September, Sophomore Year

Twelve Omega Pi's sat in a line - including Missy, who'd left her letter jersey at home this time. She was a full-fledged sister now, but she still didn't want to embarrass her sorority. True, Susan hadn't done anything sillier than act like a kindergartener, but that was last year. That was Bill Bingham.

The show started with music, atonal flutes and heavy drums. Then the curtains parted and Missy saw a tall, trim woman in a black pinstriped suit and impossibly high heels. Her skin was palest caramel, her hair black and slicked down tight against her skull, her features so generically beautiful that Missy couldn't even guess at her race. Was this the hypnotist? Somehow she didn't look quite...masterful...enough.

The woman smiled and lifted the mike to pale lips. "Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to meet the greatest sorceress our earth has ever known. The Black Pearl of Thailand is twelve hundred and fifty-five years old. She has bedded kings - and queens - advised emperors, and ruled nineteen countries from behind the throne. But even an immortal sorceress gets bored once in awhile, so every few centuries she likes to dissolve her holdings and start from scratch. That is why she is with you tonight."

The announcer thrust one hand behind her and stalked the stage. "Throughout the ages, it has been the habit of true sorcerers to hide in plain sight. Over the years they've plied their trade in clubs, bars, circus sideshows - even college auditoriums. And why? Because it is there that they find their most eager victims. You've probably heard the saying, 'No one can hypnotize an unwilling subject,' and that is true. My Mistress knows that those who disbelieve her claims are most eager to submit to her. It is from them that she culls her thralls." The announcer's lips curled into the parody of a smile. "But don't worry. The Black Pearl is a very particular Mistress. Most likely, she'll just play with you for an hour or two and then release you. Most likely."

In the seat beside her, Missy's roommate shifted restlessly. "Gad, could this possibly get any cheesier?"

"Give it a rest, Debra," Missy muttered, but she knew the girl too well to be annoyed. "You're just jealous because you don't have the nerve to go up, and I do."

"Yeah, right. Like I'd trust my mind to a woman who thinks she's a centuries-old sorceress."

"Better her than some wannabe comedian with a bad haircut." She turned back to the stage, ignoring her roommate's snort.

To Missy's amazement, the announcer had dropped to her knees. "Ladies and gentlemen," she intoned, bowing her head and extending one arm, "I am pleased to welcome you into the presence of my Mistress, the Black Pearl of Thailand." To Missy's surprise she actually began to knee-walk off the stage.

At the same moment the Black Pearl herself appeared, stalking out from the wings like a tigress hunting prey. She was indeed Asian, though heaven knew if she were really Thai. And heaven knew her real age, though Missy thought it was probably about thirty. But the hypnotist radiated such an aura of power, Missy could almost have believed the announcer's claim. Her eyes flashed like mica, and her chin and cheekbones looked sharp enough to crack rock. Even her hair, waist length and straight as a plumb line, could with just a little imagination be turned into a whip.

Missy licked her lips and squirmed in her seat. Now, this was what a hypnotist should look like! No skater hair or bomber jackets here, just a strapless dress of jet black silk, slit almost to impropriety, and a bodice line as razor straight as her bangs. No jewelry either, Missy noticed, except for a single ring set with a black pearl the size of a cherry tomato. Oh yes, this was the kind of person who deserved Missy's submission. She was glad now that she hadn't wasted herself on Bill Bingham.

"Good evening," said the Black Pearl, in just the kind of smoky contralto Missy had known she'd have. Her voice bore only a hint of accent. "I will require ten volunteers. If you want to be hypnotized, you will be; if you do not, you won't. Do not come forward if you are in any doubt of your intentions."

Missy literally leapt out of her seat. She was first to the stage steps, and the Black Pearl met her there, blocking her from ascending any further. Her eyes bored into Missy's like diamond drills. "Do you want to be hypnotized?" she demanded.

Missy didn't dare look away. "Yes, ma'am," she answered meekly, and thrilled to the thump at her clit. Here I am, submitting even before the hypnosis starts! And it feels sooo hot.

