Voyer’s Hypnostuff: Final Exam


General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity or explicit adult situations, this hypnofetish scene does contain examples of fictional characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to other fictional characters. If you are under the age of consent in your community, are disturbed by such concepts, or want graphic sex in your online pornography, then for goshsakes stop reading now!

Permission is granted to re-post for free to any electronic medium, as long as no fee whatsoever is charged to view it, and this disclaimer and e-mail address (hypnovoyer@hotmail.com) are not removed. It would also be nice if you told me you were posting it.

Copyright Voyer, 2009.

Specific Disclaimers: The MCer might be the same guy who appears in another short of mine, Waiting Room. Or not. This one was largely inspired by an old episode of the Wonder Woman television series, although the victims in that case, sadly, were all men.

Dedicated to Frank R. Stockton.

There was no door, just an open archway. She stalked into the sunlit room on her long legs. Various expensive-looking bits of art were scattered tastefully about. Bookshelves full of leather-bound tomes. A large globe on a stand. A grandfather clock. Shapely figures on low stone pedestals. She ignored all this, and set course for the large black desk that was the center of it all. Arriving there, she stopped and folded her arms. Behind the desk, loomed a stolid wall of a man in a dark conservative suit. He was working over a pile of papers. He finished scribbling a last line, then looked up and smiled, his luxurious eyebrows raised. She was the one who finally broke the silence.

“What do you want now?

“Ah. Christie. Hello. Just a small matter. It’s time for your final exam.”

“My what?”

He inserted his expensive-looking black pen into its waiting holder.

“Your final exam. It’s a personal amusement of mine. One last twist of the knife, I suppose some would say... or maybe not. It depends on you.”

She deliberately shifted her gaze towards the garden beyond the wide windows. Shapely figures stood on taller pedestals amid the foliage. Flourishing. A good match for their owner’s eyebrows.

“I have no idea what you are babbling about.”

He rose to his feet and made his way over to a table that had been pushed up against one of the walls. The piece of furniture was low and wooden, and its top was bare except for a single object. In front of the table was a office chair, the most plebeian object in the room by far. He crooked a finger.

“Come over here, please.”

She rolled her eyes and joined him.

“Now then, Christie. Do you remember what you are doing here, in this place?”

“I...” She crinkled her brow and gazed out the window again, this time at the high stone wall which loomed beyond the garden. It was topped with sharp metal spikes. “That’s weird. I can’t remember. I got off work. I fended off that creep Grogan from Accounting, and I started home, and then... then...”

“Yes. One day not so long ago, our paths, yours and mine, happened to cross, however briefly. You were probably not even aware of this, but I was.. impressed. I had the usual background checks run, and was further impressed. And so, avoiding any sugar-coating, you were kidnapped by my agents and brought here to the Estate. Where you were brainwashed.”

“Brainwashed?” This brought her gaze back to him, very sharp and blue. “That is utterly ridiculous. You’re claiming that you brainwashed me, dragged me down into that room in the basement with the Chair and the Lights? I don’t love you more than life itself, or want to slavishly cater to your every whim, on my knees, collared, like a dog. That’s what brainwashing does to a person.”

“It can do such things, yes. I was just reading Dr. Marcus’s report. Her process was completely successful, as always. But it’s been.. ah... submerged in you at the moment. I could say your personal trigger phrase, and reactivate it if I wished. But that would defeat the purpose of all this.”

“O...kay.” She brushed a blonde hair back out of her eyes. “And ‘all this’ is?”

He pulled out the chair; its wheels glided smoothly across the expensive carpet.

“Sit down please.”

She sat, automatically smoothing her long gray skirt under her as she did so. He pushed her back in. He then pointed at the object on the table, and she directed her gaze to it.

It turned out the chair had strong competition after all. It was an ordinary-looking metronome, made out of cheap white plastic.

“This is exactly what it appears to be. Nothing special about it whatsoever.” He

picked the device up, turned the winding key on its side a few times, then returned it to the table. He unhooked the metal shaft-and-weight from the small plastic lip that held it in place; his fingers were large and blunt, but through all this moved with careful sureness.. A gentle push, and the weight started to tick back and forth. She watched it swing with her eyes, her head remaining still.

“Please place your hands on the table, one on either side of the metronome.” Her own fingers (long, thin, rather pale, free of rings) slid into the assigned positions. “Please start counting the ticks of the metronome.”

“One... two... three... four...”

“Good. But silently. To yourself.”

She fell silent, still watching the pendulum’s swing.

