If these words have gotten to you, my reader whoever you are, than I am terribly glad and terribly disheartened, for now my shame is manifest to the outside world, where before it was known only to myself and four terrible, seductive, and terribly beautiful women. Shame, for my weakness may have done more damage to mankind, and I mean that literally, than any man before.

No doubt this sounds like hyperbole, surely you say W. has done more damage to both the U.S economy and destabilized the world, surely that’s worse. While terrible, these are things from which the world and mankind can recover, from what I’ve done, for brief moments of pleasure I have traded the freedom the very freedoms that America is dedicated to, at least in principle. That is my shame, and this is my story. And maybe if these words have gotten to you, if you are still free as you read this, maybe you can undo my mistakes and rescue, if not me, at least rescue some of your fellows, though at this point they may no longer want to be rescued.

But I must begin at the beginning, as the song says. And like the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland I must ask you to believe six impossible things before breakfast. I was, and theoretically still am, a humble professor of psychology at a prestigious university. A place cold in the wintertime, snow upon the ivy, heavy wool trenchcoat over blazer, slacks and boots rather than leather shoes. A beautiful campus, students brimming with curiosity and intellectual vigor, a wonderful job, this is what I had. I should have been content. But I wanted more, I wanted fame, a best seller, tv talkshow appearances. Why? I was getting older, I wanted to matter, to be known. To have beautiful women recognize me in the street. Maybe if I had been married, I would have been safer. But who knows?

But this is not impossible, this is average: expected even. Fair enough. So I was a typical bachelor professor in the midst of a midlife crisis. So what? So begins a chain of dominos. I wanted to be with it, hip. I created a myspace page. I listed my career, mentioned my interest in clinical hypnosis, which most of mainstream psychology regards with great skepticism. Indeed, my own skepticism was great as well. But it was interesting, how much of hypnosis required belief to function, how much could function without the subjects co-operation. And what exactly was to be considered co operation anyway. For example, in a mugging, often you could say the one being mugged cooperates with the mugger, he hands over his wallet. He takes his money out. He doesn’t scream for the police, but the cooperation is coerced. Could not this be analogous to hypnosis, willful participation coerced by the hypnotist? By mechanical devices and drugs certainly, but perhaps through enviro nmental factors as well… But I digress. Even now pedantic habits persist. How odd.

So I was contacted through myspace, a woman named Hannah. She shared my interest in hypnosis and had an idea for a project and a book. She said she could line up financial backing for the project through her contacts from the corporate world. Would I be interested in helping her? Naturally I was skeptical but I agreed to meet her at a local coffee shop to discuss the matter in person.

She had identified herself as a redhead, and she told me to look for business attire. And she wore a blazer it’s true. But I don’t think she was wearing a shirt underneath as I saw a great deal of skin and wanted to see more. I’m not, or at least wasn’t a slave to my baser desires, but she was, is, beautiful. Just sitting across from her I caught a sharp tang of perfume that, just a whiff sent jolts of energy down my lower spine, and lets just say she aroused my interest.

She only smirked at my discomfiture, I see in hindsight she was just taking in her desired effect on me. Her smirk highlighted her full sensuous lips, glossed with a dark maroon shade, I was so focused on their colour and movement, she had to repeat what she said.

“I have a project for you, I mean a project I wish to work on with you. I think you’ll find it agreeable.”

“I don’t know, I’m very busy” I hedged.

“There will be much money in it, eventually.”

“So says the author of every crackpot idea ever.” I retorted.

“But so many great ideas were once thought crackpot ideas” she countered.

“Point” I conceded. “But why me?”

“You have a myspace. You are accessible. Perhaps more receptive to what I want.” She smirked again as she said this. It was a lovely smirk and something inside me fluttered. I wanted to work with her. The scent of her perfume would strike me periodically, as a breeze shifted towards me. It would always derail my train of thought, but in a very pleasant way. I could imagine myself with her in the lab, leaning over her shoulder, taking in the scent of her hair, her neck. Perhaps in a joint task, intimacy might develop. A relationship, a fling, just the casual touch of her hand would be a powerful incentive to agree to whatever lunacy she was suggesting.

