The mythical cattle foretold in the legends of old. 85% horny, 10% shitposting, 5% random thoughts, 100% cow. 22, They/Them, Affection Starved Non Binary Loving Women, Switch
My name is Kalen. If I like and trust you, you can call me Kay. I am 23 years old, born and raised in Los Angeles and surrounded by a beautiful world that I am too terrified to be a part of.
Womanhood.
The idea of it makes me numb, and the feelings towards it make me nauseous.
When I was still a little boy named Colin, few men and male role models were part of my life. My dad had a tendency to keep me at an arm’s length, I did not have a male teacher in school till 6th grade and most people in school could not stand to be around me. The GATE group I was part of was roughly 70% girls, and I was never able to be around them. I hated them, I resented their happiness.
When I did choir in 8th grade, the girls had these costumes. Pure white lace quinceanera dresses, knee length, sleeves to the elbows, covered in lace flourishes. I stared, like the other boys. And told the one next to me “Why are we stuck in beige suits instead of something beautiful like those?”. When a girl came up to talk to us, I had to hold myself back from crying, from screaming. And when she spun to show us how it moved I had to hold myself back from punching her, and beating her and as many people as I could to a pulp.
The world showed me what I desired but could never have.
High School made it worse, no friends, increasing isolation, more work and the fear of what the real world was like. What did I do to keep myself whole? I would people watch. I watched the interactions the boys had with each other, often bored and frequently disgusted. I watched how the girls went about their lives, how they walked, how they interacted, and all the little mannerisms that are only learned from a lifetime of womanhood. I was called a creep, and those who did not spare the empathy joked that I should be put in the yearbook as “Most Likely to be a Sexual Predator”. I disagree, present me would say that I was “Most Likely to Die via Suicide”.
I hated womanhood and the people who had it out of raw pain and jealousy
You the reader may have some thoughts after that, and don’t worry if you think negatively of me. Trust me when I say that whatever thoughts you may have of me, I’ve beaten much worse into my subconscious.
Today as I type I wonder to myself, why don’t I try? Why am I so terrified of anything close to womanhood? Surely a dress would not kill me? If it would make me happier, why can’t I do it?
A dress would not kill me, and it would make me happier but the things it reveals can not exist side by side with it. Short sleeves reveal several dozen scars, most healed but some not. Long sleeves still show the gouges on the backs of my hands. Short skirts show more scars, more fresh and still caked in the scabs and blood. Knee length shows the dented shins and cracked knee caps, remnants from the MMA I once held so proudly as my proof of masculinity. Showing any level of torso is an absolute no go, since not a person alive would want to see the horror of my vile stomach or boobs that have never once felt like they’re mine.
My pain, my body cannot be presented next to womanhood. They are too broken, too scarred, too imperfect.
Womanhood, and femininity is something I want so badly, but it's out of reach. Maybe I feel like I do not deserve it. If all I do is lash out when someone close to me has it, then I do not yet deserve it.
I am no different from Colin, still full of vitriol and hatred for those who have what he wanted. Most days he runs the show, for Kalen, for me, for the one he never could be.
I want her to be happy, She is so broken, barely able to function most days. She should be able to be happy, because I never could be. She was a part of me who I left in torment for so many years from lack of understanding.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still
When Isabella's first round of conditioning doesn't produce the desired result, Clea decides to kick things up a notch
This story was a commission from one of my patrons! Thank you very much to Myles_EXVS for their kind support
If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)
---
As soon as Isabella saw Clea come into her office in the morning, she knew it was going to be a very, very difficult day.
Ever since last night, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her secretary. She wasn’t sure what had happened, exactly. It had just struck her, suddenly, as she was closing up and heading home after watching Clea’s music video.
Isabella was a lesbian. She was a lesbian, and she was attracted to Clea.
It was an unbelievable, unthinkable, world-shattering revelation, and yet it hadn’t occurred to Isabella to question it. It was the kind of thing she just knew. It was like the words themselves had been etched into her soul; a sacred set of commandments Isabella had just stumbled upon in a moment of clarity.
She was a lesbian and she could only orgasm with women. She didn’t like men. She was attracted to Clea. She couldn’t resist Clea.
