It was the kind of Parisian afternoon where staying in the office seemed out of the question, even if that office was in American Embassy. It was late afternoon and I had left the office for the day for no reason other than restlessness. It was then I spotted her

She was walking down the Boulevard de Sebastopol, headed south. She wore a man’s-cut suit, as some of the women of Paris were bold enough to do in that late, liberated part of the 1930s. It was a man’s suit all right, but there was no mistaking she was all woman. Her walk caught my eye…it was the walk of a woman, and a dancer at that: smooth and fluid. Not the mincing, bird walk of ballet, but the sensuous, come-hither moves of the kind of dancer I enjoyed. She had the kind of round backside that could and did stop traffic.

I dashed up the street to get ahead of her, crossed at a busy intersection and walked toward her and caught her from the front. A knockout. A smoky, rattling

Dark, wavy curls. Eyes the color of Fall honey. Skin so creamy and golden I couldn’t figure her…Italian maybe, but a blend of something else. She was exotic and as beautiful as you can imagine, but not in the hard, angular way of those blonde French women. She was curvy and delicious. A pair of full, crimson lips gave me a millisecond of a cold smile and she breezed past me in a cloud of a perfume that made my head spin.

Now, I’m an American Army officer, and fortune favors the brave, so I spun on one heel and dropped into formation beside her. Her next look was less than friendly, and I was surprised to hear an American accent from her.

“Pack off, bud. I’m not available.”

Well, this didn’t sit to terribly well with me. I was only 30 seconds in and already being told to pack off. But for reasons that will become clear later, I know how to reach people. I made eye contact then tipped my hat.

“No offense ma’am but I thought you were a much prettier girl I knew back in New York,” I said, deadpan.

I waited a whole beat, knowing this gambit would either win me a smile or a slap. Then she gave me a little grin and said, “Not bad…but this is Paris and the banter standard is a lot higher.”

I smiled back, and said, “Capt. Michael Fletcher, at your service, ma’am.”

“Captain? Last time I saw, American Army Captains didn’t wear Brooks Brother’s suits.”

“We do if we work at the Embassy, ma’am.”

She waggled a shapely eyebrow. “Oh the Embassy is it? A girl could use a guy like you if she gets into a jam.” She stuck out a hand, not for a Parisian style kiss but for an American shake and said, “Lisa Hearn. Walk me to my office.”

Wondering for a moment what kind of jam this woman couldn’t get out of, I crooked and elbow, which she took nicely. We passed Notre Dame in conversation, both pretending to be unimpressed by the Cathedral.

We crossed the Seine and walked under the shadows of the elms towards a neighborhood that was clearly less stately Parisian and more, shall we say, lively Parisian. The streets were cluttered with sidewalk cafes, full of bored looking Frenchmen smoking Gauloise cigarettes. Newspapers rustled like leaves as they stared at the headlines about the German economy and the British parliament and read all the clues we would only figure out later. That serious business said would wait for another day…but is actually tied to our story.

We walked for blocks, and chatted about American, Paris and her choice in suits. She was charming. I hardly noticed we had entered a different neighborhood. I thought for a moment, ‘Her office?’ I knew from experience that around the corner were some of the most famous cabarets in Paris, including the racier kind.

Her office was in fact a cabaret, and I don’t mean Au Lapin Agile. It wasn’t one of the more well known, at least in my circles, but we turned down a smaller side street in front of a place called Cabaret Reve. It wasn’t the largest place on the block, but it was clearly quite popular. I noticed a line of cars disgorging men in evening wear.

She said without a trace of shyness, “I’m a dancer here. Now, from this point on you’re either in the door as a paying customer or I’m in trouble.”

I looked at her, then my watch and said, “What time are you on?”

She gave me a funny look over my left shoulder and said, “Maybe you ought to come some other night.”

I felt the hairs prickle on the back of my neck and heard the purr of a big Mercedes Benz engine behind me. I turned slowly and saw a sleek black metal monster rolling up, two of Mr. Hitler’s crawling-cross flags adorning the hood of an otherwise perfectly good automobile. It was a black and shiny as my shoes had been at West Point. It hummed to a stop and a uniformed driver the color of curdled milk stepped out and opened the rear passenger door.

Out stepped one of the Master Race.

Now, my father fought in the Great War and he never much hated the Huns. But I could tell a mile off this was one of that new breed. Didn’t much care for them at all and we all knew Herr Hitler was up to no damn good.

Well, this one was a damn sight over six feet, looked like he was made of solid muscle and as blond as the day is long. Add the black SS uniform, the jackboots and the jaunty little skull emblem on his hat and it was clear that Hans here was the life of the party…the Nazi Party. I guess now’s as good a time as any for some truth. Military attaché means “spy” in almost any language, and that’s what I was. One of my jobs at the Embassy was to keep an eye on the Germans operating playing their little games in Paris.