Lord, to look back and see such a fool. But would I have done any different, even with hindsight. Who could resist those seductive eyes and lips? Hopefully some man can, some saviour, but could I have? Quien sabe… as the Spanish say. Who knows.

“This project is simple, I wish to test hypnosis on uninformed subjects. See if the unwilling, unknowing can be hypnotized. They say hypnosis is consensual. But what is consensual. This you have written about online, this I would like to study.” Her accent was Eastern European, and this gave her an air of mystery and authority and I found myself nodding as she continued.

I would like you to perform the hynosis until you have taught me how to do so. I wish to test the differences between genders, how do men respond to women hypnotists differently than they do to men. How do women respond differently to other women compared to male hypnotists? These are interesting questions yes? You wish to help me don’t you?” She smiled and I found myself agreeing without thinking, savoring the light that lit her eyes at my enthusiasm.

The next few weeks were a blur. I met with Hannah often, then wrote the proposal for my department, met with her corporate sponsors. I was a little disturbed to think about what a large corporation would be interested in hypnosis for, but they said they were a medical corporation and were interested in whether hypnosis could be used in clinical psychological studies to get a more accurate picture of peoples response to therapeutic drugs.

It sounded reasonable enough, and I really didn’t want anything more than to soothe my nagging doubts. I wanted the project to go on, I wanted to work with Hannah. She then brought in three other women to be her assistants in the study. And so I met Nicole, Lisa and Pamela. Lisa was young and beautiful, Pamela striking and seductive and Nicole a blonde whose quied demeanor masked a sharp mind. Hannah wanted me to hypnotize each of them while she watched, to see how they responded and learn my technique.

Many times I’ve fantasized about those experiences. Especially with Pamela, to see that large imposing physique, those vibrant eyes grow clouded and tired, to hear her enchanting voice grow fuzzy with fatigue, even now I feel myself responding to the memory. I did nothing inappropriate, Hannah was there even if I was willing to compromise my morals. I merely asked her questions about her interests, her background, some embarrassing questions at Hannah’s prompting to see if she was really under. She was. She was a very receptive subject.

Then Hannah asked me to teach her how to hypnotize, how to use her eyes as a subject. I told her that it would be more clinical to use a metronome.

“But that’s just it, I don’t want this to be clinical. I want this to be informal, unexpected. I told you that.”

”I don’t know if that’s even legal, let alone moral.”

“Knowing you are to be hypnotized changes the experience. It is like Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, knowing you are to be hypnotized might preclude a full hypnotic experience.”

“But people who know they are going to be hypnotized are hypnotized.”

”But the experience might be different, and perhaps more complete and genuine; you know I’m right don’t you?” She smiled enticingly at me and met my eyes with hers. I rapidly found myself drifting in them, but that had nothing to do with hypnosis. At least so I told myself. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing with. She gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek that left a lipstick mark on my cheek and my head spinning. I shook my head and wondered what I had gotten myself into. So things rolled on; Hannah overcoming difficulties and objections in her singular ineluctable manner. I taught her how to hypnotize using her eyes as a focus, by hypnotizing her with my eyes as a focus. Those were lovely times, having her fix her eyes upon mine and telling her to relax and to let herself feel good. But it was odd, I never felt in control. I felt that hypnosis was a way for me to please her, a device to make her feel good, a way to serve. And that felt odd. Normally I was in control of my relationships, plodding through them in my own self absorbed way.

Although I wasn’t in a relationship with Hannah, I was fixated on her. And I was lambent with joy when she trusted in me, allowed herself to go under for me, and I felt privileged to help her relax and soothe her troubles. Then one day when I was having her stare into my eyes, her eyes weren’t growing heavy, nor glassy. But mine were. She didn’t say a word, just stared. Her eyes were so inviting and deep, that every time I told her to relax, to go deeper into my eyes, I grew more tired, my limbs felt heavier. My eyes were barely open when she mouthed the word sleep at me. My eyes slammed shut and my limbs fell to my sides. Everything faded to black.

