The Addicted Natural Ch. 03byblacknight99©
The following story is for adults only.
Chapter Three – The Way It Always Will Be
"What are you planning to do now?" I asked gently. My opinion of Menlo obviously hadn't improved an iota from my previous encounter. I was hoping to somehow convince Brenda to go to the authorities.
She thought about this for a remarkably short time; a few seconds, perhaps, but she gave me the impression that her decision had been carefully thought out.
"I guess I'll go to his show tonight."
"WHAT?" I said it loud enough to make her jump. She looked at me questioningly. "Brenda, there's no way I'm going to let you get anywhere near that asshole; tonight, or anytime in the future! He belongs behind bars, not roaming around playing with innocent women's minds!"
"It's not his fault, Fred," she said quickly, sadly. "I'm the one who needs what he has to offer. I'm the one who ... did what I did because I need the peace he can give me." She paused while I fumed. "I have to go there tonight because he said it was his last night here. He's going to leave tomorrow, and this is the last time I'll have the chance to go to my special place. I won't have to go up to the stage. He doesn't even have to know I'm there. I can sit in the back, and when he hypnotizes some other girl, I'll just let it happen to me, too. It'll just be one last time, before he goes away." She looked up at me imploringly, trying to make me understand. "I need to feel it again, just once more."
I tried to pick my words carefully. How was I going to break this guy's hold over her? "Brenda, you don't have to go back to him. There must be half a dozen professional hypnotists in the Yellow Pages. I'll go with you and we'll get you some help. With patience, we can break this thing, and you won't be plagued by this room of yours, ever again."
"NO!" She was on her feet, a look of utter panic in her eyes, backing away from me in fear. I was totally unprepared for so dramatic a response. She shook her head at me. She appeared consumed with fright.
"Hey! Hey! Calm down!" I said. "Don't be like that! I'm only trying to help."
"Don't take away My Room!" she implored, whining like a little girl. "Please don't let anybody take it away! You don't understand! Please!"
"Okay, okay. Bad idea," I said. "Come on, sit down with me on the couch and let's talk about this. I promise I won't let anyone take away your room!"
I sat down on the couch and put my arm along the back, waiting patiently for her to join me. Slowly, the panic drained from her, and she slumped down beside me. I put my arm around her. It felt good. She sat stiffly for a long moment, then buried her face in my chest and let me hold her.
"Please," she whispered. "Let me go to him; just one last time."
I thought for a minute, but there was no way I was going to let her go back to that jerk. "There must be another way," I said gently. "What if I explained it to a professional hypnotist, and we can just let him take you to you special room. Just that, and nothing else. He could let you stay there for an hour then wake you up. End of session, and I give you my word that he won't try to change you, or change the room. How about that?"
She seemed to consider it for a moment, then she looked up at me with those huge green eyes. "YOU could do it, Fred," she said in a whisper.
It took me a moment to understand her meaning. "Me? You mean you want ME to hypnotize you? I don't know the first thing about it!"
She looked back down at her hands. "I could teach you."
I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again. She had almost hypnotized herself while telling me about the experience, so with her coaching, I just might be able to pull it off. My major concern was trust. Not with her; but with ME. Could I trust myself with Brenda when I had her completely in my power? "In my power!" What an amazingly captivating concept. And she would be, too, if she had explained her experiences truthfully. She'd be mine for the taking. I'd be able to do ... anything!
"Brenda, I don't know ...."
"Please?" she begged.
There was a little devil sitting on my shoulder telling me to DO it, while my conscience voted a firm NO. Now, Brenda was begging me for it. Two out of three. The "ayes" had it.
"Okay, what do I do?"
"Really!?" She snapped her head up and looked at me, hope and excitement in her eyes. "You'll really do it?"
"One condition," I warned seriously. "If I do this, you stay away from Menlo; now, and forever. You don't go near him. Understand?"
"Yes, anything!" she gushed excitedly.
I took a deep breath. It was hard to control my excitement. I had a raging hard-on. "Okay, what do I do?"
She turned to face me. "You order me to look into your eyes," she said matter-of-factly.
I've acted in a few stage plays, both in high school and college, as well as a community theater effort or two, but this was going to take all of my acting ability. If I could just get through this one line without laughing, I felt I would have it made.
