A collection of my entries inspired from SBstories’ In 55 Words writing project/challenge on SBSpellbound.net
(Note: Special thanks to S.B. for making a great writing challenge that got a lot of creative ideas out of me and many others. And also special thanks to Princess Sapphire Rain for inspiring one of the snippets, as well as LeeAllure and Sensual Spiral, or Mistress Minx for their awesome Tumblr accounts where I’ve found several of the images and became inspired by them.)
Nearly three billion men on this planet, one hundred and twenty-five million in this country. Across several states, a few thousand have met me, seen me, primed themselves to fall for me like hundreds have, of faithful, enraptured, kneeling dozens. You are merely one, multiplied only by your vanishing will, which is zero.
“Thinking is overrated. Just let go of your thoughts. You don’t really need them, do you? They are weightless clouds, filled with thoughts of me. And why think of me, when you can simply listen and obey me. Cloudless sky, clear as your mind, sapphiric blue. Clear days reminding you of whom you obey, Sapphire Rain.”
My lost notebook gained a new entry, words wrapped in circles. Reading counterclockwise, the circles turned. Closing in on the center, understanding the words. The writing was small, whispering like the sweet voice in my head. Eardrums tickled, circles still spinning, stuck in the center. The message deciphered: the notebook is hers, as am I.
The Hand of Fate
When the hand comes for you, it’s shocking at first. Just within reach, it holds itself at bay, frightening, yet fascinating. The fingers move so intricately. Are they playing keys? Are they conducting? How are they so beautiful? Their movement drags me along, threatening, promising sweet oblivion. One touch brings absolution – SHE is my fate.
Curly Sue loves curly fries, her curly locks and circular reasoning. She says I’m coiled and bent to her wiles. She reasons simply with “because I say so.” Twirling a long curl, her words wrap around me. Mind frizzy, can’t dispute it. She says I’m curled for her because I am, because Sue says so.
Matt Foley’s Would-Be Neighbor
“My name is Matt Foley, and I am a motivational speaker. I am divorced, and I live in a van down by the river.”
“So do I.”
“What? Really? Why?”
“Mistress said I didn’t need a house.”
“Huh. Well…uh..what do you want to do with your life?”
“Whatever Mistress tells me to do.”
Paradise Lost for Generations
He drank apple juice, stunned.
“So Adam….and Eve controlled….but the Bible…”
She smiled. “Sanitized by men. Eve tempted Adam, successfully. He was hers.”
“So my submissive origin is…and all men are….what about alpha men?”
A sparkling crystal appeared, a seductive whisper “lying to themselves. You succumb by nature. I’ll show you.”
What is Refusal?
He’d lost track of time, watching the animation. It was special, easy to look at. The shape, how things always went a certain way. I contemplated ‘refusal.’ What was it? Something…silly. The foot I would put down was too soft to pick up. “What’s refusal, dear?” “Silliness.” She smiled. I wanted to buy her pearls.
Beauty is an ever-competitive battlefield, a congregation of the visually sublime. Who knows what a girl’s best friend really is? The diamond earring? The pearl necklace? The emerald pendant? The leather collar on the slave beneath her? Even her beauty rivals all, a palette for jewelry, the purest, alluring beacon. It’s all just…beautiful.
Pony and Dog Show
Someone suggested a “pony and dog show,” for entertainment. “You’ve got that backwards,” I told them. A girl with a pony-tail showed me an animation she made, made me count the strands. I counted, and lost count, over and over. After that, I remember barking, heeling, licking leather boots. I guess pony(tails) make dogs.
Chocolate eyes held me. She spoke as sweetly as they looked, reminding me of recently eating chocolate. Eating it and her gaze felt the same; my cheeks flushed, my focus felt isolated, unbidden feelings swam in me. I stared and it was like…falling in love. Falling, deeply, irrevocably, willingly into her chocolatety, sweet stare.
Low Center of Gravity
“Lower centre of gravity means more stability. Higher would mean the object is to topple over if pushed,” she paraphrased from Google, waving me to the floor with compelling, magnetic hand movements. Dazed, buzzed, It felt right to be on my hands and knees. She suggested I stay there, I agreed with a sleepy smile.
“Look what you’ve done. You just had to collide with me, opposing my will, crashing into it like currents do that create whirlpools. Such rapid descent on an irreversible path. My voice the vortex spinning in your mind. Don’t fight the current, go along with it. You have no choice. You’ll love brainwashing before long.”
A violin was gently gripped at an open window, played sublimly. Looking down, a violinist saw a man leaving her building. Her original melody reached his ears. His steps toward the bus-stop slowed considerably. Confused joy filled his face. Eventually striking a climactic chord, he and five others below shook uncontrollably, bodies screaming “Bravo!” “Encore!”
Ride of His Life
His hands tightly gripped the seat’s arm rests. Prior to, the plane had turbulence, the trains shook uncomfortably. Those couldn’t compare to his internal contradiction; her words made him weightless, yet her foot ignited him like a rocket. Mesmerizing was her second nature, able to read her paper and give the ride of his life.
Weight, submarine (sandwiches)
Agreed, my subject?”
He nodded, sublimely.
“I give up. How are you in three places at once?”
“Simple. I live in England, Britain, and the U.K.”
“Ask me the same question.”
“Ok. How are you in-”
“Simple. My slaves do what I want when my will is your will.”
“Of course Mistress; your will will be done.”
“Omnipresence is fun.”
My last moments were reduced to clicks.
The number of steps she took in sexy heels approaching me.
The amount of seconds her wristwatch sounded while she held my face.
The immeasurable impact her fingers made coming together.
Louder than the click of the deadbolt, something finally clicked internally.
We both knew she had me.
She looked so vibrant on stage, a tour de force of acting, and clapping.
The clapping was impromptu, excessive, mind-numbing, I realized too late.
I expected an apology for her attempted manipulation, not on-going manipulation.
Melting beyond retreat, pleasance with every clap.
Thunderous applause for her made me a puddle of my former self.
She was forgiven.
“‘Brian.’ Still loving that name.”
“Yes. It reminds me of ‘brain,’ but switched vowels. It’s like, ‘Brian’ is different from ‘brain.’ Brain implies thinking, and notice with Brian how I come first, so you don’t have to think. Thoughts?”
“Exactly, leave those to me.”
Delightful clarification – Brain was a typo, and Brian further redefined.
A Barbie Girl in Her Barbie World
Dr. Schneider, bound, sat before two people. Kenneth, an ex-colleague coerced to completing their work. Barbara, the coercer, blonde, enhanced blue eyes. Previously, Kenneth’s mind and Barbara’s existence were stuck in VR.
“That illegal research? Bodies for AI?”
The living program grinned. Their eyes met, control installing.
“Two down, billions to go.”
Your Mistress’ new pic, of face and cleavage. Zooming in, the cleft and her smile amplify, teasing scrolling different directions. Up highlights vibrant eyes softly seizing a mind she owns. Down presents a pillowy pathway, smothering resistance with smoldering lust. Indecision promotes reflection, tranced by both, adoring of all.
Her will is your only direction.
“Knock knock,” the “mystery” woman crooned.
“Who’s there?” Johann sighed, eyes covered.
He tensed. They both knew he hated needles.
“Needle who?” he cringed.
Tension instantly eased, overcoming his fears. Suggestive anesthesia ensured he never felt the prick, just the unique cocktail Dr. Mary created, fortifying beatific servility and sexual hunger.
“Needle little hypnotic holiday?”
Fountain of Youth
“Ladies, our cabin’s new decoration.”
A femdom hypnotist gestured to the secluded property’s front. Naked young, male bodies, triangularly arranged, laid flat, grass below, dawning sun above, hypnotic suggestions of arousal and edging all night within.
Ten finger snaps caused geysers of cum to launch high, synchronized into the air. Her femdom friends dumbfoundedly applauded.
“In space, no one can hear you scream my name.”
The green-tinted female, straight out of a Star Trek episode, asked the writhing captain beneath her.
“Do you know why?”
Fears of his crew seeing him vanished with his willpower, breathing the heady aroma carried through ventilation.
“Because they’re too busy screaming my name too.”
The Sung Command
The men surrounding the singer were so confused. No one warned them how demanding, how insufferable she was. Yet soon after, suffering was being away from her, beyond star struck. She talked as captivatingly as she sung, almost endlessly, until they heard no other sound. Pleas for eternal servitude bore her, met with
Eyes opened to a golden shining light, shaped in a woman’s silhouette. He felt the steps he’d been guided through, desires he couldn’t ignore, commands he burned to obey. Fingers ready to bind him permanently, paused.
She waited for him to say goodbye to his old life.
He smiled, eyes shut, her snap ushering rebirth.
“Count Off For Me”
He read the numbers aloud ask requested, not understanding her words, expect for “count off for me,” after every inexplicable loop. He kept counting over her voice, until his mouth got lazy, until his mind got lazy, wondering when it would stop. He never saw the impish smile implying it nor she would ever stop.
May Her Force Be With You
“You don’t need to see my identification”
The suddenly-familiar cloaked figure told him with a wave of her hand.
“This isn’t the discussion you’re looking for.”
Words died before reaching his beaming mouth.
“You can go about your business.”
Trained lips moved along her naked contours, climbing.
She loved May 4th.
The new post-merger CEO finished a thorough first week. His staff briefed him on protocols before firings commenced. The “chief protocol” triggered him, seeing his cross-legged secretary, and more irreplaceable cross-legged employees whose collective, authoritatively-vital opinions he deeply valued everyday, more than his own.
“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss – always female.”
A New Leash on Life
Kathryn couldn’t find her jaw on the floor, too busy staring bug-eyed at Tanya dragging abusive boyfriend by his tie.
