Office Medical (mm hypno)

There is something you need to understand from the very start: We always take them in pairs, two by two. First we identify them, then we observe their behavior, and then, when we’re ready, we lay a trap.

And yet, just the other day, our two unsuspecting employees were in the office cafeteria, and neither one had any reason for concern. It was lunchtime, and the lunchroom was bright and cheerful and crowded, and our two friends, both coder guys from Software, were at the center table, munching down their burgers and fries, and talking and even laughing about work. And one of them had just been offered a chance to be on an exciting new project.

“Yeah, like it’s gonna be great. And they say I have to take a lie detector test to get in! And they’re gonna want to hypnotize me too.”

“What? Hypnotize you? That’s weird. Why?”

“It’s some government job I guess. Uh, it’s extra top secret or something. They gotta be sure your past is clean. And they wanna know you won’t talk about the project outside. I dunno.” Shagg slurped noisily on his soda.

“But you have to be hypnotized for a lie detector test? Why?” Scott always smiled when he said the word ‘hypnotized’. “I’ve never heard of that being done before.”

“Uh, I guess that way they know you’re not lying. I dunno for sure. I’m gonna go to Medical this afternoon for the test.” Shagg grinned and stuffed a big handful of greasy fries in his mouth and muffled: “Some government guy will ask the questions, and the staff shrink has to be there too.” Then he swallowed.

Scott puzzled: ‘Some Government Guy’? And then he said aloud: “Dr. ‘Shrink’?! You’re going to be hypnotized by Dr ‘Shrink’?” Scott liked the idea of his friend Shagg being hypnotized by their bazaar office counselor, and Scott’s cock liked the idea too. It began to push just a little against his pants. Damn, not here, not here in the cafeteria, but his cock had a mind of its own.

And just who was this ‘Government Guy’?

Shagg paused again in mid chew, mouth full: “Eh, medical presence is required for the test, I guess,” then gulped. And burped.

“Holy shit, Shagg. You sure you want to do this?” Scott’s cock sure wanted him to. Shagg smeared his burger in his ketchup and took a bite, and it was not a pretty picture, and Scott winced and waited. “Shagg?”

“Yeah, well, I think it would be fun to be on a secret project. Huh! I bet if I goofed off, or skipped out early, no one would ever even know!” Shagg always looked for the easy way. He sat across from Scott in the same dirty old jeans and tattered T shirt he’d been wearing for days, after all, there was no need to waste clean clothes just for work. He wiped his mouth on his hand and wiped his hand on his jeans.

Poor Shagg was a mess: his hair was a mess, his clothes were a mess, (there was no dress code in Software); even his desk was a mess. Sometimes Scott joked that he looked like something the cat brought in. The sloppy, geeky guy took another sloppy bite of burger, and the juice ran freely down his chin.

Scott watched the juice drip down his goofy little buddy’s face, and it looked a little like drool, and he began to imagine his wild, loveable Shagg, deep asleep with a beautifully vacant, hypnotized gaze --- and a half open mouth and the drool running down. Scott’s cock was talking to him: Play with me; play with me right now, it said.

Hyp-no-tized. Just imagine Shaggy-boy hyp-no-tized for real. Imagine him all relaxed and tranced under and focusing on some hypnotic induction; losing control and slowly sinking ever deeper into the weird Dr. Shrink’s power. So peaceful. So content. So obedient. And some mysterious ‘government guy’ watching from behind and carefully penetrating Shagg’s mind with probing questions.

Scott’s dick was rock hard now, so he leaned across the table and teased his buddy just a little: “Say, Shagg, can I come watch? I have some ideas of what I’d do to you hypnotized.”

Broad grin: “Yeah, I’ll bet you do, Scott, in your dreams.” And Shagg burped out loud for fun, tossed a bunch of fries at Scott, and laughed, and took another big bite out of his burger. And he shook his hair out of his eyes. And then he added: “Gee Scott, maybe you should volunteer to be on the project too. Then we could work together!”

“No, no way.” said Scott.

But that was how the little seed was planted, and soon, with a little help, it would begin to grow, and it would grow large in Scott’s mind. It was all so very subtle, but as you can see, we always take them in pairs, two by two. First, we identify them. Then we observe their behavior. Then, when we’re ready, we lay a trap.

On the way back from lunch, Scott hid his hard-on until he ducked into the men’s room. He came in here a few times a day, usually to empty his bladder or his gut, but once a day to jerk off. He knew the schedule. A half hour after lunch, the johns would be full, but right now, for a few minutes, he could have the whole place to himself.

