,” he continued, finally settling into his groove again. “That means I need to know where your boundaries are now, just in case you wind up in a mental state where you feel like you want to agree to things that you wouldn’t want to do if you were awake. So... sexual touch? Nudity? Intercourse? I’m fluid-bonded to my partner, so we’d need condoms to do anything involving penetration, but other than that I’m open to whatever you’re interested in doing.”
Once again, Carmella had the slightly dismayed sensation of uncertainty that came from taking her entirely fantastical fantasy and trying to pull it out into the real world for the very first time. In her head, her hypnotist always came up to her in the subway on her way to work or after school when she was grading assignments, or late one Saturday night when she was out at the club, and before she knew it she was nodding amiably along with his words and staring at a pretty pink pendant that filled her brain with warm pink mist. And then he spirited her back to his house and fucked her senseless, constantly lulling her back into soft, giggly compliance with his special hypnotic trigger, and she never needed to think again. It was simple, it was fucking insanely hot, and it never failed to get her off.
But hot in a fantasy wasn’t always the same as hot in a reality. Now that her dream was right there in front of her, Carmella found that she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to let a stranger fuck her, or even necessarily play with her body until she got to know him a little bit better. “Um... would it be okay if we didn’t do... any of that? Like, can you just make me, um, really horny so that I want to maybe hike up my skirt and stick my hand in my panties or something? I just don’t know that I’m ready for the big leagues yet, is all.”
The Viscount chuckled. “Trust me, there’s really no such thing as ‘the big leagues’. A lot of people around here don’t even feel comfortable with ‘hand on the knee’ touching, but they have no trouble finding fantastically hot scenes to do. You don’t have to do anything sexual at all; we can have a wonderful scene where all you do is feel nice and blank and bubbly, and I won’t make you do anything you’re not entirely comfortable with. Okay? You tell me what you want your limits to be, and that’s what they are. No judgment, I promise.”
Carmella found herself fascinated by his shoes again. “Um. I... I really want to.” Her throat seemed to close up around the words until only a whisper could escape. “To masturbate. During the scene.” She kept her eyes resolutely down, unable to meet his gaze. Her whole body felt hot and flushed with arousal to the point where she had to believe anyone looking at her could see it. “Please,” she finally finished, her fingers already twitching with the urge to slip down between her thighs and dip into the wetness she could already feel.
She couldn’t look up to see the Viscount’s face, but the husky growl in his voice as he said, “I think I’d like that a lot,” spoke volumes.
A long silence followed, full of pleasant anticipation, before the Viscount finally cleared his throat and said, “So, is there anything else that you can think of that you want me to know before we begin? Any phobias or aversions, anything I shouldn’t mention while you’re in trance? Any particular needs you have for aftercare beyond hydration and cuddles?”
Carmella shook her head. “I can’t think of anything,” she said hesitantly, before realizing how that sounded. “Um, I mean—” They both broke up into chuckles that seemed to dissolve a little of the nervous tension Carmella felt creeping up on her. “I think I’m good,” she finished, once the laughter finally stopped.
“Okay,” the Viscount said, reaching out and taking her hands in his own. “Then I’d like you to just relax for me, just take a nice deep breath and allow your body to relax for a moment.” His voice deepened a little, taking on a smooth, calming timbre as he gazed into Carmella’s hazel eyes. “I’m going to start counting down from one hundred now, counting all the way down from one hundred to zero as you look into my eyes and let yourself focus on the sound of my voice. And every time you hear an even number, you’re going to close your eyes, and every time you hear an odd number, you’re going to open your eyes. Nice and easy, right? You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Carmella nodded, her whole body tingling lightly with arousal as she gazed into the Viscount’s sapphire eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath. “Yes,” she sighed out, quietly amazed at the way her voice already sounded softer, calmer, more relaxed. She realized suddenly that on some level, she hadn’t really expected this to work at all until just now, and the tingling intensified into a rush of heat between her legs as it finally hit her that it really really would.
