S.H.E (Seduce, Hypnotise, Enslave) Ch. 07

When you'd been teaching as long as I had, you thought you'd seen everything. Fake excuses for not doing assignments. Real excuses that were far stranger than the fake ones could ever be. Medical emergencies in lecture theatres. Students having sex in public places. Even at 55, I had already reached that wizened old age where you could only sigh at every indiscretion, every oddity, and say, "Ah, I've seen it all before."

One place you didn't expect it was when dealing with your postgraduate students. Nearly everyone had something going on, from mental illnesses to work commitments; the true beginnings of adult life, but the impulse to do something incredibly stupid had been selectively bred out of them. They knew they were at the stage where that kind of thing could jeopardize the rest of their lives, if they weren't careful. What they did in my offices, in my presence, actually mattered.

This mutual understanding morphed into a complacency that left me unprepared for the shock and fury I felt when finally the rules of academic conduct, spoken and unspoken, were summarily demolished right in front of my eyes.

Stephanie Meacham was among my favourite students I'd ever taught. Not prodigiously talented in the traditional sense, where rich parents pay exorbitant sums of money for extra tuition to push their beloved hellspawn's grade up, but a truly enthusiastic pupil of all things psychological, with respectable grades to show for it. She had scarcely gone a year through her Bachelor when she had developed a special interest--male psychosexuality. Exactly the sort of niche area you need if you are seeking further study. She had briefly considered going out into the world as a professional psychologist, and was on track to do just that, but ultimately she decided to cap off her academic career with a Ph.D first.

I was very glad for her, and only too happy to meet her to discuss whether I might be her supervisor. Privately, I could admit that male psychosexuality was not of much interest to me, and I struggled to understand what Stephanie saw in it. But at the very least I would be able to hear where her interests lay, and point her in the direction of a better supervisor if I could think of one.

At the appointed time, I heard a knock on my door.

"Come in!" I called.

And in she walked, dragging behind her Luke--a lecturer, a member of the faculty for god's sake--wearing nothing but a collar and a leash. He walked on his knees, head bowed, hands obviously bound behind his back.

I was outraged, my mouth agape. Inappropriate conduct between staff and students, indecent exposure, public pet-play... all failed to adequately convey what was happening here. This was effectively the end of both of their academic careers in one fell swoop. The ruination of years of hard work and mentoring and dedication. A tragic loss to a struggling discipline that needed their expertise and diligence but could not abide their conduct.

Before I could find the words to convey any of this, Stephanie spoke.

"Professor Kesselberg," she announced, "I have a revolutionary thesis on the nature of the male mind to show you. In brief, I have discovered a means for women to induce a hypnotic trance in men simply by kissing them, granting the woman previously undiscovered levels of control."

"I, you, you can't-" I spluttered, "what is the meaning of this, Stephanie?! This little stunt will cost you your entire academic fortune!"

"I am aware," she replied lightly, "but you would never have believed me if I'd simply sat down and explained it to you without evidence. In a way," she tugged on the leash, "he is my thesis statement."

I was aghast. This was Luke, for goodness' sake. He had taught every Intro to Psychology course for the last five years, practically a celebrity among the student body. He knew the kind of hero-worship that inspired in some of the more starry-eyed students, and he was always careful to maintain a friendly but completely professional attitude towards them. Now he was naked on the floor in my office, in complete deference to someone who had been taught by him personally. Oh Stephanie, what have you done?!

"You will both explain yourselves, now," I ordered, "and if I am satisfied with the explanation I might not immediately have you thrown off campus."

"Professor Luke Bailey here has been hypnotised," Stephanie explained, as if that were the most normal thing in the world. She sat down at the chair in front of my desk, affecting a laid-back attitude as she continued. "He must obey nearly all of my commands, and in fact, he is trained to respond only to my voice. I don't believe he will answer if you talk to him."

That couldn't be right. I came around my desk and, trying desperately to ignore his nudity, clapped my hands as loudly as possible beside his ear. "Hey!" I yelled. "Damnit Luke, snap out of it!"

I thought I saw him wrinkle his nose, but apart from that, nothing.

"I should mention he can still hear you," Stephanie added, "he just won't respond. You might deafen him if you keep doing that."