"Good. Sit." The Pearl turned to face the next arrival, dismissing Missy like the peon she was. Missy started off across the stage, slightly abashed and very aroused, and noticed that the chairs were new. Last year's had just been fold-ups from the student union. These were straight-backed chrome, with wheels. Missy settled herself near the center so she could see and be seen.

The remaining seats filled quickly, even though Pearl turned two aspirants away for lack of commitment. When her subjects were in place she strode back to center stage and clapped, twice. Out of the wings came ten women, identical in almost every way to the announcer. Same wasp-waisted business suits, same heels, same slicked-back hair and generically beautiful faces. But these women wore jet black wraparound sunglasses, and Missy had seen department store mannequins with more expression. She smiled at the woman who took the station behind her, and smiled even wider when she got no response at all.

"These are my assistants," said the Pearl, and Missy nodded to herself. Of course they were. "They will take part in the performance. And now, if you are ready, we will begin." She clapped her hands, and the first assistant took hold of the chair before her and pushed it forward. Startled, the boy in the seat just managed to raise his feet in time. Oh man, she's going to do us one at a time! thought Missy, as the assistant wheeled him out to center stage. The same thought had evidently occurred to the volunteer, and Missy could tell by the look on his face that he didn't like it much. I should have taken that first seat.

When they reached center stage, the assistant swung the chair sideways so the boy faced Black Pearl head-on, and both volunteers and audience could see them both in profile. Then she stepped back a pace and clasped her hands behind her, looking more mannequin-like than ever. Black Pearl lifted her hand, and the boy flinched as thought he feared she'd slap him. But the hypnotist only held her palm before his face and asked him a question, so quietly no one else could hear it. The boy swallowed, then nodded mutely, and she turned her hand around and brought it down ring-first across his face. Instantly his eyes rolled up in his head. He fell back bonelessly in his seat, and the assistant caught him moments before he fell out onto the floor. The audience erupted into murmurs.

It was all Missy could do to keep her hands away from her crotch. Gad, that was the hottest thing she'd ever seen! And soon it would be her, lying there slack-jawed and white-eyed under her Mistress's hand. She couldn't wait.

Black Pearl regarded her subject with an almost clinical detachment. Then she barked a command in some unknown tongue and the boy snapped to attention: spine stiff, arms and legs bent just so, eyes wide but unseeing. Again the crowd murmured, but she'd already turned away from him; and the assistant, still expressionless, wheeled him back into line. The other nine volunteers gaped at him, but he neither moved nor blinked. "Gotta be a ringer," said the boy to Missy's right. But the last girl in line moaned once and bolted from the stage.

The hypnotist, on the other hand, was unfazed. She gestured to the second assistant, and the second volunteer was wheeled out to center stage. Another quiet question, another nod, and the girl followed her predecessor into oblivion. Missy stared at the growing line of zombies and worked her inseam against her clit. Can't wait, can't wait, can't wait!

"Ringer" boy fell next, just as easily as his predecessors, and then it was Missy's turn. Her panties were soaked long before she got to center stage. Look at me, she thought, imagining her sorority sisters staring in horror. Look at me giving up my will to a twelve-thousand-year-old sorceress (not that she believed it, even then). Look at me creaming myself for the chance to become a thrall.

Then she met that dark gaze again and forgot all about her watchers. Those eyes - they were like black holes sucking in all light and heat and thought. Missy's slit spasmed helplessly, and from the quirk on Black Pearl's lips, she thought the woman sensed it. But when she spoke, it was only to ask the question Missy had waited her whole life to hear.

"Do you want to submit?"

Missy nodded, already swooning, and the ring drew a curtain of darkness over her mind.

Darkness. Emptiness. Mind in harness, steered by another. Bonds just loose enough to feel, not loose enough to shift. And orgasm coursing through every black-bound cell of me.

Later, Missy's sorority sisters refused to tell her what she'd done. They just said she and the others must have been in on it from the beginning.

October 15

"Oh look, the Black Pearl's coming back to town."

Missy almost spilled her soda at hypnotist's name, but she regained her composure and looked up from the mall bench. Here came Debra, with an entertainment paper in one hand and shopping bags lined up along both arms. She plunked herself down and passed the paper to Missy. "So, did she ever pay you for that performance of yours?"

