Voyer’s Hypnostuff: Perfect Circle


General Disclaimers: While it features no ‘on-screen’ sexual activity or explicit adult situations, 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, 2013.

Specific Disclaimers: This is a sequel to my story Inner Circle, and will probably make more sense if you read that one first.

Dedicated to Billy Kinetta.

The wall was made of cinder blocks, which passed by rough and dry against Naomi’s fingertips as she made her cautious way down the corridor, down into the dark.

The slap of her sneakers against the concrete floor was the only sound.

She paused and glanced back the way she had come. There was an itching between her shoulder-blades, an archtypical ‘being watched’ prickle that had been dogging ever since she had.. ever since setting out on this trip.

No one was in sight, though that didn’t prove a whole lot. She wished she had thought to grab a flashlight when she had left..


Her apartment. Right. This whole trip had started from her apartment. Had it only been earlier this morning? At the moment, it seemed more like something that had happened around about the time she had first started attending Eastside Elementary.

She blew an impatient breath, squared her shoulders and resumed walking, one hand still brushing against the wall, the other clutching at the comforting weight of her purse. At least she had remembered that, if only because it had contained her car keys.

And finally her target.. was it?

Yes. Her target loomed into view. A large square, a sliding door, just barely visible. She trailed her hand onto it, more than half-expecting it to be a mirage or maybe a cardboard stage-prop, but it was real, the metal smooth and cold and prosaic.

Her gaze drifted for a moment to the small illuminated keypad mounted to one side. The unlabelled buttons unhelpfully, inscrutably, stared back. And so she curled her fingers and tapped at the door. Clang. The sound echoed off, came trailing back. Clang. Cla-.

She jerked in surprise, retreated a step, as the keypad beeped and flickered and clunked in return, and the door slid smoothly open. More light, though not a lot more light, spilled into the corridor, coming from behind the outline of the door-opener.

Naomi squinted. A woman, shorter than her by three or four inches, much bustier, wearing a one-piece overall-like garment with brass buckles, heavy boots and matching gloves, and sporting a truly impressive cloud of dark-reddish hair.

Only, no. Mostly red. Although if anything, the woman was few years younger than Naomi, radiating out from her temples were two thick strips of gray, or even downright white. Their owner displayed a sour look and spoke in a husky voice.

“Yeah, blondie, I know. Bride of Frankenstein.”

Naomi tore her gaze away.

“No! It’s not.. I just wasn’t expecting..” The back-prickle poked at her again, redoubled, and she slowly turned all the way around. Nothing. No one. Back to the door-opener who watched her with expression unchanged. “It’s just.. I keep getting the feeling I’m being followed. Or watched... Or..”

The redhead crooked a corner of her wide mouth.

“You were being followed, blondie.” She pointed a dark blue finger down the hall. Naomi turned very cautiously, having a strangely sharp vision of the other woman casually ripping one of the cinder blocks from the wall and smashing it over Naomi’s head the instant her back was turned.

This of course did not happen, but there was indeed, suddenly, someone standing there, further down the hall. A third woman.

Naomi stared. It was almost impossible to make out any details but..

She recoiled, suddenly remembered the canister of mace in her purse, started fumbling for it.

“She’s not.. she isn’t..”

“No.” The redhead was impassive. “She’s not. She’s got her own thing going on. But she’s ‘on our side’. In fact, she came along to make sure you got here.”

“But..” Was the third woman wearing some sort of helmet?

The redhead impatiently snapped her fingers, the sound surprisingly loud, considering the gloves, and Naomi found herself facing her, almost standing at attention.

“Not important right now, blondie. Let’s go. Inside.” She crooked a finger, and Naomi followed her inside.

The door slid shut behind them.

Clunk. Beep.

Naomi stared at its mute form, faced the redhead.

“What do you mean, ‘make sure’?!”

“It’s a big scary world out there, blondie-”

Naomi glowered.

“Naomi. My name is Naomi Hodgkins.”