"Look into my eyes," I ordered firmly, without even cracking a smile. I felt that line warranted an award of some sort. She stared up at me with big, curious eyes, looking deeply into mine. We stayed like that for several long seconds. "What now?" I coaxed.
"You tell me to relax," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You tell me over and over again; and each time, I'll relax more and more."
There was another pause, and I told her to relax several times, making my voice firm but soft at the same time. Her shoulders seemed to slump slightly.
I paused again, and she took the hint, telling me that her arms had to become heavy now; that a wonderful heaviness was inside her whole body. Without another word from me, her hands plopped down onto her lap, and as she continued to stare up at me, her mouth opened slightly. She was in exactly the pose she had been in with Menlo. When I didn't say anything for too long, she whispered the word "Please!" and I continued as best I could.
"You are so relaxed now," I told her, feeling like a guy on stage who hadn't studied his lines. "So heavy and so relaxed. You feel wonderful, don't you?"
"Wonderful," she murmured, but offered nothing else.
"You have to tell me what comes next, Brenda."
"The special words," she said. She could hardly get it out. "My special words."
Special words? Ah, yes. "Submit and obey."
"Submit and obey," she repeated dumbly. "Submit and obey. Submit and obey." She repeated it over and over, mumbling, as if she were talking in her sleep.
"Shhh!" I said softly, and immediately she was silent. "Tell me what's next, Brenda." I couldn't seem to talk above a firm whisper.
"There is only your voice," she answered in a monotone. "Only your eyes. Then you have to make me surrender; surrender and sleep."
I decided to ham it up a bit. After all, I had suddenly been handed the male lead in this play. "So relaxed," I said, a little more loudly, a little more authoritatively. "So very relaxed. You're so heavy, so wonderfully heavy. And now you see only my eyes; hear only my voice. Submit and obey."
"Submit and obey. Submit and obey," she intoned dully
"Only my eyes; only my voice. And now you're sleepy, aren't you? So very sleepy. Surrender and sleep."
It was as if someone snapped off a switch in her hear. Her eyes shut immediately, and she slumped back against the back of the couch; limp and unconscious. The suddenness of it shocked me. I just sat there, staring at her. I gingerly reached out and moved her ponytail, which had fallen across her face. She was smiling, just as I had seen her after my encounter with Menlo.
Freddy? Her voice was firmer than I had anticipated. She didn't sound groggy or disoriented at all. This was her normal, conversational tone of voice. "Where are you, Brenda?"
"I'm in my room, of course."
I wished I had some course of action planned. "What are you doing? What are you thinking about?"
"I'm just lying here on my bed. I love it here. I don't mind at all that I'm naked. And I'm thinking about you, Freddy."
A little understanding was beginning to dawn, anyway. "Freddy" was her pet name for me. It obviously came to her easily in this subconscious state. No wonder Menlo had reacted with disbelief when I told him no one ever called me that.
I ordered her to tell me about her room, and for several minutes, she described it in some detail. It seems that the bed was the only piece of furniture in her imaginary nirvana, but it appeared to be enough for her. She couldn't say enough about how soft and comfortable it was. The wallpaper was different every time she visited the place, and it was always very old, yet very colorful, rich and picturesque. The chandelier hanging above her bed had small, shiny gold pocket watches interspersed among the prismatic crystals. Then she idly referred to the bed as her "bed of truth."
"Why do you call it that?"
"Because I know that everything you tell me while I'm lying on it is the truth. And, of course, everything I say to you is the truth, as well. Only the truth ...."
The implications of this little revelation became immediately apparent. She would believe everything I told her, without question. It would automatically be considered the truth.
"Can you sit up?" I asked. "I don't mean in your room; I mean here, with me?"
"Of course," she said, and she immediately pushed herself off the back of the couch, sat upright, and opened her eyes. The abruptness of this action caused me to jump a bit, and it took me a moment to realize that while her eyes were open, they stared straight ahead of her at the center of room, unseeing.
"Are you still in Your Room?" I asked
She laughed. She really has a marvelous laugh. "Of course I am."
"When I first asked what you were thinking about, you said it was me. What were you thinking about me?"
"I was surprised you are my master. I think that's wonderful! I know I'm going to love having you as my master!"
"Master?" This was only getting better.