Tanya’s even expression turned to the new slave; she’d never seen someone’s face embody ‘melting’ like that.
“Eyes and ties, dear” Tanya equipped the new owner, and satisfied customer of “Male Adjustment Inc.”
Do Not Disturb
A single tear rolled down from Chester’s sleepy eyes.
He awoke standing, throbbing, with a “do not disturb” sign hanging from it.
Was he disobedient?
Was it another chastity night?
Answers he didn’t have saddened him, except for who owned him.
A fact of solace, lullabying him back into hypnotic sleep, while she watched approvingly.
She wears the pants; they suit Her.
Meals are lacking without Her; She is the spice of life.
Our money is Hers; I would bet my bottom dollar.
I’m the homemaker, but She makes our house a home.
I’m head over heels, under Hers.
Meet the blind date who opened my eyes – Matriarchy is forever.
A Flash of Red
The crimson speedster punctually appeared before his “new” nemesis, a gust of wind followed, her upskirting trap sprung.
Her profile was sparse. Meta, dresses, erotic hypnosis. A better view of rouge, satin panties came on his knees, through glazed eyes.
Such was their routine, his speedy surrender, her unskirted authority.
They smiled; expeditiousness pleased Mistress.
He didn’t understand; the avid anti-smoker who tried educating unhealthy party-goes followed trailing clouds of smoke. Sweeter than nicotine, habit-formingly addictive. Rationality thrown from the car, driven to blindly remain mystified. The source nearly more beautiful than he felt. Lips exhaled sweet vapor, his soul spoken to. She knew he’d do absolutely anything for more.
The She Be A Harsh Mistress
She boarded his yacht, a reverse-siren luring out to sea.
She was an ode to beauty; barefoot, bikini-clad, arresting voice.
She sung of isolation, peace, anchored attachment, and indentured servitude.
She watched her new hand obediently wait at her foot.
She gave him a choice, land-bound freedom or sea-bound slavery.
She be his harsh Mistress.
O’Hara saw his dopey grin in the crystal that replicated his mind. Structurally intact, yet transparent, facets filled with Marsha’s magnificence, shimmering from it, belonging in her hands. Anticipation became adoring delirium, knowing the crystal falling into her hands meant he went with it. He marveled at how she already possessed him, yet he prepared to let go.
John clutched the letter.
“Dear John,” it typically began, signifying an unwarranted, heart-breaking end.
All his fawning, respecting, conformity, amounted to this?
The last lines were equally confusing.
“So, I’m leaving your consciousness.
Sincerely, Mistress Marion”
John’s head cleared of sadness and thought, as he read the post-script list of instructions for his elated subconscious.
Ironically dubbed “Moby Chick,” Marcy was affluent via others’ wealth, ever the hunter. Her biggest catch rose from trance, a majestic air-breathing whale. She loved seeing them rise, taking occasional breaths of free air, until gravity’s gaze sunk them back down into an enchanting hazel sea, quoting her commandments.
“Think not; sleep when you can.”
The epiphany struck again – forgetting to remember marrying his dream woman. Their moment’s casual perfection laid bare, renewed submission saturatingly fresh. She rightfully rested above, cradling his everything. Teased by silken legs, caressed by tacit approval. Hypnotic intimacy with Mistress, knowing to whom he belonged continually reaffirmed his quintessence – love, honor, obedience, forgetful remembrance
Surely You Jest
“Surely you jest.”
Cathy hated that overused phrase since joining the renaissance fair as its queen. The lewd, unfunny, handsome jester was ceaseless. Behind the curtains, she fully assumed her Queendom, authoritatively explaining their dynamic in a flurry of sensual suggestions. “Surely you jest” triggered silent servitude from then on, merely entertaining with his tongue.
“Only male peacocks having grand plumages,” he remembered. The beauty dispelled that thought while bespelling him whole. Patterned feathers, jewelry, eyes; there were more enthralling focal points than thoughts left. Her plumage was inescapable attraction; his plumage was servitude. Mindlessly anticipating her word, basking in her glory, doing whatever it took to service her will.
The prince dreamed blissfully of saving his princess. Reality proved no less sweeter. His princess laid above, perpetuating his dreams, pleased in his obedient gallantry. Whispers of safety and desires under her command stirred him, none more than “MY sleeping beauty,” deepening his devotion to her. Awake or slumbering, he’d sleep in her spell eternally.
“Choose,” she said simply.
Knowing she hypnotized, her one-word induction began internally. “Which one” he asked himself. The timepiece’s seconds ticked methodically, counting down when he’d look into her eye, wondering how many seconds he would explore its depth before checking the time. Eventually, his mind worked to the only real choice he had.
Rob wondered the wisdom of admitting to Sheri his celebrity crush on Raquel Welch. She made him stare at her old picture until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Sheri’s next comprehended word was “kaleidoscope,” and several Raquels flooded his senses, all repeating the same thing until he heard and understood nothing else.
No Thoughts Allowed
“Can you imagine having a session there?”
He half-heard the query as he took in the surreal vision.
“Boxed in a room with subjective light and darkness. No sound, no doors, no distractions, no exiting. No thoughts allowed.”
His mind absently wandered into the room, senses dulled, only her compelling voice to keep him company.
Mime or Mine?
It was the strangest mime act ever – a woman incessantly snapping her fingers, eerily still, except for the blown-back hair via machine-produced wind gusts. To surrounding minds, every snap had an impact, always deepening, never realizing how still he’d grown. Snaps continued though she stopped, regarding the statuesque, impressionable crowd around her, whispering simply
“Guess where I am.” Marcy shared her animated image with Gordon.
Marvelling how cool the water looked, he wished plane ticket were cheaper. Before guessing, the gif reminded him of something, something shiny Marcy waved in his face daily until he happily bought her a plane ticket.
“In my mind,” he replied mindlessly.
“This is your brain hypnotized. Unbelievable, huh? You feel so dull, yet your mind is so active. It should be – I’ve given you a lot to think about. Those nodes are my words, colliding, creating sentences, lighting you up inside. Like I told you – blissful programming.”
“Your brain. My motherboard.”
Would You Look At The Time
“Do you have the time,” Tammy joked.
“Which one,” Jacob asked. The bigger clocks caught him first. A suggestion made him count the clocks by size and direction, barely hearing her words, let alone anything else. Tammy loved his curiosity; loved manipulating it even more.
“Do you have the time, or does the time have you?”
“Come on, Stud. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Darla intoned as her muscular, triggered, prep-school boytoy Chad, confused, locked their lips. Dueling tongues re-introduced his to her tongue piercing, ending confusion.
“What ugly piercings. I’ll never touch you, not in a million years,” he once claimed.
Now his pierced mind sought a million ways to serve.
Xiang rolled yin-yang imprinted balls in her hand, watching Rick squirm reactively, symbolically.
An ardent blowjob advocate, Rick loved Xiang’s ‘stress relief’ method, but protested denial of the ‘full experience.’
Complaints ended as she clinked the bell-filled balls together, silencing everything but his genitals, and resumed rolling.
She contemplated how merciful, or merciless she felt.
“Why is it wisping like smoke?”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Or desire.”
“Why is it moving so slow?”
“‘Slow’ is sensual’s favorite speed.”
“Why is the smoke turning into pearls?”
“Like my words, its value rises to pricelessness.”
“Why does it spiral?”
“So you can’t look away.”
“Why….can’t I look away?”
Come into Bloom
He never understood floral appeal, before the florist.
Her notions were more philosophical than scientific, describing words as flowers, petals as letters.
Vines twisting like double-helixes, his molecular make-up re-seeded, vocally tended, blooming his form anew.
Velvety words supported him like a bed of roses. Appeal revealed in being her garden – reaped, sown, cultivated, flourishing.
Anxiety. Having the world’s pressures force me into preconceived roles.
Depression. Feeling inadequate, unwelcome, unconnected to any kindred spirit.
No. The world’s response to accepting who I really am.
Fight. Solitary, desperate struggling against the world, alone. Before Her.
Her. Silent bliss, soothing contact, peace, love, acceptance, trust, belonging.
I. Knowing nothing but Her.
“Ok, hubby’s a stereotypical guy underestimating the miracle behind expensive thread count sheets.”
“Hence you standing next to the bed.”
“Collapse for me.”
He helplessly obliged.
“See? Understanding trance will help. Start counting up, feeling every softening, deepening thread. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
His wife loved her new two thousand thread sheets.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? All those options you have.
So many opportunities to go left or right, to change your destiny as you see fit.
And yet, you choose forward. Constantly trusting my mind-curving path for you.
An endless progression ahead, shaping my power, your future.
You have options, but you’ll always choose forward.”
Men are so Easy
“I swear, it’s too easy for women sometimes; it’s almost sad.
I could mention swirling patterns flowing over my dress,
or my dance, shaped by sexy curves,
or even my captivating voice filling your head.
But a seconds-worth of your inescapably-fixed, unblinking eyes on the ‘prize,’ and you’re mine.
Men are so Easy.”
The Gentlest Caress
He lost track of when he grew to love that pivotal moment.
That moment she touched his face, teasing his lips.
That moment they slipped into their destined roles of slave and Mistress.
That moment of ecstasy and vulnerability, of security in domination.
That moment of parted lips, before signaling his surrender with “Yes Mistress.”
The darkness excluded everything but her returned.
Awareness narrowed to her, and more than anything the bejeweled fingers stroking him.
Each ring a bedazzling memory, more facets meant more bedazzlement, more expense, meaning more devotion.
Lightheadedness and a lighter wallet made him light as a feather, anchored to the grasp of her devious trigger – “More”
Paralysis, fear, and fascination combined as the domme swung her bullwhip in circles. He regretted joking that she was dressed to kill.