“Very good,” the Viscount said smoothly. “And one hundred, feeling those eyes sink shut nice and tight, feeling the relaxation rush in as you let them close.” Carmella’s eyelids closed slowly, deliberately, almost as if they made the decision on her behalf. She felt her breath go out in a whoosh, her shoulders slumping and her muscles loosening as she focused her attention on the Viscount’s words. It seemed surprisingly easy, almost as if the pre-talk had left her so ready to be hypnotized that all she needed to do was listen and let it happen.
“Good girl, and ninety-nine...” Carmella’s eyes opened, her gaze instantly locking on the beautiful stare that seemed to fill her field of vision. “That’s it. Feel those heavy, heavy eyelids working so hard to stay open, making you feel so drowsy, so sleepy. You’re doing so well now, and ninety-eight...” Carmella closed her eyes again, like a long slow blink that never seemed to get back around to the opening part. “That’s it, feel that relaxation flowing into you every time those dreamy, lazy eyes slide down... and down... and down, just like a warm pink mist flowing into your lungs.”
Carmella took another long, deep breath, imagining a stream of pink vapor filling her nostrils and swirling around in her lungs before being expelled once more in a slow, steady sigh. “And ninety-seven,” the Viscount said, her response already feeling automatic as she opened her eyes once more and refocused her gaze onto his deep, penetrating stare. “Such a good girl, so easy and effortless to follow along now, letting those heavy, heavy eyelids flutter their way open so that you can look deep, deep into my eyes and listen to the sound of my voice. Following my voice, following my words, and closing your eyes again on ninety-six, feeling so good as that deep, warm pink fog fills your mind for me now.”
Carmella’s eyelids practically slammed shut, her head feeling ever so slightly wobbly on her shoulders as her mind automatically pictured the stream of pink mist bubbling up into her head and fogging over all of her thoughts with pleasant relaxation and arousal. She squirmed in her chair, her mind already drifting into anticipation of the culmination of the fantasy they’d collaborated to create. Dimly, she heard the Viscount saying, “The fog keeps getting thicker, keeps getting deeper, and soon you’re going to find that some of your thoughts just drift all the way off into that fog and fade away. And that’s just fine, those are thoughts you didn’t really need anymore, you can just let them go and focus on my voice on ninety-five.”
Carmella’s eyes fluttered open, instantly locking onto the Viscount’s gaze as if they were magnetized. “That’s it, every time your eyes close it becomes easier and easier for them to close, every time your eyes open it becomes more and more of a struggle to lift those heavy eyelids.” Carmella felt a momentary surge of confusion—she had just opened them, but he was talking about closing them? She blinked heavily, her mind trying to respond to instructions that she knew he wasn’t giving, and just as she’d managed to open her drowsy eyes once more she heard him say, “Ninety-four,” and they slipped shut almost gratefully.
“That’s it,” he cooed, gently rocking her hands from side to side, squeezing them lightly and easily as he spoke, “deeper and deeper down every time they close, the pink fog filling up your mind until there’s no room for all those big thoughts anymore. Your mind is getting smaller and cozier, curling up inside the fluffy pink cloud like my words are wrapping you up in a warm pink blanket, and it feels so good and so nice to let all those thoughts float away into the mist and leave you peaceful and relaxed. The fewer thoughts you have, the easier it is to focus on my voice... and ninety-three, eyes opening again.”
It seemed almost impossible for Carmella to drag her eyelids back open again; all she wanted to do was leave them closed and sink deeper into the fantasy of fluffy pink bliss that seemed to overlay her vision as she gazed inexorably into the Viscount’s commanding stare once more. They drooped heavily, giving her a sleepy, drowsy look that she knew he noticed because he said to her, “Getting so, so difficult to keep those sleepy eyes open, all you want to do is float in your pink cloud and relax, relax, relax on ninety, eyes closed again for me now.”
Something in Carmella’s head recognized the missing numbers, but her eyes were already slipping shut before she could really make sense of it. She gave in blissfully, releasing a heavy sigh before she took in another long, slow, deep breath of her special pink mist. “And the mist wraps right up around you now, making it so hard to think, because all those big thoughts can’t fit inside your head anymore. They keep getting lost in the mist, and the bigger the thought you try to think with your cozy pink mind, the harder it is to see the end of it, until you just have to give up and giggle at how silly it is to try to think anymore.” Carmella felt a sleepy smile spread across her face, a little chuckle bubbling up as she pictured the end of a sentence sticking out into the cloud and trailing off into confusion.