"Of course. I have to obey whoever brings me here. I thought only Menlo could, but I was wrong. YOU brought me here, and now I have to obey you. I'd never be able to wake up, otherwise. I must obey."
"Does it bother you, having a master?"
"Oh, no! In my room, I'm free. Free from anxiety, free from pain, free from want. No hunger, or need, or embarrassment, or insecurity. No decisions, no deadlines. Free. I'm completely your slave, but completely free. I've never felt more free!"
What a racket! How long did it take Menlo to think this up?
"Brenda, what did you and Menlo talk about when you were here before?"
"I don't know. I forget when I wake up. I can't remember."
Hmmm. A little experimentation was in order. "Brenda, you will now be able to remember what you talked about before. Think, and you'll remember."
Her brow creased. Slowly, the smile was replaced with a frown, and her head cocked a little to one side. "I'm ... I ... Freddy, I know I can remember, but ...." Her head began shaking from side to side. "Freddy," she said, much more loudly than before, "I know I can remember, but I can't seem to ...." Her voice was increasing in pitch.
In a flash, I thought of an old Star Trek episode in which a smug Captain Kirk had told an android that the truth was really a lie. The fake smoke pouring out of the android's ears from failing to deal with the conundrum wasn't up to Hollywood standards, even back in the 60's.
"Hold it, Brenda," I implored quickly. "It's okay, I was only kidding. Relax! You don't have to remember."
Almost immediately, she stopped her fidgeting, and the smile drifted back to her lips. Note to self: paradox does not mix well with hypnosis.
I decided I'd try something else. "Brenda," I said tentatively, "Are you sure there is no other furniture in your room?"
She actually turned her head to the left and right, looking unseeingly around the living room. "No, only my bed. But that's enough. I love my bed."
"Brenda, if you watch, over to the left, against the wall, I'm going to give you a present. It's a mirrored vanity. A beautiful piece of antique furniture. You didn't notice it before because I didn't let you see it. But you can see it now, can't you?"
A big smile lit her face. "Oh, it's beautiful. Can I go to it?"
"Yes. Go to it, sit down on the antique chair, and describe it to me."
She didn't budge on the couch, but after a half-minute's pause, she continued. "I love it! Oh, Freddy, it's wonderful! The chair is a little chilly on my bare butt, but I don't mind. It has a heart-shaped mirror attached to a silver frame. There are lots of drawers, and I know just what's in each of them; my silver brush and comb, the lipsticks, the eye liners ...."
"Brenda, I want you to look in the mirror. It's a special mirror, and you will be able to look into it and see how beautiful you really are. Your hair is dark and lovely, your complexion young and clear, your body soft and smooth. The mirror reflects your femininity. You are oh, so feminine. You feel SO feminine."
She stared straight ahead, rapt. Her hand reached up to her shoulder, and she let the nails rake gently down her breast and across the point on her blouse where her nipple poked up at the thin fabric. A tear trickled down her smiling cheek. "Oh, Freddy. This is wonderful. This is such a wonderful gift! A new part of My Room!"
Okay, so I knew I could alter the room. The question was how to find what I knew was hidden there.
"Brenda," I'd like you to get up and walk around Your Room a little bit. Do you remember telling me that Menlo made you do something here? I know you can't remember what it was, but I think there is something hidden here. I need you to help me find it."
Her brow wrinkled again for a moment, but then she gave me a determined smile. "Okay, Freddy. I'll try, but I don't see anything else here. Only my bed and my new vanity."
"Is there anything hanging on the walls?"
"Nothing else in the room at all?"
"No. Only the rugs."
"Rugs? Tell me about them."
"They're braded oval rugs. The bed is on the largest one. There's another one here by my new vanity; sort of in the center of the room."
That was it, I was certain. "Go over to it, Brenda. I think there's something underneath it. Can you lift one edge of it?"
"Oh! Oh, my! There's a ...."
"Trap door," I finished. "There's a trap door, isn't there?"
"Yes." Her voice sounded small and unsure.
"Do you know what's down there, below the door?"
"No. I ... I don't know if I want to know. I ...."
"Open the door, Brenda." There was a long pause. "Is it open?"
"Yes." She sounded a little scared.
"Do you know what's down there now?"
"I am. Everything that makes me ... ME. My soul. When I'm down there, it's the way it always was ... and the way it always will be."