He entered the far stall and closed the door. He opened his pants, and he pulled open his shirt and he sat down on the stool and began to stroke.

Oh wow, Shaggy-boy was going to be hypnotized.

Scott thought of everything his little buddy had said and conjured up an erotic image: one of the small rooms at the back of Medical; white walls, bright fluorescent lights, a sinister lie detector machine, electrodes attached to his friend’s pulse points, an agent from the government, who’s actually an officer in the military, and their mad staff psychologist at the controls.

He began to beat a little harder. He saw boyish looking Shagg sitting back in one of those big, heavy, over stuffed, leather couches and the tall, dark officer saying “Focus on my watch. That’s good, son, now just let yourself relax.”

No, a spiral. It had to be a spiral. Scott had always loved spirals; they made him hardest of all. He kept so many spirals on his home computer and had spent many happy hours in front of them.

And the handsome, mysterious, uniformed officer says: “Now son, all I want you to do - is to just focus on the spiral and relax.”

Scott sat on the stool, running his hand up his shaft, staring into the plain, brightly lit, clinical room of his fantasy, and saw Shagg in those dirty old, ass tight jeans; he saw free spirited Shagg lying back in the couch falling slowly into the officer’s power.

And Scott said aloud: “Focus on the spiral, Shagg, yeah, that’s good, Shagg. Look deep into the spiral,” and he beat still harder.

Shagg’s glassy eyes were now reflecting the slowly rotating spiral and he had a blissfully empty look on his face. He was down so deep, so relaxed, so weak, so vulnerable, and so controlled, he would agree to anything. His eyes began to close; closed down to little slits, the upturned pupils barely visible. And he was smiling ever so vacantly.

“Now,” says the officer, “I would like to ask you some questions. Will you answer a few questions for me son?” And Shagg responds: “Yes Sir.”

And Scott lurched, and stiffened, and stifled a moan, and caught the cum in his hand. He sat there shaking for a minute alone in the john before starting to clean himself up. Fortunately, none of it had landed on his clothes, and no one had come in while he was lost in his sexual fantasy. He hadn’t been caught; he’d gotten away with it once more.

God, he sure hoped there wasn’t some security camera hidden somewhere up there in those air vents.

On the way out the door, ‘Poindexter’ from Graphics passed him and said: “Gee Scott, your face is awfully red. You ok?” and Scott made an excuse: “Too many hot peppers at lunch,” and headed back to his cubicle in Software.

And when we’re ready, we lay a trap. But Scott would not receive his own spiral until the following day.

‘Shagg’ was just a nickname. It was a play on his last name, and a good description of his hair, a long thick mop of uncombed locks. Shagg liked being called Shagg; it was better than his real name, Gerald, which he didn’t like and never responded to. Shagg – like the loveable cartoon character – was a good appellation for this delightful geek. And he was a lot like his TV namesake too: silly, fun, and childlike. Shagg even kept week old stubble on his face. It made him look cute.

And Scott always thought Shagg looked cute; hot and cute, with those puppy dog eyes of his. Scott so wanted to take him home and play with him naked, and often suggested as much, but Shagg would always just laugh off his advances with an “In your dreams, Scott.”

But there was always hope that maybe someday it would happen.

And just imagine if he could get a hold of Shagg when he was hypnotized! Just imagine the thrill of commanding him: “Shagg, Come Home With Me And Have Sex With Me!”

And Shaggy-boy would respond so obediently in some delightfully mindless, wonderfully hypnotized monotone: “Yes Sir, Master Scott, anything You say. Your wish is my command. I must obey Master Scott!”

Scott smiled to himself: Ah, yeah, right, sure. It will never happen. But there was always hope.

Back in his cubicle after lunch, he tried to work but he was doing little more than pecking at keys. All he could think of was what his friend Shagg was about to experience, and he knew that he was obsessing about it but he couldn’t help it. That’s the way it is with obsessions.

And he waited until the time came, and he heard Shagg get up from the cube next to his; and Shagg paused at Scott’s desk and said with his sheepish grin: “Uh, well, I guess it’s time to take the test.” He shrugged his shoulders, and stuck out his tongue, and made that silly face he always made - so Scott made the same silly face back. Some guys never quite grow up. Then Shagg tossed a wad of paper at Scott for fun, and added: “Wish me luck.”

