The Skeptic

Katie Reynolds had never believed in hypnosis. Not real hypnosis. Stage hypnosis was a con, a carefully choreographed dance of suggestion and social pressure designed to make gullible people act like idiots while thinking it wasn't their fault. She'd debunked psychics, faith healers, and fortune tellers on her UStream channel, "Katie's Corner," and tonight The Masterful Mezmer would be her next victim. As she adjusted her phone on its tripod stand, she had no idea she was about to become his.

"Thirty-seven thousand followers can't be wrong," she murmured, checking the frame to ensure she'd capture both the stage and her reaction shots. The campus auditorium smelled of dust and cheap beer smuggled in red plastic cups. "This'll get us to forty easy."

Kevin Park sighed beside her, his arm a warm weight around her slender waist. "We could be at Malone's right now. Jason's band is playing."

"And miss the chance to watch grown adults cluck like chickens?" Katie turned, pressing her small breasts against his chest, feeling the familiar tingle when his eyes dropped to her lips. "Besides, I promised my viewers the truth about this guy."

"Your viewers," Kevin repeated, stealing a quick kiss that left her lips warm. "The internet's most dedicated skeptics."

"Someone has to save these poor bastards from themselves." She gestured to the crowd of about fifty students milling around, mostly drunk sophomores ready to laugh at their hypnotized friends. "Look at them, Kevin. They've paid actual money to be fooled."

The lights dimmed, sending a ripple of anticipation through the room. Katie's heart quickened despite herself. She was a journalist at heart, even if her major still had three semesters to go. This was fieldwork, research, not entertainment.

"Showtime," she whispered, clicking record.

The Masterful Mezmer emerged from behind a black curtain, and Katie's prepared snark caught in her throat. He wasn't the silver-haired carnival barker she'd expected. Tall and lean in a tailored black suit, salt-and-pepper goatee framing a sharp jawline, he commanded the space with nothing but presence. His voice, when it came, was a baritone that seemed to vibrate in her chest.

"Good evening," he said, gray eyes scanning the crowd with laser focus. "I am The Masterful Mezmer, and tonight, you will witness the power of your own minds."

Kevin snorted, but Katie found herself leaning forward slightly, her finger hovering over the zoom function on her phone.

Mezmer selected his first victim, a tough-looking girl with sleeve tattoos who proclaimed loudly that "this shit is fake." Within minutes, she was slumped in a chair, unable to remember her own name, drool collecting at the corner of her slack mouth while the audience tittered.

"Cold reading 101," Katie narrated for her video, even as goosebumps rose along her arms. "Note how he picked someone eager to prove him wrong. Classic misdirection. She's playing along because the social pressure is immense."

Yet something about the girl's glassy eyes made Katie's nipples tighten against her bra. She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed at her body's reaction.

"And now," Mezmer's voice rolled through the room, "I'd like to offer a challenge. Five hundred dollars cash to anyone who can prove this is fake… while participating."

Katie's competitive streak flared hot in her belly. "Fuck yes," she whispered, grabbing Kevin's hand. "Come on."

"What? No." Kevin tugged back, but she was already moving.

"It's a perfect ending for the video," she insisted, dragging him toward the stage where four other girls were already lining up, two sorority types in matching skirts, a goth girl with fishnets, and a bookish one adjusting her glasses nervously.

Katie positioned herself front and center, making sure her phone was still recording. Her auburn hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, her fitted blouse and jeans chosen for comfort rather than style. She wasn't here to impress; she was here to expose.

"Let's see you try this on someone who actually knows how cons work," she challenged, looking Mezmer directly in his storm-gray eyes.

He smiled, the expression never reaching those eyes. "A skeptic. My favorite." He gestured to Kevin. "And your boyfriend? Is he joining us?"

"Just me," Katie said, as Kevin retreated to the front row, looking uneasy.

"As you wish." Mezmer addressed the volunteers. "Ladies, please clasp your hands together, fingers interlaced, like so."

Katie complied, mentally recording every trick, every subtle suggestion. The first test was simple. He claimed their hands would lock together, impossible to separate.

"Your fingers are fusing," he intoned, voice dropping an octave. "Becoming like steel, stronger with each breath. Try to pull them apart. You cannot."

Katie smirked, ready to yank her hands apart dramatically for her video, but found her muscles wouldn't cooperate. Her fingers remained locked, a faint tremor running through her arms as she strained against some invisible force.

