The Hypnotic Hour
Copyright© 2025 by kinkytours
Chapter 1: The Clock Behind the Desk
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Clock Behind the Desk - A sales engineer working at VelvraTech gets hypnotized by her boss and is turned into a sluty bimbo
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Hypnosis Mind Control Fiction BDSM DomSub MaleDom Spanking Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Spitting Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Body Modification Size Nudism Transformation
Madeline Duval was not a girl who wasted time.
She didn’t ‘move’ through life. She slid. A midtown condo overlooking the water, Peloton bootcamp at 6 a.m., cold brew and protein powder at 6:45, flawless hair by 7:20. Her nails were shellac, her schedule down to five-minute increments. Her work heels cost more than her first car, and she walked like someone owed her everything and was late delivering.
She was a sales engineer for VelvraTech, which meant she could charm a boardroom and explain predictive behavioral targeting in plain English. She liked her title. It made men flinch and nod at the same time.
By 10:00 a.m., she had already closed three leads and sent her fourth into a flirty nosedive of plausible deniability. Madison from EnviroCorp wasn’t gay—but she’d stopped pretending not to blush when Madeline complimented her lip color.
Madeline flirted like she negotiated: effortlessly, and with edge.
She also fucked.
Not all the time. She was selective. But she liked it when it was ‘good’, and she liked it ‘better’ when it was hers.
She didn’t let men take the lead unless they knew how to keep it. Her vibrator drawer was better stocked than most sex shops. She had orgasms on command, but only when ‘she’ gave the order.
Even now, in the middle of her fourth cold call of the morning, she could still feel the soft buzz of last night between her thighs. She’d edged herself during a Zoom call. Kept the toy under her desk. Played with the remote with her foot.
She hadn’t come.
Not yet.
She was saving that for something more ... satisfying.
“Hey, Mads,” came the voice behind her.
Jessica, the redhead from UX. Too bright this early. Always smirking like she knew a joke Madeline wasn’t in on.
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Jessica handed her a folded note. “From Him.”
Madeline’s chest twitched, just a flutter. She took the note with practiced fingers.
Black stationery. Gold lettering. No signature. But only one person in the building used actual paper.
“Come to my office. 10:45 sharp.” — D.
David Calder.
Her boss. Her enigma.
The only man she’d ever worked under who made her feel... ‘less certain’.
And she ‘hated’ uncertainty.
His office was on the 42nd floor, corner suite, view of the bay and half the city. No assistants. No noise. Just frosted glass and the hum of cold air and him always immaculate, always impossible to read.
She adjusted her pencil skirt. Tapped her heels once before the door.
No knock. That was the rule.
She stepped in.
He was at his desk. Tailored slate-gray suit, sleeves rolled just enough to show ink on one wrist—an old, angular tattoo she hadn’t managed to identify.
He looked up.
Madeline held his gaze like a dare. “You rang.”
“Come in,” he said, tone neutral, but there was always something ‘smirking’ in the edges of his voice.
She crossed the room, smooth, unbothered, but the air was ‘thick’. Not hot. Just ... off. Like pressure before a thunderstorm.
She sat.
His eyes trailed her legs. Not long. Just once. Then back to her face.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“I assume it’s not about the Hanley deal,” she said, crossing one leg over the other, slow. “Unless you’ve developed a new kink for quarterly projections.”
A ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re good, Madeline. One of the best.”
“I know.”
“But something’s off.”
She stiffened slightly. “Off how?”
“You’re too controlled.”
She laughed once, short and sharp. “That’s not a flaw.”
“No. It’s a weapon. But weapons that never misfire get boring.”
Her brow ticked.
“This isn’t a performance review,” he said, leaning back. “It’s a ... pivot point.”
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he nodded at the wall behind his desk.
And that’s when she noticed the ‘clock’.
Big. Round. Antique brass, but gleaming. Mounted in a frame that looked too old for the room. The face wasn’t standard. No numbers. Just odd, geometric marks. The hands were slender. They didn’t tick.
They ‘slid’. Inward. Then outward. Spiraled like snakes.
She blinked.
“New decor?” she said, voice too casual.
“Old,” he corrected. “Much older than you think.”
She looked again.