“Yeah, Shagg, good luck.” And Scott got up to follow, and followed him just far enough behind, and watched Shagg standing in the hall, in front of Medical, standing, staring at the door, staring at the handle, looking so weak, yet gathering his strength. And then finally, courage up, Shagg opened the door and went in and the door closed behind. All Scott could do now was wait.

And it was a very long afternoon.

The Software bullpen was mostly quiet today. So many of the other coders had chosen to work from their homes, logging into the office net from their home computers, and those that did come in worked in small groups or alone, so no one seemed to notice Shagg’s absence. But Scott was keenly aware.

For a while, Scott found himself in the hall, standing across from Medical, watching the door, wanting to know what was happening inside. Was Shagg already taking the test? Was he already hypnotized? What were they doing to him right now? Were they maybe having sex with him? Scott’s dick might have danced just a little at this thought, but he paid no notice. For once, his concerns were elsewhere.

And afternoon faded to evening, and evening faded to night, and the office emptied out leaving Scott all alone. The only sounds were the hum of the other computers, and the buzz of the fluorescent lamps overhead. And still no Shagg.

When, finally, he heard him, Scott was going to jump with excitement, but stopped himself. Shagg was walking so slowly and softly, Scott found himself just listening for a minute, to the sound of the padding foot falls, to the squeak of the chair, and then to the sound of papers shuffling and drawers opening and closing. At last he could not wait.

“Hey, how’d it go?” He asked.

And Shagg turned to him and looked pleased. No, not pleased; Shagg looked like he was high or something. “Ok, I passed the test, everything is going to be ok,” and his voice was a little sing song. He began to swing from side to side with a sweet little smile.

“Yeah, but, well, what happened?” Scott was trying to figure this out.

“Oh, I’m not supposed to talk about it,” said with a happy note. He looked distant, confused, and he seemed a little too cheerful. His eyes were dilated and glassy; had he been drugged? This was very odd. And Shagg went back to shuffling papers and putting them in the drawers.


“So – what are you doing now?” watch him carefully.

“Oh, I’m just straightening up. I always like to keep a clean desk, you know.” No, Scott did not know; Shagg never, ever cleaned his desk. And then Shagg looked back up at him, and looked at him delightfully bemused.

And as Scott watched, he began to think that his happy buddy-boy Shagg was starting to look pretty good in what Scott hoped was a nice, pliable, semi-hypnotic state. Yes, it was definitely a selfish act, but Scott had fantasized about this so many times, and the chance might never come again, and so after a minute to gather his courage, he said in his most firm yet smooth monotone: “Shagg, come home with me and have sex with me.”

It took Shagg a second to respond; then he broke out of his daze and laughed and said: “Yeah, right, Scott. In your dreams!” He was back to normal. Almost.

Oh well, it had been worth the try. Never give up hope. And the two of them left separately.

When Scott arrived in the office early the following morning, he was surprised to see Shagg already in, and already hard at work. But something else was an even greater surprise: “Holy shit, Shagg! What did you do to your hair?!”

“I got it cut. It was getting too long. Didn’t you notice?” Shagg’s hair was cut real short, tight, conservative, almost military looking.

“But you never cut your hair short!”

“Sure I do. I always keep it this way.”

Then Scott noticed something else: “Look at your clothes! What’s with your clothes?” Today, Shagg was wearing a nice clean, pair of neatly pressed, pleated pants, and a new trim shirt, with a collar for the first time ever.

Shagg looked down at himself and then smiled back at Scott: “So what’s wrong with looking good?”

Scott’s head was spinning. “Oh yeah, great. Now you’re going to start dressing like Poindexter, or worse, Milhouse!” Poindexter and Milhouse were those over- achieving nerds in Graphics who always dressed up in fine suits and ties. Everyone made fun of them. That’s why they had those nicknames.

But Shagg just shrugged: “So I start dressing like them. What’s the problem?” He smiled yet again.

Scott watched, puzzled. Oh god, they’ve really changed him. But how much? Then he thought of a way to test his friend. “Guess we won’t be able to call you ‘Shagg’ anymore then, will we? Guess we’ll have to start calling you by your real name. Isn’t that right, Gerald?”

Shagg thought about it a second, not so sure about this, but finally answered: “Yeah, I guess you’ll just have to start calling me Gerald.”

Damn. This was odd. Not even believable. And while Scott stared, he began to think this was exciting: Shagg had been brainwashed and didn’t even know it. Yes, this was exciting, but also almost frightening. Scott’s world was turning upside down with his most erotic fantasy coming true, but in the real world, his fantasy had become scary. Erotic and scary.

