Another day, another afternoon rush. You tune out the blare of the blenders and the drone of voices as you take one order after another, the line at the counter never seeming to get any shorter. No matter how quickly you work through the patter of greeting, order, payment, thank you, the line never stops stretching to the door. You’re just happy you only have to work the till this shift and not the espresso machine.

“Next, please! Welcome to Perk By The Park.”

The man who steps forward is tall, impeccably dressed in an outfit worth more than your monthly rent. He gives you a warm smile, and you feel a slight surge of excitement.

“What can I get started for you?” You’re glad you only sound a little robotic, having asked the same question two hundred times today.

Instead of answering, he reaches into his jacket pocket and produces something that immediately draws your attention—a tiny gold pocket watch. Its case catches the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Just look,” he says, his voice smooth and oddly compelling as he holds the watch at eye level, letting it swing in a quick tight arc by only an inch of its chain. “This will only take a second. Don’t look away.”

You know you should look away, should press for his order, but the interaction is so strange and unexpected. And something about the way the light dances across the metal surface holds you transfixed. The man’s voice is deep and arresting; the busy sounds of the cafe fade into the distance.

“That’s it, very good,” he continues, his praise making your thoughts even fuzzier. “Just focus on the watch. See only the watch. Hear only my voice. Nothing else matters right now. Watch the watch and feel yourself relaxing. Your eyes are getting heavy, your mind is getting sleepy, but you can’t look away from the pretty, shiny watch.”

Your eyelids do feel heavy suddenly, and you feel a moment of anxiety as part of you recognizes what the strange customer is doing. But you must focus on the watch and his voice; taking orders doesn’t seem to matter right now. The watch spins in hypnotic circles, and the man’s words wash away your thoughts.

“Deeper and deeper,” he says. “So easy to let go, stop thinking, just listen and obey. You’re doing so well, dropping deep down into trance for me. That’s right; your mind is blank and empty now.”

Time seems to disappear. You’re vaguely aware the customers behind the man are getting restless, but in the same way that you’re vaguely aware cows have four stomachs: it’s a piece of trivia that has no connection to the present. Right now there is only the watch and his voice.

“Listen carefully,” commands the voice, and your deep mind obeys while you stare at the watch. “I’ve already paid for my order. You remember it, don’t you? Medium latte, oat milk, to go. And when your shift ends tonight, you’ll feel an overwhelming need to wait for me in the parking lot. You won’t remember why. You don’t need to know why. You understand, and you’ll do as you’re told. Nod your head and accept.”

The suggestions sink into the still surface of your mind, creating ripples that reshape your thoughts. You nod your head automatically, already forgetting what you’ve agreed to.

“And now, waking all the way back up, all the way back to normal. One… two… three.”

At the snap of his fingers, you blink rapidly, the shop popping back into focus. The man is smiling at you patiently, his hands empty, the thought of him hypnotizing you with a pocket watch absurd.

“Sorry… what did you say you wanted?” Your face is hot with embarrassment. You don’t usually just blank out on an order during a busy shift!

“Medium latte, oat milk, to go,” he replies, a little irritated. “I already paid.”

Did he? The line behind him is getting restless, and you can imagine your manager looming up beside you at any moment. Of course he paid; he must have.

“Right, of course,” you say, scrawling the order on the side of a cup and putting it in the queue. You gesture to the end of the counter where he’ll pick up his order. “That’ll be right up over there, thanks.”

“Thank you,” he says. The emphasis makes your stomach flutter with an anticipation you don’t understand.

What a strange man! Sort of hot, but strange. There’s no more time to think about him as the next customer steps forward, and you return to the afternoon gauntlet.

The evening air is humid on your face as you push through the Perk By The Park’s back door. The small parking lot is poorly lit, with two of the overhead lights burnt out and not yet replaced, but the sun hasn’t entirely gone down. Most of your coworkers have already left, and your car sits by itself at the far end of the lot. You stand there and stare at it.

A wave of confusion washes over you. What are you waiting for? The rational part of your mind insists you drive home. It’s been a long day, and your Netflix queue isn’t going to watch itself. But something deep inside insists you stay right where you are.

Minutes go by. You shift your weight from foot to foot, looking around the empty lot. You should go home. But you need to be here. You can’t remember why. Every time you try to step toward your car, that strange urgency holds you in place, as if invisible ropes are wrapped around your legs.

Finally, a sporty sedan pulls into the lot. It stops in a spot halfway between you and your car, where the shadows are lengthening.

Your pulse quickens. What are you so excited about? The car’s engine stops. The driver opens his door, and for a moment the dome light reveals the familiar figure of your strange customer from the afternoon rush. Instead of getting out, he remains seated, turning sideways in the driver’s seat so he’s facing you.

“Come here,” he calls softly, his voice compelling in a familiar way. The words seem to slip through your conscious mind, speaking directly to the part of you that kept you waiting.

Your feet move before you can think not to, carrying you across the asphalt toward his car.

He’s dressed casually now, and despite the dim light you can tell he’s watching you eagerly. He’s positioned himself so the open car door creates a small screen of privacy, blocking the view from the shop windows and the street beyond the lot. Entering the space feels intimate, and a little dangerous.

“That’s my good little puppet,” he murmurs when you stop just a few feet from his outstretched legs. “I knew you’d wait. Deep down, you knew you had to, didn’t you?”

You nod, and you want to ask questions, but the will to speak is far away. Before you can force any words out, he continues.

“You remember me from this afternoon,” he says, reaching for something in the centre console behind him. “But I don’t think you remember everything, do you? Here, this will help.”

