Voice of authority [f31f24][power dynamics] [hypnosis] [short story]

Delia was a master of the voice.

Not just in the way it carried across a room, not just in the precise cadence she honed to drop subjects faster than they could blink—but in the way she made people need her words. She had spent years refining her skill. Every syllable she spoke could wrap around someone like silk, binding them, bending them.

Her record was flawless. Once she chose a target, it was only a matter of time.

And tonight, she had chosen Mara.

The girl practically radiated submission. Quiet, soft-spoken, always with her eyes lowered. She worked two floors below Delia at the firm, a timid thing with nervous habits and clumsy thank-yous. The kind that blushed when complimented. The kind that cried when scolded. Delia had seen her type a thousand times.

Easy prey.

She watched Mara for weeks—subtle observations, gentle nudges. She left hints, planted expectations. It was how she always did it. Hypnosis didn’t begin when the subject closed their eyes—it began the first time they heard her voice and wanted more.

By the time Delia invited her for “a little after-hours meditation,” she was certain: Mara would drop like all the others.

Delia’s apartment was perfectly curated for induction: dim lighting, velvet cushions, warmth without heat. Music that pulsed just beneath awareness. She offered Mara tea—acceptance, obedience. And Mara drank it obediently, without question.

They sat close.

Delia smiled.

“Do you trust me, Mara?”

Mara’s eyes fluttered up. “Yes.”

Delia leaned in, her voice soft and low, a practiced murmur. “That’s good. You’re safe here. You don’t have to think. Just listen.”

Mara nodded, her breath shallow. Her body relaxed on cue.

Delia felt the familiar thrill—the power curling around her spine, wrapping around the room.

“Let your thoughts go. My voice is enough.”

Mara blinked slowly.

Delia’s fingers brushed her wrist. “Down… deeper now…”

It was perfect. Clean. Controlled.

Delia guided her through imagined stairwells and warm darkness, each phrase tightening the net. Mara’s breathing slowed. Her limbs softened.

Delia smiled.

She leaned forward and whispered her trigger—a fresh one, installed right before this moment. “You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

Mara nodded, her voice faint. “Yes.”

Delia pressed her hand gently against Mara’s chest. “Say it again.”

Mara exhaled. “I’m yours.”

Delia closed her eyes for a beat, savoring it.

And then—Mara's hand caught her wrist.

Firm.

Delia’s eyes snapped open.

Mara was looking at her. Really looking at her.

Her gaze no longer soft. It was calm. Measured.

Delia blinked, confused. Something was… off. That wasn’t the look of someone deep in trance. That was the look of someone who had been waiting.

Mara’s voice was still quiet, but no longer meek.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to try that.”

Delia’s breath caught.

“What—”

Mara’s fingers slid into her pocket, drawing out something small. A choker—black silk, with a faint shimmer. It hadn’t been there before.

“You were very convincing,” Mara said, her tone patient, almost fond. “You think you pull the strings, don’t you?”

Delia tried to move, to stand, to reclaim her presence—but her limbs were sluggish. Her breath trembled in her throat. Something was wrong. Her thoughts were muddy.

“I didn’t even need to hypnotize you,” Mara said as she stood, slowly, gracefully. “You walked into it. Every word you used to try and drop me—do you know how much of it you were repeating from me?”

Delia stared in disbelief. “No… this is my—”

But the words felt distant.

Mara moved behind her, lifting the choker.

“You taught me everything I needed, Delia. All I had to do was listen. Let you believe.”

Delia should have stopped her. But when the silk brushed her neck, a wave of blissful heat surged through her.

No commands.

No triggers.

Just the simple act of wearing it—like it had always been meant for her.

Her knees hit the floor, breath catching on a moan that betrayed everything she thought she was.

The pleasure hit like a tidal wave. Her eyes rolled back.

“Good girl,” Mara whispered into her ear, fastening the clasp.

Delia’s mind shattered.

And in the moment of total release, she realized—she had always been the target.