At lunch in the cafeteria, Shagg ordered a nice, healthy green salad and proceeded to eat it very neatly. And for once, he was even chewing with his mouth closed, and Scott began to really appreciate the improved table manners.

He had to admit that the new short haircut was good. Something about it made Shagg look a little more like a man. And the shirt; Shagg had a great looking body, but it had always been covered by baggy, messy T’s. This new, trim shirt allowed those broad shoulders to show through, and Scott liked that too. Shagg still had the week-old beard, sure, but it had been cleaned up; real neat and nice looking.

Yes, the computer geek was looking even sexier than before. And Shagg still retained that cute, lost puppy dog look, sort of. The changes were good, really.

However, Shagg seemed a little too quiet. His only comment during the entire meal was one of the mild admonishment: “Scott, please: elbows off the table when you’re eating.” Scott kind of wished Shagg would at least toss a few croutons at him for fun, or something.

But Shagg finished his salad, and swallowed, and put his fork down, and then finally spoke: “I’m supposed to report to Medical again this afternoon. I have some more tests to take.”

More tests? “Uh, look Shagg, Gerald, whoever, are you sure you should? Why did they say you need to?” Scott was divided by his concern for his friend and the incredible sexual fascination over this dramatic transformation. “I mean, don’t you think they’ve done enough to you already?”

“Done enough what to me?” Shagg asked innocently, politely dabbing his napkin to his mouth and chin. “Don’t worry, everything will be ok.”

And Scott didn’t know what to say. He just sat there silently with his jaw agape, but his cock began to speak up: Play with me. Play with me right now.

In the john after lunch, Scott jerked off to fresh fantasies of his friend: this time with those fine broad shoulders, and this time with that hot looking new hair cut, reclining in the couch in Medical. Today, Shagg was lying totally naked so Scott could see his muscular, beautiful body up close. And Scott imagined him with a great big long dick flopped loose across his leg.

Shagg was already asleep and breathing softly as the tall military man led him down still deeper into an obedient trance, and soon Shagg’s mind was gone, empty; he was totally open to suggestion, ready to be brainwashed.

And Scott said aloud: “Oh yeah, Shagg, gaze deep. Yeah, that’s good; keep gazing deep into the spiral,” and he started jerking himself faster.

Then the agent raises his eyebrow with a slightly sinister bent, and says: “Son, for the next step of the procedure, we’ll need to see you masturbate. You can do that for us, son, can’t you? You’d like to do that for us.”

And as Shagg reaches down and begins to stoke his long cock hard, he replies: “Yes Master.”

Scott had to muffle his squeal when he shot his load, and he sat there on the stool quivering for a minute afterwards. Fortunately, no one had come in, no one had heard him, and no one had seen.

It wasn’t until late that evening that Scott finally received his spiral.

Back in the bullpen, the second afternoon was even longer than the first, and all Scott could do was wait in his cubicle and wonder. As the hours passed, his concern for his friend overcame his erotic fascination. What would they do to his friend this time?

Again, Scott found himself standing in the hall, across from Medical, staring at the closed door, staring at the handle, curious to know what was happening inside. What were they doing to Shagg right now?

Maybe Scott could just open the door and go into the front office. That’s it; find an excuse. Inside would be the little waiting room, and a clerk at the front desk, and Scott could say: “I’m just here to pick up these health brochures.” And then maybe he’d sneak further back and listen through the various closed doors until he located and rescued his friend.

Oh yeah, right. And maybe he’d sprout wings and fly. Standing out here in the hall, he knew that he could not have opened that door for any reason.

Just then, of all people, Milhouse passed him and said: “Gee Scott, you look awfully pale. You ok?” Scott made some quick excuse: “just a little heartburn,” and hurried back to his desk in Software.

He waited in his cube until late, until he heard Shagg return from Medical. He heard the sound of the chair, but then it was awfully quiet next door. Scott paused; he listened, then he got up and approached Shagg’s desk, and hesitantly came up from behind, afraid of what changes might have occurred this time, and he was surprised to find Shagg staring at the computer screen, staring at an image of a spiral. It wasn’t moving or anything. It was just a plain, simple, motionless, black and white spiral. But Shagg was focused intently on it.

Mind racing: “Uh, hey, uh, Shagg, what’s that on your screen?”