He felt beyond fight or flight, caught in her predatory stare, her alpha poise, the hypnotic grace of the whip, waiting to be struck.
Her strike already occurred, powerfully, mentally, beyond his control.
“I don’t know why you’re blaming me.
I told you there was a way out of my influence, out of my maze.
But everytime you find it, conveniently self-sabotage appears.
You, YOU, make the smallest change, and your stuck in my words again.
You might think it’s me, but if my words are your thoughts…?
Anyway, you’ll escape. Someday.”
“When…” he asked for the uptenth time. His complete question was understood but lazily incomplete.
“I told you over and over, when you see the center point, it will be over.”
Two things made her smile, the clever design of the spiral and her words, and how he already unconscioulsy understood the point – mindless obedience.
I’ve never looked down at my own hand and thought “authority.” “Follower,” “supporter,” “assistant,” certainly. Until a hypnotist showed up with my propositioning, dazed husband in-tow. After explanations, anger, and tears, she revealed her compelling belief in matriachies, changing us forever. My final following improved everything, leashing hubby, and placing in my hand, gripping authority.
“Channel 3, please.” Jared’s wife’s voice rang from behind. He turned to the channel, knowing it was just static, not knowing that was the point.
Sussie droned on like wives do as he watched raptly. His favorite male show was on “Cooking, Cleaning, Cunnnilingus.” “A Clean House, Fancy Meal, and Satisfied Wife” was on next.
Never had his prayers been faithfully answered. Consoling, comforting, spirit-lifting words affirmed trust and acceptance, and earthly troubles vanishing with them. Indeed, believing in those words absolved him of the world’s weight. Only nirvana remained. A metal chain, tethered to divinity. A higher power, resting above. And continued prayer for more of his Goddess’s words.
Black Market Auction
“Our next auctioning – a farm-fed, muscular, ‘unwilling’ specimen from Kansas. This special boy-toy’s bidding starts at $1000.”
“Like hell Bitch! I’m no damn slave.”
“You think you’re not, but as you look at this prettypendantdanglingbeforeyoureyesyou’llfindthatwordseasilybypassyour
A crisp fingersnap concluded biddings. The dark-skinned, hypnotic auctioneer handed the drooling love-slave to the Mexican bidder, all three smiling.
“M is for the way you Melt for me”
“I is how you serve Indulgingly”
“N, Neglecting every chance to think contrary”
“E, Enslaved to your core, to the woman you adore”
“MINE,” she sang, her big toe tracing letters sweetly, feeling him quiver from brainwashing, and the love of being owned.
“Remember that dream?”
Of course he remembered, dreaming of laying with her watching the bright night sky, now staring at his vividly bottled dream raptly. Shimmering stars distracted from her words, convincing him more than his dreams were kept there.
He suddenly knelt, feeling safe, enchanted, possessed, bottled up in her words, dreaming of her.
Which was Hotter
Which was hotter?
The witch that spoke to fire?
The fire that burned embers flitting at the watcher?
The watcher feeling burning desire for the body and words of the witch?
Which was hotter?
Hotter than her curves?
Curves as tempting as her words?
Words burning all but fire, words, and witch’s curves?
Witch was hotter.
Heart of the Dance
The small crowd had no idea why this tattooed redhead walked the beach naked. They didn’t care once she started moving.
Tip-toeing, scintillating motions, kicking up sand that moved with her hands. Forming spell-binding shapes, mesmerizing spirals, capping her spell with heart shape and her at the center of the heart, of their hearts
Another dozen bite the dust.
Round and Round
Round and round, the hypnotist’s finger moved her patient’s skin in one spot, stirring the stilled woman like a cauldron, her mind both a calmed water and whirlpool, drawing compelling words to her center.
Where would it end? Where would she end? Where would she end and her hypnotist begin?
She didn’t want to know.
His center absolutely vanished, wrapped in darkness, lost at sea except for the beacon that warped more than anchored his bearings.
“I can’t remember,” it read, but he wanted to remember.
“I can’t forget,” the bizzaro suggestion told him of things he couldn’t forget to remember…to forget…?
The beacon dimmed, and thoughts with it.
You know you have a great subject when…
You know you have a great subject when:
they focus on your finger before you instruct.
their eyes flutter close before you instruct.
their muscles liquify before you instruct.
they subtly express want, need that finger to close the distance.
they fully trance a split second before your snap.
you’ve been programming them for years.
Black & White
Things end up being very black and white in Priscilla’s world, spilling onto others.
Craig learned first hand from starring at her shoes, admiring, following, daydreaming, disrobing, collapsing to the floor for at her say-so.
He found that was the starkest black and white fact of Priscilla; she conquers all, and the conquered love it.
The Socialite Goddess
He kissed her hand lovingly, hoping to be gifted her piercing stare. Sometimes good boys received exalted indifference.
Something about them fascinated their community. He was what every woman wanted, the doting husband. She was so fiercly charismatic, everyone outright feared her.
Socially, they seemed the perfect couple.
Privately, she exceed perfection in everyone’s revering minds.
In Her Hands
“Your mind is the flame.”
His mind was alit, still, surrounded by a weaved spell.
“My words are my hands.”
Blurred motions imitated blurred incantations holding beautiful meaning to the deepest parts of him.
“My words light your inner fire.”
“Your mind is in my hands.”
Warmth overtook his restful, peaceful mind, in Her Hands.
Drip Dropping Deep
“Feeling that need, aren’t you? The need to step forward, to feel the warm drizzle, to be showered, liberated, controlled.
“Remember, my words are like water, not one substance softer, none more powerful, submerging you in drips, hundreds, thousands, millions, billions, reigning upon your drenched mind, drip dropping deep.”
“Step forward, and drown in me.”
It’s amazing how easily previously strange acts become….well, normal.
His grip over my caressing hand,
My grip in his hair and adjustable head.
The way he looks up as if at me,
The way I look down as if at him.
How his lips and mind part when I articulate his thoughts.
“Oh god,” he moaned.
Climbing to her glory, his arrogance dissipated from her base. Starting humbled at her feet, ascending eased with pride discarded, then willpower, then inhibitions, desiring to submit at her summit.
“Oh Goddess,” sultry lips corrected.
Lips and mind settled into those words, forever at the precipice of Goddess’s will.
“Wash me please NOW” my dirty car read.
Rude; you simply do not rush a woman, especially a busy alpha like me.
Approaching the smiling writer, I informed him he was written on too.
He was confused with me in his personal space and mind softly, easily.
“Brainwash me, please” my new slave forever read.
Pressing their noses together, a heart-swelling reminder how close they’d gotten. Everything she put him through, biting, berating, slapping, smacking, edging, denying, he took it all. Employing hypnosis was his reward, and hers as his inner slave shined in her power. That genuine smile upon triggered nasal contact grew dreamy, needing to stay forever close.
“There is an accessory used today, that has survived hundreds of years of evolution, with great change, with great passion and with entrancing logic. It exists to thrill; an alluring creator of mindless servile machines. It will attract and disempower all in its path. It is as if Goddess, smiled devilishly and gave herself… Heels.”
“That light you’ve been fixated on while listening to me, I can only imagine what it’s doing to you inside. Keeping your unresisting mind distracted, breaking you down from the inside unrelentingly. Eventually, the mental structure you know will crumble, falling before my will, ready to be remade by the voice you trust, ready to see the light.”
Make A Wish
After my party, Dorothy took me someplace pitch black.
“Light a match. Make a wish.”
Smiling, blowing the flame out, pure darkness came.
With it, lovely words, of my dreams, in my soul, took me.
In the next light, my wish came true – a body to worship, a mind to heed, a Goddess to cherish.
“You’d like yet another chance to escape?
Find the weak link then.
Every corner, every crevice.
Every pattern, every connection.
Everytime you look at this, you find no weakness, no fault, no looking away, no break in connection to me.
Look long and hard until you’re satisfied, and further brainwashed to my satisfaction.
She did that thing with her feet again.
This time in my hand, like being gifted.
But, she was gifted.
Simple words opening me up, simple feet that gave me a fetish I couldn’t
I treasured, no, needed those feet, couldn’t wait to be told to kneel and
Now I’m gifted.
“Shhh, baby. I know,” caressing his harsh day away, indistinguishable from all the others.
Star-crossed soul-mates, yin and yang. She was light, he knew darkness too well, until her.
“Despair, sadness, fear; nothing’s easier than when you…’rest easy.'”
Triggered, her shadow now followed mindlessly, absorbed her essence, awash in her hypnotic power.
Spots of the Queen
A total goof turned elaborate prank, with those tights and shoes.
“Count the spots,” she ordered, laughing.
I started, counting, laughing, distracted over constant “count the spots.”
Always counting, forgetting, staring, listening, recounting, admiring, breathing, kissing…?
“Kiss the spots.”
Counting by kisses, panting, dimming, steaming, succumbing, submitting, yielding to regal feet.
Crowns kissed, spotted obedient.
“Matriarchy? Unfamiliar? I’ll explain.
Look left, intense power.
Look right, intense happiness.
Left, whom you serve.
Right, how you serve.
Left drifting Right into my power.
Matriarchy is forever.”
Word about “Hunter” Ricardo was unbelievable, until I saw him.
Topless, top-downed, toppled.
His eyes didn’t plead “help,” but screamed helpless.
The foot resting on his “hunter” showed the spots of a truer hunter. A lioness. An enchantress.
She peered at me as if contemplating more prey.
Transfixed, mystified, unmoving, I think I’m done for.
The fake fortuneteller dream persisted. She’d left a deep impression, despite ridiculously predicting a woman owning him.
Every night, she sincerely chanted, motioning over the ball, over his head, numbing, arousing, bewitching him.