He looked at Lisa and smiled a cold smile and was over to us in two big strides.

“Ah Lisa, mein liebstes…” he bent and planted a kiss on her right cheek which I silently swore to wash off later. He then favored me with a cold stare and said, “And who is your friend here Mr…”

She piped up, “This is…Michael Fletcher he works at the American…”

I cut in fast, “The American Agricultural Exports Council at the Embassy. Good to meetcha.” I figured why not play the simple American for all its worth. This seemed to bore Herr Jackboot and he gave me the same look he’d give a Parisian dog turd on his shiny jackboot. He missed the funny look Lisa gave me. I wasn’t completely lying, by the way…just mostly.

“Oberst Hans Kammerler.” His paw was like a vice grip, and I’ll tell you I didn’t think I could take this guy hand-to-hand. “And are you here to watch Lisa perform tonight?”

She piped up, “He was just walking me here, Hans…now I’ve got to go but…” She clearly wanted me as far away as possible. I wasn’t sure if this was something they had going or if she was scared of him, but I had my professional nose twitching now and I wasn’t leaving for all the money in the world.

“I think I’ll stay to catch the show,” as casually as I could.

“Ach…excellent…you will sit in my box and we shall enjoy it together,” said Kammerler. Lisa looked vastly uncomfortable and headed in through a small side door. Kammerler and his goon walked me through the VIP entrance and we were hustled to a small table near the dimly lit stage. The goon walked away as soon as we sat down and disappeared out the door, no doubt to keep an eye on that Mercedes.

Kammerler made surprisingly good small talk about Paris, wheat production and Mercedes Benz motorcars for a long 20 minutes. We enjoyed a good bottle of champagne. He looked at his monstrous silver watch – equipped with the seemingly obligatory swastika -- and said, “Ah the show begins in just 10 minutes…please excuse me as I visit Miss Hearn in her dressing room.”

He lifted his enormous frame from his seat and, thinking fast, I said, “Well, I’m going to visit the men’s head before the show…I’m sure your visit will be more exciting than mine.”

He gave me a smile that communicated to me he really didn’t get the joke and strode off towards the rear of the cabaret. Of course, I followed him at a discreet distance. I could see his enormous frame parting the seas of dancers in the backstage area, following the same signs towards the dressing rooms I was following. He slipped through the door marked, “Lisa Hearn” with a gold foil star. I slipped around the corner and could hear their conversation plainly.

“Your American farmer is pleasant enough…but a bit dull, don’t you think?” he said.

She replied in a small voice, “Oh he was just nice enough to walk me here today…just a fellow American in a faraway land.”

He laughed at this little joke and then said, “Schlaf tief jetzt.” Now, you should know I speak enough German to know that means “Sleep deeply now.” I didn’t know what the hell was going on and I could hear him whispering to her in soft English, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. Then the orchestra started to warm up and I skedaddled back to my seat as fast as I could.

I was down and settled before Kammerler walked back in, looking smug. He sat down and said, “Ja, Herr Fletcher you will enjoy her performances tonight.”

The lights dimmed, the music came up and a wizened old Frenchie appeared on stage and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Madames and Monsieurs….tonight the Cabaret Reve will enchant and delight you with exotic dances and music from the mysterious East.” Hans smiled tightly and his blue eyes scrunched tight as he focused on the stage.

The music took on a sly, Egyptian flavor and I began to suss out the deal. Ol’ Hans here was keeping himself a little American dancer on the side. Probably had a fat little German frau back in Berlin, complaining about not getting to the shops of Paris. I ignored the rest of the patter until he said, “…the incomparable Lisa Hearn” and the spotlight hit the maroon stage curtains.

As they swished back, out stepped the same spunky American woman I’d met on the street, only dressed as a Turkish slave girl…the costume was glittery, what there was of it…and left just enough to the imagination to wow you. She danced beautifully while the narrator told the story about the perils of her life as a slave girl…about the Grand Vizier and how the only choice of the slaves girls in the harem was joyful obedience or death…I couldn’t follow all of it because I was staggered by her beauty.

She danced with a fluid, sinuous grace that had every eye in the house fixed on her and her alone. Even when she was joined by four other dancers I noticed that although some of them were more “technically” beautiful than she, her presence held the room in rapt stillness. It felt to me that she caught my eye a few times during the performance, especially one where she arched her back sensuously during a move that left me wondering about more than her dance skills.

The first number ended to raucous applause…and so did the second and the third. At the intermission, the goon came in, whispered to Kammerler and stayed behind our table. This time when Kammerler made his excuses and went to visit her I was stuck with actually going to the men’s room.