Shagg turned to him easily and replied: “Oh, hi Scott, it’s just a meditation device I was given. Here, let me send you a copy.” Shagg closed it and sent it before Scott even had time to think to say no.

And that’s how Scott received his spiral.


“You ok?’ asked Scott, watching closely.

“Why, of course.” said Shagg with a brand new, very friendly smile. He looked better tonight than he had the previous night. “Everything is going to be ok.” In fact, he looked really great. Tonight, Shagg held himself upright, head straight, chin up, shoulders back, as though brimming with confidence. His whole expression was just beaming with determination.

Was this really Shagg?

He laughed and his eyes twinkled. Shagg’s eyes had never twinkled. But Scott gathered his thoughts and questioned: “So, I guess you’re going in for still more tests tomorrow?”

“No, not me,” Shagg winked, and laughed out loud again, and leaned back in his chair, his arms resting behind his head, “I’m supposed to spend all day reading up on company policies.” He motioned to several very large, very heavy notebooks, “There’s a whole lot there to memorize!” And he said it like he meant it. No, he meant it. He really meant it. This couldn’t be the same Shagg.

And Scott just stared incredulously, totally speechless. He didn’t know what to say so after an uncomfortable pause, Shagg simply took over: “Oh, hey, look Scott, it’s getting real late and I need to be going. I have to pick up some new slacks on the way home.”

And with that, Shagg rose straight and tall, and calmly made his exit.

And with that, Scott’s jaw dropped, and he shuffled back to his cube.

The bullpen now seemed more silent and empty than ever before. Sometimes, there is no place on earth as eerie as your own brightly lit office, when it’s late, when you’re all alone, when your whole world is turning upside down.

What were they doing to Shagg?

Scott looked over to his screen.

You’ve got mail, Scott.

He looked at the brand new, little unopened envelope; it was labeled Static Spiral. How had Shagg got this? It sat in the lower corner blinking softly, inviting him to open it. And Scott wanted to open it, he wanted to look, but he hesitated.

Office computers were not for personal use. Web-Services kept track of what programs and mail were being accessed and used by employees; what if he got caught? In the hardware support room at the center of the building, a log was being kept of his every computer move. His every click of the mouse was recorded to make sure he followed the rules. But was anyone monitoring him right now, this late at night? The place had to be empty. Would anyone ever bother to check the record to see what he had been viewing? The silence of the bullpen grew still louder.

And wasn’t it just some harmless jpeg anyway?

He watched it a long time before he moved his cursor over and clicked. The file opened and revealed the image: a simple black and white, non-moving spiral. Odd, it was nothing. He had so many, really great rotating spirals on his home computer that he had spent endless hours staring into, lost himself into, but this one was nothing. It was as plain as a piece of paper.

And then his eyes came to rest on the center and it began to change.

It began to move and it came to life in a wide rotating swirl. It came alive with color and moved sensuously in a slow turn, beckoning him to come further in. He gazed at it for just a second, surprised at the reds and oranges and greens, amazed by the fluid pool; then he shook himself away. It stopped moving. It returned to black and white.


This was something he’d never seen before. What kind of optical illusion was this? He looked at it carefully askance. It was at a total stop. Not a movement; not a flicker. Dead. But it had been spinning, and so real, and for a moment, it had been so wonderful. He was tempted; he wanted to see it again. And spirals always made his cock grow. They made him feel good.

But this one was different; this one was strangely powerful. And this one was somehow frightening. Who had given this to Shagg?

Scott wanted to close it now and delete it before it got him in trouble. He thought about it; he took hold of the mouse, and just as he was about to close it, he gave in and let himself find the center one more time.

Alive it came, rich with motion and color and texture and depth.

It wove around in a delightfully great shimmering circle and drew his gaze right down in, right in to the center, providing relaxation and reward. He fell into it happily, and felt warm and calm, and his hand slipped away from the mouse, away from the desk, and down onto his lap.

The voice of his fantasies entered his mind quietly from behind and moved easily towards the center: “Gaze deep into the spiral and relax. You know how good it feels to just let go and fall deep. That’s right; fall deep into the spiral. You feel the peace, you feel the warmth; let the spiral show you the way.”

He allowed his mind to slip into a self hypnotic state, and the image filled his vision, and the voice continued to seduce. “As you relax your eyes into the spiral, it starts to make you feel warmer still. It starts at your feet. Can you feel the warmth in your feet? And the warmth slowly moves up your legs.”

