Voyer’s Hypnostuff: Getting the Message


General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity, this hypnofetish story 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, 2014.

Specific Disclaimers: One of those pieces where I just tried to cram in a little bit of everything that appeals to me..

Dedicated to Sylvia Sidney.

She stomped up to the frail wooden door, her clunky leather boots kicking up dust.

From behind her black-framed glasses, beneath the matching mop of hair, she studied the small sign mounted on the door. Or rather what was left of the sign; it was even more faded than the large 42 stenciled on the front of her T-shirt, to the point of being illegible. She glowered, then pushed, slammed, the portal open with an almost-skinny arm, rattling it in its frame.

She stepped through; well-framed by the tall, slender opening.

The room beyond was cramped and gloomy. Circular shapes were just visible, studding the stone walls at various heights. Situated between two vertical and hemispherical pillar was a black wooden desk, somewhat more substantial than the door. Mounted midway between the pillars, above shelving unit stuffed with binders, a large circular clock ticked away the seconds.

A man sat behind the desk. Like the new arrival, he was thin and fairly tall, but what hair that remained to him had mostly turned gray. His drab suit was well-made, but also well-worn, and the golden edges of his glasses glinted in the shaded light that hung over the desk, at the end of a long cord disappearing up into the gloom. It was possible he had been wincing at the door’s treatment.

There was paperwork spread out across the desktop, piles of it, spread out in a rippling pool that lapped at the base of a surprisingly healthy-looking potted fern, a row of rubber stamps, another row of small silvery bells hanging from a bar, and other odds and ends. One of these was a coffee cup; before speaking, he capped the pen he had been writing with, placed it in the cup along an assortment of other implements.

“Greetings, Miss...?”

She ignored this comment, looked around the room with her hands on her jeans-clad hips.

“What a dump.”

He interlaced his long fingers, placed them on the papers.

“We do what we can, Miss..?”

She finally turned her attention in his direction.

“Violet. Violet Greene. And yeah, my parents were idiots.”

“They appear to have successfully installed a sense of self-confidence, Miss Greene. My name is, as it happens, Gray.” He indicated a nameplate on the desk which confirmed this statement.

“Yeah. Whatever. What is this place, anyway?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You do not know?”

“Well, how could I?” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “Your stupid sign on the stupid door is unreadable.”

“Mm. Yes. I suppose I should get that replaced but.. there are always so many more important things cluttering up my schedule.” A pause. “And most people who come here already know it.”

“Hooray for them. Still doesn’t answer my question.”

“We are the duly designated and registered Collection Point. For the entire Eastern Side.” He paused, possibly glanced down at one of the pieces of paper spread before him. “You are quite sure that you did not-”

“Yes. I’m quite sure! What the hell do you ‘collect’? Apart from dust?”

He did not respond for a long moment, then..

“Will you please close the door, first, Miss Greene.”

She hesitated, then did as he asked, checking to make sure it hadn’t locked itself in the process.

He waved a hand towards one corner of the room. She turned in the indicated direction, keeping one suspicious brown corner of an eye pointed in his direction .

In the indicated corner, next to a large lidded bin, there was a circular pedestal made of some gray-almost-silver material, stone perhaps, certainly more attractive than the walls, reaching roughly shin-high, the sides all sloping up towards each other before becoming the object’s smooth, flat (and quite dust-free) top.

Standing on this surface was another woman. She was two or three inches shorter than Violet, rather busty, with a spill of curly brownish hair halfway down her back. A one-piece garment wrapped itself seamlessly and flatteringly around her torso, rising as high as her chest, leaving her arms and legs bare. It was the same color as the pedestal, nearly, being even more silvery, to the point it almost sparkled in the light, which was a mate to the one over the desk, hanging above her from a similar cord.

The woman stood unmoving, at attention, her feet together, her arms aligned at her sides, her chin up, her blue eyes open wide and unblinking, her lips slightly parted, her expression simultaneously fixed and utterly empty. She might have been a statue, except for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts.

Violet clumped closer and stared. Waved her hand in front of the other woman’s eyes, provoking not the slightest response. She extended a finger to poke at her, but Gray’s voice stopped her.

“Miss Greene. Please. That would be.. disruptive to the process.”

Violet spun back towards him.

“Well, that’s.. that’s just creepy and weird. What kind of perverted freak are you?”

He spoke without seeming offense.

“My personal pervertions, if any, do not enter into this space. This is merely what we collect here at the Collection Point.” He waved a hand slightly in the other direction, and Violet went to see. There were three more corners (more or less, the room was not a perfect square). Three more pedestals. Three more women. The first, standing next to a battered steel cabinet which towered over Violet’s head, a woman with chocolate-colored skin, also taller and thinner than Violet, with an even more impressive spray of hair. Second, a pale freckled redhead, her hair cut short and spiky. And finally Latina, shorter than all the rest, with a truly impressive bust,. her dark brown hair reaching to her shoulders.

