Mickey

(inspired by stories by Robert Louis Stevenson, Chuck Palahniuk, and Tabico)

The room is dark; it is thick with the scents of incense and silk, rare perfumes and the slight, heady scent of sex, now three hours gone but unable to elude the sense of smell. Candles provide what light there is, and the glint of candlelight flickers off of the mirrored ceiling like a planetarium in miniature.

A woman sits at the antique writing desk in the corner of the room. She is writing longhand, despite the computer that sits nearby on the desk, and she is writing by candlelight. Her eyes are rimmed red with tears, and occasionally a droplet trickles down her cheek to make a blot on the paper. She does her best to write around such blots, but the tremors in her hands do not help her. Everything about her body language speaks of a deer caught in the headlights, of Princess Anastasia in the basement of the Summer Palace, of the moment before the bullet hits the bone.

The pen continues to scrape upon the paper, the only sounds apart from the hiss of the candles and the soft, soft sobs of despair.

*****

Dear Annie,

I know I haven't written you in a long time; not since we graduated college together. I didn't ever tell you, but I was angry at you. I was angry that you turned down the job offer from Setech to go work for Macrosoft, even when you knew I was taking the Setech position. I thought we'd be friends forever, like we were back in junior high when I was still "Mickey Mouse" and you were still "Annie Oakley", like in high school when you found me a date for the prom, like in college when you dragged me to the Phi Delts and made me pledge. I thought that when you took that other job it meant we weren't friends any more. I'm sorry now. It was stupid of me. I'm very very sorry. {tears blot the next few words}

I'm writing this for two reasons. The first is that I want you to remember me. I don't know if I'll be remembered, and I want someone to remember all the things I did, and didn't do. All the things that made me who I was. I don't know if they're worth remembering, but I have to believe that they are. It's all I've got left.

The second is to warn you. See, Mistress Michelle likes the same things--the same people--I do. But she... she thinks of them in a different way. She's not going to want to be your special friend. She's going to want to own you. Body, mind, and soul. Like she does me. You won't be able to fight her. Lots of people thought they could fight her, but they're all her slaves now. And I don't want that to happen to you; you were always the special one. This would never have happened to you.

I thought I was also writing this to ask you for help. But I don't think you can help me. I don't think that anyone can help me anymore.

I feel certain that in a very short time, Mistress Michelle is going to kill me. I don't think I'll be able to stop it.

*****

Looking back, I think that it all started back in college with the Phi Delts. You remember back when we were pledging, and they had us perform with that stage hypnotist? How you just sat there, trying to repress a laugh, and I wound up squeaking like a little mouse? (I was hoping that nickname wouldn't follow me to college. It's followed me everywhere. I hated it, and I should have told you. I'm sorry... and I'm sorry that I keep apologizing.)

Anyway, I thought about that for years afterwards. I wondered what it was that always made me so meek and mild, and you so stubborn. I wondered why it was that I went under with the snap of a finger, and you sat in that chair for three hours before the hypnotist gave up. That was why I took Psych as a second major. I never told you. But that was why.

I did a lot of studies on hypnosis, alongside the normal classwork and the computer courses we both took. You were too kind to make jokes about me never having a date, but I could tell you were worried. I was too, a little, but I had this crazy theory, and I wanted to make it work. I was still working on it when we graduated. I was still working on it when you left for Seattle. I finally cracked it a few months back at work, though. I invented a computer hypnosis program.

It's a good one, too. I thought when I first finished it that it would only work on me, and maybe a few other people who were easy to put under, but I've tested it, and it'll work on anyone. Even if they know it's coming, even if they're trying to resist. It'll make them completely obedient, totally docile, complete and total slaves...

I'm sorry. I'm scaring you, and I'm getting ahead of myself. I should tell you about the first test I made. That was where it all went wrong.

