The Addicted Natural Ch. 07

"No, Freddy! Please!" she begged softly.

"Relax," he said gently but firmly. "Relax."

"Please, Freddy! I want to watch!" she said in a strange, dull, pleading little-girl voice.

"No," he replied. "Dee and I will go ahead with your plan, but you will be asleep, too. Relax. So relaxed. You will have no control over what happens."

"No control," Brenda mumbled.

"Let the heaviness come now. So good. So relaxed." Her hands fell straight to her sides and hung there, useless. "Sleep is coming," he continued. "Look deep into my eyes. Listen to my commanding voice. Nothing but my eyes. Nothing but my voice. Submit and obey."

Her lips were moving. She was saying something, but I couldn't hear what it was.

"Surrender and sleep," he ordered, and her eyes slammed shut, she turned her head slightly, leaned forward, and rested her cheek on his chest as if it were a pillow. He held her lightly in his strong arms and stroked her shining black hair gently with his fingers. They made a beautiful couple.

"Brenda, stand up and open your eyes," he ordered. She backed away from him a step and opened her eyes, though she didn't look at him. I realized suddenly that she wasn't looking at ANYTHING. She just stared blankly straight ahead. What was she seeing in her mind? Whatever it was, it pleased her. She wore a wistful, dreamy smile.

"Brenda, in a moment, I will stroke the left side of your face," he told her firmly. "When I do that, you will not be able to hear anything else I say until I stroke your face again. You will go and lie down on the couch and close your eyes, and you will remain in your favorite place, alone and very happy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Freddy, I understand."

He reached out with his right hand and slowly stroked her face. She nuzzled into his palm like a cat wanting to be petted, and then she turned slowly, walked to the couch, lay on her back and closed her eyes. The dreamy smile never left her face.

Fred watched her with a satisfied look on his face and walked out of the room for a moment. He returned with one of the kitchen chairs, put it directly in front of me, and went to the fireplace and opened a sleek mahogany box that resided on the mantle. Slowly, he lifted a long gold chain from the box, and I watched enthralled as a small gold pocket watch came into view and dangled from its end. He cupped the watch in the palm of his left hand and walked back over to sit in the chair. My easy chair was deep and low, and I found that he was sitting at a level well above my own. He propped his forearms on his knees, leaned forward toward me, and idly began playing with the watch, fondling it, moving it gently. He didn't seem to give it much thought. He was focusing all his attention on me, but the watch proved a constant distraction while he spoke. It was very shiny, and caught the firelight just right and reflected it into my eyes.

"That happened so fast!" I said, trying to look at his face rather than the watch.

"Brenda?" he asked gently. "Yes, she's a wonderful subject."

"She's a Natural," I said, trying to make conversation. Looking at his face definitely wasn't going to work. I felt myself falling into his eyes. Those deep, dark eyes! I looked back down at the watch. It flashed again in the firelight.

"A Natural, yes. She told you?"

"She thinks I'm a Natural, too," I said. The conversation was lagging; at least on my part.

"We'll see," he replied quietly. "You're going to be asleep very soon now." The way he said it made it a statement beyond dispute. I suddenly realized that I believed it unconditionally. There was no doubt whatsoever that I was about to be hypnotized, just like Brenda. Just like Brenda. My mind seemed to have an echo.

"Are you going to use the watch?" I asked softly. If I spoke about it, it wouldn't seem odd that I was staring it, would it? I didn't seem to be able to stop doing so. The firelight almost seemed to be coming from the watch itself now.

"I could use the watch. Brenda loves the watch. It's her favorite way to go into a deep, deep, restful sleep. A very deep hypnotic trance. Her favorite way. I might use it on you, but I just want to talk to you for awhile. We'll just talk, and I'll tell you all about how Brenda listens to exactly what I say, and how she always, always, always follows my voice down and down into a very, very deep, deep, deep hypnotic trance. She always does. Every time. Every single time. We'll just talk about that for awhile."

"Okay." My voice sounded a little funny.

The watch itself almost seemed to be on fire now. Why didn't he swing it on its chain? I profoundly wished he would. This seemed to be taking a long time, and the watch always worked on Brenda. Every single time. But, oh yes, he just wanted to talk for awhile. I couldn't think of anything to say, except "Please, Fred, please swing the watch for me," but I didn't want to interrupt, so I sat silently, and the watch blazed.

