July 2020 Short Story: Tick, Tock, Trance

The winning prompt for July was: "A university administrator meets a student accused of stealing an expensive watch (F/m)"

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to persons or organizations real or fictional is entirely coincidental. This is fiction.

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Sandy Smithson slicked back his hair and checked his wristwatch. The digital device showed 10:51 AM, nine minutes 'til the hour. The university administrator sighed, shifted around a few index cards, and pulled some papers out of a file on his desk. "These kids waste too much of my time." 

The next 'kid' on his appointment list was one V. LaBelle, a 19-year-old freshman. The name was easy for him to recognize - her family had donate half a million dollars to the university the summer before last, blatantly fast-tracking their daughter's admission to her school of choice - but he had never met her and couldn't put a face to the name. Yet. 

No doubt she had more interest in the closet of the high-rise suite she was renting than than actually spending time studying for the top-rated business program in which she was now enrolled. What a waste of money. Cash like that belonged with people like him, guys who actually knew how to invest.

However, today's meeting had little to do with academics. One of the other students in her Business Institutions 201 class had reported a watch of his had gone missing, and for some reason or another (it hadn't been that clear when he had interviewed the guy) seemed dead certain she was the culprit.

Of course. Being rich never stopped anyone from being greedy. Especially the kind of rich trust-fund brat who's always been able to get away with anything. Well, today I'm gonna lay on the hard stuff and teach little missy a lesson in manners.

He was still going through the file when, without warning, the door to his office opened. He almost jumped, and checked his digital watch again. It read 10:57, three minutes before his appointment was supposed to start. He looked back up to see a girl with long, wavy hair in a sleeveless orange sweater and off-white miniskirt.

"Hello there, Mister Smithson. I let myself in. Assuming you don't mind." His visitor wore a neutral smile, one without a hint of contrition.

He almost jumped, but caught himself, cleared his throat and said, "Welcome, Miss LaBelle. Please, have a seat."

Her smile remained perfectly neutral. "I appreciate the offer. I'd prefer to stand."

"Either way. We're not here to waste time." His eyes drifted down to the file on his desk. "I'm sure you have some idea why you're here."

She offered the barest of shrugs. "Tell me."

"Without naming names, I've spoken with someone from your class who recently lost a watch. They say it was quite a valuable piece." He looked up, staring her straight in the eye. "They also say you stole it from them."

Visha laughed softly, "That's just not true. Why would I take something I could just as easily use my phone for? And I sit in the back anyways - it's honestly a surprise that anyone remembers my name."

"Say what you will, miss, but this student was quite firm. You were in class at 10:30AM on the eighteenth of this month, correct?" He pulled a picture from the file. "And I'm sure you recognize this brand name, if nothing else."

She placed her arms on the back of his visitors' chair, leaning over in a way that emphasized her lithe biceps. "I don't really keep track of which classes I make and miss. And of course I know those watches. I own three. Including one that's quite similar."

"Enough with the runaround. Surely you must have heard of this brand before. Here, have a look at-." Sandy paused. He had looked down from her face for a moment, and only now saw- "Ex-CUSE me?! What is that?!"

He looked down at the file, then back at her. Down at the file, then back at her right arm. Down at the file, then back at the watch on her right wrist...

It was a Malegest watch. It looked identical to the make and model pictured in the photo on his desk!

She looked down, as if wondering what had gotten him riled up. After mouthing an 'Oh,' she lifted her right wrist up and brought it closer to him. "Look, Mister Smithson. This is my Thursday watch. You really think I'm gonna need to take someone's when it's worth a few measly hundred dollars?"

"Enough of this! you come into my office with your glitzy glamour fashion, you look down on me, and you even have the gall to wear a stolen watch and claim it as your own!" His face was red. He was almost spitting.

"Don't be like that, Mister S. It *is* my watch. It's a nice watch. In fact, I can prove it's mine. Why don't you take a closer look?" She walked around the chair, and held the watch up inches from his face.

Up close, her perfume had an imposing impact on Sandy's nostrils. The six inches she had on him accentuated the effect. "Wha? I, uh... Listen here, young lady..."

She kept wearing that neutral smile, and adjusted one of the dials on the watch. "This watch has a special custom engraving, just for me. Look closely. See the second hand?"

He gulped and put his finger up, as if to say something, but the perfume was distracting him. He kept staring at the watch. "There's a 'T'..."