Missy rolled her eyes. "Come on, Deb. I've told you a million times-"

"Yeah, enough that I'm almost starting to believe you. You going to see her again, then? She's playing at ChaCha's."

Damn, that was a twenty-one-and-over club, and Missy's fake ID worked best in dark, crowded bars. "Maybe," she shrugged, though she knew she couldn't resist.

It had been over a month since Missy was hypnotized, but she could still feel those sweet black reins on her mind. Not that she remembered much more now than she did then, but she'd worked up some amazingly detailed fantasies. It was actually pretty embarrassing, because Missy was as straight as they came...well, anyway, straight as she came, which was quite a lot these days. The Black Pearl has a hold on my mind, she thought, and clenched her legs around the tingle.

But her roommate was giving her an odd look, so she changed the subject. "Hey, let's go in there," she said, pointing with her straw.

Debra followed her gaze down a dark side corridor, to a lone shop faced in dark green marble. It lurked there almost smugly, as if it had swallowed all its competitors and was looking for more. "Dark Forest? You've got to be kidding, Missy. That's a fetish shop."

"So? We're not wearing our letters. We won't get in trouble for it."

Debra raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you the one to talk me into dirty deeds?"

"Come on, Deb," grinned Missy, and gave her a gentle elbow. "You know you want to."

And she did. Debra always did. Casting a quick glance up and down the concourse, she sighed and gave in. "Okay, let's do it - but quick. If we see anyone we know, I'll absolutely die of embarrassment."

They scurried down the corridor, giggling at first but quieting as they drew near the shop. Music spilled out of the broad open door: a low, fast pulse that reminded Missy of Black Pearl's theme. Trance music, she thought, and giggled. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, pretending it had tranced her, then matched her footsteps to the beat and stepped inside. Dance, trance, dance, trance. Debra gave her a funny look, but lost it quickly when she got a whiff of all that leather.

Their eyes and mouths grew wider as they wandered through the displays: here a selection of alienlike dildos, there a mannequin bound in hooks and rubber. Missy didn't know what half these items were for, and wouldn't admit to knowing about the other half. She paused at a counter filled with balls, clamps, and rings, as much to catch her breath as to examine the wares. "Would you like to try something on?" asked a smoky voice behind the counter.

The sales clerk must have snuck up on her, though how she could have done so in an outfit like that, was beyond Missy. The girl was bound in a skintight corset, almost alarmingly low on her chest. Missy didn't dare look at it too closely, for fear of seeing a rim of aureole. Instead she stared at the girl's eyes, and noticed how soft and dark they looked under sleepy lids. Almost like she's hypnotized, she thought. And like she's enjoying it. Missy crossed her legs and leaned into the glass, letting her thighs massage one another as she moved. The clerk raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, look," said Debra, reporting in from whatever far galaxy she'd been visiting these last few minutes. "Those are the contacts from the Black Pearl's show."

Missy dragged her eyes past the clerk's breasts and down to the gleaming display case. Debra must have looked pretty hard to find the lenses in the midst of all those other - other - what were they, anyway? She thought for a second about asking the clerk, but realized she didn't dare. Instead, she jerked her eyes back to the tiny, colorful, infinitely familiar novelty lenses. "Oh, right. The black and white spirals?"

"Yeah." Debra snorted, sounded more like her old self by the second. Nothing fired her up like a chance to act superior. "Bet she got them right here, too."

Missy stared at the spirals, letting her eyes drift out of focus, and pretended she was falling back into trance. Deeper and deeper, under my Mistress's spell. And wait - they did remind her of something, didn't they? Maybe she was finally starting to remember a bit of that night.

The clerk slid the display case open from behind, calling Missy back to herself. "You want to buy them, don't you?" she asked.

October 16

Missy dreamed of a vast white field with a black dot spinning at its center. With typical dream logic, she knew it had always been there. And she knew that it was changing.

She watched as the black began to lengthen and spin, spreading out two long arms in a spiral pattern. Then red washed over black and white together, and her body shook with orgasm.