“Fine. Cynthia Sinclair. To continue, Naomi, it’s a big scary world out there, and there are.. individuals out there who are opposed to what is being done here.”

“What do you mean, indi-”

The redhead.. Cynthia.. redeployed her pointing finger, aiming it at one of the stripes in her hair. “You want to know how I got these? Since I moved in here, I’ve heard a few stories, even seen a couple of things.” She leaned closer, and grinned. “You’re demanding that I share? Cuz if you are, I will.”

Naomi saw what was at the back of that grim, and recoiled.


The grin stretched wider.

“Smart girl. Now, let’s get started, shall we?”


Another point, this time towards the floor. Naomi looked down.

There, right at their feet, was an outlined square of white paint. It seemed almost to glow.

It was empty.

And that was...


She slipped her purse off her shoulder, carefully set it inside, let the strap slither from her hand.

She stepped out of her shoes, slid them into place next to the purse.

The square was full.

Only then could she turn her attention to the rest of the room.

It was an irregular space. There were multicolored Arabian-Nights type carpets spread across the floor in rough overlapping profusion. In many places, sections of wall were lined with rows of a wild variety of healthy-looking plants; the grow-lights mounted above them providing the only real illumination. Their mingled scents filled the air. She came back to the redhead who stood nearby, her arms crossed, evidently waiting for Naomi to resume the conversation. So..

“You.. enjoy gardening?”

“No. Not particularly.” Cynthia extended a bare arm, flicked at the nearest leaf. “But I do enjoy breathing fresh air, so I keep the stupid things alive.”

“Oh.” Naomi’s gaze wandered on. Along with numerous shrouded and mysterious shapes, there was also an enormous glass tank, filled with a swirling mass of presumably tropical fish, a suit of medieval armor, highly polished, and a fancy-looking stereo system which was, Naomi now realized, playing soft classical music. It mixed soothingly with the bubbling from the fishtank.

“But why-” She broke off as the dog came stalking into view. She, the dog, was black, both lean and muscular, with short bristling hair and wearing an elaborate leather harness and collar, studded with spikes. She paused for a moment, eyed Naomi, then made a noise, not exactly welcoming, but tolerant, and moved on. If Naomi hadn’t just seen the woman with the helmet, she would have ranked the dog as the scariest thing she’d ever seen.

“Yes.” Cynthia quirked another smile. “She was quite the mangy little stray when we took her in, but I have to admit, she’s made great progress.” A pause, accompanied by a vague wave. “There’s a cat around somewhere, too. They help keep the pests down.”

“Pests? You mean... rats?” Even as she said it, she remembered that grin, which was displayed again.

“I suppose that’s one word for them.”

Naomi firmly diverted her brain off on a new tack.

“We? Who..”

The center of the room. There were no carpets there, but instead a rough circle of bare floor, marked by a ring of multicolored candles.

And in the center of the ring..

The man sat with his back to them, his legs crossed. He wore faded but clean shirt, and pair of shorts, and his cropped hair more or less matched their gray color.

Naomi’s throat made a noise, a sort of plaintive whine, and her bare feet started walking towards him. She wanted to.. She had to.. Cynthia’s hand slid neatly through Naomi’s straight hair, into the back of the collar of her sweater, yanked, arrested her forward movement. -like a dog on a leash-

“No no, Naomi.”

“But I have to.. to tell him..” Naomi tried to go forward again, but the grip was like steel and she jerked to a stop.

“Yes yes. He’s well aware how you feel, and he appreciates the sentiment. But he’s busy right now. He’s always busy.”

Naomi tore her eyes away, back to Cynthia, who studied her for a long moment before releasing her grip.

“OK. Good.”

“But.. he.. don’t you..”

“No, Naomi, I don’t. Because that’s not what he needs from me. What he needs is someone to yes, keep the plants growing, and make sure that he eats properly, and gets a bath once in a while. It’s why I was sent here.” She smiled again, a slightly more genuine thing. “I thought I was being sooo clever. Well, I was clever. Still am. But now..” She tugged hard at a stripe, jerking her own head to one side. “..I see that it was the all the ones like you who sent me. Allowed me to figure it where this place was, how it get in. Because, well, ‘you do’. All of you. You gave me to him, as a present.”