The pocket watch drops from his hand, dangling at the length of its chain. It manages to catch what light there is in the parking lot and turn it into a mesmerizing dance that captures your gaze. Just like another time you’d forgotten.

“See the watch,” he says softly, letting it swing. “See only the watch. Hear only my voice. You remember?”

Some parts of you certainly remember. Your eyes lock onto the timepiece instantly, and the rest of the world fades. The sound of traffic, the warm evening air against your skin, even your own heartbeat—everything becomes background noise compared to the hypnotic dance of the watch on its chain.

“That’s it,” he says, “just like before. So easy to focus on the pretty, shiny watch. Don’t look away. Your mind is quiet and still.”

Everything he says seems to be true. You sway slightly on your feet, unable to look away. Your thoughts are cloudy; any worry about this strange situation is absent.

“Deeper and deeper,” he whispers. “Dropping down into trance for me, just like before. You’re so good at following the watch, at listening to my voice. Your mind is empty, ready to listen and obey.”

You try to respond, but can’t think of anything to say. Listen and obey feels wrong and right at the same time. You know dimly that you’re standing in a parking lot, being hypnotized by a stranger. You should probably get in your car and go home instead, but making that choice would require free will, and he’s put yours in chains. All you seem able to do is listen and obey.

“Now,” he says, his voice husky and eager, “come closer to me. Closer.”

You don’t even realize you’re moving, but then you’re standing right beside his open car door, close enough that you could reach out and touch him. Now you’re both partially hidden by the door.

“Good,” he says. “Now, get down on your knees.”

Your body obeys. The surface of the parking lot is uncomfortable, but you’re beyond caring. You hear only his voice and see only the watch. It swings right above your eye level now, and you’ve forgotten any desire to look away.

The watch orbits in slow circles before your eyes, binding your will to his voice. “See only the watch,” he whispers, so close now. “Touch yourself while you stare at it. Touch slowly. You can’t resist. Your body needs this. You need to obey.”

His words are true. Your hands move without your conscious choice, unzipping the plain black slacks you wear to work and sliding into your underwear. This shouldn’t turn you on, but your body obeys the hypnotist, and soon you’re gasping aloud as you masturbate. The trance multiplies the sensations, magnified by his words, crystalized by the watch spinning before your wide, glassy eyes.

“Good puppet,” he purrs, and you moan, lost in mindless thrall to this stranger and his hypnotic spell. Arousal clouds your thoughts, leaving them hazy and indistinct. “That’s it, my puppet. Feels too good to think. You don’t need thoughts. Only pleasure. Only my voice. Every moment your pleasure grows and your free will fades…”

Your body throbs with need, the rest of the world dissolving into the swirl of the pocket watch, the tide of pleasure, and the hypnotist’s commanding voice.

“Will gone now. Mind empty. No thoughts, only pleasure. Ready to obey.”

You hear him unfasten his belt, your eyes unable to look away from the watch. In a moment, his warm hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you between his thighs. “So much pleasure, puppet. That’s what you’re for: pleasure. My pleasure. Obey now, pleasure puppet. Shut off your mind and open your mouth.”

You move without conscious thought, staring and stroking in a mindless rhythm, your lips parting to accept the thick hot length of his cock. Your vision blurs as he pulls you closer, and you try to stay focused on the pocket watch.

“Good puppet, ohhh fuck, so good,” he groans, “just suck and stroke and obey and please…”

You lose track of his babbling mantra, falling into a mindless rhythm. His voice gets husky and the words incomprehensible, but it doesn’t matter. Your programmed mind is empty of anything but his command. He told you to suck, and you can only obey.

Both his hands grasp your head as he gradually forces you to swallow his every inch. He must have put the watch down, but that doesn’t matter either. Your eyes are unfocused, seeing nothing, and your mind is empty, knowing nothing. You aren’t even aware of your hands, how one is squeezing the base of his shaft as the other continues to work between your thighs. The pleasure coursing through your body is so intense, and you can’t tell if it’s your pleasure or his.

In fact, those things are the same. When he cries out in ecstasy and his cum fills your throat, you obediently go over the edge, too.

You swallow without thinking, and when he pulls his cock from your mouth you simply kneel there, drooling onto your uniform. His murmurs of satisfaction leave a happy fuzz in the empty darkness of your hypnotized mind. He tells you to clean him off with your tongue, praising you for being a perfectly obedient puppet, his hand brushing your hair away from your eyes.

He dangles the watch between you once more. “Now sleep for me. Sink deeper into sleep. Mind totally blank. Stand up and walk to your car. At the sound of your car door closing, you’ll awaken from this trance. You will remember nothing about me—nothing at all. You left work, got right into your car, and now you’re ready to go home. Understood?”

Your empty head nods, confirming your subconscious has accepted his suggestions. You rise stiffly, still spellbound, drift across the parking lot without a backward glance, and slip into the driver’s seat of your own car. Trance holds you quiescent until you pull the car door shut.

The familiar sound snaps you awake. You startle, blinking heavily. The keys are in your hand, halfway to the ignition, but the last thing you remember was standing just outside the shop. Must have been lost in thought. You squirm in your seat, agitated by a stiffness in your knees, and an ache between your thighs you can’t explain. Weird. Well, a long, busy shift will fuck with you. You shrug it off. You’re looking forward to getting home.

As you drive out of the lot and past the park that gives your workplace its name, your memory of the strange customer fades completely. Today joins all the rest as just another long shift, a day you’ll probably repeat tomorrow.

THE END.