Antiquated Dreaming

Who knew antique shopping would be someone’s dream scenario?

Note: Thanks to Lady Jessica for being quite the amazing inspiration.

The last of the few purchased antiques, the life-size wooden sculpted dog, a Victorian glazed ceramic vase, and the velvet antique chair were set in various places around the living room, at least the ones she asked for help in deciding on where they looked best. Side-stepping the odd moving box in the room, he looked around the room, glancing at the furniture, and the woman who sat in her new chair, admiring the comfort and craftsmanship, smiling in his direction. That smile was so bright and lively, encouraging him to find a suitable place for her new acquisitions.

He tried to be as decisive as possible, though he wasn’t used to a woman asking for a man’s touch in decorum. The small sounds of agreement coming from her gave her confidence, so he ended up being happy with the places he found to set things. The others were left near the door; she was certain she could find a perfect place to arrange them. He was having trouble with his insistency, bordering on begging, to be able to do that for her, but she was adamant that he sweetly had done enough for her.

“A true gentleman,” she complimented him. Something that made him glow inside, matching her external glow in a way.

The way she came in the antiquities store earlier that day, was rather strange. She had the giddy excitement of child in a toy store who was told they could have anything. He’d never seen someone so happy in a store for usually old, reminiscing foggies looking to reflect on their heydays. She looked young, vibrant and wide-eyed. He could tell there were several things she already had her eye on, not more than five minutes after entering and five feet from the entrance.

The way she pointed at things, as if making mental notes for a wishlist, he wondered if he should get her a pen and paper for her to take things down. But then she pointed at him, turning her body in a fixed position, a quizzical smile on her face. He was taken aback for the first time, staring right at her beautiful face and gentle stare. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her the wrist of her pointing hand turning. Eyes cast down, he saw her pointing at a pocket watch inside the class case.

“Is this authentic?” she asked in a light, friendly tone.

It took him a moment to find his words, making the woman’s smile widen a little.

“Uh…yes, yes it is.”

He moved to pull it out for her to allow her to inspect it. Grasping the top of the chain from his hand, the watch hung from her fingers as she idly wrapped a finger around the chain, testing the weight of it. She pulled it up, inspecting the surface, unlatching the cover to reveal the face. She seemed pleased with all parts of it, and then went back to letting it hang vertically from its long chain, swinging from a minute motion from her wrist.

“Into hypnosis, are we?” the shopkeeper joked.

“What makes you say that?” his customer asked through a low, throaty giggle.

The question hung in the air unintentionally as he noticed how charming and engaging her voice instantly turned, not to mention how his eyes had already began unconsciously following the watch. The path it took wasn’t far, lazily gliding across her face, just past her cascading shoulder-length brown hair. Her grin grew a little wicked as she realized what he didn’t yet, how his head was turning to follow as lazily as her swinging was. The speed was intentional, allowing him to admire the watch in a much more substantial way than just sitting in a display case. It even gave him time to admire the sight of her even more. Full red lips smiled at him, and blue, twinkling, endless eyes stared back like a void would stare at its next occupant.

Something within him, or around him told him to focus more on the watch itself as it passed over her face again and again. Subtly noticing her lips were moving, he concluded it was her. The shopkeeper seemed happily inclined to do so, swimming in mirth from how easy it was to follow the watch, and the sonorous effect of her soft voice. Every breath he took only made things feel better, and each breath was slow and cherished.

The muscles of his face moved of their own accord, and he felt like he was having a conversation with someone. He couldn’t tell who, as the only sound he could hear was a lyrical, disembodied melody of words. He settled on the possibility of the watch speaking to him, which was fine as it didn’t seem to ask more for him to respond to than one-word answers, and he felt good after every answer given.