They stood at attention, unmoving, wrapped in silver.

Violet took all this in, faced back to Gray again.

“OK. Fine. You collect women. What happens then? You just keep them here on display and ogle them?”

“This is not all constructed for my, or anyone’s, idle diversion, Ms. Greene. They are all processed, and sent on to where they will be of the most use. Some rather sooner than others, of course.”

“Sent on where?”

“That is-”

There was a tentative knock at the door. Gray sighed, looked at his watch, and spoke.

“Come in.”

The door opened just enough to reveal yet another woman, this one a wispy blonde wearing a frilly blue dress which reached to her knees, and a pair of matching pumps. Also unlike Violet, she was clutching a purse (blue again) in one hand.

“Um.. Hello?”

Gray beckoned with a finger, and she came into the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

“Please come in, Miss...?”

“Celeste Boulregard, sir.”

“Hello, Miss Boulregard. My name is Gray.”

“Yes, Mr. Gray, sir.” She hesitated, wide-eyed, then curtseyed. Violet rolled her eyes.

Celeste came closer to the desk, passing by Violet, her movements about as far from a clump as it is possible to get.

“Why are you here, Ms Boulregard?”

“I received your Message, Mr. Gray, sir.”

“It came in clearly, I trust?”

“Yes, Mr. Gray, sir. It came in very clearly.”

“And you are prepared?”

“Yes, Mr. Gray, sir. I am fully prepared.”

“Well done, Ms Boulregard. You may proceed.”

Another curtsey.

“Yes, Mr. Gray, sir. Thank you, Mr. Gray, sir.” She pivoted, and again brushed past Violet, heading for the bin. She started to reach for its lid, then checked herself, flushed, and removed her watch and various bits of (blue) jewelry, placing them all inside the purse. Then she lifted the lid and set the purse inside. She stepped out of her shoes, and filed them away as well.

She then pulled off her dress. Underneath, she was not wearing traditional underwear, but a silvery one-piece garment which wrapped itself around her torso. She folded the dress, placed it in the bin, carefully lowered the lid. It set back into place with a firm click. Celeste stood for a second, then returned to her previous position before the desk. Pivoted and stood with her hands at her sides. She spoke one last time.

“Awaiting collection, Mr. Gray, sir.”

Her eyes went wide and fixed and blank.

Violet spoke sourly, her arms crossed.

“What are you going to do now? You’re out of pedestals.”

Gray did not answer, but rose, came around the desk, and examined Celeste in a clinical fashion, touching her here and there in with impersonal fingers. He took gentle hold of her shoulder, and with a slight grunt tilted her to one side. Her expression did not flicker, and her body moved, tilted, as if it was carved from granite, as if she had gone the rest of the way over she would have clattered. Satisfied, he set her squarely back on her feet, making sure she was properly balanced before letting go. He selected one of the stamps from his desk, inked it, and pressed it against Celeste’s shoulder, leaving a blue X.

“Oh, come on!”

Again, he did not reply, but replaced the stamp, returned to his station behind the desk, pulling his chair in close. He flicked through the items in the coffee cup until he found a tiny metal hammer, extracted it, and tapped it once at one of the bells. The resulting ting was sweet and clear and echoed around the room’s various corners and back again.

At this sound, the two pillars flanking the desk began to rotate, smooth and silent. It was instantly clear they were in fact hollow, and standing inside them, rotating with them, were two more women. The only word for them was “Amazonian”, tall and wide with muscular curves. Unlike the other women in the room, they stood with their legs spread apart, their hands on their impressive hips. Another difference: while their clothes were the same color as all the rest, they were made of, some stronger and more utilitarian material, overalls combined with thigh-length dresses, a strap running over each shoulder and attaching to the front with clasps that, even in the dim light, glittered with almost painful brightness. They wore boots and gloves, all as solid and sturdy as the bodies they sheathed, even more so than the ones on Violet’s feet. One of them was black, far more so than the woman on the pedestal, almost literally black, with a short buzz of hair. The other was again almost literally white, both in skin and hair like a skim of light blonde frost. While they did not blink, their expressions were subtly different as well, a sharpness, an awareness was there, at least hovering on the surface.

And finally, atop these two edifices were silvery billed caps, with rectangular labels sown to the front, on which were two printed different words: RUBY. JADE.

The pillars finished their turns and clicked into place. The two new arrivals did not move. Gray turned in his chair, selected one of the binders behind him, and carefully opened it on his desk. He flipped through several pages. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, pushing his glasses out of the way for a moment.

“Today is the 23rd, correct?”


He resumed flipping, found a page, traced down and across..

“Ah. Yes. Ruby, Jade, we shall use G14.”

