Summary: When FBI Special Agent Maya Sinclair interviews a potential witness in a strange suicide investigation, she discovers he is a master of hypnosis who wants to keep a low profile. She is trapped by his hypnotic spell, turned into his pawn, and forced to keep his secret.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me here," Maya Sinclair said to the man sitting across from her. She opened a portfolio and placed two files in front of her on the coffee shop table next to her notebook. The man looked to be in his early 40s. His jet-black hair was showing gray at the temples and he wore a tailored white shirt with casual slacks. He seemed relaxed. Maybe even a little amused.

The coffee shop was nearly empty this late in the afternoon. Lace curtains softened the fading light that filtered through tall windows, casting warm patterns on the polished wooden floor.

"Certainly, Agent Sinclair. I am happy to help you in your investigation," replied the man.

32-year-old FBI Special Agent Maya Sinclair possessed a strikingly alluring presence that belied her sharp intellect and formidable investigative skills. Her dark chestnut hair fell in soft waves just past her shoulders, framing a face of angular elegance.

She wore the 'uniform' of the FBI but with her own personal flair: a dark suit tailored to look attractive on her while concealing her shoulder-holstered service weapon. An FBI ID badge hung from her neck. She opened the top file on the table, showing an investigation report with a set of photos paperclipped to the top.

"Mr. Kross, we are investigating an apparent suicide under fairly unusual circumstances. Do you know the name Mason Reed?"

"Ah, I think I heard about him in the news. He is the one who recently killed himself while live-streaming it on the internet? Some kind of serial killer or something?"

"Yes. Did you know him personally?"

"No."

"Did you ever speak to him?"

Donovan Kross thought for a moment. "Hmm... as a matter of fact, I did. Only twice that I can recall, though."

"And when was that?"

"Both times were a couple of days ago."

"And what was the subject of the conversations?"

Donovan brought his coffee cup to his lips. "I'm afraid that's a little personal, Agent Sinclair. I'm not sure what it has to do with your investigation."

"You were the last person to speak to him. That conversation, according to the log on his cellphone, was twenty-seven minutes long. Thirteen minutes later, he slit his wrists in front of the entire internet.

"The logs also showed this was the first and only time he had ever called you. So, yes, Mr. Kross, I think it might have something to do with our investigation. What did you talk about?"

"You can call me Donovan," he replied with a warm smile.

"What did you talk about, Donovan?" she responded, a hint of irritation in her voice.

Donovan set the coffee down and leaned forward slightly. "Agent Sinclair.... am I under suspicion of any crime?"

"No, but - "

He sat back again, "Then I'd prefer not to answer. It was a personal matter."

Sinclair tapped the file thoughtfully for a few seconds. Her supervisor and partner both thought this was an open-and-shut case. The FBI was called in to pick up the pieces and close some old cases because of the serial killer angle, but there was no need for any real investigation. She just couldn't shake the feeling that the suicide seemed strange. Something didn't fit. She had a nagging feeling there was something more to this and it somehow involved this man.

Changing gears, Agent Sinclair pulled a small plastic bag with a card in it from the file. The bag had a sticker on it marking it as evidence, and the card inside looked to be a business card, ivory colored, but with words in fine calligraphy instead of print. It simply read 'Donovan Kross' with a phone number. "I take it this is your card?"

"Of course."

"It was found in Reed's possession. The lab guys say this is not printed in any print shop but is handwritten. You made this yourself?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not that talented. I have a friend who makes them for me. It's a friend who shares my taste for, I suppose you might say, 'classical elegance.'"

"How did Reed get this card?"

"I gave it to him. I met him for the first time earlier that day. He seemed troubled. I thought I might be able to help him, so I gave him the card and told him he could call me if he needed help."

"Help him how? You are a psychologist or something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Just a guy who likes to help people when he can… Forgive me, Agent, but I do have a question. This sounds to me like just a suicide, albeit a bit of a flashy one. Even a high-profile suicide, I would think, would be a matter for local police. Why is the FBI involved?"

Sinclair's eyes narrowed slightly. "As you know, Reed was a serial killer. Severed fingers of seventeen victims he kept as trophies were found on the premises. Also, there was a cache of explosives and bomb-making supplies, as well as what appeared to be plans to blow up the university football stadium during this weekend's game.

"I'm sure you can understand why we are involved... and why we are taking a very hard look at you, Mr. Kross."