His fantasy continued and the voice led him through the stages and he followed willingly. He let the feeling spread through him, moving up his legs, up his body, right into his mind. And his muscles all loosened, one after another. So relaxed. So peaceful. He felt so content to just focus on the voice. And when commanded, he moved his hand down to his cock and began to stroke.

Sometimes, it takes a minute to realize you’ve been under. Scott blinked once, twice, three times, and forced himself awake. Where was he?

And then he realized he was in the hall. In the hall? He was standing where the hallway meets the bullpen, and his pants were down around his knees.

“Holy Shit!” And his shirt was off too, discarded next to the printer. He looked down at himself, half naked. How the hell? He fought the panic as he stuffed his shorts back into his pants and grabbed for his shirt. He’d never gone down this far before. How long had he been out?

And had he been seen? He stood perfectly still and was pretty sure that the office was empty. It was so quiet, so breathlessly quiet; there was no sound of keyboards, no paper shuffling, no coughs, no chair squeaks. He strained his ears. No, there was no sound at all except for the hum of the overhead lights. He had been alone. No one had seen. He had not been caught.

Thank god.

But where the hell were his shoes? He found them by the shredder, abandoned, tossed haphazardly on the carpet. Panic rose. What had he done? And why had he been in the hall? He returned to his cubicle to regain his composure. Count to ten. Count to ten. Tell yourself: no one saw you. No one saw you. You won’t get fired.

You won’t get fired.

He stopped himself a moment, and then glanced back up at the screen. The spiral had closed itself and the envelope was again sitting dormant in the corner, quietly blinking.


What was in that spiral anyway?! What was its magic? And where had that voice come from? He thought of the spiral, and he could remember how good it had felt. It had been so powerful and had taken him down so deep, and the voice had had him at its mercy and it had all felt so wonderful. He tried to remember it yet the memory moved just out of reach. His dick began to dance a little. He’d had a taste and he wanted more.

You’re all alone, Scott. Come on, try it again.

But Scott forced himself to think: the spiral. Had this been used on Shagg? Someone had slipped it to him, it had to be. Scott scrambled to connect the dots: First someone sends Shagg this spiral, and then they invite him to work on the most important project in the office. He stopped. Shagg wasn’t the best coder in Software by far, so why him?

And the only sound was the buzz of the fluorescent lamps.

You’re all alone, Scott. Come on, try it again.

And then after a couple sessions in Medical, they’ve got Shagg all cleaned up and acting new, and wanting to work long hours, and dressing nice like Poindexter and Milhouse in Graphics.

Icy cold fingers brushed the back of his neck.

The hard realization came slowly: Poindexter and Milhouse were once the office clowns. They had always been out partying late, and reporting to work with hangovers, still wearing the rags they’d passed out in, laughing about their escapades, goofing off all day, and then sneaking out early. And now they were the perfect pair, real partners, hard working, dedicated, committed employees, and always dressed up in those suits and ties.

You’re all alone, Scott. Come on, try it again.

Think: when had they changed? Were they part of this? And weren’t there others? Yes, there were others. There were those two over-achievers in Sales, and those two guys in Services, and a couple guys in Corporate. And in Accounting, there was a pair.

Oh god, where was this leading? Who was next? Who would be next? And then he became scared, scared right down to the bone. He knew. Yes, of course he knew.

You see, we always take them in pairs, two by two. Scott put his head in his hands and tried to will the nightmare away. First, we identify them, then we observe their behavior, and then, when we’re ready, we lay a trap.

Scott could hear his heart racing. Was there any escape? The maze of cubicles had never seemed so large; and the exit from the building was so far away. And there would be a couple of guards at the gate. Would they actually stop him from leaving?

This was paranoid; this was insane; get a grip. It’s very late; you’re not thinking right.

But -- But weren’t there always exactly Two guards from Security at the gate, and weren’t they always dressed up in those nice, overly formal, fancy uniforms? Yes, yes, the two guards might actually stop him from leaving.

Or would they simply rely on some other, much more subtle device to keep him?

You’re all alone, Scott. Come on, try it again.

He looked back up at his screen. The little envelope remained closed and still, blinking harmlessly: come back inside, Scott.

What if the spiral hadn’t been intended for Shagg at all? What if it had really been meant for Scott? Maybe Shagg and the others had been lured in by other means, actually believing that fiction about the lie detector test? Scott was too smart to fall for that story. So maybe they’d try to trap him with something that they knew he could not resist.