"You see, the big trouble with a Natural, like Brenda, is that a natural always, always loves to be hypnotized. Loves the feeling of being hypnotized. So relaxed and so tired and so wonderfully peaceful that a Natural, like Brenda, sleepy Brenda, once she's in a deep, deep, deep wonderful sleep; she likes it so much, so very, very much, that she just doesn't ever want to wake up. But I couldn't allow that. Of course she has to wake up sometime. So I have to have a way to make her wake up. That makes sense."

That makes sense.

"So our rule, Brenda's and mine, our one very important rule is that when she submits to me by following my voice into a deep, deep, deep sleep, she must obey all my suggestions. Every one, without fail. That way, when I order her to wake up, she'll just naturally follow that command, too. So I must be very, very careful to tell her only the truth, the absolute truth, so that she can obey without feeling any anxiety at all, knowing that everything I say is the complete, total truth. I must always, always be very careful, when I have Brenda in a deep, deep, deep, deep sleep, to always tell her the truth and give her commands that are absolutely necessary."

I thought that was so sweet, going to all that trouble for her. She's such a lucky girl. Please swing the watch, Fred.

"And Brenda loves to watch the watch. Watch the watch. Watch the watch, and she relaxes more and more and deeper and deeper. Following my voice down and down. So wonderfully relaxed. So peaceful. Relaxed. Relax. Relax. So peaceful. Follow my peaceful, truthful voice deeper and deeper and deeper."

Please swing the watch, Fred.

"And her arms get so heavy. You saw how heavy her heavy, heavy arms were. She loves that. That heavy, heavy, relaxed feeling. All over. Her whole body. Her shoulders are heavy. Her breasts feel heavy on her chest. Her whole body. Heavy. Sleepy. So good. So good."

I knew exactly how Brenda felt. I couldn't move my arms, either. And her breasts are small ... well not small, not at all ... but compared to my big, bloated breasts, pulling gently down .... The chair cushions seemed to sag as my body settled into them. Yes, I knew exactly how she felt. Yes. Yes.

"And then she's ready. Ready to surrender. So ready to sleep. To surrender. Surrender to the sleep. Do you want to follow her, Dee? Are you ready to follow her?"

Yes, I wanted to scream, but my lips wouldn't work at all. They were heavy, too. So heavy. Yes, Fred! Please! Swing the watch, Fred! Please!

"Surrender and Sleep!"

And suddenly I was sitting between Martha and Mommy. I had to look up at them because I was very small, but that was perfectly normal. All three-year-olds are small. And this was when Martha was my nanny. Of course it was! And now I was leaning slightly against Mommy and playing pat-a-cake with Martha, and I was laughing and giggling, and thinking "They look so YOUNG!" but I didn't seem to have any control over my actions. And that made sense, too. This was the past. The past couldn't change.

But it was also so ... so REAL! Everything I saw as true. Mommy was laughing with us, and hugging me. Why was it that, until this moment, I hadn't been able to remember Mommy at all when she was happy? But she had been! My heart swelled.

"Time for your nap, honey," she said, and gathered me into her arms. I struggled a little, wanting to play the game with Martha (young Martha! Pretty Martha! She'd been so good-looking when she was younger!), but Mommy was so much stronger than my three-year-old self that she held me firmly, lovingly, and I relaxed against her and snuggled into her breast. She's not wearing a bra, I thought to myself, but of course three-year-olds don't notice things like that, and besides, she was so soft! I felt my eyes closing. Mommy was humming a lullaby, and after awhile Martha joined in. Sleep was coming. I closed my eyes.

And when I opened them again, I was sitting, naked, in front of a mirror and dressing table. Here, too, everything was very, very real. Too real for a dream, but it MUST be a dream! I would never, never sit like this. It was a big room, and there were other people walking around or sitting at other dressing tables. No, not just people, women. All women. All very pretty women. And all naked. Naked like me.

I looked into my mirror and said aloud, "This MUST be a dream. I should wake up now," but again I began noticing all the details that a dream would never include (would it?). My bare ass felt the coolness of the chair beneath me. The ornate frame of the mirror was, I would guess, 18th Century, and done in gold guilt which was flaking in some places. The mirror had some imperfections in it, but to my ever-growing astonishment, the woman being reflected in it was not one of them.