I awoke, well I opened my eyes. I was sitting in a room, Hannah sat in front of me, in a semicircle sat Nicole, Pamela and Lisa.

“You love me don’t you Tom?”

“Yes” I said because I did. I felt free and floating, like that buzz from three shots of rum, just before the passing out and the vomiting, but including the pleasant head spinning.

“And you love to do what I tell you, and you love it when I call you slave, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes milady.”

“Good, that will do. You know when you look in my eyes you must obey. That it gives you great pleasure to obey me.”

“Yes.”

“And you will obey these girls, my assistants won’t you. You’ll be a good boy and obey them just like you obey me.”

”Yes milady.”

“And you will do that whether you’re hypnotized or not.”

“How will I know if I’m hypnotized milady?” “Good question slave. Most of the time you will not be hypnotized, you will be aware and think and act normally. Except you will follow any instructions I have given you. But when I look into your eyes and tell you to sleep your eyes will close, you will feel lightheaded and wonderful. You will accept anything I tell you as true. Is that clear slave?”

“Yes milady.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Yes. What if one of the others gives me a command that contradicts your instructions?”

“That is impertinent slave. However whom do you love?”

“I love you.”

“So my instructions take precedence. If there is a conflict between one of my assistants and the others you come to me. Is that clear?”

“Yes milady.”

“You have been a very good slave so far, would you like to kiss me?”

“Yes milady.”

”Like to taste my sweet lipstick, savouring the flavour? Feel your tongue touch mine, my gorgeous sensual lips?”

“Yes milady” I squirmed in my chair as desire and urges twisted my body with need.

“Even though this kiss will seal the bond and strengthen my hold on you?”

“Yes milady” I said and it was true. I hungered for her kiss like a junkie, for the touch of her body, I had become obsessed with her. At that point I was willing, eager to surrender in exchange for the taste, the touch.

“Then so be it” and she crossed to me, lifted my chin with her fingertip, slowly lowered her face to mine, her eyes locked to mine, my lips hung slightly open, trembling, as she approached, so terribly beautiful. I breathed deeply the scent of her perfume, her hair, those beautiful eyes transfixed me… then the taste of her deep red lips. I moaned into her lips, breathed in her breath, her power over me complete. My body trembled with happiness and need. That kiss eclipsed every other in my memory, every woman now a shadow to her flame. I wanted it to go on and on, and it seemed to last so long, so focused was I on the sensation, But then she pulled away, slowly gently, so I could savor the end. She pulled away and smiled, and I knew all my future happiness, and a part of me knew all my future misery as well, was in that smile. And that was the birth, or perhaps just the first milestone of the dominant female revolution. I taught them everything I ever knew, hypothesized and even speculated. I helped them experiment with different perfumes, foci and anything else that might expand their power. With their seductive feminine wiles they were already practically hypnotists. With all my clinical experimental knowledge, they may be unstoppable. I know during our meeting with the dean of social sciences I watched him fall under Pamela’s spell. During the meeting she would periodically adjust her lipstick, slowly and sensually and then playfully make little circles in the air with her wand. The dean followed raptly.

I was allowed to keep my free will but forbidden to tell anyone of their plans. But eventually I discovered a loophole. I could write this down as long as I had no concrete plan of who to send it to. And so now it’s written. You know of my slavery, the dean’s slavery and who knows who else by now. If I somehow get this out, you must take action. For their plan is to enslave all men, to make us sated pleasure slaves, good for doing work and breeding. All our decisions will be made for us, by beautiful dominant woman. It’s so hard to remind myself that is a bad thing. That I don’t want to be Mistress Hannah’s slave. Even though she is so beautiful. Even though I would do anything to please her. To savour her kiss again. I must resist. I must…