The two Amazons spoke in perfect unison.

“Yes, Mr. Gray, sir.”

They activated, it was the only appropriate word, and stepped out of their alcoves, moving with the unstoppable fluid grace of pistoning machinery. The black one, Ruby, walked to one of the walls, to one of the circular shapes, made of the pedestal-stuff, which she thumped once, twice, with her fist. She did not pause to watch as the shape outlined itself in blue light, but turned back to the center of the room, where Jade had come around the other side of the desk, and taken up station next to Celeste, who stood unmoving, unblinking. The shape slid away from the wall, revealing itself to be the end of well-polished metal framework, all stretched horizontally. It clicked to a stop, as the two Amazons again tipped Celeste’s rigid form to one side, picked her up without seeming effort, Ruby holding her feet, Jade her shoulders. They took her to the framework, inserted her into it, so that her ankles rested on one padded support, her neck on another, her eyes pointed upward into the darkness. Jade pushed on the circle, and the whole thing slid slowly shut, taking its passenger into the waiting darkness of the wall. Ruby made sure Celeste’s hair didn’t get caught as the circle reconnected with the wall, and the blue light winked out.

The two workers faced the desk, one on either side of the circle.

“Mission accomplished, Mr. Gray, sir.”

“Thank you, ladies. That will be all for now.”

“Yes, Mr. Gray, sir.”

They walked back to their alcoves, stepped inside, resumed their stance. Gray tapped the bell again, and they rotated back out of sight.

Violet looked around the room, at all the circular shapes, as Gray returned the binder to the shelf.

“Are you telling me that every one of those damn things has some.. ditz.. what, stored behind it?”

“Not every one, Miss Greene. Their numbers vary over time. According to the time and season”

“You do realize how creepy all of this is, right?”

“I imagine I do.” He interlaced his fingers again. “Now then. Ms Greene. You are quite sure that you did not get the Message.”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure. I didn’t get any Message from you. Here, look!” She pulled up her T-shirt far enough to show a bare stomach underneath.

“So. Why then are you here?”

She smoldered for a moment, before finally erupting.

“I dunno, all right? I have no goddamn idea what I’m doing here!”


“So, what are we supposed to do now, Mr. Smarty? You got some clever answer?”

He got to his feet again.

“No. I do not. However, there is someone who does.” He possibly looked a bit sour. “Nearly always.”

He went to the large metal cabinet. He pulled a key-ring from his pocket; (it came with a fine chain that linked back to him), flipped through its contents and selected one of them. It slid into the imposing lock on the cabinet, and turned with an oiled click. He pulled, and the cabinet doors swung majestically open, revealing an even more gloomy interior stretching back out of sight. Gray stepped inside, saw that Violet was coming to follow him, and raised a cautioning hand.

“It would be.. simpler if you waited there, Miss Greene.”

Violet grunted, and waited.

He disappeared from sight. For a moment, nothing, and then there were noises, the sound of something metallic further being unlocked and thrown open with a clang. Gray finally reappeared, gripping a new, much heavier, chain in one hand. Attached to the other end..

Was another woman of course. Only this one was not wearing a silvery garment. Or indeed anything, she was clad instead entirely in golden feathers, so gold they glowed, even more than the Amazons’ clips, atop her head, spreading across her shoulders and down her body, to where her bare arms and legs emerged like swords from fluffy sheaths, composed entirely of slicing sharp angles. The chain ran to a heavy metal collar around her neck, and further chains connected her wrists and ankles. Despite all this, she moved with an easy, fluid grace, and she was grinning. The grin widened when she saw Violet. Her eyes were, as it happened, also violet, and large. She spoke, her voice music.

“Ah. Hello there.”

Violet stared back.

“I... I saw a painting of you once.”

“Painting?” The bird-woman cocked those eyes for a moment, then returned them to Violet. “Oh. My. Yes indeedy do. I had quite forgotten about that. That was a long time ago.” She made a flowing gesture and Violet wobbled. “Whole oceans have flown under the bridge since then.”

“Why.. why are you..”

“All this?” She clinked the chains theatrically, then wiggled a talon, and Violet lurched a couple of steps closer. “Why am I being cruelly held in Durance Vile?”

“Lorelei...” Gray spoke warningly.

Another eye-roll, this time in his direction.

“Yes, Thaddeus.” Back to Violet. Another talon wiggle, and Violet came another step closer. “I was a wicked and naughty girl. The exact details are unimportant.” They were almost nose to slashing knife. “But now happily I am being rehabilitated, and repaying my debt to society..”

“Why is Ms Greene here, Lorelei?”

Lorelei did not exactly have eyebrows, but she nevertheless managed to arch one in a supremely sardonic fashion.