Naomi tried to wrap her mind around the important point here, the one looming in the background like a giant iceburg.

“You actually get to..”

“Scrub his body parts occasionally with a sponge, yes.”

“But you don’t..”

“Oh, relax. All of me, my mind, my hands and legs and tongue and butt..:” She swiveled just enough to display the last item and give it a theatrical wiggle.. “..and all the rest of MY parts are at his complete disposal, night or day, from now until the moment I die. He just chooses not avail himself of some of them. Because, of course..” She mimed an attitude of prayer.. “..that would be unethical.”

“But you-”

“Yes, of course I like him. He’s smart and compassionate and, and wise and all that stuff. He’d have to be, wouldn’t he? He’s even got something resembling a sense of humor, if he ever lets himself unbend for ten seconds.”


“But now, let’s get on with why you are h-” Naomi jerked as Cynthia’s firm comment was cut off by a loud CLANG, not from the door, but off somewhere in the darkness on the far side of the room. Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Uuh, that stupid useless thing.” Again she pointed towards the floor. “Wait here. Don’t touch anything. In fact, just don’t move.” She stomped off into the gloom in the direction of the noise.

Naomi stood and fidgeted, scratching her nails against the denim of her skirt, trying very hard not to look into the circle again. The music played. Another clang.

And then suddenly the cat was there. Of course, she was the opposite of the dog, small and delicate and fluffy and very very blonde. Also unlike the dog, she came straight up to Naomi, and studied her with large green eyes. Naomi stared back.

Those bottomless eyes..

The cat began slowly curling herself around Naomi’s legs, suddenly more snake than feline, and then started working her way up around her arms as well.

And then she started to purrrr..

Naomi’s hand came up, started petting the cat’s hair.

It was so soft..

The purring was inside her head now, deep inside, and there was only the purring and spinning green depths and the softness and..

Very distantly, a faint voice, saying unimportant things...

“Grah! Bleeping cat!”

Green spinning softness and..

There was a snap, and she blinked. Where was she? Who was she? Some of it came trickling back. Naomi Hodgkins. In the dark. Somewhere... Miss Sinclair was there. Naomi swallowed and snapped to rigid attention. “I’m sorry, Miss Sinclair. I touched the cat.” “Yeah. So I see.” To her relief, Miss Sinclair didn’t sound angry, and Naomi allowed herself to relax, ever so slightly. She also noticed vaguely that Miss Sinclair was jiggling a piece of string, the free end of which hung down almost to the rug-covered floor. The cat was crouched there, staring cross-eyed and mesmerized at the string, her hair spilling over her face, her raised butt twitching in time to the string’s movements. And the dog was there, too, not looking at the string, but sitting to one side, on razor-edged alert. “Now then. We will get on with why you came here.”

Even as she stood there unmoving, unblinking, her hands aligned at her sides, Naomi panicked. Why had she come here? She couldn’t...

And then she did remember. At least something...

“May I have permission to move, Miss Sinclair?”

“Yes yes.”

She took hold of the bottom of her sweater and pulled it up enough to reveal her tanned stomach. Or rather, what was blocking the view of her stomach: a rectangular shape, meticulously sealed in a heavy plastic bag, taped to her body along all four edges. She vaguely remembered doing this, after she had finished..

“Ah. Well done.” Miss Sinclair draped the string over the cat’s head in loops, causing her to tip the rest of the way forward until her chin was pressed against the floor. Her butt still twitched. Miss Sinclair patted the bagged object, once, briskly.

“OK. You can put that down for now.”

“Yes, Miss Sinclair.” Naomi dropped the sweater, dropped her hands back to her sides, aligned them properly.

Another point.

“Look over there, Naomi, and tell me what you see.”

Naomi swiveled her eyes long enough to comply.

“I see another candle-lit circle, Miss Sinclair. There is an object within, but I can’t make out any details.”

