We were on our way back from visiting Dad. He was out on a project and we had been out there visiting him for the last two weeks. I’d only had a few days of being a high school graduate before we popped in the old hatchback and hit the road. It had been a good, if a little boring, two weeks, but I had been missing Misty, my girlfriend pretty badly. Well, parts of that relationship anyway.

I was driving, and Mom was in the passenger’s seat. The backseat was half filled with stuff and have filled with my sister, Sam. Mom was staring out the window, watching the corn zip by, kind of zoning out, and I was having a lot of trouble stealing glimpses of her. She was wearing the same top she had said goodbye to Dad in, and it had a very open front. It was sliding open and she was slouched sideways, and I couldn’t help but notice the expanse of skin she was showing. Each jostle of the car seemed to move the fabric just a little, and for the last twenty miles, I was sure I could see the slight brown crinkle of nipple. I thought maybe I was crazy, trying to catch sight of my Mom’ breast, but I hadn’t had any help from Misty in two weeks, and I might have been going a little over the bend.

My Mom was definitely worth looking at. Big, honey-hazel eyes, thick lips and a full figure. She had large breasts and wide hips, which seemed to sway whenever she walked. Her hair was just past shoulder length and dark, almost red. She was a great dresser and was typically made up well, especially liking a particular red lipstick that made me imagine her mouth doing things I probably shouldn’t imagine. Her current blouse was a deep red, a darker shade than her lips.

My sister in the backseat was much less curvaceous that Mom, and her hair was a light brown or dark blonde, straight and long, hanging halfway down her back. She had dark brown eyes and her makeup choices ran to dark… especially heavy eyeliner, but she hadn't worn any yet this trip. She was wearing a tight white t-shirt that said "This Space For Rent" in big black letters, but the twin shapes of her impossibly high, firm breasts were easily visible beneath, nipples and all. Right now she had earbuds in and was dead to the world. I knew that it would take a good shout in order to get her attention. She was tall, just a few inches shorter than I, as opposed to Mom, who was a good foot shorter than me.

I noticed Mom was almost dozing, her eyes drooping as she watched the corn go past in a blur.

For the past two weeks, I had been stuck with a bunch of researchers, cultural anthropologists, neurologists and others who worked with Dad. I'd gotten to know one in particular, Dr. Street, who had lent me a few of his books. They were mostly about the subconscious, and even about hypnosis: specifically, his belief that hypnosis could cause dissociations that would allow the old adage of "you wouldn't do anything under hypnosis you wouldn't normally do" to be bent or even broken. The two books he'd lent me had been engaging reading, but I hadn't considered them as practical manuals until this very moment.
My heart was thudding in my chest. I had to have my voice pitched just right, and to skip her willing involvement, I had to catch her in just the right level of consciousness. I thought I was there, but I'd never done it before. What if I screwed this up?

"Its kind of hypnotic, isn't it?" I finally asked, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"What? Oh... yeah," Mom replied, a little drowsily. Good sign
.
"I bet it's pretty relaxing though, just watching the corn go by. Watching each pole pass one after another."

"Hm. Yeah," her voice was low, like she was trying not to fall asleep.

"No reason not to relax. Just watching the corn. Watching each pole, each line of the road pass by. Letting each one relax you further. No reason not to just let go." I could see her eyes tracking back and forth as she watched the phone poles go by. She wasn't speaking anymore, though. Adrenaline was burning in my veins like fire. If she had been fully with it and not at least a little under, this conversation already would have sounded weird... so maybe I was a go? "Count them if you like, as they go past... one, two, three, four, five... each one is like a stair, isn't it? Each one you count, each one you go past can take you down. Relaxing. No reason not to relax. Not to rest. Not to let your mind rest and still the voices in your head." Her head was heavy against the window now. I had to get her in the right state before I started Dr. Street's dissociation techniques.

I kept talking, low and soft, for another twenty minutes, relaxing her, letting her mind clear. The books said that her willing choice was key for this next part, and the phrasing suggested was exact: "If you are ready to let go, now, and listen to my voice, close your eyes and sleep."

Her eyes closed. Oh my god.

"Listen to me, Rachel, listen to my voice. We are going to do some work now... so very hard work. I need you to help me, to work with me, to cooperate. Are you going to help me?"

She nodded, slightly, as if dreaming.

"Remember your son. Mom. Son. Mom. Son. Now help me. Mom. Son. See it in your mind... feel the relationship. Feel the feelings you have for him. Mom. Son. Remember what that means. Mom. Son. But that's not quite right, is it? That's not what you remember, is it?" Her brow furrowed a little, just like the book said it would. "You remember another word. Mom. Master. Mom. Master. What does the word 'Master' mean to you? It could mean obedience. Devotion. Loyalty. It could mean that you are a slave, that you are owned, that you are controlled. What does that relationship mean to you? Mom. Master. Mom. Master. You have to help me do the work. You have to help me by remembering. Mom. Master..."

Twenty minutes later again and I was tired. My mind hurt from racing. My voice was getting dry. Now came the post-hypnotic suggestion.

"Now I want your help with one more thing. I need your help with some words. You will remember these words, and when you hear them, you will find the closest chair or bed and sit or lie down and relax, coming immediately back to this place. You will be receptive to anything I tell you, hearing it from a place of cooperation and obedience. You aren't going to remember what I tell you, but you will need to help me out by doing what you are asked. These words are the key. They are 'Time to Listen, Mommy'. Can you do that for me?" She nodded now, not as drowsily. "When you hear those words, and you are ready to listen and obey, you will respond with 'I'm Listening, Darling.' Say that for me now."

Her lips parted and she spoke, with only the slightest hint of slurring. My heart leapt in my chest. "I'm listening, Darling," she said.

"Good. Thank you for all your hard work. Thank you for working with me." I had one more thing I wanted to do.

"One last thing I want you to hear before you wake up, feeling good, feeling like you have had a great nap on the beautiful open road. These are some very important words. When you hear them, you will want to touch your Master, you will want to feel his skin, and you will want to arouse him, please him, show yourself to him, make him feel good as a mommy, as a lover, as a slave. You will have an urge to touch him and turn him on however you can, and the feeling will get stronger each time you hear these words. You will never, ever remember hearing the words, but the urge will be immediate. The words are 'Time for Touching, Mommy'. Can you remember those words for me?"

"Yes," she said, dreamily.

"Anything you do will seem natural, right, and exciting to you. It will give you immense pleasure to know that you have pleased me. When you have heard those words, and you have accepted them, you will reply 'My pleasure, Darling'. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Then it's time to wake up. "

It took a few heart-stopping moment before Mom opened her eyes, looked around, blinking, and stretched, the material going taut across her breasts. I tried to keep my eyes on the road. She looked happy, smiling, and she turned to me.

"Wow. That was a great nap. What time is it? You have got to be tired! Let's stop somewhere and get some lunch!"

Inside, I was leaping. Jumping about. Even if it hadn't worked, I hadn't been caught. Amazing. Amazing.

It was then I checked the rearview mirror and saw Sam, her earbuds laying limp on her lap, slowly waking up as well. What had she heard? Was she waking up at the same command I'd given Mom? How could I test it? What had I done?