I glared at her, "Why are you doing this, Stephanie? Of all the ways to spend your time, why come into my office on the pretense of applying for a Ph.D, and then... this?"

"I told you," Stephanie said with an air of deliberate patience, "I've developed a revolutionary thesis of how the male mind works. I have discovered not only that men can be hypnotised, in the layman's sense of controlling their minds, but that it can be done simply by kissing them. That's all it took to bring this one," she nudged Luke with her foot, "to his knees, in a literal sense. This phenomenon, how far it goes, and what limits it has... that is what I want to study for my Ph.D."

"Out of the question!" I bristled. "Even supposing you have found something in the psychology of, I should remind you, a member of this faculty-"

"But it's not just him!" Stephanie retorted, eyes gleaming. "As far as I can tell, it's every man, or it could be any man, depending on how you look at it. Does that not fascinate you? Does that not throw into serious contention just about everything we believe about free will? A man's will is not preordained by God, and it is not free, for upon my lips, I have rewritten it, and he wanted me, begged me to do it."

I was floored. This was the driven and passionate side of Stephanie that I knew, but I got the sense that I was finally meeting the woman behind the curtain. Was this what her drive had been about all this time?

"Alright, alright," I grumbled, striding over to my office door to make sure it was locked, then turning back to her. "How does it work?"

"You kiss a man, and then he does whatever you say," Stephanie replied, blandly.

"That's it?"

"It's not a bad starting point, considering that I've been conducting extracurricular studies with zero funding and no control group, if you'll pardon the pun," Stephanie said. "I wouldn't feel comfortable jumping to any concrete conclusions without a broad, quantitative and qualitative study of kissing and its effects."

"You want a-" I stammered. "Stephanie, that's outrageous! Think of the implications! Asking thousands of men to sign away their free will? The Board of Ethics wouldn't give it a second thought before burning all research associated with it!"

"Not just men," Stephanie deflected, "cis and trans men and women, nonbinary people, old, young, attractive, unattractive. Who knows what we could discover? We might prove brain sex exists! We might demonstrate that gender is a spectrum! We might give women who aren't conventionally attractive by society's standards a fighting chance in the dating scene!"

"I get the picture, thank you!" I almost had to shout, to talk Stephanie down from her mania. "But the point stands, nobody in their right mind would approve of it. This study you want would be canned before it even got started."

"The Board of Ethics," Stephanie mused, and there was an oddly sly note in her voice, "are they all men?"

I replied, without thinking, "Well, yes, I suppose they-"

And then her words hit me, and with a shiver down my spine, I realised what she meant. What her actual plan was. A plan that, for all her grandiose performance here, she didn't need my slightest input on. I suddenly saw that I was several steps behind where I needed to be if I was going to deal with Stephanie Meacham.

"You're not serious," I said flatly.

"I am completely serious," she said.

"I could stop you," I protested instinctively.

"How?"

And there was the rub. I couldn't. My words caught in my throat, and Stephanie saw it.

"Look," she said placatingly, "if my theory is right then women have been doing this, intentionally or otherwise, throughout history anyway. You can do it too. That alone should make it worthy of study."

I rubbed my temples. This was too much. "Okay," I sighed, "tell me everything."

"What would you like to know?" she prompted.

"You--we, I should say--can hypnotise men, with just our kisses?"

"There is a certain technique to it," Stephanie admitted, "but yes, that's all it takes."

"How does it work, precisely?"

"As near as I can tell, it overloads the brain with pleasure just enough to suspend critical thinking, rendering the man helplessly suggestible for a brief period of time. How much time depends on the kiss. Hypnotic suggestions can be given in the brief window after breaking the kiss, and they seem to work best when given by the kisser. However," she brandished a recording device she was carrying around with her, "to uncomplicate the timing of suggestions, recording your voice and playing it back while you kiss him works nearly as well."

I tried to process this. "Does it linger afterwards, I mean to say-"

"Can you give post-hypnotic suggestions that he will obey? Yes."

"It works on all men?"

"All men I've tried it with so far."

"How many is that?"

"Including Luke here, a total of 26 men, ranging in age from 19 to 68, mostly white but not all, so it doesn't seem like age or race is a factor."

"You've enslaved 26 men??"

"No, right now Luke here is the only one under any kind of compulsion to slavery, but I could have if I'd wanted."