Donovan sat in contemplation for several seconds, then sighed heavily. "I tell you what, Agent Sinclair. I will make you a deal. Tell me what you know about me and I will tell you everything I know about what happened to Reed. I will answer all of your questions. I will confess to you completely. How does that sound?"

Well, no sense in keeping her cards close to the vest. They didn't have anything really. This whole trip was just grasping at straws. She might as well shoot straight with him and see what she could get.

"Okay, Mr. Kross. Frankly, we don't know much about you at all. I researched the name and number. No records of a Donovan Kross exist, and the phone number belongs to some offshore shell corporation. Nothing but dead-ends and nothing else connects you to this case in any way. If you hadn't answered the phone when I called the number, we would never have found you." They had actually tried to call the number several times from various FBI lines and only got a disconnected notice. It wasn't until she called from her personal cell phone after an intern's playful suggestion that the line worked.

"You said you were taking a hard look at me, but the card is the only thing you have? There is no other evidence casting any suspicion on me and no real way to find me if I didn't want to be found, is that right?"

Sinclair shifted a bit in her chair. "Yes. I suppose that's fair to say."

"And if this meeting never happened, your agency would give up on trying to find me? Just another dead end?"

She hesitated. She didn't have any kind of leverage on this man, and he knew it. "I.... yes. Yes, I think that's true."

"I see. I am happy to hear that. Okay then, Agent. You have held up your end of our little deal. I will confess to you everything now. During that conversation I had with him, I convinced him to kill himself."

"You... what?"

"I ran into him at the grocery store earlier that day, and I sensed that he was deeply mentally disturbed, maybe even dangerously so. I couldn't really do anything about it then, in public, but I wanted to help him if I could or stop him before he hurt someone, so I gave him my card and persuaded him to call me when he got home."

"'Persuaded' him?"

"Yes, well, I can be very persuasive."

"What do you mean you 'sensed' his mental state?"

"I am pretty good at reading people -- their body language, mannerisms, speech patterns. I get a very good intuitive sense of people very quickly. Surely you have an idea of what I mean? People often get a 'gut feeling' about people. He was just obviously 'off' to me."

Sinclair asked incredulously, "And so when you talked, you then persuaded him to kill himself? How is that even possible?"

"He was already suicidal. He told me he had already killed a number of people and wanted to kill himself spectacularly, killing as many people as he could. He wanted to be famous.

"I just got him to shift the focus a bit. I suggested he could kill himself in a way that would make him even more famous if he did it on camera. That way, nobody got hurt."

"So, you expect me to believe that in one conversation, he admitted to you he was a murderer and you talked him into suicide."

"That about sums it up."

"Why would he just admit to you, someone he never really talked to before, that he killed people?"

"Like I said, I can be very persuasive."

Sinclair rubbed her temples. This 'confession' was ridiculous. Why was he yanking her chain with this nonsense? "You expect me to believe you have some kind of 'mind control power' Mr. Kross?! You can just tell people what to do, and they just do it?"

"No! Of course not! It's not mind control," he said reassuringly. "I can't make anyone do anything they don't already have some desire to do. I'm just very good at... presenting things to someone in a way that frames their perceptions so that their desires can express themselves."

The story was just so ridiculous. Of course, this whole case was strange and so much unexplainable mystery surrounded this man. Given that, she would have bought just about any crazy story, but talking someone into killing themselves with just a phone call?

"This is nonsense. That would still have to be some kind of superpower or something. Sounds like one of those 'turning women into mindless sex slaves' porn things."

"Well, I can't turn a woman into a mindless sex slave..."

Sinclair was getting fed up. She had clearly wasted her entire evening on this worthless lead. "Oh, please. This is some sort of prank, right? I am not amused, Mr. Kross... or whatever your real name is. You don't have any kind of 'mind powers.' You obviously can't control me in any way, so stop wasting my time and --"

"Maya." Maya Sinclair fell silent. With just the sound of her name, spoken so softly and warmly by this man, her train of thought was completely derailed. "Maya, why do you think my 'powers' won't work on you? They already have. They have from the first time we talked." Maya had a confused look on her face.