All evening and all morning, those thoughts and feelings had sat uneasily within Isabella. What was she going to do? She was a lesbian who disliked men - but she was married to one. She had promised her life to her husband, and it was a promise she’d always intended to keep. But if Isabella remained faithful to him, what room did that leave for her own happiness and fulfillment?
Certainly, sexual fulfillment was a forlorn hope. Things hadn’t been going well in that department anyway; now, Isabella couldn’t even stand the thought of spending a night with her husband. There was just no way she could ever orgasm with a man.
And her dreams of a family had never seemed further away.
But those concerns, however important, were relatively distant. A far more pressing issue was how Isabella was going to handle the beautiful young woman who had just stepped into her office.
“Good morning, Isabella!” Clea said in a bright, friendly voice. She came bearing gifts - Isabella’s regular morning cup of coffee, and a pastry to go with it.
“G-good morning.” Isabella cringed at herself as she immediately tripped over her words. She’d been bracing herself for this moment all morning. Clearly, it hadn’t helped. “Um… how’s it going?”
“It’s going just fine,” Clea replied as placed the coffee cup down on Isabella’s desk. “Thank you!”
She was smiling. That was the part that was truly unfair. The bright, warm, gorgeous smile on Clea’s face was like a sunrise. There was simply no way Isabella could have prepared herself for it, or for the way it made her heart pound. Clea was so pretty and so hot. How could a lesbian like Isabella resist her charms?
But that was exactly the problem. She had to. Isabella wasn’t just married. She was also Clea’s boss, and was years her senior. There were a dozen reasons why the attraction Isabella felt was wildly inappropriate. No matter what, Isabella couldn’t let her feelings show. That would be an HR disaster waiting to happen.
“So,” Clea piped up. “Did you get a chance to check out that meditation music video I gave you last night?”
“I did!” Isabella replied eagerly. “I tried it before I left the office last night, and… wow, it was amazing. I was so relaxed, I can barely remember what happened!”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” A strange, creeping grin dawned on Clea’s face. “I’m so pleased.”
“I… actually watched it again after I got home,” Isabella confessed. “A bunch more times. I even gave it another watch this morning before I came in to work. God, it just really hit the spot. Thank you so much for that, Clea.”
“Don’t mention it,” Clea told her. Her smile was brighter than ever. “I’m just glad you’ve been getting a lot of use out of it.”
Her voice was just as strange as her grin. Isabella figured it was natural to feel satisfied about someone liking a gift that you made for them, but Clea’s demeanor hinted at a deep pleasure that went far beyond that. It wasn’t just satisfaction.
It was anticipation.
“Oh, hey, Isabella,” Clea said suddenly. Her eyes were shining. “I wanted to ask. How do I look today?”
“How do you…?” Isabella blinked, and then fell silent as she lost herself in staring at her secretary.
Clea, standing on the far side of Isabella’s desk, was wearing a perfectly normal outfit. She was dressed professionally, as usual, in a simple, white, button-up blouse and a pair of smart, black pants. It was the kind of outfit nobody would ever look twice at in an office setting.
But for Isabella, it was spellbinding.
Time slowed to a halt as her eyes traveled slowly over Clea’s form. All she could think about was how well the outfit suited her. It made her seem so confident, so trustworthy, so professional - a perfect worker, despite her youth. The white of her blouse made her red hair appear all the more vibrant, like rich, autumn leaves against a pale sky. Then Isabella’s thoughts turned in a far more carnal direction and, even though she knew she should try, she couldn’t stop thinking about the toned, feminine, athletic body underneath those clothes. It made her body burn. She couldn’t believe she’d hadn’t thought about Clea this way before.
“Isabella?” Clea prompted.
At that moment, Isabella realized that time hadn’t slowed to a halt at all. She’d just lapsed into silence as she stared at her young secretary for several very long seconds. The older woman’s cheeks turned bright red.
“Y-you look, um, amazing,” she blurted out. “Or, no, I mean, not… you look… normal? Not that you don’t look amazing. It’s just that, um, well, you uh, normally look amazing.”
