The Rabbit Hole Ch. 04

Edited by Abby H.

Penny

"Just try to relax," said Penny.

"That's pretty cliche," said Nadia. She opened her left eye and stuck her tongue out at Penny. Penny rolled her eyes but couldn't resist a smile.

"Do you want this to work or not?"

"I do," said Nadia, opening her eyes entirely. They were back in Penny's office. The sound of rain and bells surrounded Nadia, along with a gentle music she couldn't quite identify or name.

"Then, relax," commanded Penny. "I'd hate for this not to work because you're so wound up from excitement or anxiety."

"I'll get right on that," muttered Nadia.

"Try," snapped Penny.

Nadia blushed and stared at her hands, each nervously twitching in her lap. "Sorry," she muttered.

Penny sighed. "No, I'm sorry." Penny crossed in front of Nadia and sat on her desk in front of the redhead. "I'm nervous too." Penny grabbed a pencil and rolled it between her hands. "I guess I'm the one that should relax."

Nadia reached forward and grabbed Penny's hand. "Hey," she whispered. "If you fail, at least you'll join the legions of others that have failed before you."

Nadia smiled, but Penny's eyes turned to ice and pulled her hand away.

"I'm not like the others," said Penny.

Nadia smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but Penny pushed on. "Most hypnotists are performers. They rely on peer pressure and illusion to confuse the audience. I'm not a liar. I am powerful. I've always been powerful. Ever since I was a little girl. They are pretenders. I'm not."

Images flashed in the back of Penny's mind. A facility for youth. A psychiatric ward. A nurse, crawling into her bed. A long needle. Her mother. Her aunt. Straps on her arms. And all of them, all of them, going limp under her scream, under her rage, under her power.

"Whatever happens," said Nadia, bringing Penny back to the present, "I won't blame you if it doesn't work. You've tranced scores of people. If it doesn't work, it'll prove that something is wrong with ... me." Nadia whispered the last word.

"It won't matter. It won't happen."

"You're sure?" asked Nadia.

"I double checked the equipment. You followed my dietary suggestions?"

"Yes."

"Well rested?"

"Yes."

"But not over-rested?" asked Penny.

"Yes."

"You watched the videos I sent you?"

"Yes," said Nadia.

"Those should have laid a foundation, made you more receptive."

"They didn't trance -" started Nadia.

"They weren't supposed to," interrupted Penny.

"Okay," muttered Nadia.

"That's about everything we can control."

Penny stepped behind Nadia. "You ready?" she asked.

"Yes," said Nadia.

"Good," said Penny. "Try to relax."

Penny went into performer mode. Her mother, who was a teacher, often said that this is what it was like for teachers. Penny's mind was trying to conduct an orchestra, trying to perfectly perform a synchronized dance. She had to control the equipment and sound. She had to monitor it as she went, making sure it wasn't too loud or distracting but loud enough to flood Nadia's mind. She had to speak into Nadia's mind and control the trance. But most importantly, she had to monitor Nadia. This wasn't like reading off a script. Based on how Nadia reacted, Penny would have to change her words or adjust her equipment. She had to read her audience, and change her act with expertise based on Nadia's reaction.

"I want you to imagine the safest place in the world," said Penny. "A place where you felt universally loved and appreciated. A place of absolute security and acceptance. You don't perform there. You don't worry there. You are taken care of. You are embraced. Imagine that place in your mind. Let's start there. Imagine the scents of that place. What does it smell like? Smell them again, here and now. What sights are in that place? Colors. Objects. Lights. Shadows. What does that place look like? What are the textures there? Surfaces? Run your fingers over the wood, over the tabletops, over the walls, the floors, the ground. What does it feel like on your skin there? Put yourself in that place. Any age. Any time. Just go to that place. Go there now."

Penny circled around in front of Nadia. Nadia's eyes were closed, and she was smiling. Good. She was in a safe and neutral position. Penny didn't need to corrupt or destroy Nadia. She didn't want to harm the girl at all. All she needed to do was trance her. Basic stuff.

"Are you there, Nadia?"

Nadia nodded.

"Speak out loud," commanded Penny.

"I'm there."

"Where are you?"

"My grandmother's house. She's baking cookies for me. A whole batch of cookies just for me."

"And you can smell the cookies?" asked Penny.

"Yes."

"You can hear your grandmother while she moves around in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"You feel safe?" asked Penny.

"Yes."

"Good girl."

Penny proceeded to draw her in deeper. More guiding. More repetition. Simple affirmations. Find anything to make Nadia agree with her. That was step one. Once they agreed, their thoughts would start to become one. Then Penny could lead Nadia wherever she wanted.