I was in a spell. She was magical and moved with inhuman smoothness and grace. The story told the tale of her capture, training and eventual submission to the will of the Vizier. She wasn’t a ballet dancer…she was too alive and engaged for that. But the entire time one thought was keeping me on the ground, “What’s she doing with the Nazi?” The other thought was of course how I was going to see her again.

The act ended at last, the houselights dimmed and the applause rang out. From somewhere Kammerler had produced a bouquet of about three dozen roses and handed it to her from the floor. She bowed, blew him a kiss and retreated behind the curtains.

Hans looked smug and said, “Vell, Herr Fletcher…a pleasure. Perhaps we will meet again under equally pleasant circumstances. My driver Rolf will take you wherever you need.”

The management was chivvying people out the door and it was clear that Hans was going no where. I thought fast, “Well my apartment isn’t far away and I’ll just take the night air if you don’t mind…appreciate the offer. Herr Oberst, if I can ever interest your government in American agricultural products….” Better to bore him to death, and his expression told me I was succeeding.

He nodded to Rolf and I headed towards the door. The place was nearly deserted now save for a group of very well-heeled couples chatting at the bar. I also noted a line of Rolls and Mercedes limousines outside the Cabaret Reve. I bade my good night – or in my mind, good riddance to the creepy Rolf and turned the corner. I waited two minutes then glanced back. Rolf was blowing cigarette smoke into the night air, his sallow skin looking red in the lights of the Cabaret Reve’s marquee.

I rounded the block, looking for the alleyway I knew must be there. It was, guarded by a pair of Parisian ladies of the night who pawed at me in a way more irritating than seductive. I picked my way down the alley to find the stage door. A moment lurking in the shadows showed a few of the other dancers and musicians drifting out of the building. The lock took a second but gave way to my pocketknife without too much work.

A willowy dancer still in her makeup from the show was leaving and I slipped into the shadows as she passed. The backstage was dark and empty now and I slipped behind the complex curtain rigging to peer from a slit at the very corner of the stage. I was invisible and I liked it this way. I found a tiny director’s niche, invisible to the audience and eased myself silently into the chair there. I turned off the tiny lamp on the table. From the stage I would be entirely unseen. Kammerler had retaken his table near the center of the stage. From here I could appreciate how good the seats really were.

The rest of the nearer tables were taken up with an even better class of the Parisian gentry than had attended the first show, and I was surprised to note that each table’s occupant was accompanied by a beautiful woman. Some were obviously wives, sleek and prosperous beauties, perhaps no longer flush with youth but clearly well-tended. You could see why they had been chosen in the first place.

Others were obviously mistresses of the powerful. You could see the type; even more beautiful than the wives, most under 40 and all looking very well-dressed. The jewels among this group would suffice to buy a battleship. Kammerler was accompanied by a women I immediately nicknamed the Valkyrie. Tall, blonde, movie-star looks. Pride of Bavaria, no doubt.

“Gentlemen, guten abend. I am, as you know Oberst Hans von Kammerler. I have invited you one and all here this evening to engage you in an amusing and enlightening discussion of the lengths to which the superiority of Reich science has made strides in influencing and-” he gave a small chuckle, “…manipulating the human mind. Some of you will consider this in the context of the accomplishments of the Reich in so many other areas, and you would be right. But in this regard, I come to you as a man of science, not as a representative of my government…and science, including the science of the mind is an international community, ja?”

“Ve shall proceed, I think. Miss Hearn?”

Lisa walked slowly on to the stage, her dancer’s posture making her sway beautifully. She was wearing nothing but a Chinese silk dressing gown. I could just see the manager of the Cabaret Reve standing behind her, making certain she moved on to the stage. She looked bored with the entire thing.

Kammerler said, “Now, Miss Hearn…what was it I said to you in your dressing room earlier tonight?”

She looked indignant. “In my dressing room? Herr Oberst, I don’t receive gentlemen callers in my dressing room!”

There was a low chuckle from the audience.

“Ah but you do, Miss Hearn, even if my hypnotic conditioning has erased it from your mind.”

She cracked a big, American smile, “Oh of course!” and slapped her forehead in a mock salute. “Nice try, Adolph.”

Kammerler had a brief expression of something cross his big face, perhaps contempt, perhaps amusement. “I believe I simply said, ‘Schlaf tief jetzt’ didn’t I?”

What I saw now I had heard this afternoon. Her eyes fluttered shut and she would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn’t swept her limp form into his arms. He guided her into an overstuffed wing chair and sat her down.

“Gentlemen, a small example…but you are thinking, perhaps...that this woman is an actress, a dancer. This could be some elaborate play-act for your amusement. I assure you it is not. He turned to her again and said, “Wünschen Sie meine wörter.” My German wasn’t great but that meant, “Crave my words” if I wasn’t wrong. Clearly something about that phase sent her all funny because she started writhing and moaning and running her hands over her body. She was moaning and purring like a kitten and hiking up her robe to run her hands over her breasts and her sex.