"What the fuck?" she muttered, feeling the first flutter of panic. The other girls were experiencing the same phenomenon, giggling nervously as they tugged at their hands.

"Don't worry," Mezmer said, directly to her. "This is merely suggestion. Your conscious mind knows you can separate your hands. But your subconscious has already accepted my authority."

"Bullshit," Katie spat, but her voice lacked conviction. A warm flush crept up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. Between her thighs, an unexpected heat bloomed that she attributed to adrenaline, to the stage lights, to anything but arousal.

Kevin watched from below, brow furrowed. She tried to reassure him with her eyes: I'm fine, this is great footage.

"Close your eyes," Mezmer commanded, and to Katie's horror, her eyelids grew heavy, drooping despite her mental resistance. "Imagine you're sinking into warm sand, each grain cushioning your body, pulling you deeper into relaxation."

Katie fought it, reciting debunking facts in her head. Peer pressure. Suggestibility. Social compliance. But her body betrayed her, muscles relaxing one by one as Mezmer's voice wove around her like silk ropes.

"Your limbs are heavy, delightfully so, unresponsive to your thoughts yet eager for my words."

A soft moan escaped one of the sorority girls, then another. Katie's head lolled forward, chin nearly touching her chest. She struggled to lift it, to open her eyes, but the effort was monumental.

"On the count of three, I'll snap my fingers. When I do, you two," he must have indicated the sorority girls, "will believe you're chickens, desperate to impress a rooster."

Katie wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but the sound of a finger snap cut through her fog, followed by ridiculous clucking. Through slitted eyes, she saw the two girls squatting, arms bent like wings, skirts hiking up to reveal smooth thighs and the edges of their panties. The audience whooped.

"And you," Mezmer's voice was closer now, his breath warm on Katie's ear, "raise your right arm like a rigid board. It's stiff, unbending, rising higher and higher."

No, Katie's mind screamed. But her arm lifted as if pulled by invisible strings, straightening until it pointed at the ceiling. Her fitted blouse pulled taut across her small breasts, the friction against her hardening nipples sending an electric current down her spine, pooling between her legs where a shameful wetness gathered.

"Perfect," Mezmer purred. "So receptive. So obedient."

Through the fog of her trance, Katie felt a deep vulnerability settle in her core. Her mind raced but couldn't escape, trapped in a body that no longer belonged to her. Somewhere in the audience, Kevin shifted uncomfortably, watching his girlfriend slip away.

"Deeper relaxation," Mezmer promised, his voice the only anchor in Katie's spinning world. "Deeper obedience."

And Katie, against everything she believed, against her will and her pride and her thirty-seven thousand followers, surrendered.

***

The trance held Katie like a lover, firm but gentle, impossible to escape. Her mind floated, detached from her body yet acutely aware of every sensation. The scratch of her bra against hardened nipples, the damp heat gathering between her thighs, the weight of stares from the audience below. Mezmer's voice wrapped around her consciousness, a silken cord binding her to his will. She could think, could rage internally, but her limbs remained traitors, responsive only to his commands.

The stage lights felt warmer now, casting long shadows that danced across her skin like phantom touches. The audience's murmurs washed over her like ocean waves, distant yet threatening.

"Now for our next demonstration," Mezmer announced, his voice a velvet purr that vibrated in Katie's core. "The clothing compliance test."

He paced before the entranced volunteers, explaining with clinical detachment about therapeutic hypnosis for phobias, how exposing oneself gradually to fears could overcome them. Reality and bullshit blended in Katie's foggy mind as he twisted legitimate science into perversion.

"For science," he said, lips quirking at his own joke, "you'll demonstrate trust by following simple body cues. Your hands will itch to adjust, to reveal, until all discomfort fades."

The other girls stirred slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused. Katie felt a phantom itch along her forearms, her fingers twitching in anticipation of commands not yet given.

Mezmer approached the goth girl first, her fishnet-clad body swaying slightly in place. He leaned close, lips nearly brushing her ear, and whispered a single word: "Reveal."

The effect was immediate. The girl's hands rose to her fishnet top, fingers working methodically to peel it upward, exposing a lacy black bra that cupped surprisingly full breasts. As the top cleared her head, tousling her dark hair, the crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.