"Does it work on women?"

Stephanie gave a tiny, secretive smile. "No, not as far as I've found," she said. "Though I intend to keep trying."

"Can men hypnotise women?"

"I don't think so."

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Imagine that you're a man, and an attractive 20-something woman has just said to you 'Excuse me, can I get you to read this hypnosis script into my voice recorder, then kiss me? Why yes, I do want you to hypnotise me, if you can. Yes, the kissing is part of it. If it doesn't work, well, we can still make out. And if it works, I guess I have to obey your every command...' Believe me, it wasn't hard to find volunteers."

"Point taken, I suppose. Anything else that, ehm, affects the outcome?"

"I find that it works better the more attractive the man finds the woman to begin with. For example... Slave Luke, tell us honestly, do you find Gloria Kesselberg attractive?"

"Yes Mistress, I do," mumbled Luke, the first words he had even spoken since entering my office on his knees.

"Would you like to be kissed by her if you had the opportunity?"

"Yes Mistress, I would."

Stephanie turned back to me. "See? So in your case I think you'd have a fairly easy time of it. Of course I haven't had much luck trying to convince gay men to let me kiss them, but preliminary results suggest that if a man doesn't like someone kissing him, he doesn't feel pleasure, so he can't be hypnotised."

I was thrown, not just by the casual way Stephanie had referred to Luke as her slave, like it was some sort of title, but by the way Luke had just confessed... "Sorry, come again? Luke finds me attractive?"

Stephanie grinned slyly. "Slave, tell us what you like so much about Gloria."

"She frightens me, but in a sexy sort of way," Luke replied, his dull monotone belying the deeply personal secrets he was confessing. "I often find myself imagining her as a stern librarian, metaphorically and literally whipping me into shape if I get something wrong. It's why I always try to do my best for her. Sometimes I imagine her kissing me as a reward for a job well done. I think she's brilliant and beautiful."

I was blushing, hard. A naked man was on my office floor, telling me I was sexy. Luke couldn't possibly actually think that. He must have been hypnotised into it-

But Luke did always do his best for me, I realised. Always doing extra little favours where he could. Always seeking my approval. Always staring up at me like he'd done something wrong. It couldn't be, could it?

Stephanie settled that internal debate for me by whispering, "And how would you like Gloria to hypnotise you just like I've done?"

"I would enjoy it a lot, Mistress," Luke replied, still in that flat emotionless voice, but out of the corner of my eye, though I was trying not to look, I saw his penis hardening. Undeniable proof of his words.

"So, what do you think, Professor Kesselberg?" Stephanie asked me. "Would you like to try it?"

I swallowed, and wet my lips nervously. Nervously... or in anticipation. Was I really thinking about this?

To avoid giving her a definitive answer, I said "You mentioned that there's a technique involved. What is that, exactly?"

"You have to seduce him," Stephanie replied. "Make yourself known, make it unavoidable that he thinks about your kiss, but be gentle, be teasing, be soft. You can't hypnotise someone while your kiss is bruising their lips. No pain, no unpleasant sensations, just bliss. Do you understand what I mean?"

I thought I did.

"Now, wake up," Stephanie snapped her fingers.

I was startled as Luke abruptly came back to himself, and took stock. His surroundings. His naked erection. Stephanie and me looking down at him.

"I, er, uh... oh," he mumbled, his eyes widening as he looked up at me. This is it, I thought, this is where it all comes crashing down, and now maybe I get kicked out of the university too.

But to my surprise, he said nothing, and stayed there on his knees.

"It was very naughty of you to come into Professor Kesselberg's office naked like this, wasn't it?" Stephanie whispered into his ear.

"Yes Mistress," he mumbled.

"Actually," she mused, "I'm not sure that I am your Mistress anymore. Because what you really want right now is for Professor Kesselberg to hypnotise you, punish you for your indiscretions, and make you hers, don't you? Be honest."

"Yes, please," he begged. His penis, I saw, got even harder as he said it.

"Approach her on your knees," she commanded, and even though he was no longer calling her 'Mistress', he obeyed instantly.

Suddenly he was there, in front of me as I sat in my office chair, waiting for me to kiss him.

It was a magic moment. It was so very wrong. It was terrifying. But I knew what I had to do. Everyone in that room knew what I would do. I had to prove to myself that it worked.

