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: A short scene which might be a sort of sequel to a story I posted on the MC Archive a few years back..

Dedicated to Daniel Whitehall.

The Doctor was sitting behind his desk. She paused in the doorway and glowered at him, though thanks to his looming chair and the large window which stretched behind him, he was pretty much just a bulky black outline, framed in sunlight and fresh snow.

A cup of coffee.. or at least some hot liquid.. on the desk sent streamers of steam into the air. The clock ticked in one corner of the room, the air strainer burbled an endless counterpoint from another.

She waited.

He looked up from the pile of paperwork had been holding his attention.

“Ah. Miss Smith.” A glance at the clock. “You’re here for your session?”

“Yes, Doctor.” She ground out the words, especially the second one.

He nodded absently, his rimless glasses catching slivers of light, and inserted his stylus into its waiting slot. Straightened up the papers, redeployed them to a different sector of the vast black desktop. Found a folder and slid it into position in front of him. Then finally beckoned her closer with a pair of hefty fingers.

“Come in.”

She came in, closed the door. It thunked into its frame with heavy finality.

“Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

She turned. Lurking in the corner of the room, as always, was the armored figure (broad and bulky and anonymous, but with those ever-so-subtle curves in just the right places...)

And the coat stand. Miss Smith hung up her purse, stripped off her long fuzzy white parka, equally-fuzzy and white hat, scarf, mittens, stashed them in the usual places. Unlocked and extracted her feet from the boots, and positioned the latter on the mat.

She was wearing only her socks and.. she never had the right word for it. Somewhere between “underwear” and “swimsuit”, a one-piece form-fitting silver-gray thing which wrapped sleekly around her boobs and torso and butt. The collection of armor in the corner was blackly polished to a high shine, and showed bits of her, tall, slender, dark skin, hair fuzzy like her hat but about as far from white as you can get... At one level she had to admit that she looked pretty damn good wearing the suit, but at another..

Especially with the pitch-black stripes of the barcode stretched across her firm tight stomach..

She turned away, sharply, and padded across the heated floor to a spot in front of the desk. There was a circle there, slightly lighter than the rest of the floor, and she stepped into it.

She stood quietly, her arms at her sides, staring out through the window’s thick glass at the snow lying equally thick and heavy on the trees.

She stood at attention.

The scent of the whatever-it-was in the cup reached her nose, and her stomach gurgled a little.

The Doctor’s glasses studied her for a long moment, then his hand reclaimed the stylus and scribbled a note in the folder, twirled a finger.

She stretched her arms, began turning in place, around and around inside the ring, bringing the rest of the room into view.

Something gave a little clench inside her, not exactly her stomach, seeing what was over in the other corner.

“All right.”

She dropped her arms, resumed facing him. He scribbled some more, but her attention was truly caught by movement beyond the window: a helicopter, a black bristling insect buzzing purposefully along the tops of the trees. She supposed vaguely it was just another endless patrol along the Parameter, but still, for a long moment she wished more than anything that she was on board..

Going somewhere.

Away from this place.

Away from this room.

Away from the..

Her knees trembled a little.

Finally, all too soon..

“Proceed, Miss Smith.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

She turned, smooth and graceful, and walked to what was waiting for her.

The Chair.

It loomed up, even bigger and blacker than the one behind the desk, than even the armor-wearer in the corner.

Miss Smith watched another irrelevant thought go buzzing across the treeline of her mind. (Thickly covered in heavy, suffocating snow..) What was the armor-wearer’s name? Where did.. she?.. go when off-duty? Was she ever off-duty at all? Did she stand there in the corner of the office twenty five hours a day? Or was there anyone in the armor at all?

It wasn’t like there was any threats to the Doctor here.

No threats at all.

She sat in the Chair. Sank into the Chair. It was heavily padded and like the floor glowing with gentle warmth. Perfectly comfortable. She inserted her bare arms and legs into the waiting slots, and the appendages went numb, faded away. She seemed to vaguely remember that at one point there had been restraints, padded and clamping tight. But that was a long time ago. Her Sessions had progressed since then.

The Doctor touched a control on his desk (he had a whole bank of controls on his desk) and a chime sounded.

Another door instantly popped open, and the Nurse came ghosting into view, in her white uniform, white gloves, white boots, white cap perched on her tightly-wound hair, so sparkling blonde it was, yes, nearly white. Like with the armor-wearer, Miss Smith wondered. What color were the Nurse’s eyes, behind those oily black lenses, forever flickering color at their edges?

Blue probably, but maybe white..

What was it like, being around the Doctor all day?

Miss Smith’s stomach.. or whatever.. twisted again.

The Nurse took up her collection of wires and tabs, begin pasting in the usual places. On Miss Smith’s neck. On her chest. On her wrists. At her temples. She took up the mask, sealed it down over Miss Smith’s mouth and nose. The Aroma swirled up the tube, down into her lungs. She trembled, and the rest of her body started to follow her limbs, drifting away.

The headphones were clamped down around her head, locking her head in place, and there was the low endless buzz, filling her ears.

And then the framework swung into place, in front of her eyes, a complex black spiderweb. It adjusted itself, and the Lights

blasted into her eyes.

She couldn’t look away.

She couldn’t blink.

She couldn’t stop seeing them, even when she wasn’t in the Chair.

The buzz rose, became the Sound

began to saw at her brain.

Back and forth.

From ear to ear.

She couldn’t stop hearing it

wherever she was

whatever she was doing

walking around the Complex

exercising in the gym

practicing at the gun range

practicing in the spa and massage parlor and..

learning her Duties

kneeling asleep in her assigned cubicle

kneeling and obeying

The Doctor’s voice spoke at the center of her mind.

“Can you hear me, Miss Smith?”

“Yes Doctor, I can hear you very well.”

Did she say the words with her lips or with her brain?

It didn’t matter.

The Lights flared brighter, and her Session truly began.