“Thank you!” Clea gigged, and Isabella thanked her lucky stars that her secretary seemed to find her near-incoherence charming instead of cringe-worthy. “But that’s not really what I meant. Do you think this outfit is appropriate for the workplace?”
Isabella’s brow furrowed. “Well, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’m just not sure.” Clea tapped a finger to the corner of her mouth in a thoughtful gesture. Her eyes, though, were alight with mischief. “It’s going to be warm today. I might feel like I need to do… this.”
Isabella’s mouth went dry as she watched Clea reach down and undo one of the buttons on her blouse. Immediately, the closely-fitting garment sprung open at the collar.
“Oh,” Isabella breathed.
Clea didn’t stop there. She undid another button, and the top of her blouse opened wide enough to expose her cleavage.
That was the end of any semblance of decorum or rational thought for Isabella. Her gaze locked on to the new region of pale, exposed skin and she started breathing hard. Suddenly, she didn’t care about how ridiculous it was to be staring at a younger woman’s chest like this. She didn’t care how inappropriately she was behaving. She just wanted to go on looking. Fuck, it was good to be a lesbian.
When Clea reached up to adjust her hair, her blouse shifted far enough to expose her bra, just for a fraction of a second. It was black and lacy. Isabella thought she was going to pass out.
“What do you think?” Clea asked insistently. She was acting like she hadn’t noticed how hopeless Isabella had become, but her grin suggested she was anything but oblivious. “Too much?”
“I… nnn…” Isabella was so far beyond words. She was even beyond rational thought. But in the face of Clea’s question, she had to try and muster something. “W-well… um… I g-guess…” She winced at the way her voice cracked. “I-I guess it… maybe… could be a l-little much.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. But on some level, she knew she didn’t want all the men in the office to see Clea like this. This view should be just for lesbians.
“Aww.” Clea pouted. It was so adorable, Isabella almost teared up. “That’s a shame. But doesn’t it look good on me? I really want to wear it like this.”
Isabella’s resolve snapped like a twig. “I-I mean, it’s not too much at all!” she blurted out. “It’s p-perfect. Just let me know if HR gives you any trouble about it. I can talk to them.”
She just couldn’t resist Clea.
Clea immediately changed tack again. Her ever-widening grin made it clear how much fun she was having, and Isabella didn’t have it in her to be angry.
“Are you sure?” Isabella’s breath caught in her throat as Clea suddenly bent over her desk at the waist, practically shoving her cleavage into the older woman’s face. “Take a closer look. I really need an informed opinion.”
Isabella simply whimpered. She could feel herself overheating. She wasn’t sure how much of this she could take. She was just such a lesbian, and she was so attracted to Clea. Her mind was blank. She couldn’t tell Clea to back off. She couldn’t look away. She was helpless.
“What do you think?” Clea’s voice dropped, becoming a proud, aroused purr. “Is this appropriate, boss?”
“I… c-can’t… uh… I don’t…” Isabella trailed off. All she could do was drool incoherently.
Clea leaned in even closer. “You know, if you wanted to, you could undo another button,” she whispered.
Isabella’s eyes bulged. She looked up at Clea pleadingly.
“It’s up to you,” Clea told her. Her breathy, sultry voice was like music. “All you need to do is reach out and touch me. I’m giving you permission, Isabella. Whatever you want.”
Isabella’s mind was melting down. She couldn’t think. She just needed. One of her hands lifted itself from her lap, and started reaching out hesitantly towards Clea. She couldn’t help herself. This was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
But, at the last moment, she froze. Something deep inside her began to clunk back into life and reassert itself. What did she want? She wasn’t sure, but the question demanded consideration. Her desires were a swirling, contradictory mess. She wanted Clea, yes. She wanted Clea so much. But she also wanted to remain faithful to her husband, no matter what. Her wedding vows had once meant everything to her. If she touched Clea now, they were broken, and there was no going back.
It was a sobering thought, and as it dragged Isabella back into some semblance of clarity, other doubts reared their ugly heads. She was Clea’s boss. That was another line to consider. Despite how eager she seemed, Isabella didn’t really know what Clea wanted. She would hate to make her secretary uncomfortable, to say nothing of what would happen if Clea went straight to HR. And what if someone saw?
