I entered the grandly decorated hall, with glittering chandeliers and wide, elegant staircases. Windows lovingly furnished with huge, soft, red velvet curtains. A series of balconies beyond the windows overlooked an immaculately tended garden, waiters were spread vigilantly across the space, bearing silver trays of appetisers and champagne, and Baroque music from an invisible sound system was filling the air amongst the chatter, giving it the just the right amount of high-society pomp. 

This was not my vibe, at all. 

My normal Friday nights involved stained pyjamas and a Stan account, or a pub crawl with my girlfriends, not lurking around a high society soirée with tasteless hors d'oeuvres and even more tasteless old men. 'Out of place' didn't even begin to describe it, but I fixed a plastic smile on my face, and took a subtle breath to calm my nerves. 

Focus, Lucy. Eyes on the prize.

So I mingled. Met some old faces I recognised, but few who recognised me. This event was largely for them, after all. These were the big wigs of Academic Psychology, the most important people you could hope to meet in your career—if you wanted to have a career, that is.

 The academic conference part had happened earlier in the day, and this was more of a meet-and-greet for keen, wide-eyed students to meet their future potential mentors up close. I laughed with their jokes, I listened to their mini-lectures on their topics of interest, and of course I flattered their egos at every turn. At last, after floating among various groups of people for the better part of an hour, I spotted the mark across the room.

It was at the point when I realised I'd been thinking of him as "the mark" this whole time, that the reality of the situation hit me.

Holy shit, I thought, I'm a fucking spy!

I should clarify that I wasn't actually a spy, and what I was doing here wasn't on any government books. Or even off them. There were no governments involved. I was a social worker by day, and the trickiest thing I usually had to deal with was misdirected violent outbursts from disadvantaged youths who had trouble managing their situational and emotional well-being. The stakes here were much higher.

I was in fact invited to this party, no codenames or cover stories necessary. My Master's degree in Psychology was real, my connection to these people was… okay, it was distant, but it was legit. I'd sat in their classes, I'd had essays marked by them. Some of them I'd approached, begging on hands and knees to be my academic advisor for my Master's degree. One of them had even accepted. But none of that was why I was here.

The truth was, I had this friend called Stephanie, one of my classmates during my Bachelor's, who made an amazing discovery. She dragged me along to a college party, not the kind of thing I'd usually go to—at that point in my life, anyway—and she told me to pick out the hottest guy in the crowd and follow her lead. Now, don't get me wrong, I was theoretically open to the idea of a threesome, with the right people, and maybe Stephanie might even be the right people, but a random sports scholarship guy definitely wasn't. So I was pretty relieved when she said we were only pretending. I picked one out, and then she told me what we were actually doing.

I was sceptical.

But we approached him, and we offered him a chance to skip the party and take us—both of us—back to his place. It's so easy to make staying at a party sound lame and pathetic when you flutter your eyelashes in a pleading sort of way and make the girls bounce a bit.

He never stood a chance. 

Once we were there, Stephanie had me test out her theory. With very little persuasion necessary on his part, I started making out with him right on his couch, while Stephanie sat behind him, stroking his hair and murmuring encouraging words in his ear.

Between kisses, I began some approximation of a hypnotic induction, telling him how sleepy he was getting, telling him how he should just relax and do what we told him, and so on. I was astonished when, before I knew it, he had slipped right into a trance with no resistance at all, and his mind was putty in my hands. 

I knew how a hypnotic induction worked, or I thought I did, but I'd never seen it work so fast, and giving the hypnotist such a degree of control. It looked like Stephanie was right—kissing a man in just the right way left him completely distracted and suggestible, allowing us to slip words into his mind that he would interpret as commands, or as part of his own thoughts. Doing the full hypnosis thing was probably easiest in the long term, but it also worked if you just ordered him to do stuff. What guy would say no to a woman who was kissing him?

Stephanie was eager to tell me I'd basically confirmed two parts of the theory she'd been formulating: it worked when other women did the kissing, not just her, and the suggestions worked best on the man when given by the woman who had kissed him. Though I was sure Stephanie's words had had at least some effect, too.

Of course, once Stephanie showed me all this, I immediately understood the implications. If the power to hypnotise men with kisses wasn't unique to her, or me, then how far did it go? Did it work on all men, with all women? Were there other factors to consider, like prior attraction? Did hypno-kissing work on women too? When I pitched that last one to Stephanie, she took it like I was volunteering to find out, and to be fair, when I played it back in my head, it did sound like I was. After many, many experiments, we concluded that it did not in fact work on women. I suggested a follow-up study, and she promised me with a laugh that I'd be the first one she came to.

