Wasn't there… wasn't there something Ellen was watching? Oh yes. There was. She'd been watching that video Norah sent her, the weird trippy one with all the graphics that seemed to trick the eye, and then--and then she wasn't. It was still playing, Ellen knew that because she could hear the soft twinkly music with all the whispers in it that Ellen couldn't quite make out, but she couldn't see it anymore. It took a surprisingly long time for her to figure out the reason for that, but eventually it occurred to Ellen that her eyelids had slipped shut at some point during her viewing despite her best efforts to keep them open. Once she really thought about it, she remembered that drooping, drowsy sense of lethargy stealing over her.
She tried to open them again, or at least she tried to try. But it was like that feeling you get when you're already asleep and just don't know it yet, when you suddenly remember that the clothes didn't make it to the dryer or your pocketbook didn't make it back into your purse but it feels too much like work to lever yourself out of the warm, comfortable bed by that point. Only it wasn't quite like that, because Ellen's hand was definitely doing something down between her legs so she wasn't exactly sleeping, but focusing on that and on opening her eyes and the music was just a little too much effort for her at the moment. Ellen picked the wrong thing to concentrate on and lost herself for a good several minutes just listening to the whispers before she remembered what she was thinking at all.
Right. The video. It had… it had some kind of effect on her, didn't it? Not just the drowsiness, although that felt like a hole with no bottom and Ellen could feel her mind descending through fathoms of peace and pleasure like a stone sinking into the ocean's depth. But back at the beginning, before her eyelids slipped shut and refused to open, Ellen had been surprised to discover that the video was making her incredibly wet. She even recalled loosely wondering if that was why Norah sent it to her, or if Ellen just had the kind of imagination that could look at weird, abstract imagery and pick out the curves of a woman's breast and the suggestive delta of lightly parted thighs. Not that Ellen was gay, or even bi, but--but surely she must be, if she was looking at swirls and spirals and getting turned on thinking of tits and pussy?
It was a question she hadn't answered, not exactly, but she had wriggled out of her clothes and fumbled her biggest, thickest dildo out of her nightstand without ever letting her eyes drift away from the screen. And now that she thought about it, like now that she turned every single last bit of her fading and feeble intellect to the task of noticing these little details instead of just floating along in dreamy indolence and letting the music tell her what to do, Ellen was definitely aware that she was cramming her toy into her hungry cunt with an enthusiasm that seemed entirely at odds with her hazy lethargy. Almost as if her hand wasn't under her control anymore. Almost as if it was doing what the whispers commanded.
But that would be silly. That would mean the video had… had hypnotized her, or something. And Ellen didn't need to worry about that, because she could trust Norah completely. Even thinking about Norah made Ellen's cunt clench hard around the fake cock, but she knew she didn't need to worry about that either and so she let herself fade into warm, blissful relaxation as another orgasm pushed all her thoughts into blank, helpless oblivion to be replaced by the whispers in her ears.
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