I tilted Luke's chin up so he was looking me in the eyes, then I leaned down and gave him the softest, most seductive kiss I knew how.

I held it for five seconds, then broke it with a deliberately loud 'mmmwah', then quickly commanded "Relax for me."

His eyes were already closed, and I thought I saw him nod slightly. Stephanie gave me a wink and a thumbs up. What the hell, I was committed now. I leaned in and kissed him again, trying to think of all the things a hypnotist might say. Or a professional dominatrix. Was there overlap between those two?

Mwah, "You are relaxed."

Mwah, "You are sleepy."

O-BE-DI-ENT, Stephanie mouthed at me, coaching me between kisses.

Mwah, "You are obedient."

Mwah, "You ... enjoy being kissed like this."

Luke sighed, clearly lost in pleasure already, but I was running out of ideas. I had barely any idea of what I was doing in the first place. Stephanie mouthed MIS-TRESS at me, and I got the idea.

Mwah, "I am your Mistress."

Mwah, "You will obey me."

Mwah, "I... control you?"

Stephanie nodded frantically at me, making 'keep going' gestures with her hands.

Mwah, "I control you."

Mwah, "I control... your body."

Mwah, "I control your mind."

Stephanie mimed snapping her fingers. I didn't need to read her lips to know what she meant.

I kissed him one last time, then snapped my fingers and said "Sleep."

Professor Luke Bailey slumped onto my leg, drooling and unmistakably hypnotised.

I took a deep, steadying breath, and sagged back in my chair. It had worked. And the strange thing was, I had felt it working, felt his mind melt away under my kisses.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" Stephanie murmured quietly. "The way he sighed into every kiss, the subtle sag of his shoulders... that's how you know when he's open and suggestible for you. Well done, Professor Kesselberg, you're a natural." She laughed softly. "I'm probably the last person on Earth who could slut-shame here, but I have to admit I've never seen a man go under so quickly or easily. He must really like you."

"Do... do you understand what this means?" I said eventually.

"Oh yes," Stephanie replied, and that deadly gleam was back in her eyes, "yes I think I do."

"You cannot be serious about studying this!"

"I assure you I am, Professor."

"Stephanie," I pleaded, "think of the damage it will do to the... the social fabric! The relations between women and men! If something like this gets out-"

"Well, I've been thinking about that," Stephanie mused, "and I have to say I think those relations will improve, actually."

"H-how can you think that?" I said weakly. "I know you're smart, Stephanie, surely you aren't so ignorant of the world that you think women won't face consequences for this!"

"Yes, I am aware," Stephanie replied patiently, "but women are already viewed with suspicion among traditionalist types, tempting them into sin with our bodies and so on."

"So? You would be giving them fuel for their fire!" I exclaimed.

"And since when have they ever needed fuel?" Stephanie shrugged. "Sure, now they have proof that their wildly incorrect hunches were actually right all along, but who cares? Evidence and proof don't matter to those types of people. If we broke this news right now, in two weeks' time you'd see posts about women with oddly shaped chins or bushy eyebrows or something, and a lot of dotted lines which prove they're secretly controlling the government from behind the scenes, and it would carry exactly the same weight as irrefutable scientific evidence that women can control men with kisses."

"Conspiracy theorists aren't the only types you need to worry about!" I shot back. "When religious types get hold of this, it'll be like a brand new Original Sin for us."

"Yes, but again, they do that already," Stephanie said wearily. "And like conspiracy theorists, they don't need an excuse."

"That's not the point!" I blustered.

"No, you're right," Stephanie said, "I think the point is that men, gay and asexual ones excepted, really want to kiss women, and a little thing like us being able to control their minds is not actually going to be a dealbreaker for them."

"I- you can't know that!"

"How many times have you heard stories of supposedly homophobic politicians being caught at gay orgies or soliciting male prostitutes?"

"A fair number," I admitted, "what's your point?"

"My point is that society tends towards balance," Stephanie said. "You can introduce something new to it, and people will adapt to it. You're right, the religious leaders won't stop banging on their drum about how women can't be trusted, but over time, with a little persuasion or a little curiosity, or just a fear of missing out, they might find themselves secretly the most frequent and most willing of slaves."