That was the problem, though, there could be no follow-up. The whole theory revolved around subverting men's free will, and though Stephanie would contest the point, arguably brainwashing them too. No ethics committee in the world would approve of a study like that… unless Stephanie could influence their decision-making. Get them to see things from her point of view. If only there were some way of persuading them–

Yeah, you get it.

Which is how we come back to tonight, where I was roleplaying a spy in the middle of an academic conference for psychologists. See, I somehow managed to score an invite, probably because I was a promising student who had just graduated, and one of the higher-ups in the faculty had taken a liking to me. Stephanie, who was still a very close friend all these years later, had noticed that one of the attendees was the Chair of the Department of Psychology's Board of Ethics, Dr. Grant Fulton. Fancy having your scientific study signed off by someone called Grant. Is that nominative determinism or what?

The plan was simple. Stephanie needed Dr. Fulton on her side. All I had to do was seduce him, lure him away from the party, and hypnotise him. It all sounded very illegal to me, but Stephanie argued that it wouldn't be, since if I did it right, he would happily follow me anywhere. That was the crux of Stephanie's thesis: kissing men made them want to do whatever we said. 

I was quietly relieved that Dr. Grant Fulton wasn't an outwardly unattractive man; stuffy and greying perhaps, but he was a rich, older man in a suit who had clearly made token efforts to watch his figure over the years. It could be much worse. Look, you try not being a slut when you find out your kisses have hypno-powers.

I approached him, the eager student, graduated but fresh-faced and willing to learn.

"Hi, it's Dr. Fulton, isn't it?" I tried, layering it with just enough nerves to suggest I wasn't fully confident.

"Yes, that would be me," he smiled genially. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, um," I intentionally stumbled over my words, "my name's Lucy, I'm mostly just here to, well, understand more about the field now that I've finished my degree." Letting on that it was a Masters could come after I'd hooked him.

"Oh! Well, it's good to see you taking an interest, Lucy," he said, with just a hint of pompous pride.

"I was wondering if you could tell me more about the ethics of psychology," I stammered, "since I understand that's one of your areas of expertise, but it just seems so complex to me-"

"Oh! Well!" he exclaimed, gratified to have a captive, willing audience, "It's really quite simple…"

And he was off and running. I tried to listen, I really did, but perhaps I'd been hypnotically conditioned myself to fall asleep at the sound of a stuffy old lecturer's voice. I found myself having to concentrate on other aspects of the conversation, like how best to get him alone, or what would get him the most flustered and in the mood for kissing. Running my hand along his arm? Up his tie, maybe? What could I try right now without seeming too forward? I settled for interrupting him only to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and put one in his hand.

"Thank you kindly," he toasted me, one large, greying eyebrow curling upwards as if to say you're a good egg, young lady. "Where was I? Ah yes-"

A cacophony of laughter interrupted him. One of the groups of people behind me had apparently just heard a very funny joke. Or maybe a joke of questionable quality from someone they were all sucking up to. It's hard to know at these kinds of parties. Either way, I spotted an opening and seized it.

"It's getting a little difficult to hear you in here," I said, "why don't we go outside for some fresh air?"

Always count on an academic to enjoy being listened to. "Ah, splendid idea Miss, erm, Lucy," he agreed.

I led him to one of the upstairs balconies, on the pretext that it would have a better view. He agreed, to my relief. I really didn't want to try hypnotising him in public, and nobody else was up there right now.

We paused to admire the gardens below, which really were grand, even in the dark of night. Whoever owned this place had paid a lot of money to keep those hedges freshly trimmed, the grass mown, the flowerbeds watered and neatly arranged in rows of vibrant colours, just visible by the light radiating from the main hall.

Before he could continue his spiel, I said "Dr. Fulton, I have a question."

"Oh please," he waved his hand, "call me Grant."

I smiled. Familiarity established. "I was just wondering… what academic life is like after you do your PhD?" I asked.

Dr. Fulton sighed, drained the rest of his glass, and bashfully replied "Ah, well, it's not for everyone."

Ha! Somehow I was turning out to be good at this! I came up with that question on the fly, almost. But it struck exactly the nerve I'd hoped: Dr. Fulton was lonely.

"How do you mean?" I ventured.

He gestured vaguely into the night air, "Well, obviously, you have your postdoctorate, you have to take additional courses if you want to teach, which I did, and even then you're not secure in that position until you're tenured. Becoming an established name in your field is… you have to really want to keep at it, whatever field that is, because it will ultimately consume your life."

"Oh, I see," I replied, putting my hand on his shoulder as a gesture of comfort. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"Ah, no, not really," he sighed again, "but it hasn't left a lot of time for, shall we say, other pursuits."

Shall we say, indeed. "For what, like… favourite hobbies?"