“Oh God yes, Hans I crave your words…I can’t stop myself when you do this…I c-r-r-r-ave your words…”

Most of the men were rapt but one of them cleared his throat until Kammerler turned to pay attention. Lisa continued to happily moan and stroke her body in sexual ecstasy. The audience member was a tall, lean Englishman and said, “I will note, Kammerler old boy, that she is as you pointed out, an actress. This is all perfectly exotic but really…there is a place on the Rue de la Vitrine where a Polish woman of some repute will service herself with any object you bring her. Every city has its share of these women. Why, once in Cairo I saw…”

Kammerler wheeled and interrupted him.

“Lord Barnstable you are in fact correct. She is an actress but at this moment a deeply hypnotized actress obeying my commands. Were she a seamstress or a shop-girl or your future Queen Elizabeth she would obey these commands from the conditioning she has received. You want more proof, I think.”

Clearly “more” was on the agenda. He said “Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen” and she stared blankly ahead, still panting from her exertions. “Tell me, Miss Hearn…you do love to respond to me don’t you?”

Her voice was soft and distant, “Yes, Master.”

The women tittered softly in the audience. The clearly believed that for a woman to call a man Master was beneath them.

“And if I tell you that it would please me if you would take Elsa’s nipple in your mouth and suck it, how would you feel?”

“I’m not like that…” she whispered. The Valkyrie walked across the stage to stand before Lisa.

“Ah but you are, aren’t you? You find the thought so erotic and arousing that your sex is wet even considering it.” Elsa had slipped the strap off her evening gown and exposed a very white, perfect breast. “You find the sight and thought of that breast arousing you to the edge of release don’t you? Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen. When you take it in your mouth you will experience orgasm, right here.”

She looked eagerly at Elsa’s breasts and the Valkyrie bent over to offer it to her. Lisa’s crimson lips wrapped around it and her body bucked and writhed in pleasure. She moaned and panted but kept the nipple in her mouth, eyes closed. Her free hand dropped to her lap and she spread the folds of her robe to fondle her sex, moaning and twisting in pleasure. Elsa’s eyes closed in pleasure and I noted her free nipple swelled in response to the arousal of Lisa’s tongue on the other.

Kammerler spoke again, “Miss Hearn, feel yourself again climaxing…now.”

Lisa moaned and her hand flew over her sex, stroking swiftly as she orgasmed on Kammerler’s command. ‘Damn handy, that trick,’ I thought.

As the display continued, Barnstable interrupted again.

“Now listen Kammerler, this Sapphic display is all fine and good but, really…” Now he was shushed by his fellows and sat down with a look of amused skepticism. His female companion…clearly a wife, not a mistress…looked on with similar amusement. She was very English: beautiful but vaguely horsy and inbred-aristocratic. Kammerler eyed her carefully and she averted her gaze.

Kammerler once again smiled his cold smile. “If you ladies would join us on stage, perhaps we could demonstrate even to Lord Barnstable’s satisfaction the power of this method. Recognize please, gentlemen that Miss Hearn has been conditioned for only a single week using my methods. We have conditioned women for months at a time and their level of submission is quite remarkable.

He turned to Lisa and said, “Schlaf tief jetzt” and she once again dropped into a deep sleep. Elsa vanished.

As they filed on to the stage and took their seats, a few coiffed heads tilted towards the others and some quiet shared laughter.

“Now ladies…you have all heard, of course of the practice of hypnotism…and have seen our little demonstration this evening” Some heads nodded, and the range of expressions ran from haughty to amused to entirely skeptical. “You have all agreed to join your husbands and …ahem…companions this evening for inducements and reasons of your own.” Ah, I thought, that might explain some of the jewelry I’d spotted on them.

He extracted a heavy silver chain from his pocket and let drop a heavy silver pocket-watch from the end of the chain. He didn’t do what hypnotists I’d imagined. He just walked back and forth on the stage with it dangling casually from one hand.

“Ladies…you are all a refined and intelligent group…as fine a specimens of womanhood as can be found outside the Fatherland, if you will permit me a little pride.” The reactions were cold.

“Now you have joined us onstage for a demonstration. A demonstration you clearly do not believe will affect you.” There were a few knowing smiles and smug glances. “And…” he added with a slightly wistful voice, “It most probably will not. Miss Hearn here is an exceptionally good subject…brilliant, gifted, and with the American verve she displayed until her conditioning began.”

He started to walk back and forth before them, dangling that watch and saying, “Yes, it would be silly to think a little pocket-watch dangling before your eyes would entrance any of you.”

The watch was swaying in his hand at waist level, and I noticed that even now a few of the women were following it, though quite a number were still looking at Kammerler.