October 18

The spiral dream was back, and after it, something far more disturbing. Missy was trying to get to ChaCha's for the Black Pearl performance, but Doug drove much too slowly and kept making wrong turns. Meanwhile, the wind was full of Black Pearl's voice, and every rain-slick puddle reflected her eyes.

Thank goodness their real-life trip went more smoothly. They arrived almost forty-five minutes early, just so Missy could be sure of a front row seat, and she spent most of her allowance pacifying Doug with beer. Missy couldn't complain, though. He'd been available on short notice, and he looked old enough to make Missy's fake ID a bit more convincing.

The music began a little before 9:00, slow, steady drumbeats and atonal flutes. Listening to it, Missy felt her mind and cunt loosen in equal proportions. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been, waiting for this night, but she could certainly feel the difference now.

The houselights dimmed and out came the announcer, bowing first, then sneering as the wolf whistles began. She was dressed tonight in leather: blood red and cinched so tight it was a wonder she could even breathe. But the new garb had two advantages over the business suit she'd worn at Missy's college. One, the corset displayed her wasp waist and cleavage to maximum effect. And two, the hot pants let her show off her tattoo: a "garter" of lustrous black pearls.

The announced rattled off the same spiel she'd given before: word for word, pause for pause - even, Missy could have sworn, breath for breath. Then she dropped to her knees and Missy moaned. This was it. She was going to see her "Mistress" again. And she must have wanted her pretty badly, judging by the pang at her chest.

Oh, but there she was! The Black Pearl was even more beautiful than before, with her glossy scarlet lips and scarlet cat suit. Just look at the way her hipbones jut through the vinyl, thought Missy. Look at that taut little cup between her hair and the small of her back. Missy imagined pressing her lips there, and it took her a full five seconds to remember where she was. She flushed briefly, then she went back to staring at Black Pearl's tightly pointed breasts, her rich cruel mouth, her flashing eyes.

Black Pearl stared out across the audience, sizing them up as though for a meal. Missy didn't expect to be remembered, so she felt no disappointment when the hypnotist looked right through her.

"Good evening," she said. "I will require ten volunteers. If you want to be hypnotized, you will be; if you do not, you won't. Do not come up if you are in any doubt of your intentions." Like the announcer, she'd used exactly the same words as before; but unlike the announcer, she made them sound fresh.

Missy gripped her seat to keep from rising. Part of her was dying to experience hypnosis again, that sweet hot feeling of control. But the only way she could find out what Black Pearl had done to her was by watching her do it to someone else. It might not be quite as much fun, but Missy still remembered how much she'd enjoyed seeing Bill Bingham manipulate Susan. She'd cream tonight, one way or the other. Besides, something told her she'd have another chance on stage. Maybe soon.

She snuggled up to Doug as the volunteers came forward, one person after another submitting themselves to a sorceress' control. Missy's hands dropped to her lap, fingering the edges of her miniskirt. She'd worn it on purpose.

Next came the assistants, expressionless and sunglassed, but identical in every other respect to the announcer. Missy couldn't even tell if these were the same women she'd seen before or ten new ones. They might have been cloned from a single cell, for all she knew.

Then Black Pearl began her induction, and Missy's hand slid up under her skirt. It was safe: Doug's attention was fixed firmly on the stage, and with the tablecloth to hide her, no one else could see what she was doing. Her fingers found the crotchless panties, twiddled their way inside, and began to thrust and twirl. Oh yeah, watching from the sidelines definitely had its advantages.

In less than ten minutes, the Pearl had transformed a group of nervous human beings into a row blank-eyed statues. That was me, Missy told herself, climaxing quietly. And now I can see what she made me do.

The hypnotist barked a command in that strange spell-tongue, and the inductees leapt from their chairs and began to dance. At first their movements were stiff and robotic, though perfectly synchronized. Then the assistants rolled the chairs offstage and joined them, and the twenty became an impromptu classical ballet troupe. Missy gaped at the smoothly whirling forms. Did I do that?! No wonder they thought I was in on it.