The world went dark at some point, and all that seemed to be left was the melody, the voice within sweeping everything else away except for what felt good. It felt good to listen. It felt good let everything in. It felt especially good to use his imagination to envision gaining a pivotal responsibility in the distant future – a beautiful woman’s personal shopper. Helping her, doing everything she asked of him would feel as good, make him as happy as he felt in the darkness. There was nothing for him to disagree with, as nothing in particular sounded bad or outlandish. In his mind positivity bred positivity, so that’s what he contributed.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was facing someone trying to get his attention. His breath caught, and his thoughts scrambled to bring himself to her service. She introduced herself as Jessica, and asked if his store offered personal shopping. His calling came, and he quickly moved from behind the counter to her side, enthusiastic in how he could help her. They walked throughout the store, perusing, inspecting, handing off whatever she liked to him, which became several of his best pieces. His smile matched hers as they made their way to his counter, a collection of items being prepared for her. As he wrapped the last antique, and before he could ask about payment, she raised her hand off the table to bring up a pocket watch. He wondered when it had left the display, but lost track of that though as the beauty spoke.

“Oh, there’s one more thing I’ll need…”

The shimmering watch passed over her eyes, and after a few turns, his gaze seemed to get stuck there, zeroed in on her gaze. There was something in them that made him blink profusely. The more he blinked, the more things changed, to where her eyes were a little further away, still behind a swinging watch until she halted it with her other hand. He stood in the middle of someone’s living room instead of a small antiques shop. Her eyes grinned like her lips did, and that triggered a memory to resurface.

He shook his head until enough of what he’d forgotten had come back.

“You!” he claimed in surprise.

“Moi?” she mockingly replied, a hand resting on her chest, complimenting how taken aback she tried to seem.

Everything but her eyes were committed to the farce, but they just grew more knowing and intense, reminding him of what they’d done to him earlier.

The way she came in the antiquities store earlier that day, was rather strange. She had the giddy excitement of child in a toy store who was told they could have anything; that was his first clue to her uniqueness. He’d come to the shop on his own investigation. Some new potentially super-powered villain had made their debut, even though it seemed they tried taking great pains to stay hidden. What kind of power it was, among other details, was sparse. All he had to go on was a point of interest – antiques. He was afraid of how many stores in London there were to visit like this, but he figured he got lucky them moment he got within a few feet of her.

She would look like the common easy-on-the eyes woman you’d find in any corner of the city, yet in close proximity there was something about here that was just…there. An aura, or just his overactive intuition, whatever it was he noticed her right away. As they crossed paths between a narrow row of shelves, she noticed him too. Her eyes went everywhere toward what interested her, but lingered on him, as if she knew there was much more to him than the mild-mannered persona publically shielding him. She walked away from him, her smile changed to something more knowing.

They got close again when he was at the counter, asking the clerk a few questions. She’d snuck up on his right side as the men were talking, and seemed to do nothing but just stare into his eyes.

“Excuse me, I’d like to see that watch,” she addressed the clerk and pointed to the silver pocket watch in the case without ever looking at it or him. Her gaze never left the other customer, first thinking her rude for the intrusion, but then unable to look away. A whimsical thought he had about her giving a clue as to her ability turned serious the longer he looked in her blue eyes.

“You’re the one,” he said under his breath, finding it spoken softer than he expected.

“What makes you say that?” she asked one eyebrow quizzically raised up.

“I mean, you say it like it has some significance. Like there’s something special about me. That’s always appreciated, of course, but what about me is so important, so fascinating?”

She let the question hanging in the air, and smirked as no one seemed to give an answer.

“Perhaps it’s my eyes then, the one’s you seem to like very much gazing into? You seem quite the gentleman to give them your utmost attention as we speak. Or rather, as I speak and you listen. Alas, perhaps there’s more to them. Simply mentioning my blue, bottomless, charming eyes could have my little drudge behind the counter sweetly turning glassy-eyed as his mind contently replays the last time they stared at him and let him fall deep into them.”

“You, my good man, might feel a pesky section of your mind holding enough curiosity to want to turn your head, but it’s no use. To your benefit, you need only to feel the sensation of your own eyes, to know what he’s feeling. That listlessness of your eye muscles, that cloudy feeling you feel inside, blinding you to everything but me. Oh, and the delicious inertia, leaving you only able to stare in one direction, forward, toward one destination, deeper. Such a rare pleasure in our busy schedules of saving, or enthralling people, to be able to rest in the middle of the day. Resting your gaze on one beautiful sight that encourages all of you to feel good, and nothing but good.”