Katie watched in detached horror, her mind screaming warnings her mouth couldn't form. In the audience, Kevin shifted uncomfortably, his face contorting in confused concern.

The sorority girls were next, standing side by side in their matching outfits, like dolls awaiting activation.

"Reveal," Mezmer commanded the first.

Her hands gripped the hem of her short skirt, shimming it down over toned thighs to pool at her feet. She wore no panties, her shaved mound glistening visibly under the harsh lights, a damp shine that betrayed her body's response. A deep blush spread across her cheeks, but her hands remained at her sides, making no move to cover herself.

"Reveal," he told the second.

Her fingers worked the buttons of her blouse with precision, each one coming undone to expose more creamy skin. The fabric parted to show a lacy bra barely containing pert generous breasts, nipples poking through the material. She shrugged the blouse off entirely, letting it fall forgotten behind her.

Katie's breath quickened, a traitorous heat building between her legs. Her pussy clenched involuntarily, a thin trickle of arousal dampening her cotton panties. Shame flooded her system, but her body responded like a well-trained animal, salivating at the bell whether food was present or not.

Mezmer turned to her, gray eyes piercing through her mental fog. He approached slowly, deliberately, a predator savoring the hunt.

"Such a clever girl," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "But cleverness hides tension. Let it go."

Then, that damning word: "Reveal."

Katie's hands moved with robotic precision, no hesitation despite her internal screams. Her fingers found the buttons of her blouse, working them open one by one, the fabric parting to expose the red silk bra she'd worn not for seduction but because the black one was in the laundry. The irony wasn't lost on her. The one day she wore something remotely sexy, and she was being stripped like meat.

"No, no, no," she chanted internally, but her hands continued their betrayal, sliding the blouse off her shoulders. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, raising goosebumps across her chest and arms. Her small A-cup breasts heaved with each panicked breath, nipples visibly hard through the thin silk.

Her fingers moved to her jeans next, tugging at the button, then dragging the zipper down with a rasp that felt like a zipper on her very nerves. She pushed them down toned legs, the denim sliding over her thighs and calves to pool at her ankles. She stepped out of them mechanically, now standing in nothing but her red bra and simple cotton panties, already sporting a damp patch at the crotch.

In the audience, Kevin stood halfway out of his seat, face contorted in disbelief.

"This is bullshit! Stop it!" he shouted, drawing attention from those around him.

Mezmer's gaze flicked to him, a subtle wave of his hand making Kevin freeze mid-rise, muscles locking in place. The audience laughed, mistaking it for part of the act, but Katie saw the truth in Kevin's panicked eyes. He was as trapped as she was.

Her hands moved to the clasp of her bra next, unhoofing it with practiced ease. The straps slid down her arms, and the cups fell away, exposing her small breasts to the hungry eyes of the crowd. Her pink nipples stood painfully erect, so hard they ached, as wolf whistles and catcalls bounced off the auditorium walls.

"Just as I thought," Mezmer said loud enough for the front rows to hear, "disappointing little tits. Barely a handful."

Laughter rippled through the crowd, adding humiliation to Katie's cocktail of emotions. Her panties were last to go, fingers hooking into the waistband to drag them down her legs. The cotton stuck slightly to her wet pussy before peeling away, exposing her completely, her shaved mound, her slick folds, her shame.

The last volunteer, a petite Asian girl with delicate features, responded to her trigger as well. Her sundress fell away, followed quickly by her bra and panties, leaving her in nothing but thigh-high stockings. Her lithe body quivered under the exposure, small tits jiggling slightly with each trembling breath.

"Clothing is a barrier to trust," Mezmer intoned, reinforcing the suggestion. "Without it, you feel free, aroused by vulnerability."

Katie's pussy clenched again at his words, a fresh wave of wetness sliding down her inner thigh. She wanted to clamp her legs shut, to hide the evidence of her body's betrayal, but she remained rooted in place, legs slightly parted, everything on display.

Mezmer produced his phone, walking slowly around her. The camera clicked repeatedly, close-ups of her face twisted in silent pleading, her "disappointing little tits" as he murmured mockingly, and worst of all, her bare cunt with its betraying slickness.

"Look how wet our skeptic is," he announced to the crowd. "Her mind says no, but her body knows better."