“Good. Find your way into the circle. Once you are inside.. you’ll know what to do. Hopefully.”

“Yes, Miss Sinclair.” She stepped forward. As Miss Sinclair had implied, there was a definite path, curved walls blocking her way, the frist one sending her to her hands and knees, then crawling around, and around again, and finally.. the most subliminal of gaps.. right between the red and violet candles... she squirmed and squeezed.. and she was inside the circle, still on her hands and knees.

She looked down at the object lying before her, and yes, of course Miss Sinclair had been right. Naomi knew what to do. She sat up, curled her legs under her, and again lifted the sweater. She set to work picking at the tape, finally getting ahold of a free edge. She peeled the package free with only a little bit of pain, and then undid the bag. The object within was thus revealed: a battered, crudely made book cobbled together out of various types and sizes of paper, its unlabelled covers made of weathered slabs of cardboard. She stroked it, once, then carefully, oh so carefully, spread the remains of the plastic on the floor, and set the book on it.

Next to the other object.

The other book.

The new book.

A sturdy leather cover, stained a dignified shade of dark blue, free of any title or label, with slips of brass wrapped elegantly around the corners, . She stroked it, once, and carefully picked it up. Holding it between her knees, she opened the cover. Strong flowing text swirled its way down the heavy pages, interspersed with the occasional intertwinging sketch or diagram.

All done by hand, in black ink.

She began to read.

She finished reading, closed the back cover, stroked the book again. She wiped at her eyes, realizing that she had been crying a little.

It was all so...

She got up, clutching the book.. the Book.. firmly with both hands. She found the gap again, in the circle, stepped through it, spiraled her way back around until she was in the clear, with Cynthia, and cat and the dog. The last of these looked up at her, an entirely different expression on her face now. Naomi absently patted her on the head, received a hand-lick in return. She then bent over and collected up the string. The cat jangled back to life, and they exchanged stares. The cat gave an overly-elaborate yawn, and wandered off. Cynthia was standing quietly, at rigid attention. Naomi snapped her fingers, and the other woman reactivated as well. Naomi handed her the string, and she wadded it up and stuck it in the pouch-like pocket of her outfit before speaking.

“So. How was it?” Her voice was pretty much the audible equivalent of the cat’s yawn.

“It was.. you know how it was. You helped write it.”

“We all helped write it. And someday, someyear, someone will bring that copy back here, and it’ll be replaced with something even better.”

“Better.. wow.”


They both shook themselves free from that thought. Eventually.

“I have to go. Got things to do. So many damn things...”

“Of course.”

They made their way to the door, the two of them, escorted by the dog. While Naomi stepped back into her shoes and retrieved her purse, Cynthia punched in the access code on the panel. The door clunked, and was pushed open.

Naomi looked back one last time at the figure in the circle, then turned to Cynthia, and gave her a quick firm hug, which was awkwardly returned.

“You take care of him. And yourself.”

“Always. Now get out there and make the world a little less scary.”

Naomi smiled. She stepped though and set off towards the light, the Book in her hands.

Cynthia watched her go. She started to go back inside, but then the third woman was there, no longer dark; her silvery uniform filled the corridor with its light. Cynthia blinked and blocked the worst of the glare with her hand.

“Aren’t you going with her?”

“There’s no need now. Mission accomplished.. I am officiallly off-duty.”

“Oh. I see.”

The silvery woman brushed past Cynthia, who followed her and slid the door shut. The newcomer undid her chinstrap and pulled off her antennaed helmet with a small grunt of relief, and tousled her hair, much shorter and a few shades darker blonde than Naomi’s. She set it on the floor, saw Cynthia’s expression, and toed it into the waiting box. She pulled off her gloves, and then undid the starburst belt with the pouch on one side, and the holstered gun on the other. This she carefully folded up and added to the growing pile, along with finally her boots. Then she smiled, gave her knuckles a crack, and stepped over the candles into the circle.

Cynthia gave her eyes a final roll, and went off to feed the fish.

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