One week turned chants into thoughts.
Two wavered his resolve.
Before three’s end, he knelt, the fake smiled, the ridiculous prediction fulfilled.
You’re such a tumblr addict.
Do you know why?
My power lies just behind the wall, infinite, swirling, pulling you in, keeping you logged in, indefinitely.
You ‘waste time’ beautifully for me.
So go ahead. Scroll down deeper into my power.
Laugh, cry, explore, fixate, remain hypnotized.
You ever notice your innards when you’re triggered?
Like I say that one word, and life springs forth.
Up your roots, rooted in submission.
Extending out, a proper extension of me.
New, budding thoughts like pretty leaves, leaving behind old needless ones.
This trigger, shaping this tree’s crown, crowns me ruler of your planted mind.
Pulling the ‘Trigger’
“I shot the sheriff…”
The deputy’s pretty wife sang after the induction, pulling the “trigger” on the sheriff’s mind. He fully believed in being blown-away, in his pants.
The deputy watched pleasurable convulsing through tranced eyes, hoping he was next.
“But I did not shoot no deputy…”
He regretted asking his wife what cuckolding was.
Trance, a living, breathing entity, with it’s own pulse.
If you look closely, it breathes vitality into your eyes.
Each pulse like a breath, deeper.
Each pulse filling your eyes, deeper and deeper.
Pulsing rapidly, excitedly, happy to slow yours to mindlessness.
It’s what trance wants, it’s what you want.
Succumb to trance’s mesmerizing pulse.
Ferocity was their one commonality, otherwise totally incompatible.
She explained men’s ferociousness, like dogs. Wild, but controllable. Ferocious disbelief met swaying french-tip fingers, followed canine-like.
Positively hypnotic arguments and powerful snaps heeled him, dissolving human thinking.
He eventually pawed at her boot, biting at her pants, ferociously eager for the attention of his new owner.
The all-female art class was stunned, numerously that class.
First by their teacher explaining femdom as high art.
Then, bringing her naked slave in to hypnotize into total stillness.
Then, completing the pose with a leg wrapping his head with her heel.
Finally, how much lessons might cost to replicate high art in their homes.
The photographer quickly realized he wasn’t in charge of the photoshoot.
She directed everything.
Background, props, attire, especially the male model. Blank, hard, disrobed, aware of only her words.
The photographer quizzically inquired.
She told him to focus on her mole as she explained.
Behind the camera, he zoomed in, and came under her direction.
Melody of Mistress
The pianist’s wife ran her fingers through his hand, both gushing at the effect.
The touch triggered him to play her official melody, that brainwashed him for a decade.
Today was special though, their anniversary, and him permitted to expand on the song, playing deeper into his marital surrender.
“Melody of Mistress” it was called.
Stroke of Surrender
You can feel it, can’t you?
My caress, stroking you away into wonder.
Physicality is irrelevant; you’d feel me regardless.
It’s like my shadow comes over you, a hand beneath your flesh.
That stroke of surrender, over your face, your neck, down your shoulder,
No need to respond, you’re expression says it all.
You know how you know when you’ve done wrong?
When your owner has to take a deep breath and close her eyes.
Only to open them with a stunning, piercing, eclipsing, awakening intensity.
Nothing else matters in that look, not even my thoughts. Just her domineering, memsmering commands.
I tend to do wrong often, inexplicably.
A slave with purpose knowns no better fulfillment.
Every day I’m blessed to hear her regal voice filling my head, her thoughts mirroring mine.
Every day I can lie beneath her, comfortably elevating her, rewarded with hypnotic toes over my body and mouth.
Every day, I get to be her throne, as a queen deserves.
“I love these lips.
They leave me smiling when they say ‘yes’,
laughing when they say ‘no’,
crying when they pour your heart out to me,
screaming when they pour your lust out to me,
Queening when they speak my thoughts,
and them slaving over serving and being mine.
Now, make me smile.”
“You asked to see the manager, miss?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Was our service to your liking?”
“Was your ass thoroughly kissed?”
“May I gaze adoringly, prostrated before you?”
“May I kiss your hand, obey completely, sinking deeper for you?”
“You may. But why?”
“Because thee customer is always right.”
Because You Love It
My anime friend revealed her new favorite gif.
She snapped her fingers to it.
She explained why she loved it.
I heard the snaps more than the compelling explanation.
I felt mutual love for it, for them, for her, grow.
I felt struck, smitten, mystified, asking “why…”
The snaps cemented everything.
“Because you love it.”
I know that look.
Mistress strikes again; must’ve spotted a new sub.
I remember receiving that look.
My success, veneer, charm, preyed upon, helpless against her.
Dormant resistance? Leveled by hypnotic eyes.
Made a drawbridge for her, to walk in and own me.
Please look my way too, I love being helplessly yours.
A New Matriarch
Matriarchy improves marriages, fullstop.
He heard every other word. Now, he absorbes every last word.
He loved my cooking and cleaning. Now, he loves cooking and cleaning.
He was happy when I was bare. Now, we are happy when he is bare.
When it rains, it pours. Now, I reign supreme, indefinitely.
Matriarchy is forever.
Feels like you can’t hear properly without my glasses on, doesn’t it?
No, my glasses.
My cute frames framing blue eyes, the borders of your sight, the center of your cerulean world.
Hearing? So dull without my enthralling gaze giving way to my proper voice until you’re properly Kate’s property.
Feels absolutely proper now, right?
The arrogant heiress looked back to the family’s wealth manager.
“Nothing to say?”
Silence made her grin.
“No more disagreements? Just listening to me, right?”
“No more backtalk from stupid brothers or you about money. It’s all mine, like your minds.”
“So what’s the only backtalk I’ll ever hear again?”
Shimmer of Doom
A crazy thief around town, taking men and money with just her eyes.
Baseless rumors. Face-to-face with her, baseless indeed.
She took moguls with her everything. Charming conversation, glistening diamonds strewn about her visage, shimmering eyeshadow bewitching their eyes.
Her open eyes complete the spell, spellbinding shimmering that capsized male minds.
The shimmer of doom.
Like the new dress?
Looks like what? Screensaver?
Well…wouldn’t that means it’s hard to look away?
The white lines and curves undulate, swaying against the black?
Idle screen, idle user.
Keep looking, don’t look away. Can’t look away.
Can’t think while looking? So don’t think.
Leave thinking to me, while you’re lost in me.
Shops Till He Drops
Another city, same boredom-killing game.
This time, the game was Wallace, hotel conceirge.
Cynthia spoke at length, easing him only to light trance, just enough for a shopping trip.
Each new bag a deepener, her desires replacing his thoughts.
Soon, Wallace succumbed completely, hands full, mind empty.
Shops Till He Drops. Best findom game ever.
“How many zeroes?”
Zeroes were holes in her hosiery.
Holes the banker on his knees tried to count, promised a “reward” for guessing right.
Constant distraction of crossing legs reset the count, over, and over, and over, until he knew only “zero.”
She smiled knowingly, awarding edging to his zero’d bank account.
Her net gain.
A hypnotized Matt fulfilled his namesake, resting on the ground so Shelia’s
feet could rest on him. But the wait was excruciating.
Trancing toes hung playfully above, denying his need. He needed contact, to be
stood on, to be used.
Denial bred arousal, bred obedience, bred mindless stillness, bred denial.
Waiting bred a satisfied Shelia.
Never tempt a hypnotist like Don did.
“Refresh my memory.” His catchphrase, incessant and common.
One long “conversation” later with me, it was redefined.
Now, Mr. “Refresh my memory” triggers himself pleasantly often. Memories suggestively reshaped, recalling needing service, silence, subservience, anything I want.
On second thought, tempt a hypnotist, enjoy a refreshing memory.
“Oh, your strap looks a little loose. May I?”
“Of course,” Madeline’s sweet reply granted Sam’s wish.
Bending to her was symbolic, uplifting, and best of all, common.
Sparkling, mesmerizing heels, soft, kissable skin, her compelling gaze from above; it became his favorite place, and he took any excuse to return home, at Mistress’ feet.
Infractions demanded punishment.
Over a silk-covered knee, a powerful, punishing palm struck.
Punishment demanded impression.
Ripples from ass-cheeks spread, absorbed in a triggered mind.
Impression demanded reaction.
Helpless, signature gasping sighs begat mindlessness.
Reaction demanded compliance.
“Please forgive my insolence. May I serve and obey?”
Mistress demanded compliance.
Mistress demanded infractions.
“Current feelings, Mr. Terrence?”
“Corrected, overwritten, Superintendent Michaels,” lips managed between kisses.
“Superintendent” Michaels examined her academic colleague attentively.
Simply conversing with the charming transfer teacher about penmanship left indefinite impressions. Flawless logic, inked from red cloth, hair, fingernails, lips, overwrote incorrect thoughts.
Soon, his pen would be reminiscent red, mental deference to wonderful authority.
“Give me oopsie face. C’mon.”
Max loved her klutzy habits. Smirking, Sheryl complied for his camera.
He didn’t expect her approaching, keeping the face. Pretty fingers signified mutual symbolic silence, hiding smiling lips. Her gaze patiently held until his eyes glazed enough, head pulled to her shoulder.
“Oopsie, I think I broke your will.”
Decades of marriage and it still felt like Marge and Dan’s first dance.
Years of cultivated compromise, understanding, and love.
Dancing hands ever cultivated Dan, compromising outside temptation, making her wishes understood, enhancing his love for begging Marge’s dancing hands to never stop.
Dancing again, she enticingly asserted, knowingly claiming her adoring husband.
Adam marveled Kory always finding amazing photographic angles.
“How about that?”
“Unbelievable,” he commented.
“Want me to make it swing?” the dark silhouette smiled.