Isabella couldn’t do this. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t. She was nothing more than Clea’s boss, and it needed to stay that way.
But what was she going to do? Isabella couldn’t resist Clea, and she couldn’t bring herself to turn her down to her face. She just needed this situation to stop, so she could get a better handle on whatever was happening with her.
In the end, she chose cowardice.
“I-I need to go to the bathroom,” Isabella announced in an uncharacteristic, strained, high-pitched voice.
She bolted to her feet so fast she almost tipped over her chair and, before Clea could recover from her shock, Isabella fled out of her office.
***
“And that’s how it always goes!”
Clea groaned as she finished her story and slammed her empty drink down on the bar. Sitting next to her, her friend Bruna offered a sympathetic smile.
“You mean… she always needs to go to the bathroom?” Bruna joked. “Maybe your boss should get that checked out.”
“No.” Clea flashed her an annoyed look. “I mean, whenever the mood is just right between us, something happens. No - Isabella makes something happen. She suddenly has a meeting, or needs to take a call, or needs me to go do something. Or she deliberately misunderstands the way I’m flirting with her. I don’t get it. I know what she wants. She knows what she wants. Why won’t she just say ‘yes’?”
Bruna reached across to squeeze her shoulder. Clea sagged, but accepted the sympathy with a grateful nod. She badly needed it. It had been like that with Isabella all week, and getting to blow off some steam at Bruna’s bar was the only consolation the weekend offered.
At least it was a nice place to throw back some drinks and pass the time. After a whole work week of spending time around straight people in an office, getting to come and hang out in a dyke bar was a breath of fresh air for Clea. Plus, the bar itself was getting better and better every time she came. Bruna had started investing in some major renovations. Evidently, the heiress she’d hooked using Clea’s hypnosis technology was paying serious dividends, both figuratively and literally.
“OK, but I don’t understand,” Bruna said. “You made it so she can’t resist you, right? So, why not be a little more forceful? Take the lead. Kiss her. Fuck her. Whatever. You know she’ll be into it.”
“That’s…” Clea sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I could. But that’s just not exactly what I wanted between us. I… I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing her. I want it to be mutual. I want her to show me how much she wants me. You know?”
Bruna pursed her lips and looked at Clea deadpan. “You know that you’re mind-controlling her, right?”
Clea bent over and planted her forehead on the bar. “I know. But I still love her.”
“Girl…” Bruna sighed reproachfully. “OK, let’s look at this differently. What if you could be a lot more forceful, but you could also be sure that was exactly what your boss wanted?”
Clea tilted her head to look up at her friend. “Explain.”
“You’re already in her head, right?” Bruna grinned wickedly. “All you need to do is make her a complete and total submissive.”
Clea pursed her lips. “I don’t know…” she said slowly. “I still want her to be Isabella. To be my Isabella. I’ve seen her at work. She’s anything but submissive.”
“Maybe in the office,” Bruna countered, “but who knows what she’s like at home? It might not be as much of a change as you think. But more importantly, I think that if you don’t do this, you’re never going to get what you want.”
Clea’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Bruna nodded. “You need to think about it from her perspective. She wants you and she can’t resist you, so why won’t she cross that last line? From what you’ve told me, it sounds like she’s hung up on something. Her marriage. Her vows. Her sense of fidelity. Something like that.”
Clea nodded in agreement. Isabella was one of the most faithful and trustworthy people she’d ever met. It was part of what she loved about her.
“That means you’ve got two choices,” Bruna continued. “You could change that part of her personality - but in that case, she really would be a different person.”
“No way,” Clea said firmly. “I won’t do that.”
“Or,” Bruna went on, nodding. “You can give her something she cares about even more: a bond with you. And, speaking from experience, nothing is more powerful than dominance and submission.”
“Huh.” Clea stared down into her empty class. “That… does make a certain amount of sense.”
“Plus.” Bruna leaned in conspiratorially. She spoke low and slowly, letting the rhythm of her words paint a picture. “I’ve heard the way you wax lyrical about her. You can’t tell me you don’t want her between your legs, staring up at you with an adoring, obedient look in her eyes as she does exactly what you want.”
