Give him her car keys

"The reason I am late, is because I found this on my way home." David said, holding up the stopwatch.

His mother frowned and then stepped closer to peer at what he was holding. He was certain that she was going to yell at him to throw it away, and explain how they didn't need garbage cluttering up their home. As she peered, he began to swing it, slowly, but steadily. He was unable to keep a smile off his face, one which he was sure must have given the game away, but he couldn't help himself.

This was it, the moment that he'd dreamed about his whole fucked up childhood.

She stared at it for a moment, and he saw that same, transfixed expression, which had appeared on Mrs. Browning's face, appear on hers as well.

He quickly stowed it away before she could recover from her daze and held himself proudly as she shook her head and looked up at him befuddled.

"What were we talking about?!" She demanded, her trademark anger quickly overcoming her confusion.

"You were about to give me the keys to your car and tell me I could use it this Friday night." David said, extending his hand.

His mother's face scrunched up as her hand moved to her purse. Then her eyes bulged and she paused. "I suppose you think that's funny?"

David's eyebrows lifted.

"Well, HA-HA Mister. You can go ahead and laugh all you like with no TV and no internet for the rest of the week." She said. She turned away, her hand still reaching for her purse. Then she stared at it, as if annoyed and shook it hard. Whatever latent effect David's command was having on her limbs, it seemed to fade in that moment.

"Wait...what?!" David said, feeling a rising panic that his newfound ability was malfunctioning.

"Oh yes. I make the rules around here buster, and you better not forget it, if you don't want to spend the rest of the month grounded." She said, throwing open the door and marching outside, and shaking her head, at her son's silliness.

David slowly made his way upstairs, and after a mild panic attack, he managed to convince himself that this wasn't as bad as he thought it was.

His mother still didn't remember being hypnotized and she had clearly begun to perform his command. The hypnosis wasn't broken, it just wasn't acting as it had on Mrs. Browning. But he'd only had one test subject. And if the hypnosis didn't work on some people as well, it would go a long way to explaining why Doctor whats-his-name was perceived as such a crackpot and why everyone thought hypnosis was bunk.

He pulled out the book from under his bed and brushed dust off its cover. He'd stopped on the third chapter, the one where the stopwatch trick had been explained, but now he flipped further in, scanning the pages for some hint as to this new development. He eventually found it, under a section labeled "DISCLAIMER":

The difficulty of hypnotizing the subject is proportional to their subconscious perception of the hypnotist. Trust and adoration make it possible even for strong willed and skeptical individuals to succumb to the effect.

So that was it? His mother disliked him more than Mrs. Browning had, when he'd first hypnotized her? Well, that was a kick in the teeth. He'd always known he was a disappointment to her but finding out that his teacher actually trusted and possibly liked him more than she did, just added salt to the wound. His mother would pay for that.

The hypnosis had not worked, but it would, given a little planning and forethought. Then he would be the one barking orders. Almost impossible, eh? Well, he'd always been up for a challenge.

He partially closed the book, thinking about his interaction with Mrs. Browning. Could it be that the sweet, if slightly pedantic teacher had reciprocated some of his feelings? If this book was accurate, he had only been allowing her to indulge in "subconscious" actions, rather than actually changing her conscious mind.

Had she felt submissive towards him, before he uprooted her life and defiled her mind? He supposed he could ask her, but what would be the point? If his actions, his commands, had made her more reliant on him, then the effect of the hypnosis had grown since he'd started. That meant that he could work his way up. Command people like his mother to perform little tasks for him, to entrust him with trivial duties, and each time they did, it would get a little bit easier, to make them his ****.

He looked at the book. Then he opened the door to his closet, pushed aside some old luggage and stuffed it under a heavy piece of neglected furniture. He couldn't let anyone find it, not before he had Mrs. Browning under his thrall. He especially couldn't let his mother find it. She would never let him and his teacher be together.

She would see it as a scandal, she would try to have him institutionalized.

Still, it could be useful, to keep her around, once she was a tad more "suggestible."