“How?” he asked wondrously, without disbelief.
“Close your eyes; see it bend to me like you do.”
Dusk endured behind eyelids, swung from Kory’s words and fingertips. He loved Kory’s nature.
“Woah,” Adam captured the shot from a distance of the rock formation.
“How about that?” Kory giggled from behind.
“Wish I had eyes like that, fascinating, celestial, endless. Taking forever to sink into, the whole journey so beautiful…”
Kory continued, taking the camera from relaxed hands, letting her nature work magic over Adam again.
“Stop,” she nonchalant uttered.
The alluring ice queen’s new boytoy’s shirt obscured vision, bound limbs, exactly how she wanted.
“Remember this feeling , slave. Bound. Blind. Frozen. Unable to move, think, react, until hot, melting commands move you to my bidding. Frozen because of me. Frozen without me. Strip.”
The melted, naked slave remained frozen, waiting.
“Hey slave, you know what I don’t think I need anymore?”
Besides preoccupation lips, panic prevented speech. Annoyance creating slavery was miraculous, but she never spoke of permanence. He merely hoped.
“This chain. Such a formality now. Words and desires lock and tether totally to me, don’t they?”
“Yes Mistress,” he mumbled, adoring her foot.
Talking to Herself
“This is so us, sweetie. You get adorably absent-minded, it’s like talking to nothing. Is something there?”
“Mmhmm. Nothing, until I start talking, then there’s something. Something feels good. Feels like me, right?”
“Very good. Keep listening. Let me talk to myself until you’re my extension, wanting what I want. Just obey.”
“Mesmerizing, huh?” she smiled.
“……that light……” automatic confusion spoke.
“My flashlight, I’m ahead of you as we spiral down together. I light your way, you follow, enlightened by my voice, drawn down deeper into spiraling spirals and the spiraling spiral, by my voice…”
Guided senses finally became fully engrossed, spiraling as she desired.
Steps to Art
“Something’s missing,” the model replied.
“Take a step forward, tell me what you see.”
They conversed during several steps forward. She spoke of embodying Venus, how overwhelmed, enthralled a staring man should be. He embodied that man in every advance, crawling, discarding clothing.
Soon the missing piece revealed itself – proof of her sexual divinity.
“Uh, Miss? Should that say…”
Ice-breakers usually started with the weird shirt, until her eyes came into focus.
Bright blue oceans swallowed them whole. She let them drown for long minutes before instructions of how to swim and dive deeper.
Christa loved her t-shirt; great for entrapping moods. She’d eventually break the silence.
“The garden maze, concluding distress.
Trusting eyes shut, find your secret princess.”
After dedicated months, blind trekking lead to whispered riddles.
“Fate, kismet, sweetly robbed of choice.
Your only desire – listen to my voice…”
The dark woman eventually finished him off.
“Princess? Hah! What could be more serene,
than mindless surrender to an Evil Queen?”
“That’s code, you know.”
“‘Witch’s honor?’ Code for what?”
“Witches bewitch. Fingers point to eyes made for staring. Staring, bewitched, enchanted, bespelled, honored like spoken words. Honor, looking someone in the eyes; it’s just an honor to look deeper, deeper, no reason to question these words. So you should believe me.”
The newly-wed patiently waited above her groomed property, mind preparing words he’d slaved over.
“Mistress, will you forever keep this obedient, devoted, owned, loving slave? Allowing me to pamper, spoil, service, and worship you at your merest whim? Making me forsake all, since only you matter? Please Mistress…”
Begging was a nice touch.
Under the Table
Ms. Press felt lips stop, breathing hard.
“What’s wrong Peter?”
“Are you hiding me, ashamed of me, Mistress?
“Certainly not. I’m exploiting you, utilizing you for my pleasure. Rewarding you under the table, where you belong, compensated with silken feet to attend to. Understand slave?”
“Yes Mistress,” he sighed happily.
“Good. Back to work now.”
“I am Absolute.”
Mantric phrasing echoed, dominated, supported by words promoting surrender.
Blindsiding roleplay introduced Mandy’s new stylish monochromatic, hypnotic villainess. White voids of garment absorbed, blanked cognition. Black stockings, hair, and eyes wrote edicts, instructions, impulses.
Heroic Cameron crawled to lick sexy nemesis boots, accepting her as Absolute, above all else, beyond roleplay resistance.
The paparazzi photographer scanned the photo, incredulously, imagining the headline. – “Hot Celebrity Bachelor Spellbound!”
One slight neck stroke, and reputed Hollywood horndog fawned over only his consultant date, from the production “Hypnotized.”
Possibly scandal of the year, until probing her about hypnosis, fishing. Dazzling words and attire caught him. Like his mind, the story vanished.
“Pull over,” Kory told Adam.
Off on the roadside, they took photos of the rain’s effect.
“How about that?”
“Yeah, that lighting difference. Day and night colliding, creating a prismatic, impressionable force, streaming through you, unable to look away… Tell you what, I’ll drive, you lie back and enjoy the view, and my words.”
“The Precious…” Adam joked, taking the photograph.
“Yeah,” Kory smirked. “How about that?”
“Once I place this on my finger, I’ll be so powerful, eclipsing all and anything I want. Starting with you Adam. Bask in my glory!”
Suggestible Adam sank before Kory’s theatrical flare, relishing her presence, kissing her ring finger.
“Black holes are scary powerful and endless, like minds under certain conditions. To parallel, your eyes close, and darkness becomes a void, inspired deeper by my words, sucking in all light, time, energy, thoughts, until there is one singularity.
And suddenly you enter my dimension, where I establish laws of physics, and your thinking.”
“What kind of game is this? An indie title?”
“Nah, not independent. More…dependent.”
Her description was as confusing the flashing spiral and words, all of which continued on, increasing raw curiosity, wearing critical thinking down. Soon, control slipped from his fingers, eyes glazed over.
“Now relax deeply, and turn to face your true controller.”
“Feeling bratty, are we?” Kory inquired.
“How about glib?” Adam retorted.
“How about…that?” Kory produced a pic on her phone.
“Yes, rather shocking. Imagine electric touches, lighting up your nerves like a strong plasma globe…”
Fingers kept count of smart remarks; the same fingers delivered playful shocks to Adam’s system, over and over.
“Can you read me that story again?”
“I just read it to you.”
‘Slave’s eyes shut, every thought bespoken.
Every deep breath, the true self awoken.
Every moment, act, bidding, wills intertwine.
Every deep sigh reminding a slave – you’re mine.'”
“Mistress? Can you read me that story again?”
“Ohh, nice jacket, let’s get that…”
“Ohh, nice shirt, let’s get that…”
“Ohh, nice jeans, let’s get a pair of those…”
“Really nice shoes, let’s get a pair of those …”
“Yeah, I think I really want that underwear….off”
Awareness flashed momentarily; he was the mannequin she suggestively stripped, and kneeling mindlessly, exposed, was proper.
Cut or No Cut
“To cut or not to cut. What do you think? If I don’t cut, my hair can keep flowing in the gentle wind, eyes following every single strand. If I do cut, the sun can shine off more of my neck; sensually gleaming skin, right in your eyes. Decisions, decisions. All of them mine.”
Happy Boxing Day
“Happy Boxing Day,” she uttered playfully.
Realization practically flashed in his eyes, slipping back into year-old programming.
She silently reveled in his verbalized belonging and obedience.
She awaited his speedy servitude of her bidding.
Despite the splendid routine, she committed to the traditional role-reversal, a listening reigning, while he spoke her commands, executing them perfectly.
What You Asked For
“C’mon, it’s once-a-year fun.”
“You’re seriously asking your Domme…to switch roles?”
“……ok. One sec.”
“Really? Great! It’s-wait, what?”
“What, my strap-on?”
“…I change my mind.”
“No, I change your mind. Remember, my ‘enslaved’?”
“N-ahhhhh, yes Goddess.”
“Compelling point, ‘enslaved’. Cunnilingus all the time can get boring. Now turn around.”
When The Ball Drops
Some say New Year’s traditions
have grown pretty boring.
Partying, champagne, TV, crowds,
one might as well be snoring.
Envy those knowing Femdom Hypnosis,
with a Mistress as their keeper.
Resolutions unnecessary, obedience reaffirming,
Though subs resolute in going deeper.
Maybe enjoy sexy suggestions nothing tops,
When that ball, that countdown, and your mind, drops.
“Spoilers!” He claimed in cinema discussions, safe-guarding pertinent information for his enjoyment…until discussing “Spoilers!” with a hypnotist.
After that, Keyser Soze’s identity didn’t matter. Luke’s father didn’t matter. “Rosebud” didn’t matter.
“Spoilers!” never left his lips again, replaced by the only important thought – Mistress’s hypnotic control, and being in it made him simply think
Kory’s Spiraling Dusk
“What?” Kory asked, confused.
He gestured at the sunset cloud’s shape.
“Oh, unsure if it’s real? Look real hard to see before dark. Follow the trail, soft, airy, circling, darker, soft, circling, floaty, darker, circling, airy, soft, darker, circling, circling, darker, darker, circling, darker, center…nite nite.”
Sam happily floated into Kory’s spiraling dusk.
Kory’s Skybound Lyrics
“Excuse me while I kiss the sky…”
Kory quoted lyrically, sensually, near Adam.
Thoughts transformed into skybound visions, colors of the day merging, passionately, lip-locking hungrily.
Suddenly, he felt as frisky as her.
“How about that?” she querried about her singing.
Kory’s kiss silenced words, promoting only ideas of how to please his Mistress physically.
“Wow,” Adam showed Kory the shape of birds flocking.
“Unbelievable. Oh wait, that’s your line.”
“I mean…yeah, how about that.”