She nodded approvingly. "That's right, the letter 'T'. Watch the second hand tick. It has other letters, too. What else?"

"A 'T', an 'r'... An 'a'..."

"That's right, very good. The letters get smaller as they go, but I know you can finish. What else?"

"An 'n'... A 'c'..."

"Almost there, one more. What's the last letter?"

"It's... an 'e'." His voice had gone from fiery sharp to flat. Her spicy perfume was making his eyes water, making it a harder to see.

"Well done. That spells a word. What word, though?"

"The word... is... trance..."

She laughed softly again. "Yes, indeed. Watch the second hand tick. Tock. Trance. Repeat after me. Tick, tock, trance."

"Tick... Tock... Trance..."

"Yes, that's right. You've been on edge today, why don't you relax. Take a deep breath. And repeat. Tick, tock, trance."

"*Huffff*..." The perfume was overwhelming him. He started to slump over. "Tick... Tock... Trance..."

Her voice had a flat, thick quality. "Again. Tick. Tock. Trance."

"Tick...tock...trance..."

"Once again. Tick. Tock. Trance."

"tick...tock...trance..." The second hand ticked on, but it was harder to follow...

"Once more. Tick. Tock. Trance."

"tick......tock......trance......" His eyelids were drooping, halfway shut.

Visha smiled, and leaned over to his ear. "I'm speaking to your unconscious mind now. Nod if you understand."

Sandy nodded, barely.

"Very good. Everything I say now will go right to the depths of your consciousness. You will remember and obey these instructions."

"...will remember and obey..." He mumbled.

"One. I must never deny Visha. Repeat."

"...I must never deny Visha..."

"Two. My real name is 'Poochy'. Repeat."

"...real name is 'Poochy'..."

"Three. Whenever anyone calls me my real name, I will bark like a dog. Repeat."

"...will bark like a dog..."

"Four. Whenever Visha commands me with my real name, my body will execute her commands. No matter how much I hate the idea. Repeat."

"...execute her commands...no matter how much I..."

"Five. I cannot orgasm unless Visha says the words 'Heat Time'. Repeat."

"...cannot orgasm unless... Heat time..."

"Six. I will orgasm whenever Visha says the words 'Heat Time'. Repeat."

"...will orgasm whenever...heat time..."

She nodded approvingly. "That's right. I'm going to count from one to three and clap my hands. When I clap my hands, you will wake up and return to your conscious self. But these instructions will remain. Say yes if you understand."

"...yes..."

"One. Two. Three." *CLAP*

Sandy's head shot up. "Wha?! I...huh?!"

"Oh, Mister Smithson." Visha reached back with her watch hand and twirled around a lock of her hair, "We had just agreed that this watch was mine, right?"

I cannot deny Visha "Yes, of course." Wait. "Er, that is to say..."

She stared him in the eye, not smiling. "This watch is mine."

He nodded. "Yes, of course. You're absolutely right. That watch is yours." There was a pause. Sandy blinked several times. "What's going on?"

Visha's laugh had a musical tint to it. "Oh, Poochy, you're so cute when you're confused."

"Arf!" Sandy was sweating now. "What on earth am I-? What did you-?"

"Lie down on the floor, now, Poochy."

"Arf!" His eyes bulged, but his body moved to lie down on the floor next to his desk. "What the fuck did you *do*?!"

For the first time since walking into the office, Visha sat down. She plopped her hips onto his desk and dangled her legs off of it. She was wearing a pair of silver mules. "I just fixed one of your biggest problems. You have a really big, dumb head, and you were trying to take something from me. Made sure that won't happen again. Now unzip your pants and take out your little Poochy peen."

"Arf!" His hands were trembling, but he did manage to undo his zipper and pull out a cock that was, to his surprise, erect. "You brat! You won't get away with this."

There was that musical laugh again. "Oh, but I will. Here's a pair of commands. Don't tell anyone that I hypnotized you, Poochy. Tell everyone who asks that I showed irrefutable proof that this watch is mine, Poochy." 

"Arf! Arf!" His face was red, enraged, "I *will* make you pay for this, brat!"

"Do not move or speak until I give the word, Poochy, and keep that silly mouth of yours from saying any human words!"

"Ruff!" His body froze. He couldn't move a muscle. When he tried to speak, all that came out was, "Arf! Ruff! Grrrr..."