But how could they have known? How could they possibly have known of his one great weakness?

He watched the envelope for a minute, the simple envelope just like any other. It looked so innocent, but he knew it was dangerous: luring him, enticing him like some kind of addictive drug. It had to go. He had to get rid of it. He had to delete it. He reached for the mouse. He moved the mouse. He moved the cursor. He centered it over the envelope. He was going to delete it. He really meant to delete it. Just point, click and delete. Just point, click and delete. So easy. It would be so easy.

Come back inside, Scott.

He paused, and then, unconsciously, he began to weaken.

Please don’t blame him. He really couldn’t help himself; he was so tired and he was so afraid, and he just wanted to forget his fears. He wanted to forget everything, if only for a minute or two. His muscles loosened, and his breathing slowed, and his head grew heavy. He’d had a taste and he wanted more.

Come back inside, Scott.

Not even aware of his action, he clicked ‘open’. And he exhaled a great sigh of relief and let himself slip back into wonderful oblivion.

There is no pleasure like the pleasure of total surrender. You feel your will power slipping away, and you feel your thoughts slipping away, and you feel all self control slipping away. You don’t worry what will happen; you only know that it’s inevitable: you know your mind will be emptied and your memories will be erased, and it will be ok. You know you’ll be changed, but you will never remember that you have been changed, and so everything will be ok.

And so you just let yourself surrender.

It was morning, and he woke up groggy, still in his cube, still at his desk, still in yesterday’s clothes; wrinkled, unshaved, uncombed, unwashed, and dirty. Scott was a mess. And he was bent over his keyboard and feeling so helpless.

Shagg was already in, having arrived extra early, and was working hard next door. Today he was all clean shaven and looking good, dressed in fine wool slacks and a white shirt, coat, and tie. It gave him a whole new look of confidence and his eyes were firm with determination.

He looked up at Scott, all rumpled and stained, and he teased: “Gee, you look like something the cat brought in!”

Scott didn’t even question Shagg about his new wardrobe; he knew that whatever was happening to his friend was for the best. And Scott knew he was merely accepting the inevitable, and so he took a deep breath, and it almost felt good to just come out and say it, so weakly: “I’d like to volunteer to work on your project.” He choked on the words.

“They thought you might,” Shagg responded pleasantly. “They’ve already arranged an appointment for you.”

Of course they had; like a script that had been written. No need to fight it. It was going to happen.

Scott stood for a moment in the hall, staring at the door to Medical, staring down at the handle. One last chance to back away. One last chance to run. But no, it’s going to happen so let it happen. As he stood there, his strength drained right out of him, his breath left him, and totally defeated, Scott finally opened that door.

And the whole experience slowed down to a thick, hazy dream.

Poor Scott. Poor, lucky Scott. Don’t you kind of wish you knew how he felt? Don’t you kind of wish you were him? Imagine for a moment that you are. You’re Scott. That’s right, you’re Scott.

And your whole world just slows down to a thick, hazy dream.

The doctor is inside the door waiting for you, Scott, smiling warmly; he has the forms for you to sign. Don’t bother reading them; it doesn’t matter what they say. You’ll sign in the end, so just sign now. Just let it go.

“Ah, welcome, Scott, it’s so very good of you to come. We’ve been expecting you.” Yes, of course they have. They’ve been expecting you for a long time. “Please follow me.”

Your ankles are rubber, your knees are shaking. There is no escape now. The doctor puts his arm around your waist and helps you walk to one of the rooms in back. Your legs are as heavy as lead as you’re guided to your fate.

“Please come with me, Scott.”

Don’t try to resist; in the end, you won’t be able to resist, so there’s no reason to try. Just breathe deep and relax. You know that you’ll be changed, but it doesn’t matter because you won’t remember that you’ve been changed, and therefore, it will be ok. It’s all ok; it’s for the best.

Take another step. Don’t worry about anything that happens now, you won’t remember any of it later. So just relax; soon you will be fast asleep. And you’ve never felt this weak.

Let it happen.

Inside the little room there is the big, overstuffed leather couch waiting for you. And the lie detector machine to the side is clearly not a lie detector machine. But that doesn’t matter either.

A mysterious man stands just out of sight, studying you silently. You hardly notice him but he is watching you steadily, and his face is expressionless. “Please, son, for this procedure, it will be necessary for you to remove all your clothes. Just hang them on the rack and make yourself comfortable in the chair. Don’t worry son, everything will be ok.”