The dance grew more complicated, the performers flipping themselves into pyramids and literally throwing one another across the stage. Missy had seen this kind of thing before, on a TV show about the Cirque du Soleil. But those were professional acrobats. These were skinny college students and middle-aged banker types. Don't try this at home, she thought giddily. No mere hypnotist could make people behave like this, yet the Black Pearl managed without even speaking a known language. It's like she just reaches right into their brains and pulls. Maybe she really is a twelve-thousand-year-old sorceress. Missy tweaked her clit. And I was her thrall.

When the acrobats couldn't go any higher without bumping the ceiling, Black Pearl brought them back to earth and set the assistants circling them like cowboys herding cattle. Missy caught her breath; Debra had told her about this part of the routine, at least. It was her "proof" that the whole thing had been staged.

One by one the assistants whirled past, shedding their glasses and revealing their contacts - red and yellow tonight, to match their costumes. The crowd "oohed" and "aahed" appreciatively. Then the line broke apart and the inductees reappeared - each with his or her own pair of flaming spirals.

Missy grabbed Doug's arm as the orgasm hit again. Oh man, that was just too smooth. She'd been watching so closely, looking for the point where the contacts changed hands and the hands flew to eyes. But there'd been nothing. And how could Black Pearl guarantee herself ten volunteers who could wear contacts, anyway? How could she guarantee none of them were wearing contacts already? If this was a trick, it was smartest, slickest, balls-to-the-wall sexiest trick Missy had ever seen.

At last Doug noticed her frigging herself, and he dragged his groggy eyes away from the stage. Missy leered at him. Think you're going to get some tonight, don't you, boy?

She was tempted, too. She'd never had the nerve to suggest hypno-play to a lover before, but a show like this gave her the perfect opportunity. The problem was, could Missy really follow up a Black Pearl performance with someone as tame as Doug? Talk about anticlimactic! No, she'd just have to pass.

Missy spent the rest of the show in an orgasmic daze. Levitation, transformation, teleportation - it was all flat-out amazing. But she never lost sight of the real star of the show, Black Pearl herself. What kind of a woman, Missy thought, could control people like this? What kind of a woman could snap commands in a foreign language and turn overweight housewives into world class acrobats?

She frigged herself raw, then sat back and just enjoyed the throbbing. The show was winding down now, and oddly enough, Missy had begun to feel like she'd seen some of this before. Maybe her own induction was coming back to her at last.

Missy lingered after the show had ended (the volunteers waking from trance with no more memory than she'd had - and no more contacts, either), hoping to talk to Black Pearl in person. But the hypnotist had disappeared. Well, she hadn't seemed like the kind to sign autographs, anyway. But Missy couldn't stand the thought of losing her again, so when the lights went down and the dancing started, she slipped up onto the stage and crept behind the curtain.

The backstage area was dark, but a little light leaked in from the dressing room hall. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Missy couldn't see much beyond a pale arc of shoulder and the glitter of eyes. Was it her? Was it the Black Pearl?

"Hello, Melissa," said the shape, and Missy sighed. No, it was just the announcer. But -

"How did you know my name?"

"My Mistress remembers you, from the college performance. She knew you would be here tonight."

She does remember me! Missy felt a thrill of pleasure - and a touch of fear. But did I ever tell her my name? "Yes, I - I loved her show so much I wanted to see it again. From the other side, you know."

"Yes." The woman was almost preternaturally still.

Missy struggled to fill the silence. "Is, um, is she still around? Because I'd love to, you know, just talk to her. Awake, I mean." She laughed shakily. "If I said anything to her before, I don't remember it."

"My Mistress does not talk to supplicants. However, if you truly want to see her again, you may."

"Um, okay. But I picked up a program in the lobby, and there aren't any more show dates listed after tonight."

"Not all of Mistress's shows are publicized." The announcer stepped forward, shadows blotting out the light on her body, but failing to dim her eyes. Somewhere behind her, Missy heard the thump of dance music, but it sounded impossibly far away. She shuddered despite herself.

"The Black Pearl knew you would be here tonight," said the announcer again. "She left something for you." Her eyes blinked out, and for a moment Missy couldn't see her at all in the darkness. Then the woman was right in front of her, pressing something into her hands. "If you want her badly enough, it will show you the way."

She disappeared, and when Missy returned to the light she found herself holding a CD case. It seemed to pulse in her hands, but that was probably just the beat from the club music.