See, what I was hoping all along was that I could hypnotize myself to be more confident. To be more assertive. I wanted to be more like you. I knew from my readings that hypnosis could cure bad habits... well, I thought, wasn't my shyness a bad habit? So the first time I tested the program, I recorded in a post-hypnotic suggestion that would play once I'd gone under. (The system used cameras and microphones to track eye movements and breathing rates; that's how it'd know when you were under. Then it'd play the post-hypnotic suggestions.) I'm not sure what it was I said, but I'll try to remember, because it turned out to be important. I think it was something like, "Whenever you are feeling uncertain as to the best course of action, you will hear a voice inside your head. That voice is your hidden, assertive self. It will tell you what to do. Listen to that voice. That voice is your confidence, your strength. It knows what to do. Listen to that voice in your head, and do what it says. Listen to that confident voice."

Then I sat back in my chair, and started the program. The screen went black, all black, except for a tiny white dot at the center of the screen. I remember that the dot drew the eyes in, made the dot seem more important because there was nothing around it; there was just the little white dot, and the blackness all around.

Then the dot changed colors, slowly fading from white to red, from red to blue, from blue to deepest purple, shifting along and back until it was white again. It began to strobe as it changed color, flashing on and off, off and on. I think that's when the soft, relaxing music started to play. I'd worked hard to embed the subliminals into the music, and it paid off. I couldn't hear them, and I was listening so close... so close and paying so much attention to the music and the dot... then these little circles started to expand from the dot, thin little circles, drifting gently out to the edges of the screen...I remember relaxing so much as I listened to the music and watched the drifting circles, the strobing dot, and then my eyes started to feel heavy, heavy and peaceful and drifting and closed and I was floating and I was so relaxed, so relaxed. I heard my voice, repeating the hypnotic suggestions. I knew I had to follow them. And then there was a voice counting, and then I was snapping out of it, coming up. I knew then it had worked perfectly.

I tried not to notice how wet I was.

*****

By the time I'd finished with everything, it was near six, and I decided I wanted to test the new, assertive me. God, I was so confident then... I decided I'd go home, change clothes, and go out dancing. I know, me, dancing, never happen, right? Little Mickey Mouse, just hides in the corner eating from the cheese tray. That was why it was a test.

So I went home, I slipped into something a little more comfortable, and I looked myself up and down in the mirror. And then I heard it. The voice. My inner me.

You're not planning to go out dressed like that, are you?

The voice sounded {repeated eraser marks here} like I would sound if I tried to imitate you. I looked at myself in the mirror again.

No. You're dressing like you're still the flat-chested little computer geek you were in junior high. You have developed, girl. Nice tits, great ass... you dress right, and you will have a body to die for. Nothing in your wardrobe that'll do the job, though. You need to go shopping.

I thought about it for a moment, but this was my inner me, right? My more assertive self, the self that knew best. I was out the door, and off to the boutiques.

It was a few hours later, in a completely new outfit, that I hit the nightclubs...and God, did it work great! The voice told me how to move, how to act, where to walk, how to walk, how to dance, when to drink... it was wonderful. Everyone was looking at me, and for once, I didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed. I felt like a hand in a glove, like a thread in a needle.

That was when I met Robert. Robert's around here somewhere. I think Mistress Michelle has him doing the dishes right now, or perhaps he's licking her shoes clean. When I met Robert, though, he was still free. He looked--and still looks--gorgeous, like something right out of GQ; when he walked over to the bar where I was resting after a dance, I wanted to blush and hide my eyes. But the voice was right there, telling me to make eye contact with him and thrust out your chest a little--not so much that you look like you're thrusting out your chest, but enough to make him aware of you as a woman instead of a piece of furniture. He sat down by me and asked what my name was. I almost said, "Mickey," just out of habit, but the voice was right there, and I told him, "Michelle," and he smiled. I loved it when he smiled.