He smiled ruefully at me behind a furrowed brow. "Let's just say this is the first time in a long while that I've enjoyed the company of a pretty lady such as yourself."

I contrived to look surprised and sympathetic. “I assure you it is I that has enjoyed the company of a fine man such yourself. And here I was thinking this night would be dull.”

He laughed at that, and I stepped closer to him. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I had to resist the urge to fist-pump. Success!

We continued talking for some time, about academia, university life, and most of all, the human mind. He really wasn't a bad guy, for all his stuffy, pretentious air. I almost felt bad for what I was about to do to him, but then I remembered he would likely be enjoying it far too much to complain. 

"So, Grant," I turned slightly towards him, "you mentioned how long it's been since you were able to enjoy the company of a pretty woman like me."

"Years and years, I'm afraid," he replied, wearily.

I ran my hand over his chest, and murmured "I suppose it's been even longer since you were kissed by one of those pretty women, then?"

His eyes widened. He stammered, "Lucy, are you, by any chance, that is to say… offering?"

I answered his question by grabbing his lapels and kissing him passionately. Always be the one initiating the kiss. It only works if you're kissing him, not if he's kissing you. That was the rule, as far as Stephanie had worked out. I don't know, my Master's thesis was on trauma and cycles of violence, but if I were to guess, I'd say that it's related to how the subconscious mind parses seduction, or submission, or both. 

I gave him just enough time to soak in the pleasure, so his brain was completely switched off, then I broke the kiss. According to Stephanie's notes, I had about two seconds, after saturating his brain in the sensation, when he was completely helpless and at my command. This wasn't an exact science, since Stephanie's research was incomplete, but I thought I got the basic idea. Too short a kiss doesn't give the brain time to shut down; too long gives it time to boot up again.

Before that could happen, I whispered, "Just relax and enjoy," and then kissed him again. An innocent little suggestion that he wouldn't see as odd if this somehow hadn't worked.

But it had; he relaxed into the kiss, allowing me to wrap my arms around him completely. I pulled back and murmured, "This is nice." Then I kissed him before he could think about anything else.

This went on for some time, me telling him to relax and enjoy, keep kissing me, not to worry about anything, all the suggestions I needed to lull him into a hypnotic trance. Timing a long kiss to end just as his brain had shut off was tricky. Fortunately, there was another way. I broke the long kiss, whispered "Let your worries drift away as I kiss you," and then started giving him short, gentle smooches instead. The idea, so far as we knew, was that this left the man's brain in total pleasure for longer, making him more suggestible, but obviously, it was harder to string suggestions together when your own lips were occupied. That was why Stephanie liked to prepare a voice recording beforehand. I had to settle for a couple of words here and there, as few connecting words as possible. His subconscious would pick up the message. I peppered him with kisses and seductive entreaties,

"Relax."

smooch

"Relax for me."

smooch

"No thoughts."

smooch

"Mind drifting."

smooch

"Eyes closed."

smooch

"Sleepy."

smooch

I'd hypnotised a lot of people since that first time with Stephanie, but I was still surprised by how well it worked. I couldn't help marvelling at this power, and wondering how it had gone seemingly undiscovered for so long throughout human history. Had men always been susceptible to our kisses like this? Was it simply that women didn't usually feel like giving men commands immediately after kissing them? Maybe some had done so by accident, and they'd just never made the connection. Maybe there were wives or girlfriends or… mistresses, centuries ago, who had known, on some level, and never said a word. 

Dr. Fulton was swaying at this point, practically asleep on his feet, so I decided to finish him off. I kissed him one more time and cooed, "Sleeeeep," soothing, seductive, irresistible.

He toppled over, but I was ready. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up, but I didn't need to be; I only needed to slow his fall. He was heavy, but I positioned myself well, and slowly eased myself into a sitting position. "That's it, relax on me," I coaxed, "down you go, down, down to sleep."

He sighed dreamily, his legs splayed on the balcony tiles, his head resting on my shoulder. From what I could see of his face, he looked utterly blissed out.

My heart pounded in my ears. If I felt like a spy before! I'd just taken out a grown man like some kind of hypno-assassin, and not a single person at this party had noticed! All I had to do now was persuade my new friend that we had to leave here unseen, and I was golden!

I murmured "Grant, you're now completely hypnotised by my kisses. Just relax. You're enjoying being hypnotised right now. It feels so good. You'll let me kiss you like that any time, won't you?"

He let out a sigh that might have been a yes, and slowly nodded his head. I considered what to do next. Leading him out of here while he was still hypnotised was tempting, since I didn't want to risk losing control of him so soon after capturing him, but it was too risky. People would notice if he wasn't himself.

I continued, "You'd like to take me somewhere a little...