“That’s right, good girl,” the Viscount said, his voice warm and encouraging. “You don’t want to think, you just want to listen and relax and let go on eighty-eight and SLEEP.” Carmella felt a moment of utter, bewildered incoherence swamp her brain as she tried to close eyes that were already closed, but then she felt the Viscount tug her arms forward and she heard him say sleep and suddenly she felt like she was falling and her mind didn’t seem to want to work anymore. She slumped into his arms, sagging loosely against him as he rocked her gently and purred, “That’s it. That’s it, good girl. Deep trance now. Deep trance for me now. Good girl.”
He carefully returned her to an upright position, propping her up against the back of the chair and maneuvering her head into a loosely centered point of balance over her shoulders. Something about the way he posed her like a doll made Carmella’s trance feel even deeper, even more profound; even her muscles seemed to want to follow the Viscount’s instructions now over her own. She sat passively, listening with blank and docile compliance as he said, “Deeper and deeper now, letting your mind float deeper and deeper into the pink cloud for me now. It’s so hard to think, isn’t it?”
Carmella smiled dreamily. She wanted to try to answer, she really did, but every time she tried to reach for words, they seemed to vanish into the pink mist. And it felt so good to let them go. It felt absolutely amazing, like floating in a warm scented bath and feeling the peace and pleasure soak right in all the way down to her bones, until eventually she couldn’t even make herself try to find her thoughts anymore. The only words in her head were the Viscount’s words, waiting for her to repeat them back to him. “It’s so... hard to think,” she murmured, her clit tingling sharply at the sound of her own hypnotized voice.
“Of course it is,” the Viscount said, his voice coaxing her ever deeper into relaxation. “And you can imagine yourself taking step after step into the soft, pink cloud, losing yourself more and more in the blissful warmth and the comforting, dreamy fog. With every step, it feels better and better. With every step, it gets harder and harder to think. There’s nothing but pink in your mind now, and the more you try to think of anything else, the nicer it feels to let your fuzzy, drowsy brain fill up with pink. Isn’t that right, pretty girl?”
Carmella tried to follow along, but the thread of his words simply trailed off into giddy ecstasy as the pink mist swirled ever more thickly inside her head. Even repeating the words seemed too difficult—her mind tripped over ‘nicer’ and ‘fuzzy’ and ‘drowsy’ and ‘dreamy’ and eventually settled into helpless surrender. “Yes,” she replied blankly, unable to do anything more than agree now.
“Good girl,” the Viscount husked, his voice thick with arousal. She couldn’t understand what was turning him on so much—she wasn’t even naked, just slumped in her chair in a vacant, obedient trance and accepting his hypnotic commands. But thinking about it felt too much like work right now. She simply listened to his words as he continued, “And the more you try to think, the harder it becomes. Like walking up a hill that just gets steeper and steeper, every step pushing your tired, drowsy brain closer and closer to the moment where you just have to give up and rest. You can feel those thoughts slowing down more and more, can’t you?”
Carmella sighed, the mental exhaustion weighing her down until her whole body sagged into the chair with the force of it. “Yes,” she responded, her voice a drowsy monotone that no longer seemed to be under her control. “I can feel my thoughts slowing down more and more.” It didn’t upset or disturb her at all, though. It felt absolutely wonderful to give up the struggle to think and let someone else tell her what to do, like letting go of a burden she didn’t even know she was carrying until she released it. Carmella felt like she could stay like this forever.
But the Viscount had other plans. “And the harder it is to think,” he purred, sounding for all the world like he was snapping a trap shut around Carmella’s brain, “the more aroused you become. The more you struggle to push those weak, drowsy thoughts through the thick, pink fog, the more your mind focuses instead on the pleasure flowing through your body instead. Getting stronger and stronger now, pulling on those sleepy, heavy thoughts until all you can think about is how turned on you’re becoming. Try to think for me, pretty girl, and tell me what it does to you.”