We started talking. I don't remember what we talked about anymore, but the voice was letting me know when to nod, when to smile, when to rest my hand on his thigh, when to ask him if he wanted to go someplace a little less noisy. It told me how to sit in his car and display just the right length of leg. When we got to his place, it told me how to slip my tongue between his lips when we kissed, how to slide my hand into his pants, where to grab his cock to get him to gasp out my name, how to deep throat him, and it told me to smile devilishly before telling him to eat my pussy.

It had already told me not to wear panties back at the boutique.

*****

I came into work the next morning without having changed, or slept, or even showered. I loved the scent of sex on me, Annie. It was like...more than just a reminder of the feeling when Robert pumped into me. It was a reminder of how alive and confident I was that night. I never wanted to get rid of it. Instead, I settled in at my desk and started up my computer... and the voice was back again.

Didn't it feel wonderful, the way you drifted off last night into hypnosis? You never thought it would be such a turn-on for you, but it was. I thought about it for a moment, and my mind drifted back... and suddenly I was wet all over again. I wanted to run the program again, just to feel that sense of peace and serenity, that drifting happiness. I closed my door and brought up the parameters for the session. No suggestions this time, just a trance and then awakening.

Wait, the voice said. Perhaps you should strengthen your previous suggestions. Suggestions always work better when strengthened.

I nodded, and found myself speaking into the microphone. "The voice is very smart," I said, recording the post-hypnotic suggestion. "It has taught you so much, now. You have seen how confident it is, how much you need to follow its advice and suggestions. You have seen what it can do for you. Listen to the voice. Follow the voice. Do what it says." And then I was clicking on 'Start', and the dot hadn't even started flashing before I started drifting off...

By the time I woke up, I was soaking wet, and I wanted nothing more than to masturbate. But then Jim came in, and sheer terror almost drove all of that off a cliff.

Jim's my supervisor. Well, he was then. Now he's my assistant. He's cute, in a 'middle management' sort of way. Mistress Michelle has him doing sexual service when I don't need him to do his job. But back then he was my supervisor, and I knew why he was coming in as soon as he walked through the door.

"Mickey," he said, in his 'this will hurt you more than it hurts me' tone of voice. "You know you were supposed to have that spreadsheet function debugged yesterday. I hope you've got a good reason why I haven't seen it?"

I froze. I wanted nothing more than to crawl under a desk and hide; I've always hated confrontations with authority figures, ever since elementary school. For a moment, I was sure I'd never be able to speak again.

Then the Voice took right over, and I followed along with what it said. "It's Michelle, Jim," I said. Or the Voice said, and I was its ventriloquist's dummy. "And of course I do. I've been working on a little side project for the company; it's a killer app, and I was just about to bring it to you." I didn't sound scared. I sounded completely in control.

Jim was a little taken aback, I could tell. He wasn't used to me asserting myself. He probably noticed the smell of my pussy, too. But he was falling back on corporate discipline, as always. "Alright... Michelle... what's this killer app, and what's going to make it so special that it's worth setting us behind on OfficeMaster 3.0?"

"Well," I said, standing up, "it's a multimedia application, using interactive graphics and sound for..." I sighed, and inside, I was amazed at how natural it sounded. "It'll be easier if I show you. Just sit down here..." I gestured to the chair, and he sat down, reluctantly, "...and I'll get it started." I ran through the settings menu quickly, tapping off inducement settings, clicking on menu choices. I didn't stumble, slip or hesitate, like I have in past presentations. Jim was so busy watching that, he didn't notice what the program was.

I wish he had. It might have changed things.

As the dot came up, he snorted in disbelief. He started to say, "What kind of a..." but he didn't get much beyond that. His voice trailed off as the dot began to change color, and to flash, and as the music started, I could see that he was blinking that much more often, and I could see him relaxing into the chair, and I could feel myself getting horny again as his eyes got heavy-lidded and sleepy, and finally slammed shut. I knew he was going to stay under. I'd disabled the 'Awaken' command. He'd be completely suggestible. And I was so very very very horny.

The Voice told me what to tell him. And I did it.

