But the most fun of all were all the times we preyed upon out mindless True Believers.

It was a couple of years after joining that I finally decided to ascend to the top ranks of the Movement, because that was where the big money was to be found. To do that, I needed to start working the seminar and retreat and lecture circuit. I spent those intervening years laying the groundwork of that ascension, making the contacts and relationships, building the staff, learning the necessary skills and settling on a specialization and a routine.

The most successful of the Indigo Children were natural public speakers, and so I prepared by training myself to be just as natural. That meant private speech and acting lessons, where I discovered I possessed a powerful voice, with quite a singing range, as well as a supple flair for movement that would be the envy of any dancer. It also meant altering my personality to become far more outgoing and dramatic: I had to overcome my inclination to hide my abilities for self-protection. I told myself that I was just a matter of hiding, hiding in plain sight by being just another tree in the forest of Indigo Children. Such abilities were expected of us, and many were able to fake them quite impressively, but none of the other Indigo Children actually possessed them the way I did: they all thought I was faking as well. Truth to tell, it was a refreshing change: I was feeling confined in a web of my own design, for my own protection, so I was able to reveal some of my advanced abilities, although I never really revealed just how advanced I truly was; I still had to protect myself.

The best of the Indigo Children specialized, promoting their own take on one of a variety of New Age ideas, concepts and philosophies, some quite contrary: anyone outside the Movement’s followers would recognize the discontinuity, but our followers accepted it all with a startling aplomb. Myself, I decided to specialize on a routine involving past-life and future-life regressions, that subject being directly tied to hypnotism. It was a routine that others had tried in the past but none would ever perform it as well as I would, because none of them had my intimate knowledge of how the mind operated or my knowledge of trance and inductions. My special twist was to actually lead the participants through the regressions en masse, coordinating it so that everyone would ultimately experience the same general experience. The Akashic Records, I explained; they were seeing the life history of some particular person in the past or future, but not exactly their own past or future life: I would perform a personal past or future life regression for individuals for a very hefty “donation.”

I demonstrated my routine for my peers at a small retreat and they were suitably impressed, not only for my skill but also the possibilities it opened for later: just how many possibilities, only I knew. Within three months, I was firmly established as a part of a national tour. My routine fit in nicely into the overall program, which was composed of a tag-team series of speakers, combined with a pop psychology revival meeting laced with a heavy dose of borrowed (read: shamelessly stolen, because most of us Indigo Children knew very little shame) New Age philosophies. It was all designed to make the audience feel not only good about themselves but also quite special and select.

My part of the program integrated both elements. It all started the “meditation exercises” that were designed to produce an altered state of consciousness in the audience, opening their minds to my subtle manipulation, under many guises, whether it was the past-life and future-life regressions I specialized in, or, in association with a few others, healings, spiritual and otherwise. It was just a simple breathing exercise, getting the audience to breath slowly and deeply in unison: the result was that every participant, and everyone present always wanted to participate, was soon drifting in a light trance. The sound of so many people breathing as I directed, mirroring my own breathing, following my instructions into deep trance, was quite stimulating. Then, when I was performing one of the regression segments, I would begin weaving a web of words and concepts into their receptive minds, building images upon memories long forgotten. Within minutes, they were watching scenes they believed were of the far past or near future, with a startling similarity: those similar elements made researchers’ heads ache from trying to find some natural explanation, when I knew they were based on common elements based on common experiences and knowledge, and they all had similar knowledge from the many New Age sources they believed in. When I released them from their trance, more than a few wept at the things they thought they saw, while a larger segment were rapt with revelations their own unconscious minds gave them. It wasn’t as dramatic or as popular as some of the segments, but, as I saw it, probably the most life-changing segment of them all.

And, for me, the most stimulating. Many times after a program, I took advantage of the situation to relieve that stimulation, sometimes with one or more of the audience, sometimes with a few close individuals or even, upon occasions, with one of my fellow Indigo Children. I soon realized that if I managed to snare one or more of my peers in the Movement in my silken web of hypnotic surrender, so much the better. I took advantage of their very accepting state to lay the groundwork to further expand my influence within the Movement: its no coincidence that my most fervent backers within the Movement were among the people I routinely performed with, and they all thought it was just because of my charming personality.

If only they knew. If only they knew just how deeply they were under my influence, but it was part of that influence that they could never realize that.

It was just so much fun.

I knew Vicky was going to be my most difficult subject, which is why I waited so long to hypnotize her: I wanted to prepare her for her turn in the spotlight. A psychology major like myself, she was familiar with hypnosis. At first, I could tell she was willing to let me show off, her curiosity about the subject winning out over the rigid strictures against warnings about such “frivolity” that she heard from her professors. But everything I so confidently demonstrated was so far outside the norm of what she had been told that she was slowly but surely starting to question what she knew and those who instructed her, becoming more confused with each demonstration.

Therefore I was going to use that state against her.

I asked her to volunteer; her desire to conform with the group led her to accept my invitation and she stood next to me in the center of the room.