Carmella’s mouth opened, she started to speak... but the more she grasped for the words, the more she felt her clit throbbing between her legs like a second pulse. Her jaw hung slack in helpless, bewildered amazement as the suggestion took root in her mind, drawing her attention more and more to the way her breasts felt so suddenly sensitive against the thin fabric of her frock and her pussy tingled with gush after gush of liquid arousal. She tried to find a description in her head, something to answer the insistent demand of the Viscount’s lingering instruction, but the more she struggled the harder it became and the wetter she got until she finally whimpered out, “...hhhhorny?” with the confused air of a student guessing wildly on an oral exam.
But the Viscount’s voice told her that she’d guessed exactly right. “Good girl!” he cooed, in tones of luxurious, almost condescending praise. “It makes you so horny and so happy to try and fail to think for me. The more you struggle to make that silly, fuzzy, foggy brain of yours work, the more the pink cloud steals those thoughts and replaces them with arousal. Until you can’t stop yourself from playing with that pretty pussy of yours for me. Until you can’t even remember why your fingers aren’t teasing that throbbing, aching clit of yours.” He paused. “Tell me, good girl... what’s the square root of eighty-one?”
Carmella’s eyes popped open automatically, unthinkingly responding to the Viscount’s earlier suggestion about odd numbers. It didn’t disrupt her trance at all, though; she simply stared vacantly into the distance, her eyes unable to focus properly on anything, as she attempted to answer his question. “Suhhh... um, I...” she mumbled, trying to put the words together into an order that seemed to have any meaning at all. She could see the mathematical symbol in her mind, she taught it to middle schoolers every day, but... but the more she tried to remember how to turn the numbers into other numbers, the more she found herself wriggling in her seat until her frock was more like a belt than a dress.
The Viscount was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes glittering with excitement as he watched her vacant, empty stare. “Let’s try an easier one, then,” he said, his voice filled with mischief. “What’s sixteen plus twenty-one plus eight plus three plus two?” Carmella’s eyes closed, opened, closed, fluttered halfway open then finally slipped shut again as the sudden onslaught of numbers made her brain dribble out between her thighs.
“S-sssix... uhhhh...” Carmella couldn’t even retain all five numbers, much less figure out how to combine them into a bigger number. By the time she’d remembered that the third number was eight and the fourth number was three, the first number had slipped out of her memory and then the third number followed along with it while she was trying to remember whether the fifth number was two or the second number was five. Finally, she gave up, bursting into helpless peals of laughter as she moaned out, “It’s just so harrrrrd...”
The Viscount chuckled. “Then we’ll give you an easy one, pretty girl. So easy that I just know you can solve it... unless your foggy, horny brain is so lost in the pink cloud that all you can do is play with yourself for me. What’s two plus two?”
Carmella’s eyes rolled back under her eyelids, her fingers twitching with arousal as she struggled desperately to make her brain work. This was so simple, this was math, she knew this, but... “tuhh, two... uhhhh, two plus...” She could feel the gears in her mind grinding, sticky pink syrup gumming them up until all she could think about was how good it would feel to stop trying and play with her soaking pussy. “T-two... plus, um... two...” She tried counting in her head, but all that did was remind her of the Viscount’s warm, soothing voice guiding her down into trance and her brain kept going the wrong direction and counting down... “Two... p-plus... ohhhhhgoddddd...”
And then it was gone. Carmella’s fingers dived into the waistband of her pink panties, sinking without even a trace of resistance into the slick channel between her labia and finding her clit. “Oh, ohhhh fuck, ohhh!” she moaned, uncaring that she was louder than the white girl with the earrings now. “Oh, ofuuggghh, gnnnh, ysssss!” She could hear her fingers squishing and squelching as they pumped in and out of her throbbing cunt, soaking her panties with her musk as she masturbated with helpless, heedless abandon. She couldn’t stop now, her mind had simply seized up under the effort of trying to think, and all she wanted to do was make herself come as hard and as fast as she possibly could.
The Viscount’s voice lured her deeper and deeper into the pleasure, coaxing her with murmurs of, “Good girl, that’s it,” and, “Too horny to think now, just fucking your pretty pussy,” until Carmella’s moans deepened to screams. Her legs were spread as wide as they would go, her body reacting instinctively to give her fingers full access to her gushing cunt. Her hips strained upward, desperate to fuck every last drop of pleasure out of the intruding digits, and her orgasm struck her like a bolt of lightning straight to the brain.