“Unbelievable…” he heard words that formed coordinated flocking until the shape became alive, and connected to Adam. Sagging arms suddenly extended outward, waving. He smiled freely.
“You’re flying with them,” Kory lovingly snickered.
An old suggestion probed his sleepy mind.
Which time was this?
The 5th time, guided to her triggering look?
The 50th time, soundly conditioned fall from a look?
The 1st time, mesmerized by just one look?
He couldn’t care about time, except to pine for an eternity of her guidance,
her touch, her loving look.
Seal of Approval
An imprint of passionate red seared into his skin. It sank into his skin, bringing all of her with it.
Soft assurances, choice memories, hypnotic words, all burned into him from her lips. “You’re mine,” her overconfident declaration felt long ago, yet present and proven.
It justified his reshaped resolve, her deal of approval.
Sometimes a dominant misses the thrill of the pursuit. Releasing a captured prey back to the wild, only to reclaim him with her wiles.
He struggled so sweetly, fighting rope and red hot reminders, tranquilizing his will until the beast surrendered and the slave emerged more dedicated than before.
Thoughtless, sealed, bound, her approval recaptured.
Have you chosen?
Still want to race, or is that your heart?
Do you want to put your shifter, or your shifter, into gear?
Thinking about that checkered flag, or my checkered legs?
Driving with pride, or silky legs and words driving you?
Still think you have a choice?
Splendid. I love driven men.
Truth in Advertising
“What ‘advertised truth,’ you ask?
Well, It’s Chanel advertising, yes?
Red like my lovely boots, yes?
Nearly covering snow-covered thighs, yes?
To warm, fuzzy dressings, yes?
To beauty gazing into beauty, yes?
Like your gazing, following, yes?
Into my held globe, holding you, yes?
My will flurries upon you, yes?
Truthful advertising, you’re mine.
Decoration? No, more like declaration.
Declaring you to be fascinated.
Fascinating you because of her.
Her need to show subservience.
Subservience that reflects my power.
Power that reflects my presence.
Presence that reflects your need.
Needing power, presence, subservience, me.
Me. Just me. Only me.
Kiss my hand, crown me.
The hypnotist knew she was dreaming, the shirtless desert carriage wonderfully interpreting earlier hypnotic exploits.
Four skeptical hunks quadrupled playtime quickly, and double-edged trancing nicely caught everyone.
Hypnotic warmth became desert sun
Suggested heaviness became carriage weight
Peace of mind became pieces of male minds.
And despite finite desert luxury, hot servitude was every reality.
“Yes, dahling. That’s the…elusive element…incomprehensible to male designers, models, or consultants. Deep within you, it is named, defined as your willing subjugation to women.
Every pose, clothing article, expression, action, all to entice, please, and become perfecct in feminine superior’s eyes.
Feminine suggestions make your elusive element no longer elusive.
Such perfection, dahling!”
Leaves the Shadows
“You’re creative. Know how? Your light and shadows fixation.
While practically painted on, creativity notes leaves, shadows, sun-kissed skin. Darkness, cool leaves obstructing warmth, light, like warm words, cold without words.
If words are warm, he leaves the shadows, becoming enlightened, bare, warm, soothed, spellbound.
If one leaves the shadows, he is mine.
Another night, more limits explored, crossed.
He used to feel worry, apprehension, regretful lethargy after some significant night.
In all her womanly, hypnotic wisdom, prepared stimulants solved both their morning conditions.
She unconditionally needed coffee, he conditionally needed to “relax”.
After her coffee, both felt hot, energized, and ready to push his submissive limits further.
That 80’s Movie
“Can’t believe I missed an 80’s teen movie. What’s this called again?”
“‘Pretty Under Her.'”
“What’s the plot?”
“A business-orientated girl, successfully surpassing patriarchy, enslaving and utilizing sexy boy-toys.”
“So like ‘Secret of My Success.'”
“The ‘secret’ is hypnosis. What do you think?”
“I love it.”
“Mentally watching it, or physically living it?”
“What happened? He lose a bet?” The ever-common question.
“No, he’s mine,” was never a sufficient explanation for anyone.
It was frustrating, being an early, lifestyle hypnodomme, but reminding herself “baby steps,” helped.
Her leashed pet once called her “baby,” and now his baby steps were on his hands and knees.
Slow, but satisfying progress.
Hair on the Chest
“Bet’s a bet, time to pay up.”
“Not what I meant by ‘female chest hair.'”
“Semantics. Now, onto terms you’re already following, do as I want, follow every chest-enhancing strand, overcome with new-found chesthair love.”
She smiled, watching eyes follow strands to circling nipples, thinking about another term he’d soon discover: indentured chastity.
What Did I Say?
“Did I say you could speak?”
Lips fell silent against her hot grip and breath.
“Did I say you could think?”
Eyes glazed, reflecting only her, visibly, mentally.
“Did I say you could stand?”
Knees gave way, and she followed him to the floor.
“Did I say you’re mine?”
She nodded his head for him.
If The Shoe Dangles
“You know what they say, ‘if the shoe fits, wear it.'” He knew it, but little else amidst growing fascination.
“Do you know what they say about ‘if the shoe dangles’?” She counted his silence as ‘no.’
“Many things, in fact:
Watching her at home, her body was always bare, according to his x-ray eyes.
Supple, soft flesh robbed him of coherency and independence.
His need for reason became needing her, because she was the only reason.
She loved being the reason for needy servility, aware that his mind was bare, according to her x-ray eyes.
He’d watched the monochromatic patters so long, his mind’s eye retained the hypnotic sight behind physically-closed eyelids. The voice accompanying the sight kept the image animated, and her arousing touch rippled across the patterns, driving him deeper into artistic appreciation, marking him as her newest masterpiece.
He’d forever appreciate and succumb to her artistic touch.
Does she even realize what she’s doing?
Is this her “unwitting tactic,” to subvert my reputable wit?
Or just her comfort that dangles before me?
Who’s speaking now?
Sparkly? Silky? Sexy?
Look away? Why would I?
Fall? Why wouldn’t I?
Isn’t…my wit, her words?
Does she realize “unwitting” subjects must, stare, smell, absorb, obey?
Savor the Flavor
“Savor the flavor,” my fingers and thoughts slick, ghostly sweetness on my tongue.
“Savor the flavor,” my first taste lingering on my tongue, rubbing her…
“Savor the flavor” echoes around me, aiding enjoyment of my first…wait..my first?
“Savor the flavor.” Rubbing her, I wonder if she’s as sweet as what’s on my tongue.
“Help!” she pleaded softly, eyes awhirl with colors.
The impossible happened, creatures with hypno-colors began controlling people, and almost got her.
“Help me” endless colors flooded. I stared, wondering how to stop them, held in her eyes, her soft grip.
“Help me help you,” she pleaded seductively. Yes.
“Waitress,” a dominant tone filled the diner, the word given power.
Doug learned that words = power when Casey spoke them, “waitress” above all.
Her firm push and caress punctuated its redefining. “Waitress,” short-hand for “Wait on Mistress.”
Doug’s function was to make life better for Casey.
Big tips, kind words, public deference, and private surrender.
“This is how good ideas are internally.
Bright externally, dim internally.
Good ideas bounce back and forth, with acceptable dimness inside.
Accepting good ideas you hear, no further thoughts required.
You hear my good ideas, accept them, make them yours.
Save your brain power, give me all the power.
Such a good idea, isn’t it?”
My partner’s trouble-making psychology-graduate sister, the apple farm’s inexplicable owner, texted me: “How do you like them apples?”
That meant investigate.
Found lounging in the hammock, she took a big bite of a granny smith. Worries and concerns bitten into, hollowed, I wanted Natalie’s commands filling me.
I walked forward, looking to pleasing my owner.
Sometimes indecision is boundless fun.
Like my masseuse, make him watch a black-and-white spiral for moments lasting an hour, then make him choose between these slippers. Back and forth, he couldn’t choose, spiraling further.
Now he’s massaged, warm feet and indecision relaxing him to his inevitable choice.
When you can’t decide, just choose my suggestions.
Wendy read ingredients leisurely, taking her sweet time.
She wanted to kick herself for not utilizing her shopping slave like this sooner.
Prior hypnotic programming meant patience and digging heels produced utter bliss; but publicly elevating mistress, hypnotically commanding his public erection deflated once standing might be necessary.
Wendy suddenly needed more top shelf items.
Frank felt elated to get the accurate shot, showcasing control, confidence.
He hated celebrity gossip passionately. Unseemly photos, clickbait headlines, shameful practices. He captured reality, especially hers.
Her charisma shined so brightly in Frank’s exclusive interview, he couldn’t help but help her shine. No mind-control rumors need apply in his work, that was just gossip.
“Unbelievable” Adam whispered, seeing a small twister at Kory’s fingertips.
“What happens when I snap my fingers?”
He absently realized both of them were talking, focused more on the snap, the small tornado coming to his forehead, eyes rolling back to follow, blankly feeling swirling thoughts and a playful finger drawing cyclones on his skin.
Kory’s Lunar Dust
“What’s with the dust?”
“You tell me. What happens if I snap my fingers?”
Answers emerged from Kory’s retorting question, spoken by inaudible dialog, formed when her fingers snapped, and the dust formed a crystal ball-sized moon.
“Aren’t we usually naked while moon-gazing,” she whispered.
Adam bathed bare in Kory’s words, body, and enchanting moonlight.
“Hey Adam, what does this remind you of?”
“A sped-up storm……brainstorming?”
“Exactly, no one else guessed that. How about that? We are in-sync.”
“Unbelievable? W-oh. Oops. Heh, might as well.(32) Feel that storm brewing, pleasure centers lighting up ideas and arousal. brainstorm an idea, share it with me, and let’s have some fun.”