I was beautiful. I reached up and brushed my hair from the side of my face. It felt full and soft. My face was calm and pretty. My neck smooth. My breasts, usually much, much too big were ... well, they were still large, but for some reason, they didn't look THAT big. They ... well, they just seemed to fit me. Big, proud. My nipples were very erect, and that seemed beautiful, too. Sexually excited women are pretty. Where had that thought come from? But it was true.

I was distracted for a moment as the girl next to me put down her hairbrush and, after one last enraptured look into her own mirror, turned to me. "We have to go now," she said, smiling. "They're waiting for us."

"Who?" I asked.

"Our masters. Hurry!" She rose and put out her hand to me. She stood naked, not at all self conscious.

"I can't!" I said, shrinking back a little.

She smiled tolerantly and walked over to stand behind me. I turned naturally, to look back into the mirror as she looked over my shoulder into the mirror, too. "You look beautiful," she said.

"Yes," I replied stupidly, gazing at my reflection again. And suddenly I frowned. "But I can't! My back! My back is ugly! It will always be ugly! It's hideous!"

"Nonsense!" the girl said, laughing. "Your back is lovely! Get up. Look!" And I let her help me to my feet. I let her turn me away from the dressing table, and I tried to look back over my shoulder. Still smiling, she picked up a hand mirror from the table (had it always been there?), handed it to me, and I looked in wonder at my back. The scars were still there, but something had happened to them. What was it? I couldn't seem to figure out exactly what the difference was. They just seemed ... they seemed ... to belong to me, to be a part of me. My back was pretty (it was!), and the scars were part of my back, and so they were pretty, too. Does that make sense? Of course not, but that's what I saw. I suddenly felt very, very desirable. A man would want me now! My nipples were so hard that they hurt.

"Hurry!" the girl said, and she took my hand, and I let her lead me out of the room. All the other naked girls were hurrying out of the dressing room, too, into a huge marbled hall, where we all lined up, waiting, waiting.

The line seemed to be moving pretty rapidly, though, and when I craned my neck to see forward, I discovered that a team of chefs from the kitchen were giving each of us a large silver tray. The girl who had helped me was in line in front of me, and just before her turn, she looked back and smiled at me. "Good luck with your new Master," she said. "I know you're going to please him! Bye!" and she took her tray and walked away to the left.

Suddenly it was my turn. The chef (Alphonse!?) gave me a large silver tray loaded with little crust-less sandwiches of various types. It took both hands to hold it. I started dumbly after the girl who had been in front of me, but he stopped me with a hand on my bare shoulder. "No, no ... That way!" and I padded off in the indicated direction. The marble floor was cold against my feet, and I felt a little chilled. The temperature didn't do anything to help my nipple-erection problem.

The corridor led to a huge, twisting set of marble stairs that bent away below me to the right. Every now and then, there was a landing or wide platform to break the monotony of the seemingly endless staircase, and there were people there, talking, drinks in their hands. They were clothed in fancy evening wear, and I hesitated, wondering what to do. Two more naked serving wenches with trays bearing drinks and snacks passed me, and one of them cast a questioning look my way. "Hurry!" she whispered, a maid afraid of violating the house rules. "Our Masters are waiting for us!"

Uncertainly, I began to descend. Immediately, I became aware of an amazing feeling deep inside me. I was hypnotized! Who had done this to me? The girl in the dressing room? No. I couldn't seem to remember, but I was definitely deep under the influence of a hypnotic trance. This became very evident, because with each step I took downward, I went deeper and deeper to that state of complete and total hypnosis. And (oh my!) I liked it. It was wonderful! I contemplated for a moment that with each and every step, I was trading my free will for ... for what? Beauty? Yes. Confidence? Well, no ... something else. Acceptance. Yes. And oh! It was worth it!

But my reverie was broken when I came among the first group of partiers on the landing, talking among themselves. One man motioned to me, and I went. He reached out and took a little sandwich, and I felt like saying "No! These are for my Master!" but he was now totally ignoring me. I backed away, the way I'd seen serving girls do in the movies, and turned and started down some more of the stairs. Deeper and deeper.

At the next landing, another man motioned for me and I went. There were several men talking together, and several of them took some of my sandwiches. One man stroked my face, then my bare arm. "My, they're making them prettier nowadays," he remarked, and another responded "They're all still the same. Receptacles for our pleasure." I felt like running, but I stood, eyes downcast, as the men laughed. They started talking about the stock market, and I could have told them that they were mistaken about their opinions of using Mutual Fund performance as a predictor of GNP, but it was no longer my place. I was a serving wench. I backed away, and went lower. Deeper.