She wanted to ask Nadia if she was in the Rabbit Hole. She wanted to make sure and check if Nadia was tranced and under her control versus being compliant and agreeable. Subjects always start wanting to play along in some degree. Nadia very much wanted to play along, but checking to make sure Nadia was in a trance would be like pulling out a souffle before it was done: checking could ruin everything. In the meantime, it was like watching a pot boil. It felt like nothing was getting done.

Penny ran diagnostics on Nadia's mind, troubleshooting. She asked if Nadia was distracted. She asked if Nadia was thinking about anything else. Was Nadia's mind wandering? But Nadia denied all of that. Nadia said she was focused, calm, and ready. She said she stayed in the safe place the whole time. Everything was going as they normally go. Nadia was ready and willing. Her mind was pliant and eager to obey.

Penny decided to push on Nadia's mind and see how flexible and soft it was at this point:

"I've enjoyed our time together," said Penny. It wasn't the entire truth, but it was a harmless enough lie. "I've loved getting to know you."

"Me too." Nadia smiled but kept her eyes closed. "I like you."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. You're sweet. You try not to act that way, but it slips in sometimes."

Penny felt herself get uncomfortable. She steered the conversation away. "Do you like my office?" asked Penny.

"Not really."

"Really?" she asked. "Why not?"

"It's too stuffy."

"The air, you mean?"

"No, the whole thing. It's too sterile and clean. It looks like a catalogue, not a home."

Penny clenched and unclenched her fist. "Because it's clean?" she clarified.

"Yes. It doesn't look lived in. It looks abandoned. That's not welcoming."

Penny caught herself clenching her jaw. At least Nadia was feeling honest. That meant she felt comfortable. That was a crucial step to feeling pliable. Penny smiled to herself. Maybe she could have fun with the girl.

"Tell me, Nadia. Do you find me attractive?" asked Penny.

"Attractive?" asked Nadia.

Questions were dangerous. It meant part of the conscious mind was awake. Penny tread lightly.

"Yes, attractive," said Penny.

"You're beautiful," muttered Nadia.

Penny smiled. It was an empty compliment. All her subjects were brought to appreciate her beauty, even those she turned into drooling cocksluts. She made some call her goddess. She heard it enough to feel unflattered by it.

"But attractive?" asked Penny.

"Yes."

"Do you find women attractive?" pushed Penny. She was letting her temper get the better of her.

"What do you mean?" asked Nadia.

Shit.

"Nevermind," said Penny. She was trying to backpedal, but she'd done this enough to know she lost.

"Like, do you mean do I find them cute? Women are cute. And beautiful. I see that all the time."

"You need to relax," said Penny. Her fists clenched. Dammit.

"But if you mean attractive, like do I want to date them or have sex with them, then no," added Nadia without permission or request. Penny lost her.

"Open your eyes," ordered Penny.

Nadia obeyed.

"Jesus," sighed Penny.

"What?"

"You're nowhere near a trance are you?" hissed Penny.

"What? No. I mean ..." Nadia lowered her eyes. "I guess not."

"Shit," spat Penny. "God dammit." Penny stomped away from Nadia. She couldn't look at her.

"There's no reason to curse," muttered Nadia.

"Oh really?" snapped Penny. "You can't think of a single reason?"

Silence fell between them, but Penny wasn't worried about Nadia. Her rage was thick and black around her. She was stupid. She pushed too hard. And what was that question about women and finding Penny attractive? What the hell was that?

Unprofessional. That's what that is. Selfish and greedy and stupid. Stupid. She doesn't care if Nadia finds her attractive. She's not trying to seduce Nadia. She doesn't care about Nadia. Nadia doesn't matter. The only reason Nadia is here is because ...

What? Penny felt sorry for her? Penny felt guilty for taking Joe?

No. Joe was a terror. He told Penny all about his past girlfriends. He told her every time he made a woman feel like shit, every time he felt like a bully. Penny had to leave the room and let the recording handle the rest. He's worse than even Nadia knew, and he deserved everything he got or will get.

Nadia was here because she was a puzzle, a challenge. Trance was a game to Penny, one she could easily beat. Controlling people, bending them to her will and crushing them—it was a game at first. It was a fun challenge. But it had become boring and easy. It was too simple, too predictable. Nadia was something new. Nadia was exotic. Penny knew if she worked at this, she could solve it. She'd conquer this and know she was powerful. She really would be the best in the world. She'd trance the un-tranceable.

But Nadia beat her.

"Was it the equipment?" asked Nadia.