He continued, “But with some women…Lisa here, for example…when I simply ask her to think of the proper phrase…when I ask her to sleep for me she focuses on the deep sensation of her breathing…breathing in and breathing out…only a skillful and trained hypnotic subject like her could let the world around her world just fade away…”

“You’re not required to concentrate on the feeling of surrender to my words and the way the stage lights catches on the watch, are you? This is nothing but a parlor game…you came here for a pretty ring or a trip to the Riviera, didn’t you?”

“Now, if you were, perhaps on the feeling of relaxing deeper and deeper with every breath in and concentrating your vision on the watch it would start to draw you into a relaxed state… and perhaps you would feel it doubling with each and every breath out…as your mind surrenders to a warm sensation of relaxation and sleep.”

“Your eyes might find following the swinging watch tiring…they might become heavy and you might find them closing…a little at first…then more and more.”

“And when your eyes inevitably close and your mind drifts…and sleeps….you surrender falling deep…deeper…so wonderfully relaxed and at ease…such a wonderful feeling…down, down, down…until each of you found that place within your mind that most relaxes you…until you found the dark, warm blanket of sleep enveloping your mind…now.”

“Sleep deeply now. Sleep and let your body and mind be swept away by my words.”

The last of the women slept at that moment. She was a Frenchwoman, dark-haired and had resisted to the last. When her eyes slid shut Kammerler continued his talk, relaxing them down further and further.

He proceeded to ask the sleeping women questions, simple at first.

“When you answer my questions, Madame LeCroix, you may feel a sensation of pleasure as if a young lover were stroking your sex…it is lovely, isn’t it?” Madame LeCroix squirmed slightly and smiled a sleepy smile.

“Oui, Herr Kammerler.”

“Madame LeCroix, what color is your particular favorite?”

“Mmm Robin’s-egg blue,” she replied with a squirm of pleasure.

“And can you envision your favorite childhood memory for me?”

“Oh, chasing seagulls on the beach at Capri with Papa.”

“Very good, Madame…and of course as you feel the arousal as you answer my questions,” he said. “Tell me what is it that Monsieur LaCroix most desires of you in the bedroom?”

Without a beat of hesitation she replied, “He likes to see me dressed as a nun and to take my in my backside.”

“And do you let him?”

“Only once or twice a year.”

Kammerler looked out at the audience and smiled archly at LaCroix, who had turned a deep shade of beet red. LaCroix, I knew, was a prominent Parisian banker.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“No, Herr Kammerler but I love Rene and I accommodate him.”

“Sleep deeply now for me, my pretty one.”

She slumped in her chair. He continued in this vein until he had extracted a secret or two from each of the women. Some were barely able to speak they were so deeply hypnotized. I, for one was now frankly considering taking my cock out of my trousers for a little relief. This was startlingly erotic.

He went on, taking them deeper and deeper into hypnotic sleep then said, “Each of you can now experience a special feeling…you all knows that feeling… when you have felt your lover's touch for the first time after days of built-up desire…the way your mind anticipated the desire with each and every deep breath in, and each and every deep breath out. You felt all of that desire focusing on a single thought…a single, powerful desire…a need as deep as your own need for release…the desire and sensation of your lover’s manhood in your mouth. Ah, yes that warm, strong sensation of his cock passing your lips. Your desire will overcome any shame and shock and you must...must…have your lover’s cock in your mouth when I command it. Your mind will think only of that delicious cock in your sweet mouth."

To my shock, many of the women on the stage were licking their lips and bobbing their heads up and down slightly, eyes still closed. The men were grinning like fools.

“As you leave the stage you will also find your sleep has clouded your memory…you will all recall being hypnotized and have the strongest desire to be hypnotized again and again…it is as addictive as opium to each of you and the pleasure you felt tonight rivals the wildest and most passionate lovemaking. You will not recall my specific suggestions, only that these passions and compulsions are your own ideas.

I will say that at this point my own manhood was quite erect at this point. The thought of these women being given an irresistible craving to provide their men with oral gratification was deeply arousing to me as well and I had just about made up my mind to pull it out when I thought I heard a noise behind me. It passed and I continued to watch, stroking my cock through my trousers.

“Gentlemen, you will find that as these ladies leave the stage they will return to your tables with a memory of being on the stage with Elsa and myself…but with very little else. Some will have no memory of it. Some will believe they have never been hypnotized…they may think it nothing but a harmless party trick. They will desire to be entranced again, and I believe you will all find it happening to your satisfaction. You will, however enjoy a demonstration of the power of the method I offer you in a matter of moments.”

He turned back to the stage

As the wives, girlfriends and mistresses made their way back to their respective tables, there was polite chatter and laughter. Waiters made a round with champagne.

Kammerler didn’t wait long. “Ladies, your husbands and lovers require your oral services. Do be so kind as to provide.”