“Vicky,” I said, “I want to you start counting out loud: alternate counting down from 100 and counting up from 1. Between each number, say the word ‛deeper’.”

I could see in her mind she recognized the induction method and had even witnessed it being used: everyone else was just mystified at how just counting could be used to hypnotize someone. I could also see she actually had been hypnotized before, the first of my victims to have actually experienced hypnotic trance, and I didn’t even need to whisper it into her conscious thoughts, she was doing it herself. That would make the induction all that much easier.

“Begin counting now.”

“100, deeper, 1, deeper, 99, deeper, 2, deeper …”

“27.”

“Uh … 98, deeper, 3, deeper …”

“14.”

“Uh … uh …”

“Sleep,” I said, snapping my fingers beside both of her ears. I didn’t even have to say it forcefully: building on her already confused state, Vicky’s mind was so caught up in the pattern of counting that when I broke the pattern she was almost frantic to find something, anything, to focus on to relieve that confusion. And therefore, when she heard my soft voice say the word “sleep” and knew the context it was intended for, she totally accepted it and went into a deep hypnotic trance.

And it only took about 10 seconds. I was really hoping for only five: that would come, with practice.

No matter: I could tell Vicky was now totally primed and ready for whatever I would suggest to her.

“Vicky, whenever I mention your name, whenever I and only I mention your name, you will have an orgasm. Each time I and only I mention your name, the orgasm will be more intense, more pleasurable, more satisfying than the last.”

I noticed my audience glancing between themselves, especially the guys. Vicky had a certain reputation as an ice princess, using her knowledge of psychology to shut people down and turn people away: it was only the fact that she was friends with Becky from high school that she ever got her invitations to Becky’s parties. I saw that it was purely a defensive measure on her part: she got tired of being hit on in high school, her body developing into a buxom beauty before her self-confidence developed to match it. Unconsciously, she realized it, too, but it never became an issue that she wanted to resolve. It was an issue that could be easily corrected, should I choose; maybe later, because right now it would be so much fun to take advantage of.

“And when I awaken you from your deep trance, you will not remember anything of this, not remember anything from when I started to hypnotize you. All of those memories are behind a wall that you cannot see.”

As I repeated them, the suggestions formed up nicely within her mind: they would hold for as long as necessary.

I snapped my fingers to rouse her from her trance. She knew something was up, even through the post-hypnotic amnesia suggestions: part of her mind was trying to break through the suggestion even as another part was trying to prevent it. But I wasn’t going to wait for that to happen.

“How are you feeling, Vicky?”

She turned to me and started to answer, but her answer quickly turned into a panting moan as a wave of pleasure surged through her for several moments. When it subsided, she stared at me and asked “What did you … what did you do to me?”

“Why, I hypnotized you, Vicky,” I replied.

“You … you … youuuuuuu …” She managed to stammer out a few words before the sensations overcame her again. When she finally could catch her breath, she manged to say “You did hypnotize me, didn’t you.”

“Did I, Vicky?” I could see in her mind she was quickly overcoming the amnesia suggestions. Those thoughts were immediately sidetracked as another orgasm rocked her body and mind.

“And … and when you … say my name … I … I …” she suddenly looked quite confused: the last remnants of the suggestions were still in control.

“When I say your name, then what?”

“I … I … don’t know …”

“But you want me to say your name again, don’t you?”

She didn’t have to answer, I could see the pleading answer in her eyes as well as in her mind.

I leaned closer, her eyes getting wider and wider in anticipation, and, with a smile, I whispered “Vicky.”

This time she completely abandoned herself to the sensations, her hands roaming across her abundant breasts. The others were enthralled watching her perform. The others couldn’t see what I was seeing, though, so I was having a very private showing of a very naughty fantasy. The images I was seeing as each orgasm came and went were of hands delicately and deliberately seeking out her most sensitive and private parts, touching and probing: I surprised to then discover they were her own hands, very practiced hands. Vicky was a pretty busy girl, and quite lonely underneath it all.

I waited until she was in the last moments of her pleasure before I put my arm around her shoulder and whispered “sleep, sleep, sleep” into her ear. Her distracted state and recent trance experience led her deeply into trance. I removed all of the suggestions, allowing her to remember what I did and how I did it: I especially wanted her to acknowledge that her knowledge of hypnosis was definitely incomplete and certainly tainted by the prejudices of her instructors.

And, just for fun, I whispered a little something into her subconscious that the next time she masturbated, she would discover images and memories of me intruding on her mind.

I snapped my fingers to awaken her, and when she was completely awake and aware, I asked “How are you feeling, Vicky?”

She looked startled, expecting to have another orgasm, then she looked at me almost shyly and simply nodded, unable to find the words to express herself. I grinned and sent her back to her seat, where the others all tried to get her attention by saying her name, which didn’t produce the response they were seeking: they apparently forget that only I had that power over her.

Only I deserved that power over her, and over the rest of them, too.