In the audience, Kevin had slumped back into his seat, the freezing spell broken just enough to allow movement. His face had paled to a sickly white, eyes wide with dawning horror at what he was witnessing, his girlfriend naked and dripping on stage, seemingly by choice.

All six girls stood in a line now, bodies displayed like museum exhibits, a variety of shapes and sizes united in their exposure. Katie's mind reeled from the violation, but a deep throb had settled in her clit, pulsing in time with her racing heart. Her autonomy was fracturing, crumbling under the weight of collective stares and Mezmer's hypnotic control.

And the worst part, the thing that made Katie want to die of shame right there on the stage, was that some dark, twisted part of her was enjoying it, the exposure, the helplessness, the way her body responded despite her mind's protests. That was the true horror. That she might actually want this.

***

The auditorium had transformed into something primal, a colosseum where the spectators thirsted not for blood but for shame. Dozens of phones held aloft captured every angle of Katie's naked body. Her small breasts with their painfully hard nipples, her slender waist, her exposed pussy with its telltale sheen of arousal. Each camera flash felt like a physical slap, imprinting her humiliation into digital permanence. And yet, her traitorous cunt continued to throb, responding to the exposure like a flower turning toward poisoned sunlight.

Mezmer positioned the six naked volunteers in a line, their bodies creating a tableau of varied curves and skin tones. Katie's slender frame appeared almost childlike next to the voluptuous sorority girls, her small tits rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her shaved pussy lips had swollen visibly, flushed pink with the trance-induced sensitivity that made even the air feel like caresses against her exposed folds.

"We now move to our endurance exercise," Mezmer announced, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that made Katie's stomach clench. "Pain, when properly applied, sharpens focus. Your bodies will lean into it, craving the release it brings."

He gestured stage left, where a woman materialized from the shadows. Tall and sleek in a crimson dress that clung to her hourglass figure like a second skin, she wheeled out a padded leather bench. Her stiletto heels clicked against the wooden stage like a countdown to Katie's doom.

"My assistant, Natasha," Mezmer introduced her. The woman's scarlet lips curled into a predatory smile as she surveyed the naked girls, her gaze lingering on Katie's exposed vulnerability.

In the audience, Kevin gripped his chair with white-knuckled intensity. Katie could see the conflict on his face, disgust warring with a primal arousal he clearly hated himself for feeling. His jeans tented visibly, and the self-loathing in his eyes matched what Katie felt in her soul.

"We'll begin with you," Mezmer directed the goth girl to the bench.

Natasha positioned her with clinical efficiency, bending her over so her full ass presented upward, pale cheeks gleaming under the lights. Mezmer circled her like a shark.

"The rules are simple," he explained to the audience. "Ten strikes. Each one accepted willingly, embraced as pleasure rather than pain."

Natasha's hand rose and fell with a sharp crack. The goth girl yelped, her ass cheek blooming pink under the impact. By the fifth strike, she was moaning, by the tenth, grinding her pussy against the bench's edge.

Mezmer leaned close to her ear, implanting the post-hypnotic suggestion: "From now on, no undergarments without a man's explicit permission. Your cunt stays bare, accessible to the air and eyes and touch of others."

The sorority girls followed, one after another, skirts long gone, their yelps turning to whimpers of confused pleasure as their rounded asses blossomed pink under Natasha's experienced hand. Each received their own suggestion. One to edge herself in public bathrooms, another to sleep with her legs spread and door unlocked.

Katie's heart hammered against her ribs as her turn approached. The bookish girl with glasses finished her spanking with tears streaming down her flushed face, thighs visibly slick.

"Our skeptic," Mezmer announced, and the crowd's attention zeroed in on Katie like a physical weight. "Our final demonstration."

Natasha gripped Katie's arm, her manicured nails digging crescents into soft flesh as she guided her to the bench. The cool leather kissed Katie's belly and breasts as she was positioned, ass presented to the crowd, pussy and asshole shamefully exposed. She could feel the audience's collective gaze between her legs, where her cunt continued its betrayal, weeping arousal that she couldn't hide.

Kevin's eyes locked on her exposed holes, his expression a twisted mask of fury and unwanted lust. "Katie," he called, his voice breaking. "Fight it!"

But there was nothing to fight. Katie's body wasn't hers anymore. Her mind screamed in protest, but her ass lifted slightly, presenting itself more fully, begging for the punishment her conscious mind dreaded.