She let out a filthy laugh as Clea’s cheeks turned visibly red even in the dim light of the bar. Eventually, the redheaded nodded.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. But both of them could tell that her mind was already made up.
***
Isabella shuffled nervously from foot to foot as she stood on Clea’s doorstep, waiting for her secretary to open the door. Being here felt wrong. It felt like a sin. She had spent the entire week trying to keep her chemistry with Clea under control. As much as it pained her, she had decided she needed to spend as little time with her secretary as possible. She was Clea’s boss. It was the only decent thing she could do.
And yet here she was, dressed up nicely, waiting outside Clea’s apartment on a Saturday night.
Clea had called her and asked her to come over for dinner. A girls’ night. Isabella had tried to refuse, but Clea had been very, very insistent.
Isabella couldn’t resist Clea.
Being dressed up was even less excusable. Isabella’s vanity had simply gotten the better of her. She couldn’t stand not trying her hardest to look good in front of Clea. She was wearing her finest dress, and her hair and makeup were immaculate. It was desperately embarrassing. She’d left her house looking like she was sneaking out to have an affair. She’d felt like that, too.
Of course, her husband hadn’t even noticed.
“Isabella!” Clea greeted her warmly as she opened the door. “Please, come on in.”
Isabella nodded gratefully, and tried not to blush as she stepped across the threshold. She was immediately flustered - not just because of how amazing Clea looked, but because of the memory of what had happened the last time she was here.
“You have a lovely place here,” she said, figuring it was best to address the awkwardness head-on. “I hope I’ll be able to appreciate it better this time.”
“I hope so too.” Clea laughed. “And I’ll try and make it nicer for you this time. As I told you last week, you’re always welcome. Plus, I thought that having someone cook you dinner might be a nice way to relax and get a break from everything.”
Isabella could only nod again. Clea was so wonderful. Her stomach was full of butterflies. She was trying very hard not to make this into something it wasn’t, but her head was already full of fantasies.
It didn’t get any easier when Clea led her through into her living room, and Isabella saw the scene her secretary had prepared for her.
The room was dim and intimate, lit only by a dozen or so tall candles that had been placed carefully around the space. In the center of the room was a table, set nicely with plates and cutlery. Quiet music was playing through Clea’s speakers, setting an easy, sensual mood. In the middle of the table, there was a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, and the divine scent of wonderful cooking wafted through from the kitchen.
This was, unmistakably, something romantic.
“C-Clea,” Isabella gasped. “This is…”
“It’s not too much, is it?” Clea asked hopefully. “I wanted things to be nice for us.”
Her optimistic smile set Isabella’s heart fluttering. “N-no. It’s perfect. I love it.”
She really did. That was the problem. Thinking about sharing a romantic meal with Clea was making Isabella’s heart beat fast with excitement. She was trying her hardest to keep herself tethered to earth. Maybe Clea didn’t mean anything by this. Maybe she was reading too much into it. That had to be all it was. It had to be.
“Please, make yourself at home,” Clea said, gesturing to her couch, up against one wall. “And let me get you something to drink.”
As Isabella watched, Clea opened the bottle of wine and started to pour it into the glasses. Just watching her was flustering. Isabella found herself focused on Clea’s swift, deft hands as she worked the corkscrew, and her measured precision as she poured. Once she caught herself, she groaned softly. She was hopeless. She needed to get a grip on herself.
But she couldn’t help it. She was a lesbian, and she was so very attracted to Clea.
“I’m afraid I need to finish up in the kitchen.” Clea handed Isabella her glass of red wine. “Our food won’t be ready for a little while longer.”
“Of course.” After taking a sip, Isabella set the glass down on the coffee table and rose to her feet again. “Let me come and help you! It’s the least I can do. I know my way around a kitchen, I promise.”
“Absolutely not,” Clea replied, with surprising firmness. “I won’t hear of it. You’re my guest! And you deserve to relax.”
“Oh, OK.” Isabella was a little disappointed - in part, embarrassingly, because she simply wanted to stay close to Clea.
“And actually,” Clea added, smiling. “I have something else you can do while you’re waiting.”
“Sure.” Isabella was surprised, but not displeased. “I’m happy to help.”
