“Hey, Mistress, wait up!” Adam yelled from the dining hall entrance. Evidently he had been distracted by someone or something as we left. I had barely noticed, occupied instead by an increasing number of ideas for what to do with our walk to the library. My original plan had been to have a little harmless fun testing his suggestibility on the way, check out Dr. Mattice’s book once we got there, and try to find a quiet place to complete the conditioning removal procedure. I could send him on his way deprogrammed and none the wiser, no real harm done except taking up some of his evening.

But when he called me “Mistress” as naturally as if it were my lifelong name, the way it felt unlocked something in my mind. It was a deep-seated feeling, one I was vaguely familiar with but hadn’t had many chances to experience. It reminded me of being the first one to the top of the jungle gym at recess and getting to pick the next game, or winning a bet with a friend and having them at your beck and call for the day.

But those were small echoes of what I could have with Adam if I chased this feeling further than the library and longer than this evening.

One thing I remembered distinctly about Dr. Mattice’s book was the opening chapter, which was almost a standalone essay. It covered the ethical use of hypnosis, particularly when employing his methodology, and especially when using his specific program. As a freshman, I rolled my eyes at how dull the good doctor must be at parties. Now, however, I was starting to see why there was a whole introduction dedicated to reminding the reader that subjects placed a large amount of trust in their drivers. What he had known, and what I was only now realizing, was that this particular conditioning program was incredibly potent and long-lasting, unless directly removed. It was easy to see how trust and morals could quickly erode if the driver abused this level of power.

Power–that was the feeling that had unlocked my mind.

Adam had agreed to be conditioned for a single presentation, and he had fulfilled his end of the bargain. He had not signed up for being under the indefinite control of his former classmate. He also didn't seem to even realize the conditioning had worked, and if he knew that–and the kind of ideas that came to my mind while leaving the dining hall–he would definitely demand I remove it all right away.

Well, hadn't he been offered that chance on the day of the presentation? It was his own choice to leave early, wasn't it?

“Mistress, everything okay?” Adam asked as he caught up to me, a little out of breath. I had kept walking, lost in these thoughts, and he’d jogged to make up the distance.

I processed his question and nodded my head. “Yes, sorry–I have a big project I’m going over in my mind,” I explained, not lying. “That's why I’m heading to the library right now, actually.” This seemed to satisfy him, and he waved his hand in a no-problem gesture, now focused more on catching his breath.

The evening air was crisp with the cold and wet of early spring, and we walked a ways without talking. Adam had apparently exhausted his conversation topics at dinner, and I was still wrestling over what to do with him. After a few blocks, I broke the silence to ask a question which I hoped would, if answered truthfully, decide for me. “Rutabaga suprise," I said, stopping on the sidewalk once we were away from any passers-by. Adam stopped suddenly, starting to enter another trance. Before he fell over, I quickly issued another command, “Subject Adam: assume Alert Position Two, trance sustained.”

He caught himself, then turned toward me, his face once again taking on a blank but focused expression. “Alert, Mistress,” he said with an attentive stare.

“Answer fully: Why did you leave the final presentation early two years ago?”

He didn’t respond right away, and I couldn’t tell if he was struggling to remember, or if he was fighting the conditioning. “We evacuated the building around 4:20pm,” he finally began, in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “I was near my dorm. I thought I could make it home before my roommate’s end-of-the-year smoking session started.”

“Confirm yes or no: You left that class early to smoke weed with your roommate?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Confirm yes or no: Would you have still been able to smoke with him after class?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Confirm yes or no: Did you care about the possibility our group would be asked to finish our presentation after the evacuation?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Answer fully: Why did you not pursue your deprogramming?”

He paused again. “I didn’t believe the deprogramming was necessary, because I didn’t believe the conditioning worked.”

I no longer felt guilty about the idea of indulging a little. We had been lucky that the professor decided to move on to the next group once the all-clear was given. Adam could have easily left us high and dry in front of everyone if things had gone differently. What was more, his explanation for leaving was rather disappointing. I was no stranger to recreational drugs myself, but he would still have been able to join the fun if he’d come home after class–and he knew it, too. Add in his lie at dinner about thinking the hypnosis had really worked, and I had all the reasons I needed to continue with my ideas–at least until we got to the library.

Enough time had been wasted deliberating about ethics, and with Adam back in a trance, I decided to get started right away. Having him refer to me as Mistress was initially meant to be a harmless gag, but I was starting to really like the way it sounded–at least coming from his lips. Building off that idea, and since I enjoyed my own title change so much, we would stay in that vein for the moment.

“Subject Adam: when referring to yourself, and when you are being addressed by Mistress or others, replace name Adam with…Amelie. If anyone refers to you as Adam, correct them immediately, and ask to be called Amelie.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he responded with the usual monotone.

"Subject Adam: what is your status?" I asked, testing him.

"Error, Mistress," he responded after another momentary pause. "Please refer to me as Subject Amelie."

I felt another rush at his correction, and laid a satisfied emphasis on his new name as I asked again, “Subject Amelie: confirm status."

“Alert, Mistress,” he replied dutifully.

This new name felt fitting if I was truly going to test the limits of his conditioning. A strapping man like him changing his name from Adam to Michael, or William–or any other typically-masculine name–would barely register as a curiosity. On the other hand, going by the dainty and exceedingly feminine name Amelie would serve as a stark example of the hold I had over him.

The thought of demonstrating my control further amplified the growing feelings of power, and I realized this would be even more fun with a less oblivious subject. There was one more modification to make before we continued walking.

“Subject Amelie: turn awareness of your name replacement on, but keep its source–and conscious control of it–off.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

When combined, this was starting to be a complicated change, so I needed to be sure he truly understood everything. “Subject Amelie: repeat back full instructions since trance began, using your own words instead of program terminology.”

“Yes, Mistress: I will refer to myself as Amelie, and respond to that name when others refer to me by it. If anyone calls me Adam, I will correct that person and ask that they call me Amelie instead. I will be aware this change has occurred, but will not consciously know its cause, and my active mind will not be able to control it.”

“Very good, Subject Amelie.” It seemed he understood everything perfectly. Now the true fun could begin.

I looked down at my watch–this was probably the only trance we would have time for if we were going to get to the library before it closed. Nevertheless, his reaction to the name change alone would be entertaining, and he still had his suggestibility turned on, just in case.

I took one last appreciative look of his placid, entranced face.

“Subject Amelie: awake.”