*****

It wasn't until I got home that I fully realized what I'd done. When I did, I wanted to throw up. I ran into the bathroom, and leaned over the toilet...and then I stopped. The Voice told me to. It said, Don't worry. Jim's our slave now. He wants to do anything to please us... and that will make our lives so much easier.

I looked in the mirror. "No," I said. "That's what is worrying me. Jim's a slave now. I took a man and made him into a sex slave. Oh God, what did I do to him?"

You made him happier, the face in the mirror responded with my lips. He loved being hypnotized. He loved licking your pussy, suckling your tits, fucking you hard and fast... and you loved everything he did to you.

"But what about Robert?"

That's a good point, the Voice responded, as the face in the mirror pursed its brows in thought. We'll have to hypnotize him, too. We don't want him stumbling on us with Jim and getting all jealous, do we?

"No!" I cried out. "That's not what I meant! We can't do that! It's wrong!"

The mirror laughed. 'Wrong' is what you make it, Mickey. It didn't feel wrong, did it?

"That's not the point!" I thought I was crying now, but the face in the mirror didn't have any tears running down its cheeks. "The point is..."

You're stuck, aren't you? I tried to shake my head, but it wouldn't move. You can't think of a reason not to listen to me. You want to listen to me. I know better than you do.

"No... no, I don't, I don't want that, I want to... to..."

Sssh. Mickey, Mickey. You know you can't fight me. I'm you. I'm the you that you always wanted to be. I'm smarter than you are, I'm able to attract men like you never were, and I can get ahead in the business world where you'd just be left behind, debugging spreadsheets all your life. The part of you that's Michelle already knows what you're going to do next. Why aren't you doing it?

"I can't. I won't. You can't make me."

Oh, but I can. You're forgetting--by definition, you're the part of you that has no will. You're the part of you that's subservient, weak-willed, ready to obey. You're the part of you that's a slave, I'm the part of you that's a mistress. You can't fight me, because any part of you that wants to fight me is me. I couldn't help myself. I stared into the eyes in the mirror and already, I felt myself beginning to drift away. Now. You need to surrender, Mickey. You need to surrender to that part of you that's confident, that's in control. To Mistress Michelle. Mistress Michelle is the important part of you now. Mickey's the slave. So why don't you just kneel down and accept that?

My eyes slammed shut, and I kneeled. To this day, I don't know if the person in the mirror did too.

Good girl, Mickey. You can go ahead and masturbate, if you want.

I did. Over, and over, and over...

*****

After that, it was all downhill. I spent more and more time as a passenger in my own body, and when I was able to be myself, I was still doing what Mistress Michelle wanted. I tried to hypnotize myself again, to reverse the suggestions, but Mistress Michelle stopped me. I was stuck as I watched myself present the hypnosis program to each and every employee at Setech. They all love Mistress Michelle now. They're all her slaves. I sometimes think about ordering one of them to rig a computer to hypnotize me and set me free of Mistress Michelle, but I can't. Mickey can't order them around. She's too timid. Only Mistress Michelle. Mistress Michelle has all the power; she's pampered and obeyed by everyone. Mickey's too scared. Mickey was never able to take control of her life, to assert herself against people who were only interested in taking things from her without giving anything in return. Mickey would have lived alone, and died alone, and nobody would have cared. But I'm not going to let that happen. I'm going to be powerful. To be respected. To be obeyed. And I'll never give up this power. Not to anyone.

*****

The woman ceases to write. She sets down the pen, and carefully rolls the letter into a tight little scroll. Then, with exquisite care, she inserts one end into the flame that flickers on the candle, and watches as the whole thing burns away. "Sorry," she says, "but it had to end this way, Mickey. Like a butterfly. You can't be a butterfly and a caterpillar at the same time." She drops the burning letter in a metal trashcan and watches as it gutters away to ashes. Then she picks up a telephone and dials.

"Hello, Annie!" she says when the other end picks up. "It's me--Michelle!" "Yes, but I don't go by Mickey anymore. It's just...not me."

THE END