“This is your test, Christie. Continue to count the swings. They are set to count off every second, more or less. If you have done nothing by the time the count reaches three hundred, your mouth will speak your own trigger word, and the final stage of your brainwashing will lock in. It will be complete and irreversible. You will join Emeline, Dr. Marcus, as a member of my harem of utterly obedient slavegirls for the rest of your joyful life. You will never again set foot outside the Estate’s walls.” Her fingers flexed slightly against the wood, but she did not otherwise reply. “But, if you can summon the will to reach up and stop the pendulum’s motion, then you will be free. Free to go. Your car is parked in the driveway outside, your purse on the seat, key in the ignition,

gas tank full and ready to go. You will forget completely about me and this place, and your life will once again be yours, to do with as you please.” He wore glasses, a pair of fussy gold-rimmed things which didn’t really fit with the rest of him. He removed them and started to polish them with a spotless white handkerchief. “It would seem so simple, yes? Just reach up with your hand, and you are free. But it’s not simple. It will be the hardest thing you have ever done. Which is why it’s your final exam. I only collect the very best. If you succeed, you can show yourself out. If not... ” He put his glasses back on, looked at the clock, and sighed. “I have to go make another conference call with those idiots from CrumpCo. It will hopefully only take half an hour.”

He walked out of the arch.

She watched the pendulum tick.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

This is fifty the stupidest thing ever fifty-one in the history of the fifty-two universe.

Yes. But it seems fifty-three that it is nevertheless fifty-four true. So what are you fifty-five going to do?

Well, I.. fifty-six what are my options fifty-seven? Assuming that Mister... fifty-eight.. you know, I don’t even fifty-nine know the bastard’s damn name..


Right sixty. Assuming he is telling sixty-one the complete truth, I can either sixty-two stay here in the lap of sixty-three luxury as a mindless bimbo sixty-four sex-slave, or I can go back to sitting sixty-five in my crappy cubicle on the twenty-third floor at Eastside sixty-six Eatable Seaweed Corporation.

Pretty much sixty-seven. Of course..

Yes? What sixty-eight?

Perhaps I should check and see sixty-nine if I can even lift my hand seventy. See if I really do have a seventy-one choice.

Right. So. Lift the hand seventy-two

Her hand did not move.

Right. Mister Bastard said it would seventy-three be hard.

So. Try harder, Culpepper. seventy-four Final exam.

She dismissed everything else, except of course the counting. Her right hand. Laying right there on the table.

A hand-shaped rock. Glued to the table. Gravity like Jupiter.

No. Just eighty a hand. On a table. No. Floating eighty-one light as a feather. Really is a feather. Ready eighty-two to go anywhere at a whim. Footloose and eighty-three fancy free.

The hand twitched.

Yes! Take that, Master eighty-four Bastard! I did it, and I can eighty-five do it again!

The hand twitched again.

And again.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Of course. Use the ninety-six twitch damn delicious wonderful ninety-seven twitch orgasmic rhythm against itself ninety-eight twitch!

Back and twitch.

Twitch and forth.

And twitch and


He had been right, Master Bastard was always right about absolutely everything. It had been the hardest thing ever. She expected to see her tendon ripped from her shoulder, blood spewing..

No. Her right hand really was floating now, just a half-inch above the tabletop. Twitching. Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth..

NO! Damn it! Snap out of hundredandtwentytwitch it! Gotta get it the rest hundredandtwentyonetwitch of the way there!

Again. Focus on the hundredandtwentytwotwitch hand. Just the hand. Move it hundredandtwentythreetwitch


Another inch.

She laughed at herself. Bitter and rueful. She thought it had been hard before? Now she truly knew what ‘difficult’ meant. Under her blouse, the sweat trickled slowly down the length of her spine.

Back and forth

Back and forth

So easy to just give up.

Become a slavegirl.

On her knees. Beside her Bastard Master’s big black desk.


She could feel the collar around her neck, smooth and cool.

Feel those powerful fingers, touching her..

No no no hundredandfiftytwitch halfway there running out of time hundredandfiftyonetwitch NO

She jerked her hand again.



The pain

The difficulty

So easy to just give up.

Become a submissive utterly obedient slavegirl.

On her knees. Beside her Beloved Master’s big black desk.

Collar around her neck.

Tight around her brain.





And she was there.

She blinked in surprise, was able to blink in surprise.

Her hand was there.

Right there.

All she had to do was close her fingers, and the

Back and forth

Back and forth

Back and forth

would stop. Forever.

Back to her cubicle.

Back to Freedom.

Twohundred and nintyfive






She made her decision.

She never regretted it, the rest of her life.

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