Donovan continued softly, "Think about it for a second. You came and met me at this coffee shop alone. You didn't bring your partner. Have you ever talked to a person connected with a case before without your partner?" Maya's eyes widened, staring forward, and she swallowed hard as the truth dawned on her. No partner. No backup... was she lured into some kind of a trap? If she disappeared now, nobody would even know where to begin to look for her…

"No. I didn't think so," Donovan continued. "But you did today. I suggested to you when we talked on the phone that it was perfectly safe, and maybe you didn't even need to waste anyone's time telling them you were meeting me. You didn't tell anyone, did you." She shook her head almost imperceptibly. She was terrified, and like a deer in the headlights, she couldn't react.

"Maya... I have one more confession to make to you," he said in nearly a whisper. Donovan leaned all the way forward and put his hand on hers on top of the table. Looking deep into her eyes, he continued, "My persuasive skill does work over a phone, but not terribly well.

"It works much, much better when I can touch the person and have eye contact," he said, his deep brown eyes staring directly into her soul.

Maya tried to pull her hand back, but Donovan held it in place. Their eyes were still locked. She gasped.

"It's okay, Agent Sinclair. You are not in any danger. That feeling you are having isn't really fear. It's excitement. You're excited by the possibilities for your career, aren't you?"

She was unable to take her eyes away from his. Her heart was racing with... excitement?

"You are a career woman, in the FBI, but I bet your career has stalled a bit, hasn’t it?" he said with a warm sympathy in his voice. She relaxed a bit and listened raptly to what he was saying. "You can't seem to progress any farther than you have. But what if you had a secret weapon? What if you had a trusted resource who could get the truth out of any suspect? You could even solve cold cases everyone thought were impossible." Her eyes almost sparkled as she considered the possibilities. Her fear was gone and only excitement and hope remained. "All you would need... is my help. You want my help, don't you."

"Yes," she whispered. Donovan took his hand off of hers and began to rise from his chair.

My career. I've waited so long for an opportunity to move up, to not be stuck as a low-level agent, to have some responsibility, some respect from my colleagues.

"Good. I can help you. Let's go out to your car. We need to work out the details of our new arrangement with a little more... privacy."

"Ok."

Agent Sinclair was able to compose herself on the walk to the car. She was excited about this man and what his help could do for her career. Something seemed a little wrong to her, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Was she frightened for a moment? Why was that? They got seated and, as she started the engine, Donovan indicated for her to keep the car in park. "Just sit back and relax. Let's talk, Maya.

"You and I are about to embark on an exciting new kind of partnership. Think about it, Maya. With my help, you will close cases like nobody has before. You will get promoted, and it will be a breeze for you. Your coworkers, the men in your office, they will be impressed by you. Envious. Even scared of you a little bit because it will be so uncanny how easily you can solve the most convoluted mystery." A slight smile crossed Maya's face as she daydreamed about how much better her career, and her life, would be.

"But you will need my help to make all of that happen," Donovan added. "And to get my help, we need to cement our relationship. We are going to start by demonstrating how much we trust each other. I want you to place your hands palms down on your lap, and don't move them. Sit back and look straight forward."

Maya complied. She sat back with her head against the headrest, the palms of her hands on her legs just above the knees. Donovan turned toward her and, leaning forward until his face was inches from hers, brought his right hand up to gently stroke her left cheek. Maya inhaled sharply but didn't move. She needed Donovan's help, so it was very important that she not move her hands.

"That's good," Donovan said as his hand slowly moved down her neck and chest until it rested on her left breast, which he gently kneaded. Maya closed her eyes and her breath got heavier. Was this really happening? This man was basically a stranger and I'm letting him feel me up. But... it's okay… as long as I don't move my hands.

Donovan moved his hand further to the left, under her jacket, until it was resting on her service weapon. What? Oh my God! No!! Her eyes snapped open and Maya protested, "What are you doing!? You can't - "

"Shhh... it's okay. This is about trust. You can trust me." Even though Maya had responded in alarm, she hadn't moved. She relaxed again.

"I… I trust you." Her panic melted away. She knew Donovan wouldn't hurt her. She felt so vulnerable, and yet so safe. Something still niggled in the back of her mind that something was wrong, but she knew that whatever it was, she could trust Donovan.

Donovan unsnapped the gun from its holster and slowly removed it. He held it directly in front of her where she could see it.

"Now I have your gun, Maya. You see it? I bet it's been drilled into you never to let anyone just take your gun from you. And here, a practical stranger has just taken it from you. You didn't resist at all. Look, your hands haven't even twitched from your lap. That's good. You trust me, don't you."

"Yes."