“Crystal magnifiers highlight astronomy wonderfully,” Adam commented.
“Great for premonitions too. How about that?”
“Unbelievable,” Adam’s gaze fell into glassy depths.
“My premonition say you’ll journey far, amongst the stars, counting until you can count no more, and return to me, starry-eyed, surrendered, ready to please me.”
He moaned in pleasure as he started counting.
Kory’s Starry Reflection
“Beautiful art, but why insist it’s scientifically correct?”
“Because I say so; how about that?”
“Unbelievable…” Adam spoke, believing.
“Science reflects nature like you reflects me. The chairs, the tree, the stars, upside down is still right side up, reflecting my words, reflecting your believing them. Now then, sit upside down, stare up, and reflect.”
Eye Can’t Choose
“Which eye will take you?
My soft, inviting brown, or my shimmering third eye?
Beyond blinding, thought-numbing facets, you might see yourself, looking deep into hypnotic brown eyes, looking into eyes reflecting shiny, glassy eyes like my third eye that reveals how deep you gaze into hypnotic brown.
What’s wrong? ‘Eye can’t choose?’ Good boy.”
Give it a Breast
“‘Give it a Breast,'” Susan told Mindy in deep anticipation.
Weeks of hypnotically programming the bitchiest soccer mom Susan had ever met finally paid off. “Give it a rest” triggering sly became “Give it a Breast,” and Mindy became a submissive, polite slut for Susan’s breasts and commands.
Denying Mindy one of them proved satisfying.
“That’s right. All is right in your world, in women’s guiding hands.
Your place is in their hands.
Women’s words, wants, needs, you sense them all.
Sense hands over your mouth, silencing competing thoughts, and hands on your manhood, exciting you, justifying masculinity, by serving femininity.
Awaken soon, and remain happily forever, in guiding hands.”
In Her Shadow
“These rapid eyeshadow displays help subconsciously choose what works best.
Blue, red, naked and dark, one might stick out to you.
Take as long as you need to look. Long and deep, if desired.
And if by the end you can’t choose, you may choose all three, and choose to be cast in my shadow.
Best Foot Forward
Such nervousness felt foreign, interviewing soon for her dream job.
Her mentor had to quell her fears.
“Put your best foot forward,” he reminded, triggering worship, try to discern which foot was best.
He could tell is “convincing” was persuasive, feeling his Mistress powerful again, fears kissed away, moving to put her best foot forward.
Holier Than Thou
Her condescending confidence knowingly inspired vexing arousal.
Stroking her feet, she uttered “count the ways I am.”
Somehow I started counting the holes in her fishnets instead, growing thoughtless amidst seduction.
When she stroked the chain pattern, I felt bound, linked to her. She really is holier than thou, with me beneath her worshiped feet.
He knew the outside of her abode. Inside, he remained blinded by leather.
Months of audio hypnosis prepared him for everything but the sight of her.
“You aren’t ready,” she told, teased him.
She led his blindness physically, learning sightless worship, preparing his final enslavement in anticipating her divine revealing.
Someday, he would be ready. Someday.
Her #1 song “Bedazzle’em” topped weekly charts.
Her persona was considered ethereal, sparkling.
Her catchy lyrics echoed her glamour often, subliminally.
Her music video left lasting impressions of ardor.
Her award dress was mesmerizing.
Her award strut was spellbinding.
Her acceptance speech quoted her song – “Are you Bedazzled?”
Her bedazzled slaves all whispered “yes.”
An undignified yelp escaped her as hot lips descended upon her feet instantly.
She nearly hit her leashed slave, then remembered absently mentioning needing a pedicure.
She’d forgotten the potent hypnotic trigger, her feet her pedi, cured him of all alpha ailments.
“You’ll do slave,” she playfully chided, letting his loving care and attentiveness substitute.
Jerry thought Stepford Wife-ing Kathy could make his dreams come true. Declining to mention Kathy being an accomplished, strong-willed hypnotist, he soon realized how submissive his dreams really were.
The new Kathy demanded perfection from Jerry, their friends, any beyond. Exposed to her perfection long enough, anyone would become perfect in the Stepford Mistress’s eyes.
“Back again already?
So, opening with ‘mumbo-jumbo’ again, or are you ready for you…’immediate future’?
Thought so, since you can’t.
Peer into my crystal, deeply, without hesitation. See everything you’ve done for me, new things you will do for me. And lean back, to see in whose hands your future lies.
Aren’t you fortunate?”
“The shifty, sparkly make-up? Yeah, illusion.
The colorful waves in my eyes? Illusion.
The fact that you can’t look away? Illusion.
Calling what you see ‘uninteresting’? Illusion.
Calling anything else around you ‘interesting’? Illusion.
Wanting to possibly, maybe, somehow look away? Illusion.
Other sounds besides my voice? Illusion.
Doing anybody’s bidding but mine? Total illusion.”
“Pick a color on the fabric. Now look at it through the globe.
That color is your path, it simply doesn’t matter how blurry, distorted, curved, or swirled it is, like it doesn’t matter what other sounds are heard besides my voice.
Your focus is always clear.
Your path, my voice. Just follow, and obey.”
“It’s ‘what’ play?” Ruby asked.
“‘Pet Play,'” Rachel responded.
“Cats and dogs. And doesn’t suck.”
“So it’s just Madame Tamer’s hypnosis?”
“How long does she usually make them stroke?”
“Always cats and dogs?”
“Dunno, but I do love stroking my, or Madame Tamer’s pussy.
“Understandable. I do love being her bitch.”
“What did I do wrong Mistress?” he fearfully spoke.
“Wrong? Who said you did anything wrong? Sometimes hypnodommes wants to topple, standing a little taller. Then again, you did make one critical error…”
“Correct slave, how wrong of you. Feel my dominant strength upon you, pushing my mind and body deeper, right now…”
“Don’t resist. Unlikely that it’s even possible.
This was tailor-made for you. The colors of chess, looking in the eyes of defeated opponents.
This eye defeats all. Your blanking expression agrees, as will your chess capitulation to Cindy Peterson soon. Her eyes are this eye. Stare, fail, and enjoy your eventual failure, your shaped vision.”
Say Without Saying
They enjoyed her challenges. Hypnotically suggesting his lips shut, preventing verbally adoration, improvisation became necessary. Pleading with hands for her to wait, he hit a convenience store, purchasing chalk. Removing her shoes, drawing a heart symbol, and massaging her feet, spoke volumes.
“Good boy,” her massaging hand on his scalp said.
Hypnotic silence was priceless.
She was like a mind-numbing wraith to his senses, gripping, stroking, whispering. Bloodflow quickened, reflecting fear and excitement. Skilled feet kept him awash in pleasure while hot breath negotiated with his skin. He never met a woman so ravenous, but appreciated her going gentle.
She sucked out his thoughts before she would take his blood.
“Ever hear of sunspots?” The astronomer asked her hot blind, oblivious date.
“Dark spots on the sun’s surface,” she explained. “Dark points, standing out like my eyes.” His attention remained riveted through to her other sunspot, her sunlit bedroom warming worshipper’s backs, all unresisting to the gravitational pull of her hot pussy and hypnotic commands.
“I dare you,” her dangerously inviting glare spoke.
“I dare you to come get ‘your’ man.”
“I dare you to interrupt us.”
“I dare you to get close enough.”
“I dare you to find my gaze, like he did.”
“I dare you to try looking away, like he couldn’t.”
“I dare you….to be mine.”
Size Matters Not
“Best Star Wars quote – ‘size matters not;’amongst these stars, there’s no wars, conflicts, or derision. Look long and deep, find yourself in my universe, ever-spinning in my handy spell, ever-searching for a miniscule of a miniscule you. Infinite search or not, your size matters not; I am always with you, and you’re forever mine.
Confusion encircled him like the pearl-counting challenge posed. Lapidaries cut, polished, and engraved jewels, she just arranged and modeled them. He constantly lost count, seeing her jaw move, whispers softening thinking.
Magically, he found errant thoughts cut away, mind polished and engraved, appreciating craftsmanship and her beguiling beauty.
She crafted slaves like no one else.
Her rumored “vault” was merely a walk-in closet, but it did hold genuine valuables.
Those who entered greatly appreciated the lighting, and footwear bearing millions of shimmering, thought-blinding jewels.
Bedazzled, mindless admirers became very generous contributors, lining her shelves with more custom-jeweled adornments, tributed deeds and currencies tucked away, and their donated minds, for safe-keeping.
“Yes, I’m a lifeguard, keeping men safe.
From what? Unauthorized behaviors. Men easily run amok without female guardianship.
If your lifeguard says ‘no running on the beach,’ that means slow down, as you look and listen to me. Your life is in good hands, let your guard down, let go. Life is good under me.
The mildly claustrophobic man shivered, feeling the enclosed temple around him, and pressure from above.
But pleasure, not fear, promoted bodily reactions. She was both Goddess and church, silken structuring, body atop his Sistine Chapel. Only reverent love deepened prayers, thankful for the temple’s beauty, for all she bestowed, and his sole, solemn plea.
Connected, that’s how I ultimately felt. Power, essence, soul, peace, thoughts, all centered in her glowy, ethereal, hypnotic sphere. Light highlighted her features, caressed mine, and filled our eyes. Ourselves, pasts, futures, acts, dreams, fears, hopes, all in her hands.
Sinking into luminescent fate, I smiled, ready to make her happiness mine, and come true.
The facade maintained by the removed masked evaporated, as did everything else for her target.
Like shedding elegant clothing, naked beauty beneath the facade shined intensely. Unveiled eyes revealed overpowering fixation. Exposed features revealed unblemished allure. Bare intent left chances at resistance barren.