I thought about that for a long minute. It didn't make a lot of sense. Only one way to find out. I may be treading on thin ice here, but no matter what I thought of Menlo, I didn't think he'd set this up in such a way that she could be hurt.
"Go down there, Brenda. Let me know when you have arrived in the room below."
"Okay, Freddy." She sounded like a little girl. After a long moment, she resumed in a voice that was a monotone. "I'm here, Freddy."
"Where are you, Brenda?"
"Tell me about it. What do you see? What are you doing?"
"I'm sitting in a chair. I'm just here. I don't see anything."
"What happens here, Brenda? Do you know?"
"Nothing happens here. This is just the way it always was, and the way it always will be."
All right, I could figure this out. I knew I could! But there didn't seem to be a starting place. "Do you remember being her before?"
"I think I've been here, but I don't remember. It doesn't really matter, anyway. It's just the way it's always been ...."
"And the way it always will be," I finished, exasperated.
I got up and paced around the living room. Whatever and wherever this was, it was the place she equated with a soul; and it was here that he had created this "addiction" idea, not to mention the concept of giving sex in exchange for hypnosis. Had he made it irreversible? It certainly sounded like it, with this "way it always will be" rigmarole. But what if ...?
The idea hit me with a lot of force. It sort of put a whole new spin on the idea of "change." If I was right, any changes implemented here wouldn't be considered "changes" at all. They would simply be ... true. The way it always was. Menlo was a genius, the son of a bitch!
I had to try this, had to see if it was true. But I paused a long while, considering. This was nothing to be treated lightly. Whatever I experimented with may well be permanent. After a lot of consideration, I thought I had something. It would be a change in her life, and yet, if permanent, it wouldn't be THAT big a change. I found I was shaking. If this worked, and if I was right, it meant I could do ANYTHING to her; and not only would she be changed, she wouldn't even KNOW it was a change.
"Last night, did you get drunk?"
"Yes, a little. I was high, you know?"
"How much did you have to drink?"
"Three bottles of beer."
"No, Brenda, you're wrong. You only had one bottle of beer." I paused and observed her closely. She showed no reaction at all; she just sat there, staring straight ahead. "You see, Brenda, you have a particularly low tolerance to alcohol; you always have. After only one drink, you show the same symptoms that others show when they've had three or four. After only one drink, you feel happy and high; giddy and sort of silly; it's a little hard for you to think normally, but you like the feeling, don't you?"
"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "It's always been like that."
I was right! "You like feeling that way, but you are also very aware of your weakness. You have to watch yourself very carefully. You know what can happen if you drink too much. Have you ever been very, very drunk, Brenda?"
"Yes," she answered, without hesitation. "Once, my suitemates and I had a 'girls only' party, and I got so drunk I passed out. The next day, I thought I was going to die! I'd drunk a whole six- ...." She looked suddenly confused.
"Three beers," I said quickly. You'd had three beers. Now you know what three drinks can do to you, don't you?"
She nodded. "I'll never drink three beers again. I felt terrible."
"After two drinks, it will be hard for you to walk or talk," I said, confident now that I was on the right track. "So you must be very cognizant of your weakness, and pace yourself, isn't that correct?"
"Yes," she said, nodding again. "It's important to know your limit."
"But you do like to drink a little, don't you? What do you like best?"
"White wine. I love chilled white wine. But I shouldn't drink too much."
"That's right, Brenda. Very good. You can go back up to your room now, and get in your bed. Please close the trap door and replace the rug when you go up, and let me know when you're in your bed again."
A long minute went by before she told me that she was once again in her favorite place.
"Brenda, do you remember where you've been. Did you go somewhere else in your room?"
She thought a moment. "I think I did, but I don't really remember."
"That's okay. Do you like to drink? What's your favorite alcoholic drink?"
"White wine. I can't drink too much, though. One's my limit. I've always had a very low tolerance for alcohol."
"Do you like pizza?"
"You have a craving for pizza, Brenda." (I didn't have a lot of spending money at the moment.) "Wake up now."
She blinked several times, then stretched and yawned, just as she'd done when I awakened her before. Again, my eyes were drawn to her outthrust chest, and again she blushed with downcast eyes, but made no attempt to cover herself.