"You know I won't hurt you. You trust me to look out for you." He slowly returned the weapon to its holster and snapped the retaining strap back shut. "There. Now your gun is back in its holster. You see? I don't want to hurt you or ever see anything bad happen to you, Maya." She nodded. She trusted him. She knew it would be okay.

"Now then, I think we have built some trust between us, but there is one more thing we need to do to really cement our new relationship. I've confessed completely and honestly to you. Now I'd like you to do the same."

Maya looked confused. "Confess? Confess what? What have I done?"

"You can confess anything you want. Maybe it was a little wrong you committed when you were a child. Maybe it is a dark truth you keep hidden in your heart. Maybe it is your favorite guilty pleasure. It can be anything.

"And here's the thing about it, Maya. When you confess something to me, you will feel a wave of pleasure. It will feel so good, Maya. So... go ahead..."

"Ok, seriously? Anything?" It didn't make much sense to her, but she trusted him and this was what he wanted, so she went with the first thing that came to mind. "Ok, then, how about this? When I was five, I hated to brush my teeth before going to bed. I used to just wet the bristles and lie to my parents when they a -- ahhhhh......." Maya's back arched as a wave of pleasure swept through her body

Donovan stroked her hair as she slowly writhed in her seat. "That's good, Maya. That felt pretty good, didn't it? And here's another thing, Maya... the deeper and darker the secret you confess to me, the stronger and more intense the pleasure you will feel... go ahead... tell me something else."

Maya thought for a minute. The warm wave of gentle pleasure was receding. She didn't want it to go away. She had to feel that again. She struggled with herself as she had an idea of what she could admit, but it was so shameful. She tried to think of something else, something less wrapped up in feelings of regret, stupidity, and guilt. She couldn't.

"In my senior year of high school, there was this stuck-up bitch in my class," she began. "I hated her so much. One time, when she was in cheerleader practice, I was in the parking lot when nobody was looking, and..." She gulped and took a long pause.

"God, I never told anyone this... I'm so ashamed of it. It was so wrong and stupid but... I keyed her car. I scratched the words, big letters, 'fucking cunt' in the side of her - oh ... uh.... oh my God...." Her back arched even more and she began to quiver. She was panting.

"That's good, Maya. It feels good to let that out, doesn't it?" Maya nodded enthusiastically, still unable to catch her breath as the pleasure intensified. With a hand on her left cheek, Donovan turned her head to face him and stared into her eyes.

"Now, one more confession... Confess, Maya: you want to give yourself to me completely. You want me to own you."

Maya struggled with the truth. It felt so shameful – to give up herself so completely. But she wanted it so badly, and here her opportunity was. All she had to do was admit it.

"... yes," she whispered. Then the wave hit, so much stronger than before! "YES! yes yes yes yes.... oh! Oh my G--- NNNNGH!" Where the first wave was a warm pleasant sensation that gradually ebbed and flowed, this one was scorching hot! Maya spasmed hard as she was clenched by the strongest orgasm of her life. It was like she had taken a powerful vibrator on its highest setting and put it directly on her clit, but it was over every nerve ending in her body – all while barely being touched. She panted heavily, trying to catch her breath as the orgasm subsided, her hands still stuck in place where she had never dared move them.

"There we go," Donovan said gently, sweeping her sweaty hair off of her face with his hand. "You can relax now." Maya's hands fell to her sides as she sunk more deeply into her seat.

"I'm looking forward to our future collaboration, Maya. You have my number." Donovan opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car. "Call me when you need me. Oh, and I probably don't need to say this but, of course, all of this and my connection to the Reed case.... that will be our little secret, right?" Maya nodded absently. "Good. I'll see you again soon!" he said as he shut the door, leaving Maya to recover and collect herself.

What the hell just happened?! Everything that happened today could so easily spell the end of her career in the FBI. She broke procedure. Hell, she could think of at least three separate violations off the top of her head which would call for immediate termination if they were found out. Her future was poised on the brink of disaster. Yet, she knew in her heart that she was safe. She trusted that her career would actually reach new heights, just as Donovan had promised. Even though she knew she should doubt Donovan's sincerity, she simply couldn't.

But her career, even with the promise of soaring success, seemed unimportant. Her excitement about the future of her career was only that Donovan would be a part of it. The image that she had of herself -- the confident, sharp, capable, tough Agent Maya Sinclair of the FBI -- collapsed like a house of cards. The only thing that mattered to her was her deep craving to surrender herself completely to the strange man she met today, Donovan Kross. And she hated herself for that.

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