Sure, of course, no use fighting it. Just remove all your clothes while these two men patiently watch you undress. Take off your shirt; take off your shoes, your pants. It’s all so clinical, all so medical, so strip off your clothes. There’s no need to feel embarrassed that you’re naked. Just slip back in that heavy leather chair and make yourself comfortable.

Let them see you naked.

The doctor begins to attach the probes and wires to your temples, your wrists, and your chest. No, this is no lie detector test. As the doctor brushes your nipple, your cock begins to stiffen. Your cock grows and it grows hard and fast and it stands upright. The doctor and the man observe, and silently nod to each other some secret acknowledgement. They know.

They’ve known for a long time.

And as your cock rises, there’s no need to feel ashamed. See, this was all planned for you from the start, and you won’t remember any of it later anyway, so just take your cock in your hand and begin to stroke.

It’s ok. Let it happen.

Then the lights dim, and an image starts to form on the wall across from you. It’s your spiral, and you let out a sigh of relief and your cock responds immediately. Yes, let these two men watch, it doesn’t matter, they’ve watched you before, they’ve discussed you and taken notes; they’ve observed you.

And it always feels so good to be observed.

And finally, the man speaks: “Now son, all I want you to do - is to just focus on the spiral and relax.” His voice is familiar; it enters your mind quietly from behind and moves easily towards the center.

You recognize his voice, and let it in, and relax. Soon you’ll be just like Poindexter, and Milhouse, and like Shagg, and like all the others. You’ll be one with them and you won’t remember ever having been any other way. So just let yourself gaze directly into the spiral’s center and let it come alive for you, and stroke yourself a little harder.

And let yourself sleep.

And morning faded to afternoon, and afternoon faded to evening, and then it was night and the office was again empty and silent.

The employee had already stumbled halfway to his desk before he began to awaken, and even then everything remained a fog. He stopped a minute, uncertain of direction, confused by the gaps in his brain. Left, then right, through the aisles; he stopped. He was lost.

Fortunately, a kind stranger came looking for him, and found him, and took a hold of his arm, and carefully guided him back to his cubicle, and helped him into his chair.

It wasn’t a bad sensation he was feeling; he felt bemused and light headed, as though in the afterglow of some pleasant drug, but he shook himself a second, trying to break the spell. He reached up and felt his scalp as though he might actually touch the fresh incisions in his mind. And as he tugged on his hair, he discovered that it was too long. His hair needed to be cut.

And while he sat groping for thoughts, still happy in his private reverie, he came to realize that the stranger was still standing tall above of him, a well dressed, good looking guy.

And the good looking guy asked: “So, how did it go?” and he seemed truly concerned. The employee tried to focus on this stranger: so confident and yet so kind.

“Ok, I passed. Everything is going to be ok,” he was programmed to recite without thinking. Then it began to sink in to him in that he just might know this man: the strong shoulders, the friendly, clean cut face, short trimmed hair, nice clothes.

But he continued as trained: “I’m supposed to return tomorrow. There are going to be more tests.” He was barely aware of the residual scent of some chemical on his breath. He felt like he was a million miles away.

“Yes, I know; me too. You and me together,” said the friend. Shagg, his friend’s name was Shagg. And then he remembered his own name: Scott. Yeah, it sounded right. Scott looked over and, through the haze, noticed that his desk was a mess. He liked to keep a clean desk; it needed to be straightened up.

But his friend was still standing above him, so cool, so strong and safe, watching over him, caring for him. “The test is kind of rough. Sure you’re ok?” Shagg waited and watched for a moment, his head cocked to one side, considering something, thinking of something. Then Shagg remembered something that made him smile.

You see, we always take them in pairs.

And finally Shagg knelt down, and leaned close to Scott, and put his arm right around Scott’s shoulder. And then Shagg grinned, and winked, and mouth to ear, he whispered “Scott, come home with me and have sex with me.” Two by two.

And still under the spell, and without even a thought, Scott answered: “Yes sir, Shagg, anything you say,” and he closed his eyes.

So you see, there’s no reason to worry about our two friends; they’ll both be fine. We’ll watch over them. Look for them tomorrow in the office cafeteria, and you’ll find them, as usual, at the center table, talking and even laughing about work. They make a good looking couple. And they’ll be carrying themselves properly, and behaving in a professional manner, representing our company as it should be represented. And they’ll be dressed in their finest suits, even though there is no dress code in Software.

Someday, we expect them to make fine managers.

Everything really is going to be ok.