"As annoying as your human speech was, I have to admit I don't speak dog." She tilted her head to one side. "I'm a smart cookie, though. I think I know what you want." She eased the footwear off her right foot and kicked his penis with her heel.

"Grrruff!" His dick bounced back and forth.

"Oh, haha. That's sooo gross, it's almost cute. Not really, though." She kicked it again, and again.

"Grruf! Ngrf!" Sandy's penis continued to bounce around. The kicks didn't hurt, but they were emasculating in the extreme.

"So I know it looks gross when it's all bouncy. Time to hold it down a little." She took off her left mule and trapped his penis between the arches of her feet. She squeezed with some force.

"GRRNNGH! RUFF?!" Sandy was not used to this, and being unable to move or even communicate with anything but his eyes was terrifying. He was being made amply aware of how little purchase he had on the situation.

"You know, Poochy, your name isn't the only trigger I gave you. I also have control over your orgasms now. Until and unless I say the trigger phrase, you won't be able to cum. Isn't that neat? AHAHAHA!!" Her toes ground against his shaft, pressing his penis against his cheap blue shirt.

"Ruff?! NNgh!" He had been squinting to try and endure, but his eyes shot wide open at that one.

"It's true, Poochy. To give you an orgasm, all I have to do is say one thing..." She let his penis rise up a bit. There was a pre stain on his shirt where the tip had been.

"Arf!! RRGGG!!" This was it! His body braced for an oncoming climax.

"...No, I don't think so, Poochy. It's not *time* yet." Visha continued to stroke his penis with her feet, but showed no intention of saying the words that would give him release.

...

Ten minutes later, Sandy was gasping for breath. He was not used to waiting this long for an orgasm. Just a little longer, though. If he waited, maybe-

Visha abruptly took her feet off of him. "That'll be all for now, I think."

"Arf?!" His expression showed visible dismay. 

"Aww, Poochy, don't get the wrong idea. Just because I have power over your orgasm now doesn't mean I give a shit about whether you have one or not." Visha smiled cruelly, picking up a note card and a pen from his desk and scribbled a few lines on it. She held the card close to his face. "Look, and memorize the address on this card, Poochy. You will come to this address tomorrow night at nine wearing your nicest outfit. And, Poochy, make sure you aren't followed."

"Arf! *Huff*! Ruff! *Huff*! Arf! *Wheeze*!" He looked at the card, memorizing the in-city address. It was an area he knew to be quite expensive - he had once looked at an apartment there, but had decided that he couldn't afford it.

"That'll do." After two minutes, Visha pulled the card away. "Wouldn't want to leave evidence behind, though. *Ptooo*!" She spat on the card and folded it up. "Here's a little treat. Poochy, eat up." She casually tossed it into his open mouth.

"Rrf!" He chewed and swallowed the soggy note card, tearing up from the humiliation.

Visha strapped her silver mules back on and started walking towards the door. She paused, and, without turning around, said, "It's now 11:48. You have my permission to move when ten minutes pass. Don't be late tomorrow night. Hahahaha, HAHAHAHAHA!"

Her spiteful laughter rung in his ears long after she had left the office.

...
......
.........

Every fiber of Sandy's soul wanted to resist putting on his nicest, 6000 dollar Italian suit and discreetly taking a cab to the downtown suite Visha had directed him to. But he had no choice. She knew his true name. He had tried to handcuff himself to the bed, or lock himself in his room, but, as he was about to do so, he felt piercing guilt. This wasn't okay. It was wrong to try and circumvent her orders like that. So here he was, standing outside the door to her apartment building. 

The intercom buzzed. He could hear Visha's voice on the other end. "You may enter, Poochy. Take the stairs to room 713."

Her voice cut off there, but he still replied with an "Arf", through gritted teeth. He walked past the elevator and up six flights of stairs to her room. 

Another intercom, this one placed on the right side of her door, buzzed. "Come in, Poochy. I've unlocked the door. You'll find a camera and a box inside. Strip down in front of the camera, leave what you're wearing now on the floor. Then wear what you find in a box in the entryway."

Another disgruntled "Arf" was his answer. Sandy opened the door and walked in to find a camera and a large-sized box set up, as she had said. There was soft music playing in the entryway. He begrudgingly removed his jacket, tie and shirt then his shoes and socks. Next came his slacks, his undershirt, and, after a split second of hesistation, his boxer shorts as well.

