If you realise that this is something I can do with some of my clients through suggestion, and that the effect is as powerful as anything you can imagine, some of you might be wondering about the sort of man I am with a little trepidation.
And others, perhaps, with desire to try it out for yourselves.
Her name is Cassie. She is single, in her twenties, not currently involved with anyone in particular. To me, she looks a little bit like that celeb Jennifer Lawrence. Okay, maybe she looks a lot like her.
I watch her on occasion, coming in and out of her flat. Voyeurism is a crime, of course, as is stalking; but befriending her, ingratiating my way into her life, those are not crimes; and I do like her as a friend.
I've helped her several times over the last few months. She's never invited me in to her place, but I've seen enough of the interior of her place to know that she's got no alarms, just the one entrance - and that means just one key.
A key which I arranged to duplicate without her knowing.
Tonight is the night. I heard that she is going out clubbing. She doesn't have friends to go out with; she just goes out alone. I never see her bring anybody back - no men, no women, nobody.
Earlier this afternoon, while she'd gone out to the shops to get some supplies, I'd used the duplicate key to enter her room. She had no pets to worry about. The best place would have to be her bedroom - and it didn't take long to work out the best spot to put the package: right under her bed, just behind her box of dildos and porn mags (to my amazement, they were all of women; no men featured in any of her skin mags. They were also pretty old, many of them: I guess she was now using tumblr for her regular fuck fixes like everybody else nowadays.
There was an ashtray on her vanity. Naughty. I had no idea she smoked.
I pushed the bottle under the bed, trailing the hose so the end of it barely poked out from beneath the bedsheet. Over her bed was a bookshelf - I took a risk and planted a tiny camera on the shelf, wedged between an unread copy of Fifty Shades of Grey and an equally unread copy of one of the Twilight books. It didn't look as if Cassie would be coming anywhere near this part of her bookshelf any day now.
After that, there was nothing to do but to head out and lock up behind me, and wait for her to turn up. She always comes back to the flat to get herself ready for a night out; regular as clock, she'd be out the door at eight. You could set your clock by it.
You could also set your clock by the time she comes in from work, too: 18:30 hours, every evening without fail; the sound of her key being turned in the door, and the door closing.
18:30, and there it is. Keys, door slam. Footsteps. I turn on the monitor and watch the live video feed. Around 18:45, in she comes into the bedroom. I watch as she strips to her underwear, wondering if she is going to hit the showers first or just change without cleaning up first. She decides not to wash first, but sits at her vanity staring in the mirror in her underwear. Dirty girl.
I watch her as she lights up a cigarette and sits smoking, brushing her long blonde hair in the mirror. I wait till she's put the cigarette out before arming the cylinder and turning on the remote control that releases the gas into the room.
There's usually a demand for some sort of nitrous oxide with what I do. I would love to see her start to giggle, then chuckle and ultimately roll about the floor in hysterics - but there's plenty of time for that. Today, I just want to knock her out.
The gas takes immediate effect. Xenon is very fast like that. Very expensive stuff. Colourless, odourless, but the tiniest whiff of it works like a wonder. Cassie blinks a little more now. Every breath draws more of the gas into her lungs. Cassie yawns, shaking her head. The brush is like a lead weight in her hands. She can barely keep a hold on it as she drops it onto the vanity; I watch it bounces off the vanity onto the floor as Cassie's head nods. She turns to look at the brush lying on the floor, and of course when she bends down to pick it up it brings her into the ever-increasingly powerful cloud of xenon gas which has been spreading across the floor and creeping up past her long, shapely legs.
I watch as she slowly slumps to the floor, crumpling into a pile of shapely flesh and delicate lingerie. Holding the gas open a moment longer to make sure, I decide she's far enough under and shut off the flow.
I only have a few minutes before the xenon wears off. I put on my gas mask and get the keys ready. There's a lot of work to do and only a little time left to get it done.
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