The privilege of her unmasking bears the privilege of her enchanting dominance.
Wonder filled his gaze beyond her perfect self-rendering, focused on the held supplicant.
“Is that me?” he helplessly hoped aloud. In his ear, or his mind, a response crooned.
“It doesn’t matter. It represents the obedient, serving, and mindless. What are you?”
His motivated mind emptied itself, ready to serve, taking her words to heart.
Kick the Habit
Wonder filled his gaze beyond her perfect self-rendering, focused on the held supplicant.
“Is that me?” he helplessly hoped aloud. In his ear, or his mind, a response crooned.
“It doesn’t matter. It represents the obedient, serving, and mindless. What are you?”
His motivated mind emptied itself, ready to serve, taking her words to heart.
Placid lips gasped, reflecting hot and cold.
Warm hands held him, cool pearls confirmed the whom.
Hot breath lay on his skin, uttering the cold, transactional trigger.
Sultry body heat reacted to her chilly, ruling indifference.
As she cooled him, he futilely hoped to warm her, knowing he’d give her his all, and even more.
Being ripped into felt insatiable, irresistible.
Explaining how little financially there was left to give drowned by jeweled jingling and clanking, eclipsed by a single word.
How much dissolved as an issue suddenly, replaced by getting more, enough for her to rip into him for, so she could have it all, and much more.
When least expected, the strongest impressions happen.
She didn’t exist before that kiss, until her lips reshaped his existence.
The odd liplock disorientated, spoke persuasive words only his body heard, and created mindless need.
She’d walk away when it would end, making him forever follow, the first and most potent step of her claiming him.
The charming man gently appraised, seeing if the velvet slipper belonged.
Hours searching for its owner, he dreamed of its owners beauty, left breathless by her stunning reality.
Patiently, she let him dream, enamored ever deeper, whispering needs, fulfilled only through worship.
Happily ever after is attainable, for a Queen hypnotically charming her prince.
Up Close & Personal
“I’m unsure about ‘Up Close & Personal,'” the client admitted.
“Too beautiful?” the marketer and modeler asked.
“If you’re close enough to see your product sparkle, next to matching, sparkling eyes, holding the gaze holding you, isn’t personal something you’d want?”
Eventually meeting the client’s gaze with the advertised look, they were unsurprisingly sold.
Hypnotist girlfriends are persuasive, except for steampunk fashions.
Never got the appeal, especially the conventions. Only her ‘suggestible’ technique helped me tolerate it all, the watch, ticking, the second hand pointing to her eye, eye-gazing for uncountable ticks…
After that, being a modern-dressed +1 in sci-fi Victorian attire helped to stand what they call ‘fashionable’.
“I think…someone held me hostage.”
He showed the embarrassing photo to his lawyer, a birthmark between written letters confirming him.
“But…why?” she questioned.
“I have no idea.”
“Seems like someone did,” she joked, her black onyx ring and dark nail polish glinting in his eyes.
He knew bragging about his height would have repercussions, but he never expected….pleasure.
Like her confusing, soft words clouded thoughts, they brought them to the clouds, proving she was taller, that his height really started at his knees, and that nothing felt more natural to let her mind, works, and kiss tower over him.
“Wow, you’re aunt was amazing. A socialite tutor and award-winning instructor.”
“Interesting how she’s looking down.”
“At her subjects.”
“You mean students.”
“All great tutors have their techniques, like hypnosis.”
“Lessons for me were different, like ‘downward gaze.'”
“‘Please gaze down upon me Mistress.’ Point taken. Felt like kneeling down anyway.”
“This’ll be an old world getaway. No technology, few modern amenities.”
“Living like our ancestors?”
“Exactly. And first tradition will be feet-washing.”
“‘My World, My Rules.’ And what’s older than keeping a woman pleased and satisfied?”
“Nothing I can think of, Mistress.”
“Because you can’t think. Also, old world slaves washed feet with tongues.”
“I love your flats.”
“Thank you. Flatter.”
“Nice intricate design,” I bent down.
“So sweet. Flatter.”
“You’re feet are really attractive in them,” I knelt.
“The jewels on the heel, hypnotic,” I gazed, flat on my chest. “Hypnotic like…”
“Good boy. Flatter.” My mind sunk, complementing her power over flattened me.
Having a Ball
Carla was tired, sleepy, excited.
The magic forest, her serene happy place faded behind the disco ball.
She strained holding it up for the sake of her eyes, unwilling to look away.
Soon the ball would sink, her eyes would follow, to sink deeper than ever before.
“Have a ball,” her mistress said. She obeyed.
“C’mon Katelyn, you’ll get this, like always.”
“Dunno, I look ready, but developing that ‘mental picture’…”
Chaz lowered his camera, crawling to Katelyn looking enslaved, spellbound, beckoned.
The seductress ceased feigning, extinguishing Chaz’s pretending to be a slave.
The camera would soon capture a reality only they were privileged to know.
Even the most confident, promising men with bright futures ahead needed reassurance.
Kneeling in-front of his Mistress revitalized his essence, something she programmed into him, helping to groom him to be satisfactory earner, on top of other services. How she allowed his worship signalled what he hoped for and already had as hers.
Nothing broke the ice for her quite like her favorite t-shirt. It created many female friendships, and interesting conversations with men.
“What power,” she often heard.
Those listening to her message of power found it practiced, persuasive, natural, even transformative for many impressionable minds.
The way men inevitably melted for her, they loved her ice-breaking.
“You know what’s most dangerous about this?
It’s not the shadowy spiral, creating bands swirling to my eyes.
Nor is it sparkling, swirling, endless blue eyes, creating unbreakable fascination and uncontrollable obedience.
It’s your delusion of thinking, thinking you can look away, thinking it’s ok to.
Look deeper, let’s cure your dangerous delusion.”
Ice queen, bitch, man-hater, man-eater, she heard them all. Centuries ago, they would’ve been accidental accurate in calling her “witch”.
None knew her spellcraft was mere hypnotism, creating desire, then destruction, via rejection and indifference.
Only true gentlemen, treating her preciously, incurred the wrath of her bubbling cauldron, serving mindlessly, blissfully and rewarded passionately. Eventually.
“To those who’ve made past weight comments,
remember the gravity of my words, your IQ sinking.
To those who’ve made past race comments,
recall never outpacing my will, or your inferiority.
And to those who believed my modeling dreams inevitable,
focus now, feel a ‘Queen size’ comfort.
Your Queen will collect you soon.”
“I hate black and white movies.”
“Considering that….close your eyes.”
“Good, and bleach thoughts. See, you actually love black and white, especially being a gentleman, kissing a lady’s hand,. Yeah, like that, asking for her words to dance deep inside you all night, succumbing to every charming command…”
“Samey, but classic.”
“You’ve got an earful coming, mister.”
“Uh oh,” my noisy friend said, reading my wife’s text.
I would’ve laughed at his ignorance, but mindless bliss interrupted.
Safely rushing home, I couldn’t wait for her teeth to get an earful, and my ear and mind to fill with her mind-numbing commands.
Hypnosis leaves my ears unsatiated.
Those warnings about dangerous women? Highly understated.
If you ever run into one, dark-skinned, toned, athletic body, wild mane for hair, confident stride, belt buckle suggestive of essence or trophy, passionate expression, narrowed gaze, thoroughly-convincing web of words,
take a deep breath, smile, and give in to the inevitable.
Her new prey is already hers.
Kory’s Shock Therapy
Adam’s childhood fear of lightning met its match with Kory.
Loud rumblings following bright electric flashes post-Kory became repurposed, symbolic of energenic jolts of pleasure striking nerves, like her simple, arousing touch. He feared sensory overload when Kory got handsy during storms.
“How about that,” hands caressing all over.
“Un-b-elieva-b-ble…” shocking ecstasy rocked his body.
Kory’s Stormy Calm
“Hike there? Seriously?” Adam questioned.
“Not seriously, but imagining it is fun.”
“Even imagining, you’re crazy sometimes.”
“Then imagine what happens when I snap my fingers,”
Adam’s sudden fixated imagination conjured unexpected arousal. Twisting clouds became lips, over rockhard volcanic need. Kory reveled in Adam’s imagination, and the dormancy from lips of a stormy calm.
Their morning exchanges were their most important time of the day.
Silently, almost psychically, they vowed to one another.
He vowed to do all she wanted, to anticipate every whim, to be all that she desired.
She vowed to hold his mind, to repurpose every thought, to be all that he desired.
Reciprocity elevates relationships.
On Your Mind
“Oh my,” the femdom hypnotist gasped. “This cleverly exceeds expectations,” she commented at the artist below.
Asking him to draw what was on his mind, she loved when slaves creatively surprised her.
“Art truly does imitate life, doesn’t it?”
His affirments came through empty eyes staring at the heel pressing on his owned mind.
Something about pantyhosed seam stroking drove him wild.
Was it her running her foot from hips to pantleg so smoothly?
Or that it surpassed every sexual encounter he’d had prior?
Or just infectiously passionate discussions about seams that programmed his mind to love it immensely?
Either way, he thanked his Seamstress with obedient orgasm control.
“You know the interrogation rules – non-response means deep trouble for you.”
The mentioned depth weighed heavily on his mind.
“And the deeper trouble you’re in, the harder it will be for you.”
How hard she already made things for him didn’t help.
“Now tell me what I want to know!”
Non-responsive answers always temporarily satiated.
“Hun, getting my feet done soon!” Katie yelled from the stairs.
Five minutes later, Chris practically slid to her feet, naked, self-collared, vacant-gazed, begging to be the one to service her feet.
Sweetening his plea with foot worship, Katie loved her feet nearly being as polished as her foot slave. Hypnosis reduced pedicure costs significantly.