The looks of wanton abandon on their faces said it all. It would have been one thing for a single dancer like Lisa, but here was a room of Thoroughbred beauties, the wives and lovers of aristocrats, practically tearing at their companions’ trousers to get access to their cocks. The men pushed back their chairs and within minutes, the dozen or so were being sucked and licked as if by a room full of Turkish concubines.

This was too much, and I wanted to know everything I could about how he had accomplished this feat…and what he had done with Lisa. In my lurid eagerness to watch the mass orgy of oral sex, she had disappeared from the stage with Elsa. I thought for a moment they were in some Sapphic embrace of Kammerler’s doing, but then I felt the cold sensation of a pistol barrel on the back of my neck.

It was Rolf, the driver. I knew without looking and I knew I was in trouble.

A few seconds later, there Elsa was there. Her silver lame dress was form fitting as hell and I admired the product of clean living and Bavarian dairy.

She stared down at me and said lightly, “Oh Rolfie, put that silly gun away. Mr. Fletcher is just shy. He’s watching the show up here all alone in the dark and…” she stared at my still-hard erection. “…is fascinated, aren’t you?”

The gun went back into Rolf’s tunic but he was still standing behind me.

“Ummm yes…I wanted to meet Miss Hearn and then all this started…”

“Oh ja, of course…she is…indisposed at the moment but perhaps you would like to hear the story of this crystal I purchased in Austria.” I knew what she was doing and I was about to fall for it when I realized if the Nazi’s could control the wives of Europe’s business and financial titans, the control of those men was next. And if Herr Hitler and the Jackboot Boys had control of them…then he’d hardly even need to invade Europe. It was bad and I suddenly knew it, throbbing cock and all.

I let my eyes close the second she started to swing it and mumbled, “It must affect everyone like that…”

“Oh, ja it does…so shiny and sparkling in the light…it makes one so very sleepy to watch it…”

“Even Rolf must not be immune to it,” I said in a sleepy voice.

I heard Rolf give a long slow breath out behind me. Relaxing. I was too, but mentally fighting it.

“If I’m this sl…sleep…sleepy he must be dead asleep from standing and driving in...in...Paris traffic.” I was doing my best to fight it. When I felt Rolf lean against the back of the chair to keep from falling asleep on his feet, I struck. Rolf was a gristly old Nazi but her magic was working on him when I popped that chair back, knocking him to the floor. A hard right to the side of his head and he hit the floor like a ton of German bricks. Before Elsa could scream or move I had his pistol on her.

“Why don’t we not move a muscle or make a sound, Missy Hitler?” I asked. She started to dangle the crystal again and smiled a clever smile.

“As you wish, Herr Fletcher.”

I kept the silenced Luger on her as I riffled Rolf’s tunic. Identification papers. A length of rope. A metal case containing a syringe and a vial of liquid.

“Care to tell me what this is?” I asked.

“It’s nothing…just a harmless sleep agent. You’d be sleepier if you took a look at my crystal and put down that gun.”

The cries of pleasure from the audience signaled to me that the men were nearing climax and I knew I had to act fast. One handed, I popped to bottle of liquid out of its case and looked at it. Chloral hydrate. Mickey Finn. The knockout stuff.

She smiled coldly, “You might want to be careful when you inject yourself Herr Fletcher…you’re thinking how easily you could slip and inject your arm…how as you filled the needle…you do want to fill it, don’t you?…you might need to be so careful or you might inject yourself…” She was surprised when I tapped the needle out and placed it on my forearm as if to inject myself. Her suggestions to me were couched in all kinds of verbal tricks but I think she was surprised I seemed to be obeying.

She was more surprised when I closed on her, spun her into the chair and shot the needle home into the vein at the crook of her elbow. It took effect in seconds.

“Now who’s sleepy?” I asked coldly. Her eyes were dilated and she sank into the arms of a chemical Morpheus.

I headed backstage fast, looking for Lisa. The businessmen were all cumming noisily and Kammerler was busy directing the show. I found her, staring blankly at the wall of her dressing room.

I shook her a few times until she came awake. She looked groggy and sleepy and pulled her red silk dressing gown around her. “Hey! What’d you give me?” She followed it with a weak slap.

“Nothing Miss, but you’re in danger with this Nazi fellow and I’m getting you out of here.”

“The hell you say, this is my theater…you can’t…”

My mind flashed for one second. “Schlaf tief jetzt.”

She slept instantly. I could still hear Kammerler’s voice droning on, now seemingly hypnotizing the entire audience. I knew time was ticking until old Rolf recovered and I needed Lisa cooperative.

“Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen,” I said, “Get up what you need from the dressing room and lets go.” She looked hazy then focused for a moment, walked in and emerged with a bag.

“I’m not dressed,” she said, to which I replied, “Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen…you’re dressed to the nines, ready for a big night on the town. Just grab your bags.”