Heat rippled over Penny's skin and through her blood. "No, Nadia." The venom in her voice was thick and caustic. "It wasn't the equipment."

"Was it me? Did I do something wrong?"

"You must have." Penny opened the door to her office. "Harold?" she shouted across the penthouse. She turned around and saw Nadia standing, facing her, looking penitent.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I didn't mean to."

"You will find, Miss MacQuarrie, that in the course of science, we look for simple and obvious explanations." Penny strode past the girl to her desk and sat down. "In this case, there is one common factor. I have tranced thousands of people. The other hypnotists you've seen have no doubt tranced dozens or hundreds. That means the common factor must be ..." Penny trailed off to let the girl find the conclusion.

"Me," whispered Nadia.

"Exactly." Penny stood up again. She couldn't sit. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pull her hair out and flip her desk over.

She could hear the taunting voices of all her skeptics and cynics. Joe telling the crowd she was a fraud. She was a fraud. All the doubters filled her head, all the way back to her mother. Her mother who couldn't believe her. Her aunt who took advantage of a mother's skepticism. Penny doesn't know what she's talking about. She's making things up. The voice of the nurse in the facility: Penny doesn't have any abilities. She's fabricating things. It's part of her condition.

Fuck that. Penny wasn't going to lose. She didn't lose in the facility. She didn't lose to her aunt. She didn't lose to the doctors and specialists that tried to understand her. She never lost. That's how she crushed Joe. That's why she crushed men like Joe. They thought they could make a loser of her, to show her as a fraud to the world. And that's what Nadia was doing now, in her simple and naive way, she was trying to expose Penny as a fraud. But Penny would show them. She wouldn't be defeated so easily. She would win.

"Thank you for trying," said Nadia, but Penny was in her own thick storm.

"What?" snapped Penny. Nadia stepped back, startled.

"Thank you for trying," said Nadia with less conviction. "I really appreciate it."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," said Penny. "Unfortunately, it was a complete waste of time."

Nadia flinched from the comment. "I'm sorry," said Nadia.

Harold appeared at the doorway, looking frazzled. "Yes, madam?"

"It took you a whole minute to cross the penthouse? It's big, but it's not that big. Are you feeling ill, Harold?" asked Penny.

"No, madam."

"Are you getting old?"

"No, madam."

"Then you must have been accosted by bandits between wherever the hell you were and here?"

"No, madam. I was ... using the facilities."

"You'll find Harold that I have no respect for the call of nature." Penny turned from Harold and glared at Nadia. "Mother Nature answers to me."

"Yes, madam."

"See Miss MacQuarrie out," said Penny. "I'm done with her." Penny broke eye contact with Nadia. Harold held the door of the office open for Nadia, but Nadia didn't move.

"Thank you for your time," she said. Her voice had regained some strength but not enough to command respect. "You did a great job. I'm sure it wasn't your fault it didn't work."

"I don't want your pity," said Penny. She was already scrolling through her phone. She was arranging plans for later this week. It was going to be a big week for Joe—one of his last.

Harold cleared his throat, and Nadia moved towards the door. At the door, she stopped and turned around. "For what it's worth," she said. Penny didn't look up from her phone. "Even if I wasn't in trance, I liked talking to you. I liked the safe space."

Penny looked up, but Nadia was already gone.

While she waited for Harold to return and tried to create an adequate punishment for his tardiness, Penny got in contact with Dr. Thurman and Clarice. They were her consults on these kind of transformations, and she had no time to waste. Eventually became immediately for her plans with Joe. She knew what she had to do. She'd be leaving tonight.

Harold appeared in the doorway. "I apologize, madam."

"Apologies mean nothing. Results are what I want."

"Yes, madam."

"But we both know I won't fire you," she looked up at Harold and gave him a wicked grin, "don't we?"

Harold shuddered. "Yes, madam."

"Call Camille Kontalban. I want to speak with her at her earliest convenience."

"Yes, Madam."

"Actually, damn her convenience. I want to talk to her tonight."

"Yes, Madam."

"I'll be preparing Joe in the Rabbit Hole. Once you're done, strip and come to me. You won't be tardy again, understood?"

"Yes, Madam."

Penny made a dismissive gesture to wave Harold away. She prepared to visit Joe. She took off her earrings and rings as she walked. She unbuttoned her blouse and loosened the sleeves. Sometimes, this work could call for a hazmat suit, but Penny wanted expedience, not comfort.