“Do you like looking into my eyes, Mr. Hero?”

She heard a soft grunt of approval.

“That’s very good. Good boy.”

She took a step closer to him so the border of his vision was nothing but a blue ocean.

“I’d like you to count from 0 to 10, and as you do you will find yourself blinking, eyes lids feeling too heavy to keep open. No matter how much you’d like to keep staring into them, your eyes will fall. If your eyes fall completely shut before then, nothing will be held against you. But if you manage to keep them open the whole way, you might find yourself enjoying a nice treat.”

“Zero”

“That’s good, starting to count, already starting to blink.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Already fading, unable to choose between the blue of my eyes or the black of your eyelids.”

“Thr…thr…ee.”

“F….our.”

“Getting harder and harder to make it, one force contending another.”

“Five.”

“All of it my will.”

“Ssss…i..ix.”

“Will you make it? Is it possible?”

“Seven,” he forced.

“Eig…”

“So heavy, so tired, falling, feeling good to fall.”

“E..igh..t.”

“N…n..”

“Can you make it, sweet boy?” whispering at the same volume his voice was.

“..ine. Ten.”

A flicker of will pushed is eyelids all the way open for a single second, just long enough to let them get swallowed in her eyes one last time.

“Congratulations, you made it. Sleep!”

She snapped her fingers and his head fell fast against his body, eyes totally shut. Her voice told him he could still see her eyes, even behind his eyelids. He smiled as they formed from his imagination. She happily told them he would never forget the sight of them, and that seeing them over and over in his mind would prepare him to fall fast and deep into them the next time she looked at him.

The hero beneath never got a chance to put up a decent fight. For all of his own powers, she outclassed him easily. And his pleasure-addled mind considered that a victory. “Defeat never feels this good, so it must be victory” she reasoned, and it became irrefutable logic to him. And with that she segued into his reward of being a silent assistant of sorts to her, a helper/gopher for whatever she needed.

But she was feeling generous enough that the rewards didn’t stop there. If he ever came across her real name “Dr. Jessica,” (she had yet to decide if she wanted a catchy villainess name for herself) the sound of it would be a reminder of his devotion to her and how his will was ultimately hers, so he would act quietly, diligently on her behalf. She would allow him to help her with her antique shopping, which elated him how he could please her immediately. She pointed and he retrieved anything she wanted. She asked if he thought they were going to steal her items, since the clerk seemed incapable of contending against her power, let alone two super-powered beings. She set his mind at ease when he assumed she would steal.

“Silly hero, absolutely not. I’m an ethical woman. You’ll be paying for these purchases for me, of course. Let it be known that Dr. Jessica denies no one of what they deserve,” she spoke to herself, as the stores only other two occupants stood vacant.

The hero’s wallet was pulled out, a credit card handed to the clerk who rang everything up and bagged it for them, and when everything was ready, another sharp finger snap sounded, and everything changed to the next scene, of the wicked hypnotist’s domicile. Her eyes still held him, and she only needed to stare a little longer before he was totally gone. But something on the edge of her vision brought her eyes down to see his trousers tenting. She’d been so preoccupied with watching his facial reactions and looking into his eyes, the British hypnotist wondered how long he’d been erect.

“You know, Mr. Hero,” she regarded her guest, bringing him closer to the awareness he futilely struggled to maintain earlier. “I once heard a very interesting little factoid having to do with hypnosis.”

His eyelids rose higher at the mention of that key word responsible for his immobility, but her eyes found his again, quelling any possible spark of fight or flight.

“Indeed,” her eyes twinkled vibrantly as she spoke. “A man will find himself hard after experiencing a deep hypnotic trance, for one of two possible reasons. The first being more scientific, where the relaxation can cause your arteries to dilate and blood fill you to an aroused state. It’s a funny occurrence that happens quite often, and men and their bodies often mistake their reaction as a subconscious inclination to enjoy trance on a sexual level. Quite the misconception, yes?”

