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. (20)
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. 37
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.