In an instant she was smiling broadly and took my arm as if this was nothing but a party. She ducked into her dressing room and handed me her large suitcase.

I took her to the Mercedes outside. As I thought, Rolf’s spare key was in the glove box. “Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen…Sit down and imagine a pretty scene in your mind until I come back. Have a look through Herr Jackboot’s bag here.” I tossed Kammerler’s black, swastikaed briefcase in her lap.

I made a quick phone call to my incredulous contact in the French intelligence service. We’d been tracking a Nazi ring for months, wondering about their contacts with Frances’ most powerful. He lived nearby and after I’d convinced him of just what was going on he made his way down to the Cabaret Reve. I crept inside with him and he gaped at the power of the men in the audience. Kammerler was promising them the moon, and when a man’s had his cock sucked by a woman, he’ll believe most anything.

“Mon Dieu, if these men are in the thrall of the Nazi’s…”

“That’s right Francois, and I’m turning it all over to you…I’m done here and my cover’s probably already blown.”

“It might be best to leave the country. Don’t go back to your apartment tonight my friend. Go to the George V, tell the concierge you are to stay there at the behest of my bureau. Give him this.”

He handed me a small card with his name on one side and a number on the other.

I drove Lisa in the stolen Mercedes to the George V. Damn if those Nazi’s didn’t make a fine automobile. Along the way I started experimenting with the triggering phrases I’d heard Kammerler use. She responded to each perfectly. Before arriving at the hotel I told her she would feel perfectly natural and accept anything I said to anyone.

The card worked wonders. We were swept into a suite without a second of hesitation and I told Lisa to sleep for a few minutes. I called the Embassy and woke the charge d’affairs, who woke my boss.

I told the Colonel what had happened and he congratulated me on discovering the Nazi plot.

“Get out tomorrow on the train to Calais and the ferry. Report to the station in London and they’ll get you home.”

“What about the girl?” I asked.

“Well, take care of her too…she’s got to leave Paris as well. Can you handle her?”

Looking at her sleeping form on the big bed I knew I could handle her perfectly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work Fletcher.”

With that, I knew I was going to take care of a piece of unfinished business. I approached her sleeping form and began the work of making her mind and body my possession.

“Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen, Lisa,” she stirred and moaned. “Lisa tell me, you were not in any way play-acting during this hypnosis show, were you?”

“No…” came the sleepy reply.

I imitated Kammerler’s style…this wasn’t so hard I thought, “Well it’s easy to answer a few questions for me, isn’t it?”

“Mmmm yes, Master.” Master…a fellow could get used to that.

“When you obeyed his commands to kiss Elsa’s breasts was that because you’re Sapphic or because you were hypnotized?” I asked.

“Mmm hypnotized…I like men.”

“Sleep deep for me Lisa…you’d love to feel yourself being so deeply hypnotized again wouldn’t you?”

“Mmmm…hmmm,” her face looked angelic.

“When you met me today, what did you think of me?”

“You were nice…wanted to kiss you,” came her reply.

I pounced. I won’t lie and I won’t make excuses. I was in control of a beautiful woman. Granted, I’d “inherited” that control from a bunch of Nazis but I was in control nevertheless. With a beautiful American dancer in bed at the George V hotel in Paris, you’d be a madman not to. But I also pounced because I saw something on the floor.

I looked down at her sleeping form and noticed the bag she’d recovered from her dressing room. In it was a black leather notebook with a swastika on the cover and “Oberst Hans Kammerler” in gothic script. She must have taken it from the car.

I decided I needed some time. “Verlieren Sie Ihren Willen Lisa, and sleep for me…deep sleep…let your dreams be wonderful and comforting.”

I opened it and found each neatly lined page was full of notes on the process he used to hypnotize and condition women. His German was vernacular enough for me to understand and as Lisa slept I read it quickly. I understood much more of the process…the hypnosis was only part of it.

Each woman was trained to become aroused each time she obeyed…trained to have orgasms each time she let her suggestions work on her mind. The secret suggestions for dozens of women…in Paris, Berlin, London, Vienna, and Rome…all across Europe were there, along with careful notes on what was most effective with their personality types.

He also made notes on how he had commanded the women to serve him sexually. Neat little cold notes that seemed to me more about power than pleasure. “Oral pleasure to orgasm.” “Oral pleasure, subject on knees.” “Subject commanded to wear tall riding boots and carry riding crop.” (I chuckled there at the thought of Lady Barnstable). “Subject taken while unconscious.”

It was damned strange stuff and if I hadn’t seen what went on in the theater earlier that night I would have told you it was from some double-feature talkie.

I found Lisa’s page. And read. And read more. Although he had first hypnotized her backstage, his very first entry was that she had pleasured him orally after only one session, then been given complete amnesia. He remarked what a perfect subject she had been.