“Fuhhhhh!” she squealed, her eyelids fluttering as the pleasure became too intense for even the Viscount’s hypnotic suggestions to fully control her reflexes. She felt a liquid rush of heat between her legs, her pussy squirting under the total onslaught of ecstasy that overwhelmed her, and she suddenly squeezed her legs together tightly around her fingers in utter, aching need. Carmella’s whole world narrowed down to her clit, her brain incandescing like a white-hot star as her climax seemed to warp and distend her perception of time into a tiny eternity of pleasure.
Only when her screams became hoarse did she finally hear the Viscount’s voice soothing her back down from the plateau of bliss, telling her, “That’s it. Good girl. Relaxing now, letting your mind and your body melt and soften into warm, peaceful sleep for me. Just relax now, pretty girl. Just relax and sleep. Relax and sleep.” Slowly, reluctantly, Carmella’s hand twitched to a stop. Her hips sank back down onto the chair. Her head slumped forward. The waves of orgasm diminished into the comforting ripples of the afterglow. She let out a deep, lazy sigh that threatened to become a snore as the post-coital exhaustion hit her all at once.
But she could still hear the Viscount. “And now, I want you to imagine yourself stepping into a hot shower, feeling the clean, warm water pouring steadily down and washing all of my suggestions away,” he said. Carmella whimpered, some part of her slightly reluctant to relinquish so much bliss, but she understood why it needed to happen. “All the suggestions from this scene, sluicing down the drain and gone. Leaving just your happy memories of a wonderful time with me, leaving you refreshed and energized and alert like you’re starting a fresh new day. And coming back on one, two, three, four and five. Wake.”
Carmella’s eyes fluttered open, darting around in momentary confusion as if she didn’t quite expect to find herself still in the same room where she began the trance. “I... wow,” she mumbled, carefully extracting her hand from her panties. She looked down, slightly ashamed to see that she had absolutely soaked the chair and a good portion of the carpet in front of it. “Wow. There’s... there’s a damage deposit for this con, right?”
“Oh, I expect so,” the Viscount said cheerfully. “I don’t imagine you’re the only person who’s done something like that around here... even if I think you are one of the most beautiful.” He was obviously flushed and a little bit sweaty, and Carmella could easily spot a visible bulge in his pants. Carmella expected that his partner (whoever they were) would probably be pretty happy tonight.
She kind of envied them. Even through her physical exhaustion, even with the purgative suggestion at the end, Carmella still found herself looking hungrily at the Viscount’s crotch and imagining what it would be like to slip away like that again and eagerly give her body over to him. A thought struck her, and she suddenly found herself blurting out, “You didn’t put in a trigger!”
The Viscount looked momentarily confused. “Well, no. We didn’t talk about it beforehand, and, um... did you want one?”
Carmella coughed out a surprised laugh. “I don’t know? I just... I somehow thought that always happened at the end of every trance. Like, you finish up and then you put in a trigger to get them back there whenever you wanted.”
The Viscount shook his head, still smiling gently at her. “Not without permission,” he said, reaching out to lovingly caress her forehead. “Maybe we can do that next time, though, if you’d like. Um, if you’d like there to be a next time and a trigger, I mean,” he burbled, his suave charm momentarily melting back into awkward adorability.
Carmella got up slowly and gingerly, her legs shaking from the evening’s exertions. “I... I think I would, yes,” she said meekly, staring up at the ceiling this time to avoid both the Viscount’s eyes and the stained carpet. “But not just yet? I’m still kind of wobbly, and—”
“Right!” the Viscount exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners? You need aftercare. Let’s find you a better place to sit, get you some food and water, and then you can just rest and recover for a bit. If you need cuddles, I’m told I’m not nearly as bony as I look...”
Carmella giggled. “I’d like that,” she said, leaning on him as they headed back down to the party. Carmella was pretty sure she was done playing for the night, but she wasn’t quite ready to let this wonderful evening end... and she was already thinking of ways to make her next scene even better.