The hands were moving.
But not like any clock she’d seen.
Slow. Smooth. Hypnotic.
“It’s from Prague,” he said. “Sixteenth century. Used by a certain guild to ... calibrate their apprentices.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean brainwash?”
He shrugged. “Teach.”
She tore her eyes from it. Realized her heartbeat was a little too loud.
“So this is a cult recruitment?”
“No. This is me offering you a choice.”
He stood.
Walked around the desk.
Stopped close—too close.
She didn’t back away.
He touched the side of her chair. Leaned in just enough that she could smell him: cedar, spice, something deeper.
“You’re brilliant,” he said. “But locked. Efficient. But numb.”
“Excuse me...”
“You come. I know you do. But you never ‘surrender’.”
Her breath caught.
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a remote. Turned toward the clock.
Pressed something.
The spiral ‘accelerated’.
And something ‘shifted’ in her.
Like the room had exhaled through her skin.
She blinked.
“What ... what is that...”
“Nothing that’ll hurt you.”
He turned to her.
“Unless you’re afraid of being ‘wanted’ differently.”
She tried to laugh again. Her voice caught.
“I’m not afraid.”
He tilted his head.
“Then look at the clock.”
She did.
And this time, she couldn’t look away.
The spiral was a trick.
That’s what Madeline told herself the moment she noticed her legs had uncrossed without her permission. That her palms had slid from her lap to the edge of the seat, gripping the leather. That the air in the office had changed, from filtered corporate chill to something thick and heated, like a mouth breathing on her neck.
She was still staring at the clock.
God, it was ‘just a clock’. Brass. Pretty. Old. The kind of object that tried to impress with mystery, like an expensive lighter or a chess set in a lawyer’s den.
The way the hands glided, though, spiraling in and out, always drawing your eye to the center wasn’t natural.
And Calderon ‘knew’ it.
“You’re focusing too hard,” he said softly, watching her from beside the desk. “Try blinking less.”
Her mouth opened. “I’m not doing this.”
“And yet you haven’t looked away.”
“I’m evaluating.”
“Mm,” he murmured. “Yes. Let me know what you find.”
The spiral turned.
The silence throbbed.
Madeline swallowed. Her thighs pressed closer together. Her breath shortened just enough for her to notice it, but not enough to panic.
“I should go,” she said.
He didn’t block her path.
“Of course.”
She didn’t move.
Her knees weren’t listening.
“You think this is cute,” she muttered.
“No,” Calderon replied. “I think it’s necessary.”
He walked behind her chair. Not touching, never touching—but she felt the heat of him as if his hand were already sliding up her inner thigh. Her pulse ticked faster. Her nipples had hardened beneath her blouse, a subtle prick of sensation that she told herself was just the air conditioning.
“You know what obedience is?” he asked.
“I’m not interested in being your fucking ‘sub’, David.”
He chuckled, low. “I’m not offering you a leash.”
“Then what?”
“A reset.”
His hand finally touched her. Light, just at the base of her neck—two fingers, tracing the line between spine and collar.
“You’re high-functioning. Always in control. Hyper-sexual, but bored. Intelligent, but exhausted. You’ve trained yourself so well to get what you want that you don’t remember ‘wanting’ anymore.”
She shivered. Her lips parted. Her pupils dilated, and she knew it. She was ‘watching’ herself fall apart in real-time.
“You’re just saying words,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, stepping around, lowering himself to her level, eyes sharp and hungry. “I’m opening a door.”
He leaned in. His lips didn’t touch hers. His breath did.
“I’m going to say a phrase. And you’re going to blink.”
“I’m not...!”
“Time is money.”
Her breath caught.
And she blinked.
The spiral surged forward. Just a fraction. Enough to make her stomach drop like an elevator skipping a floor.
“Shit,” she breathed.
“There it is,” he said gently. “The resistance. It’s beautiful.”
Her throat tightened. Her thighs pressed together again, harder. ‘She was wet. Fuck ... already.’ Not fully, not embarrassingly but she could ‘feel’ it. The same way she could feel her clit reacting to the sound of his voice.
He was still crouched in front of her. Still watching.
“You’re still fighting,” he said. “And that’s good. You should.”