The first spank landed sharp on her right cheek, fire blooming across her skin. Katie gasped, the sound amplified by the auditorium's acoustics. Her body jerked forward, then—to her horror—arched back, as if seeking more.

"Count them," Natasha instructed, her voice a silken threat.

"One," Katie heard herself say, the word dragged from unwilling lips.

By the fifth spank, tears streaked her face, but her clit throbbed relentlessly, engorged and sensitive. A thin trail of arousal slid down her inner thigh, visible to everyone watching. The pain had transmuted into something electric, each strike sending shockwaves directly to her cunt.

"Six," she counted, voice breaking on a sob.

Kevin bolted upright, face contorted with rage. "Enough!" he shouted, lunging toward the stage. "Touch her again and I'll deck you!"

His charge was halted mid-stride by Mezmer's calm command: "Freeze." Kevin's body went rigid like a statue, forced to watch as Natasha's hand rose again.

"Seven," Katie whimpered as the palm connected with her left cheek. Her ass burned, skin on fire, but her hips canted back, seeking more contact. Her small tits rubbed against the bench with each impact, nipples scraping painfully against the leather.

"Eight." The strike landed directly across her soaked pussy lips, sending a jolt through her entire system. Katie cried out, the sound halfway between pain and pleasure. Her cunt clenched on emptiness, hungry for something to fill it.

"Nine." Another blow to her pussy, harder this time. Katie's thighs trembled, her body teetering on the edge of something terrible and wonderful. She could feel it building, a tsunami she couldn't outrun.

"T-ten," she sobbed, relief washing through her that it was over.

But Mezmer had other plans. "Ten more," he instructed Natasha. "Our skeptic needs a thorough lesson."

Kevin, partially unfrozen, managed to stagger back a step, his face twisted in disbelief. "What the fuck, Katie?" he hissed. "You're... you're enjoying this?"

Katie wanted to deny it, to scream that this wasn't her, that she was being controlled. But her body told a different story, her ass pushing up to meet each strike, her pussy dripping onto the bench below.

"Eleven," she counted, voice breaking.

By fifteen, her universe had narrowed to the alternating sensations of pain and pleasure, each indistinguishable from the other. Her clit pulsed like a second heartbeat, swollen and desperate for release.

"Eighteen," she gasped, barely coherent.

"Nineteen," she pleaded, knowing what the next one would bring, dreading and craving it equally.

"Twenty!" The final spank landed with brutal force across both cheeks, connecting partly with her soaked folds.

Katie's body convulsed, an unexpected orgasm ripping through her with the force of her orgasmic release. Her pussy clenched visibly, a gush of clear fluid squirting onto the bench in humiliating arcs. She screamed, the sound raw and animal, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her system. Her small breasts jiggled with the force of her climax, nipples scraping the bench as her back arched dramatically.

The crowd roared, phones capturing her most private moment from every angle, the wet sounds of her squirting cunt audible even over their cheers. Katie's mind fractured, shame and pleasure and disbelief swirling into a toxic cocktail that poisoned her sense of self.

Kevin, completely unfrozen now, staggered back, face contorted in disgust. "What the fuck, Katie? You're... you're actually coming from this? Who are you?"

Katie couldn't answer, her body still trembling with aftershocks, pussy still leaking onto the bench. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren't from pain. They were from the knowledge that something fundamental had broken inside her, something that could never be fixed.

"I can't—" Kevin shook his head, backing toward the exit. "I can't do this. We're done."

The door slammed behind him, the sound like a guillotine severing the last thread of Katie's normal life.

Mezmer chuckled, circling her spent form. His phone continued to snap photos, her ass bruised and red, her cunt gaping and glistening, her tear-streaked face twisted in post-orgasmic confusion.

"Perfect," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "Humiliation fuels your deepest arousal now. The more flustered you become, the wetter you'll drip. Your body knows its true purpose. To be exposed, to be used, to be shamed."

He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear, and whispered the words that would echo in her nightmares and fantasies equally: "Ignorant Tart."

Something clicked in Katie's mind at those words, a lock turning, a door opening to darker desires. Her pussy clenched again, a fresh trickle of arousal escaping her swollen lips. Whatever was happening to her wasn't over. It was just beginning.

And deep in the broken corners of her mind, past the journalist, past the skeptic, past the good girl she'd always believed herself to be, something primal and hungry stirred awake, eager for more.