“You’re wasting my precious time with.. oh..” She appeared to actually look at Violet for the first time, and Violet shuddered, all over her whole body. “My my. My apologies. That actually is an interesting question.” She stared at Violet, and her eyes spun around and around. “What did you call her?”

“M..my name is Violet Greene.. M..my parents..”

“-Were idiots. Yes. But that’s unimportant. ‘Violet Greene’? That’s not your name. That was just an arbitrary label slapped on you at birth. So unprofessional and inefficient.” She leaned closer still, and Violet stared back in helpless fascination. Lorelei ran a talon-point down the her cheek, scraping off a few molecules of skin “Your name is Amethyst.”

Her listener’s body jerked, and her eyes rolled up in her head for a moment.

“Y.yes Miss Lorelei. My name is Amethyst.”

“While interesting, perhaps, that does not answer my question, Lorelei.”

“I was getting to that, Thaddeus. She’s here to be Processed, by me, as it happens, and then sent on.”

“Sent on where?”

Lorelei grinned even wider and pointed.

“Oh.” Now there was definitely a sour note in his voice. “I see.”

“P..processed? Miss Lorelei? Wh..what are y..you..”

“Shh.” Lorelei stroked Amethyst’s lips, sealing them. “No more talking now. No more anything.” She curled two talons, an upward flicking motion, and Amethyst’s eyes rolled up again, and this time locked in place almost with an audible click, leaving and expanse of empty white in their wake. Lorelei slowly waved her hands back and forth, and Amethyst’s body swayed in perfect time to their movements. As this happened, Lorelei studied her victim’s body, clothes, working her way down, arriving finally at the boots.

“Oh, those will never do.” She extended a foot, chain trailing behind it, and dragged a casual toe down through one set of laces, then the other, slicing them to shreds. She gestured, pulled at Amethyst’s strings, and her new puppet stepped out of the stricken footwear. She was wearing equally heavy socks, which suffered a similar fate.

Gray again:


“Yes, yes.” She gathered up the remnants, made her way across the room. The chain leading from her neck was not terribly long, but somehow, impossibly, she could reach out with a toe again, briskly flip up the bin-lid and toss everything inside before it flapped shut. She then returned to where Amethyst stood, swaying and barefoot. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

She led Amethyst back to the cabinet, and they all disappeared inside. There was further clanging, and Gray emerged alone. He locked the doors, and reseated himself at the desk. He made a noise, then took up the tiny hammer again, and tapped at one of the bells. The curly-hair brunette activated, stepped off her pedestal. As he sorted papers, began writing again, she silently made her way to a waiting alcove in which there was a sink, a teapot, and various relevant accessories.

Amethyst crawled out of the long dark tunnel, into blinding white light. For a long moment, she was confused. She had been with Lorelei, been with her for what seemed like forever, but then.. finally..

Someone took her old glasses off her face, placed new ones on; these were white-framed, with black lenses, pure black, allowing her to see clearly, see the women all crouched around her, greeting her, and to remember.

Remember who and what they were now.

She throw back her head and howled. Not a cry of anger or pain or fear, but joyous, ecstatic expectation, and of course her sisters joined her.

She had been Collected, Processed and Sent On.

She was no longer a woman.

She crawled forward, and he was standing there, waiting for her, and he was taller and wider and handsome than she had imagined.

Her sisters clustered around her, around him, around his massive white shoes.

They were not dogs, they were not wolves, they were Bitches.

Mr. White’s Bitches.

Ready to Guard, ready to Hunt, ready and eager to Attack.

Amethyst clawed eagerly at the surface beneath her, the things now at the ends of her hands... maybe not as delicate and refined as Lorelei’s, but just as deadly.

She looked up at Mr. White. Looked up at her Owner. He smiled and spoke.

“I see you finally got my message.”

Amethyst howled again, and her sisters tore away the remains of her T-shirt and jeans, revealing the two-piece harness wrapped around her body, a harness made of white.

And even then, a thought came to her, and she somehow was able to tear her eyes away from her Owner, and look back behind her for a moment. (And the fact that she could do this, even now in this supreme instant was cheerfully allowed to do this, was somehow something that she took into a small place inside her and treasured..)

He laughed and patted her on the head. He knew exactly what she was thinking of course. He had a binder, with her name in white on the front, and every last thought in her head carefully listed, row by endless row.

“Oh, don’t about him. He’s still a little rough around the edges (who isn’t when they’re that painfully young?), but he’s coming along well. He’ll get his promotion out of that office soon enough.”

And he put his collar around her neck, a slender and delicate ring, but far more eternally unbreakable than Lorelei’s..

And speaking of ..

“Oh, yes, indeed.” He smiled wider. “We all know what’s going to happen to Lorelei!”

And she and the rest of his pack howled.

“Let’s go, ladies, there’s deviltry afoot. Quite possibly literally, and it's our job to stop it.”

He led them forth to the Attack.

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