He didn’t answer. For how relaxed he felt, he would’ve casted his eyes down to see how hard he really was, if her eyes would let him.

“Of course, this shouldn’t preclude the possibility that a man would find trance sexually stimulating. It is quite erotic, once you give it some deep thought. If you feel anything in trance, it’s going to be a positive sensation. From there, maybe it’s the reasonable progression of pleasure leading into more pleasure, or simply reacting to a woman’s captivating looks and confidence until you’ve declared yourself hers.”

Her words seemed to guide him into a specific frame of mind, one he was aware of being led into, but had to accept the more he listened.

“Still, no matter the reason, it’s nice to know that I conclusively make sweet boys like you hard. And what could I do with that hardness? What could I make you do with that hardness?”

The ambiguity in the air was a sinister kind of fun for her. However, for the sake of variety, she stood up from her new chair, gestured his eyes closed with the wave of a hand, and alternated her narrative.

“Tell me sweet boy, do you believe you could orgasm just in your mind, without ever cumming?”

She noticed a bulge in his trousers as he shook from just her mentioning the word, obviously turned on by everything happening to him. He told her honestly he didn’t believe in it, that separating one from the other didn’t seem possible.

“Of course it’s possible, if you put your mind to it. It’s not so different from the idea of compartmentalization, just for pleasure.”

She pressed a finger to his forehead.

“Do you feel my finger?”

“Yes.”

“If I told you that from my finger, pleasure would spread only throughout your head, and center itself on your mind, would it be so hard to imagine?”

Her question served more as a suggestion that he took to easily, as only his head began to react.

“The last amazing orgasm you relinquished yourself to, a vigorous buzz rumbling in the recesses of your mind, it can come back just from it being mentioned. You know the one, where you had no choice but to feel all of it, that concoction of whatever turned you on at the time until the decision of if you’d cum was already made for you. But no matter how much your manhood throbs, it’s your mind that truly gets to enjoy it now.”

She stroked his face tenderly as his whole head braced itself.

“So close to that delirious edge of pleasure, knowing exactly what’s going to push you over the edge. My voice has worked you up so well to this point that it seems perfectly naturally that it would take you the rest of way as I tell you to…”

She paused for effect.

“Orgasm for me.”

The hero’s head leaned back, sucking in air and tensing from the extreme sensations. His lower self throbbed constantly, left out of the festivities for the first time ever, angry at the denial. She looked over him his shaking, then still form and smiled one more time touching his forehead again and snapping her fingers.

The next thing he knew, he woke completely in the driver’s seat of his car, Jessica looking at him, trying to seem as innocuous as possible and failing horribly. They were both over-excited, in their own special way. In their outing to the antique store she wanted to visit, she asked him what he thought of orgasming without cumming. He seemed skeptical, as most men were when asked. Parked in a safe locale away from prying eyes, she introduced the idea to him via a fantasy of his. She liked what she heard so much, she encouraged him to go on, and couldn’t help but participate as she found herself in it, in a bit of sexy roleplay from a fairly creative mind. She let it ride all the way to the end, when she convinced him that it was possible.

“Not so skeptical now, are we?” Jessica asked teasingly.

“Holy shit,” was all he could say.

“You don’t come into a title like ‘Queen of Dreams’ for nothing; just imagine all the times you’re going to feel this good, in or out of trance, sometimes multiple times for good measure.”

The claim of her being able to set off mental orgasms in him like he heard women were prone to having sometimes involuntarily worked him to the edge of another.

“Mmmmmm.”

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” She relished knowing exactly what was going through his head.

“Yesss.”

“And there’s no doubt at all that I can make it happen, right?”

“None whatsoever.”

“See, you do learn something new everyday.”

They both chuckled happily as she let him rest for a few minutes, before handing him the keys to reach the shop.

“So, how much were you planning to spend?”

“About as much as a session with me.” She smiled unbidden.

“I can live with that.”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve actually been antique shopping with me. God help you if they really do have pocket watches for sale.”

From anyone else, he would feel duty-bound to laugh in the face of someone telling him antique shopping was anywhere close to fun. Lady Jessica, as always, was a special case.

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