"Ahahahah!" Visha's voice could be heard from somewhere, further inside the apartment. "What a sad, pathetic display! Now get dressed, Poochy."

"Arf!" Sandy opened up the box to find it was mostly empty. The only two things were a hairband with a pair of dog ears attached and a red collar with a silver tag that read "Poochy". The implication was clear, and his body couldn't defy her. Tears of humiliation welled up as he obediently put on the dog ears and *clicked* the collar around his neck. The soft music rung in his ears.

"Yes, that suits you a bit better. No dog should be walking around in an expensive suit. I'll have to dispose of it later. No dog should walk around on two legs, either. Get on all fours, and crawl to your Mistress Visha, Poochy."

Already on all fours, Poochy began crawling towards the sound of her voice. It was an easy enough task, as her wicked yet musical laugh could be very easily heard throughout the apartment.

He came out from the hallway into a spacious suite with hardwood floors, an open kitchen with granite countertops, and a wine cabinet on the floor that seemed to be fully stocked. There was also a window with an impressive view of the city's nighttime skyline, but that's not where his eyes lingered. Visha stood in the center of the room, towering over him in a strikingly purple rubber latex outfit. She wore thigh-high boots with spiked heels and opera gloves that wrapped snugly around her arms. Her torso was encased in an underbust corset held together by three gold buckles. The rich girl's eyes were trained directly on him, and her mouth was twisted upwards in a cruel crescent moon.

"Ah, I see you look every bit the worthless dog in person, Poochy." She picked a riding crop up off a nearby table and pointed it towards the wine cabinet. "I want to start the evening with a glass of wine. Fetch a glass and pour me some."

Poochy crawled to the wine cupboard, prizing it open and taking a glass and a bottle of 1989 Bordeaux out. He returned to her on all fours slowly; it took some effort to push the glass and bottle across the floor to her with his head and shoulders.

After setting the glass on the floor and pouring some wine out for her, she picked it up and snapped her fingers. "Ottoman, Poochy."

It was getting easier for him to obey her orders, and he got down on all fours in front of her. She stretched her legs out, resting her feet just under his shoulder blades. Not before kicking him in the head a few times with her spiked heels, mind.

She sat there for a few minutes, sipping her wine and digging her heels into his spine. The music Poochy had heard in the entryway continued to play. He felt oddly drowsy.

Eventually, Visha cleared her throat. Poochy looked up and saw she now held a familiar-looking watch in her hand. He recoiled in terror, but before he could make a break for it, her shout invaded his ears. "Stay, Poochy!"

He froze, forced to keep his eyes on that mesmerizing watch. The man's hair was matted with cold sweat.

"Now look at the second hand, Poochy. I think I know what it says, but read the letters for me. As a reminder."

"T...r...a..." He gulped, "n...c...e..."

"That spells 'trance', doesn't it?" She smiled. "Repeat."

"Trance..." He was slowing down already.

"Your mantra is 'Tick, tock, trance'. Repeat."

"Tick. Tock... Trance..."

She sniffed unappreciatively. "Again."

"Tick... Tock... Trance......"

"Almost there. Again."

"Tick......tock......trance........." Poochy's eyes grew glassy as he slid, once again, into trance.

Once he was well and truly under, Visha slid down onto a nearby recliner and stared at the stupid, hypnotized pet on the floor. "To think, a boob like you embezzled millions from the university. I admit, you had been somewhat clever about the way you did it, Poochy. I don't believe anybody had caught on until my family brought in an auditor to supervise construction of the building we'd funded. Once I learned about the details, I volunteered to give you your comeuppance. Of course, it was painfully obvious at the first glance that you deserved to be taken down a peg. I consider that to be my money, and I will have it sent to me as the first phase of your penance." 

She smirked, continuing, "We'll go over the details, of course. The offshore account you'll wire the money to. How you'll cover the trail to hide my involvement. The anonymous tip you'll call in to federal investigators several months from now. All of that will come later tonight. For now, though, you can just sit there on the floor being stupid. Smile, Poochy."

The corners of Poochy's mouth turned upwards into a blank, innocent smile. Visha swished some drool through her teeth, then leaned forward and spat in his face. "Hahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Her uproarious laughs echoed throughout the apartment. Poochy just sat there smiling, oblivious to the ruin that awaited him.

~END~