Joe was no longer strapped to the chair. He sat there willingly. The trance brought him pleasure. Non-erotic pleasure. Erotic pleasure had a limit for men. Their bodies have preventative measures to keep them from being turned on for too long. Women could edge for days or weeks, but men were time bombs when it comes to erotic pleasure. Eventually, the cock would erupt of its own accord after prolonged stimulation. Instead of erotic pleasure, Penny preferred euphoria. Joe was basically high right now. The feeling increased as he went into trance, and the feeling was addictive like drug use was. At this point, Penny couldn't take away trancing from Joe if she wanted. He would break down the doors of her penthouse and offer Penny anything, anything, to be tranced again.

Joe's files had long moved away from simple love of cock or cum. He was drowning in his new passion. The fine line, and the one Penny hoped to jump entirely, was Joe's sexuality. Making him accept himself as gay was a waste of time. Soon, he'd be in a woman's body. If she made Joe consider himself gay in a male body, she'd then have to make him considered himself straight in a female body.

Of course, sexual preference is never so binary. It's a spectrum of desires and attraction. But hypnotism prefers binaries. You don't see hypnotists tell someone to act chicken-ish. You see them tell someone to act like a chicken. The hypnotist is playing off of the subject's mind and what they think a chicken should act like. This meant that whatever Penny understood about sexuality was irrelevant. All that mattered was what Joe thought about sexuality. His understanding of homosexuality and heterosexuality were primary, and Penny's understandings were secondary. A gay man who becomes a woman is not a straight woman in Joe's mind. That was the obstacle.

But this was not Penny's first time, nor was it her first time doing this under a deadline. If Penny was going to be gone for a few weeks, she needed someone to keep an eye on Nadia. And that person could not look or act like anyone Nadia knew.

"It's almost your birthday," said Penny.

Joe didn't look away from the screen.

"What are you learning today?" asked Penny as she crouched down next to Joe's chair.

"I'm a slut," intoned Joe. "I live to serve. Others are above me. Everyone is above me. I live to serve them. I will serve anyone who asks. Anyone can use me."

"That's nice," said Penny in the same tone she'd use with a small child.

Free use training would take months to really hold. Making the idea of free use hot to Joe was easy. She could make anyone turned on at anything. But making Joe actually willing to go out into the world and offer his body to any person took time. Joe would need to build on experience. A few more weeks of visiting shady theaters or glory holes or dark park benches would set him up to be actually turned on by offering himself to a crowd of strangers.

Penny went to the monitors and turned them off. Joe let out a whine. She didn't have a pre-scripted file for what she wanted to do today. She was going off the script for time's sake. She needed him to go deep, deeper than she'd been with him yet, in order to make permanent change while she was away.

She needed a spy and a friend and slut and a tease and an extrovert and a flirt and most importantly ... a woman. Joanna was going to be born.

"I was watching that," he whimpered.

Penny slapped him, hard. He cried out in pain, but his face didn't turn with the blow. She would never make him a masochist for fear of losing this power. As soon as pain becomes pleasure, it is difficult to make it a punishment. Pain becomes a reward, and controlling her subject becomes difficult. The only punishment available to a masochist is deprivation, and deprivation makes people wild. Pain makes people listen.

"Don't talk back," said Penny. She said it simply, like one would tell another to not forget about an appointment. Joe knew the power behind the words. Penny didn't need tone to control.

"How are you feeling today?" asked Penny.

"Horny."

"Besides horny." Penny rolled her eyes. He was always horny now. He was more cock than mind.

"Hungry."

"Jesus," sighed Penny. She was wasting her time. She knew she was. But she was still shaking from the blackness, from the thick rage rolling through her like bubbling tar. She needed to calm down, but small talk wasn't working.

"Can I go back to trance?" asked Joe. His mind was so simple now. Penny needed to build a third personality into him. There was already Bad Joe, the same man she met on stage the first night. She would never destroy him. That personality was precious; it was the whole game. After Slut Joe was addicted to cock and cum, after Slut Joe was Joanna, after Joanna was a prostitute or porn star or stripper or all three, after Joe's body and habits and addictions were completely rewritten by Penny, Penny would wake Bad Joe back up. His personality would return, but he'd be a stranger in his body. The same straight and condescending man that stood on stage and mocked Penny, the same one that taunted and teased Nadia, the same one that hit his ex-wife when she talked back to him, would be on her knees, sucking a cock, and loving it. He'll find himself addicted to cum and half a dozen boyfriends trying to reach him for a free ride. He'll wake up one day to strangers grabbing him and fucking him like he's public use because Joanna was free use. He'll navigate that, and if Penny was any good at her job, and she was the best, he'd either submit to it or destroy himself. Penny didn't care either way.