'And now you can relax, before we move to the last pose of this session.'
I had the study window open, so I could observe the yoga class taking place out on the terrace. Twenty rich, pretty women doing various excruciating poses on tatami mats under the warm summer sunshine. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, tanned bodies, tight leotards.
Cassie was leading the class, looking gorgeous in her own little unitard, her body lithe and flexible as she guided her class through its moves. Her voice was clear as a bell. 'We will now move into the last pose for today, the basic savasana, the corpse pose. Lie flat, arms at your sides, legs and arms a little apart ... and just breathe.'
The cooling-down exercises were coming to a close. Pretty soon, the ladies would be wrapping up the session.
I looked at the camera feeds of the yoga session. I'd been recording the whole thing. I record every session. Cassie watches for training purposes. When the class began to break up, I stopped recording. Tonight, I would edit everything, adding some soothing mood music and posting it online. It was a nice little earner for her, on top of the fees she was receiving for the classes.
My place is big, and it's good to have a little extra cash in to help with the running costs. The yoga classes were my idea, and Cassie loved the idea of gaining accreditation and becoming a yoga instructor, so I paid for an intensive course and got her a certificate. I have Alison doing shiatsu and reiki classes in the evenings, and twice yearly writer's retreats in May and November, headlined by Dr Anita Kennedy, who's eager to do these courses for people. She, too, gets a nice fee for her troubles.
Everybody has a good time at my place, and my chosen ones go home with fatter purses, so everybody's happy.
Presently, I heard the chatter as the women entered the house and made their way along the corridor towards the changing rooms in the back. Almost time for me to take them to the next phase of the day's activities. On the monitor, I followed their progress as they entered the changing room, and turned off the monitors to allow them to change in private. Cassie, too. I may keep her and Alison, and my other chosen ones, close to me, but the only ties are those of loyalty, not compulsion, and they have plenty of privacy. I make sure that they are aware of this.
It was almost time. I'd set up the sound system in the conservatory, along with refreshments for the clients once they'd changed. It was a hot summer's day, so they were wearing light clothing as they filed into the conservatory, to see me standing behind the bar, cracking open the first bottle of champagne, wearing a light coloured suit and a happy smile.
I greeted the clients, whose names were a roster of the current stars du jour of Vogue, Tatler and Forbes - Maurita Alpert, of the shipping line; Raven Anand-apte, Playboy model; Nancee Applebome, Siana Badian and Tiphanie Bello, Premier league soccer WAGs; property heiresses Julita Castagna, Brooke Catsouphes, Tabby D'arcangelo, Demetria Dautzenberg and Lauryn Efron; Tv presenter Magda Flynn-bedrosian; the Sybille Glendinning of the whisky franchise; former Miss Austria Magdalene Hergenroether-Lowri; Pia Jong Kao, the ex-wife of the South Korean Ambassador; Indira Koestler, the number three ladies' tennis seed, tipped for the favourite at this year's Wimbledon; and Consuela Mannes, Elena Pagliaricci, Vanda Petrie and Dita van Verthe, all up-and-coming Victoria's Secret models. They sat down in the comfy chairs which were scattered about the conservatory, and I poured their drinks while Cassie served.
On coming back to the bar for the third tray, Cassie took me to one side. 'Did you see Miss Pia dip her fingernail into the drink?'
'Yes,' I replied.
'She told me that it was to check to see if you'd slipped her a roofie.'
I put on an expression of mild shock. 'Perish the thought. You know how much this crap costs?' whilst thinking 'Besides, I could just flood the room with gas afterwards, if I wanted to.'
I smiled. 'No, there is definitely nothing in their drinks. I can guarantee it. Keep serving, and just don't let them cotton on that I know. It'd be an insult to my hospitality, and they know it.'
Cassie nodded and went back into the fray with another tray full of drinks. I stood and watched as the women wound down and relaxed from their yoga session. They'd paid for ten sessions, at a very hefty price - one which included security and seclusion, free from paps and other pests. This was the sixth session, and what they did not know was that they had already been well programmed over the course of the last five sessions.
The first of those sessions were all fun, I should add; a little light hypnotic gas in the air vents to make them feel very sleepy, not enough to knock them out but enough to put them in a very warm, floaty mood, open to suggestions. A few triggers here and there, and they were all set up for the rest of the sessions. Everything else was just to reinforce the triggers and occasionally to deepen the trance experiences.
It was fun during that first day, listening to them chatting in the conservatory, minding my own business; then going into the little stock room in the back, slipping on a gas mask and turning on the little gas bottles connected to the air feed. Their conversations went quickly from animated chatter, anticipation of the first yoga session and ice breaking to yawns and slurred speech and, ultimately to silence. Then back into the room, gas mask on, to put a MP3 and bluetooth speaker in the middle of the room to broadcast instructions.
Some reinforcers, a convincer - twenty beautiful women slowly raised their arms into the air at the same time, which was fun to see - and the activation of a couple of pleasure triggers to reinforce the feelings of wanting to stay on for the rest of the course.
That first session, twenty of the hottest women on the Earth writhed and moaned in sexual arousal as I watched. And today, I was going to do something else to them; something just as pleasurable.
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