Counting to be normal again

The book was no help at all. If anything, it egged me on, urging me to push further, faster. But honestly? I wasn’t ready. Sure, I’ll admit it—what I saw was intense, electrifying even. Ellie, lost in that trance on my couch, was… well, it got me worked up. I was a mess, caught between fascination and panic, but I had to pull it back somehow.

Flipping through the book, I found a section toward the end of the first chapter. “Ellie, can you hear me?” I asked, my voice unsteady. She let out a soft moan, then whispered, “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m going to count to three and snap my fingers. When I do, you won’t remember this. You’ll feel normal, good, like nothing happened. One—the pleasure fades, your breathing steadies. Two—you feel nothing of that addictive rush anymore. Three—your mind forgets this moment, but your subconscious holds it.” I snapped my fingers.

She blinked, her eyes clearing. The flush in her cheeks was gone, like a storm had passed. “Did it work?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “I think I dozed off.”

I didn’t know what to say. My heart was still racing. “Yeah, I think it did something,” I managed. “How do you feel?”

“Really good, actually. Like, super good.” She paused, then added, “Uh, can I use your bathroom?”

While she was gone, I dove back into the book. It was wilder than I’d imagined. This was just the first chapter, and it went deep—detailing how to use pleasure to influence someone’s subconscious, how to make them pliable. It said Ellie would slip into a trance faster now, and I could plant a post-hypnotic suggestion to trigger it instantly. My head spun. This was too much.

When she came back from the bathroom, she looked flustered, like she was unraveling. She mumbled something about heading out. “Hey, wait,” I said, my voice catching. “Can we try one more thing? Would you sit on the couch again?”

She hesitated, cheeks pink. “Uh, sure.”

“Okay, breathe in deeply. Now picture that ice cream again. Lick it, but this time, you sink deeper, faster.” Her breathing shifted, quickening. “Good. The pleasure’s coming back, stronger. When I snap my fingers, the cone’s gone.” I snapped.

She slipped back into that state, faster this time, just like the book promised. Her body trembled, her breath ragged. “Ellie, can you hear me?” I asked. A faint whimper escaped her, then a gasped, “Yeah.”

“Listen closely. This is your truth, etched deep in your mind. Whenever I say ‘ice cream,’ you’ll fall back into this state. Got it?” Another moan, then a gritted, “Yes.”

“Good. You’ll forget I hypnotized you, but your subconscious will remember this truth. You love hypnosis. It pulls you into this deep, addictive pleasure when I say ‘ice cream.’ Now, at three, you’ll come back, feeling safe, happy, like you had a great night with me. Hypnosis will feel like a relaxing exercise.” I snapped my fingers.

She let out a long breath, her eyes fluttering open. “How do you feel?” I asked.

She blushed, her words quick and clipped. “Good.” She didn’t linger. A hurried goodbye, and she was gone.

I lay awake that night, replaying it all. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Ellie—plain, soft-around-the-edges Ellie—had nearly unraveled on my couch because of some dusty hypnosis book. My dreams were restless, haunted by the weight of what I’d done, what I’d stumbled into. It was too much to process.