The stairs were narrowing as they went down. At the next landing, they branched, and I saw two serving girls disappear down one of them as I came upon three people talking. "Oh, my," said a tall, dark woman in a blue gown. "Aren't you a pretty!" and she put her arm around my waist. I stood meekly. A man took a sandwich and said to the woman, "You are much more attractive, madam. Perhaps, if you would accompany me to one of the rooms upstairs, I could show you how much more desirable you are." He made my skin crawl. The slender woman would not be dissuaded, however, and stroked my back and upper butt. "Perhaps I'll take HER upstairs," she said saucily, and I looked down and blushed furiously. Finally, she gave me a playful swat on the rear. "Go along, girl. Go to your Master. He's waiting," and she laughed gaily at my discomfort. I ran as fast as I could without endangering the tray, but I found that I was drawn irresistibly toward the opposite stairway that the two before me had taken.

Again, the staircase branched, and yet again, and each time I found myself being led by impulse rather than decision. I was going very, very deep now. How much deeper could I possibly go? The stairs narrowed considerably, so that when I came to the next landing and encountered the distinguished looking man with the goatee, I found it impossible to get around him unless he chose to step aside. That he did not do. I stopped in front of him and offered him the tray, but he ignored it.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked. "I could give you infinite pleasure."

I looked down meekly. "No sir. Please. I must go to my Master. He's waiting."

"You could choose me," he said soothingly. "I will grant you this choice. I can make you writhe. I can make you beg for more." I looked up, questioningly, and he stuck out his tongue at me. But it was no ordinary tongue. It stretched on and on, longer, snake-like, and he waved it in front of his face sinuously. I could suddenly imagine it inside of me. I could almost feel it. Almost. Ahh. Yes, feel it! My nipples throbbed.

"No!" I said suddenly, shaking my head to clear it. "I don't love you!"

He laughed uproariously. "LOVE! Who cares about love? You have never loved!"

I felt the tears on my cheeks. I could still feel that tongue inside me. Almost. He could do things to my body that would make love unimportant. I could surrender, and my body would take over. My body would betray me. It had betrayed me before. It would be so easy to let it happen again. But I shook my head. "No. Please," I begged. "Please let me go to him. Please!"

"Very well," he said. "Go to him. I can always find another," and he stepped aside, but reached out and took the tray."

"No," I said meekly. "Please, sir. I'm taking that to my Master!"

"He has no interest in this," the nasty man said, plucking a sandwich off the tray and popping it in his mouth. "He only wants you. Go!"

And I hurried past him and plunged down the steps. They became very steep and the passageway was so narrow now that my bare shoulders and hips often scraped against the cold marble walls. Deep. So deep.

And suddenly I was standing in a small room, a little dizzy, since the stairway had spiraled round and round so steeply for the last short way down. I looked back, but oddly, the steps had disappeared behind me. The walls of the room were hard and smooth and alabaster white. In front of me were two wooden doors. On one of the doors was the name "Brenda," and below it, etched deep into the wood, were the words "Submit and Obey." On the other was my own name, but below it, the "Submit and Obey" was painted on, not etched.

I smiled. Fred! He was to be my Master! The first door must be Brenda's "special place," and this other one must be my own. Fred the hypnotist! Why hadn't I figured that out before? And now, I'm sure he was presenting me with a puzzle: one that I must solve before I could become his. I tired the door. Just as I expected, it was locked. Oh, this was too easy! I'd solved it already! If I closed my eyes and envisioned him hypnotizing Brenda, I could almost see it ... her lips moving ... muttering something I couldn't hear. But now I knew what it was. Submit and Obey. Submit and Obey. In my mind, I could make her lips match the words perfectly. Solved, Master! But still I hesitated. Did I want this? Did I really, really want what Brenda had?

Oh yes!

"Submit and Obey," I said. And the door opened.

I can't remember. I really, really can't remember what was in my very, very special room, but I know without reservation that it is the best place I've ever been, awake or asleep. I LOVE that room. I think there is a bed. There are other things there, as well, but I just can't remember! But that doesn't matter. I'm just happy I was allowed to go there. Brenda was so right! Even though my life will end today, I have experienced an amazing thing. I'm so very happy I went there! I think I went somewhere else, too. Not outside the room; not really, but somewhere ... beyond, I guess. I can't remember. It doesn't matter, anyway.