(Sorry, this one ran a tad long! I got excited!)
You watched in horror as your master lovingly suckled the ball-gag being fed between his lips. When you had previously pressed him to allow you to serve the newly arrived master of the local kink scene, he had been hesitant when hearing about the way this fresh dom applied hypnosis as a method for control. You had assured him it was quite safe, that there was nothing he could do to make you do anything you did not want to do, but he insisted you tell him if you got in too deep.
Now, after at least a month’s worth of sessions with the suited hypno-dom, with your mind hopelessly held in his clutches, you regretted not heeding your master’s concern. Your sense of style had been muted for the wardrobe of a meager boy from yesteryear, made up of bowties and sweater-vests, that made you appear a submissive dweeb. Your mannerisms became both constantly meager and consistently polite, as if you were fresh from boarding school. Worst of all, your time with your choosen, belived master was slowly whittled away as your every spare moment was taken to serve your new hypnotic master.
Your actual master seemed to be the only one bothered by these changes in you, your friends and family finding the transformation charming even as they began unconsciously ordering you about as well, and despite your hypnotic conditioning forcing you to deny any wrong as he questioned your wellbeing, you were elated when your master insisted on meeting with his competitor for your service. Thus, over dinner at your home, your master had a long conversation with the hypno-dom, and while he was originally bothered by your not eating alongside them, serving instead with the programmed reasoning that you would eat later, you were crestfallen to note that he seemed to care less and less about your self-sacrificing service, becoming engrossed in conversation with the hypnotic master.
As you began paying more attention to what the other master was doing, you noticed the little ways he acted oddly. He maintained steady eye contact with your old master. He rythmically and randomly ebbed from quiet murmering to empatic, friendly conversation. He would draw attention to random objects about the table, such as having your master focus on the casserole you served and inticing primal attention by remarking how delicious it looked before drawing focus to the way steam wafted to and fro from dish. Then, just as you would hear your master’s stomach growl and see the slight gleam of drool at the cusp of his lips, the new master would raise a utensil before him, asking if it looked washed enough, allowing your old master to closely inspect item from a distance as it caught the subtle candle-light you had been told to serve dinner by.
You watched, helpless, as your new master drew your old master into a state of hypnotic stupor, and your hopes of being freed from your hypnotic controller’s grasp were dashed bit by bit as your old master, your old friend, fed statements to agree to. You trust me implicitly, the new master would ask. Your old master would agree. You want your boy to serve me. He agreed. You want to serve me. Agreement.
The last thing he was fed was that ball gag, since his agreement did not matter anymore. You were no longer his. Even he no longer belonged no longer to himself. He was not the master any longer. Your new master was.
pixelskylines
jbbartram-illu
annaxmalina
stormborns
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