His note thrilled me. “Although the techniques we have developed for excellent results in even resistant subjects, I am eager to see the results in a subject with so powerful a natural submissive tendency under her exterior of American bluster. She responded to hypnosis instantly and obediently. Training will commence at once.”

I understood what I was holding in my hands. It was not only a manual of mind control techniques for women in general, but in the case of Lisa, it was a perfect Michelin guide to turning her into an obedient and willing sexual plaything.

This is precisely what I did. Don’t think I wasn’t excited…I was. But something pure and determined has blossomed in my mind. It was the delicious, wonderful evil that power brings and unexpected power brings in spades. I adopted Kammerler’s causal tone though.

“Now Lisa…As you awaken for me ever so slightly, you can feel my voice in your mind, can’t you? You said you wanted to kiss me…”

She murmured, “Mmm yes.”

“You still do, don’t you? In fact you’re finding that the desire to kiss me is stronger and more intense than any of the suggestions you’ve ever been given before.”

“Ah but there is something very important you must do first…you’ve forgotten until just now.” There had been a line about how easily she accepted false memories.

She made a little negative face and I hurriedly said, “But its fine since you’re excited and happy about the dance you’re to perform tonight…Private performance of the number from tonight about the obedient slavegirl.”

She smiled and murmured, “Oh yes…I remember…dance.”

When you awaken you will prepare yourself and perform for me, hearing all the music in your mind. But when the scene where you sexually pleasure the Grand Vizier arrives you will find yourself living the part completely…and this time the lights do not go down…you will see me as the Vizier and you will find yourself giving your body to me.”

“You will find that as my cock slips inside you will feel the most intense pleasure you have every experienced and you will crave this pleasure every day, more and more.

“Let this sink deep into your mind as you obey my words and awaken, knowing you must prepare yourself for your dance at once.”

“Awaken for me on the count of three…1, 2, 3.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at me. “Mmm will you excuse me? I need to change before the showing. She took her bad and disappeared into the bathroom.

When she emerged a few minutes later she was wearing her costume from earlier in the night. Her makeup was restored to its exotic beauty and I found myself entranced by it. She looked the part of the Turkish slavegirl perfectly. And as the Vizier, I was her sole audience…her smoky eyes peered directly at me and the arousal of the night came roaring back to me.

I was hard as she swirled and turned before me, enveloping me in a cloud of her perfume. It was a strong, heady rose scent and as she swirled past me I was dizzy from lust and her beautiful body’s motions. As the danced progressed she touched me more and more intimately…first for the briefest of seconds, then longer…then running her body against mine to the rhythm of her internal music.

Finally, she reenacted the last scene of the dance where the slavegirl serves the Vizier…her flimsy dancing girl costume was disappearing from her body with each turn, revealing more and more of her beautiful form. As the dance ended she was all but nude and breathing deeply.

“I really must kiss you now, Fletcher.” She swayed into me, her crimson lips only an inch from mine…she could feel the power of my cock pressing into her bare belly as she leaned in…we kissed, passionately almost furious in our eagerness. Her lips were sweet and tasted of honey…the smell of roses overwhelmed me and we fell on to the bed.

She tore at my pants and said, “Good god man, I want you…give it to me…”

I obliged, freeing my cock from my trousers. As she undressed me with one hand her ruby lips surrounded my cock and pumped up and down with the same energy the women had at the Cabaret Reve. She straddled me and I experienced the tightest, hottest bliss I had ever known. My cock was a perfect fit for her sex and she seemed to agree. She writhed in pleasure as I drove my cock inside her, her orgasms sending the George V’s hallways echoing with the sounds of her passion.

I came similarly in a few moments and felt the tension flowing out of me from the long day. She leaned over my chest and put a warm hand on it, my cock still in her pussy. I was already falling asleep as I heard her say, “Just relax for me darling….”

The French military intelligence agency swept over the Cabaret Reve that night, ignoring the gentry…in fact never making eye contact with the or their wives. They took Kammerler into custody and I never knew what happened to him. Rolf and Elsa disappeared in the fracas.

We didn’t stop the Nazis, just their mind control campaign. That was the last time I say Paris until a few years later when I parachuted into France once again. My beautiful wife Lisa was back in American, safe and sound…she took the War off from dancing and worked with the OSS to develop interrogation techniques against the toughest Kraut and Jap officers. I commanded a unit that hunted down Nazi scientists and technicians for capture and interrogation.

I never forgot that night in Paris where I learned the surest way to control a woman is through her mind. Lisa’s had already in a short week grown addicted to the power of hypnotic control and I fed that addiction, replacing Kammerler’s suggestions with my own.

And Lisa never forgot that her obedience and submission to me were as easy as three little words.

“Schlaf tief jetzt.”