“Not help,” Clea clarified. “It’s more of a gift, actually.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone, along with a pair of earbuds. “I’ve made you another music video.”
Isabella’s eyes widened slightly. She was grateful, of course. If this one was anything like as relaxing as the first, she was going to get a great deal of use out of it. But did Clea really expect her to listen to it here? Right now? Meditation seemed like such a private activity. Doing it around another person, especially the secretary she had an unbearable crush on, seemed awkward. Not just awkward. Vulnerable. Way too vulnerable.
“Wow, thank you!” Isabella replied, hoping to defuse the issue. “That’s amazing, I’ve been listening to the first one a lot. I’ll check this one out as soon as I get home.”
“No, no,” Clea said, in that same, firm voice that sent shivers down Isabella’s spine. “Not later. It’s for right now, while I finish cooking dinner.”
Isabella glanced down at the phone uncertainly. She could see that a video was already loaded up and ready to play. For some reason, it made her nervous. So did the way Clea was behaving. She didn’t know how to deal with her when she was so insistent. Something about it turned her legs to jelly.
“I… I…” Isabella struggled. “I’m… not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Clea demanded.
Isabella felt beads of sweat on her forehead. She couldn’t put into words what she truly felt - that for some reason, watching Clea’s music video right now would be a very, very bad idea. “Um… w-well, I think… it might not work. I-I’m not sure I’ll be able to relax properly.”
“Don’t worry,” Clea told her, with a certain smugness. “It’ll work.”
“R-right. Great.” Isabella could feel herself crumbling. She couldn’t resist. “But… um… but…”
She tried to step away, over to the window, hoping for a little room to think. Clea was merciless. She just kept moving with her, standing even closer than before. When Isabella stumbled backward, Clea advanced on her again, and before she knew what was happening, Isabella was trapped against the wall with Clea right up against her, so close their bodies were practically touching.
“I promise,” Clea said breathily. “This one’s even better than the first. You’ll love it.”
For some reason, that was part of what Isabella was so anxious about.
“G-g-good.” With Clea this close to her, Isabella couldn’t think. “Amazing, a-actually.”
Clea just nodded. She was grinning, too. Grinning the same grin Isabella had seen on her so often this past week.
“So,” Clea said, “you should watch it. Right now. Here.”
Before Isabella could say anything more, Clea reached up and started nestling the earbuds into Isabella’s ears. Being touched by her, even like that, made Isabella’s body burn with a shocking, shameful heat.
She knew she should stop this. She knew she should push Clea away. This wasn’t normal. Why couldn’t she stand up for herself? Why couldn’t she so much as refuse Clea properly? Instead, all she could think about was how to make Clea happy. She found herself yearning for the pleased smile she would see on her secretary’s face when she finally, inevitably gave in.
Isabella couldn’t resist Clea.
And so she didn’t resist when Clea held up her phone for Isabella to look at, and pressed ‘play’ on the music video.
The screen came to life, and within an instant it was spinning and unfolding with all the patterns and colors Isabella had already become so intimately familiar with. Her ears filled with low, humming, binaural tones that flowed into a soporific melody. Already, Isabella could feel her vision narrowing until the little screen of Clea’s phone became her whole world. The spinning, kaleidoscopic colors felt like they were bleeding over its edges, surrounding her, lapping at her like waves on a shore.
She was hypnotized. And it took just seconds. It didn’t matter that she was standing up. She just froze in place like a wax statue, moving only to breathe.
At first, she made a concerted effort to remain alert and clear-headed. She tried to tell herself that here, around Clea, she needed to stay awake. Anything else was too mortifyingly inappropriate to even consider. But even that single, simple goal, fixed firmly in her mind, didn’t protect Isabella. She was simply too vulnerable now. After a long week of constantly using the first music video, she had already conditioned her mind to succumb effortlessly to Clea’s techniques. Try as she might, she couldn’t help falling into a deep, deep trance.
And soon, even that little, hopeful rebellion was a forgotten dream. By the time Clea’s video started broadcasting fresh, new mantras into Isabella’s brain, she was too deeply entranced to do anything but unconditionally accept them into her psyche.
You are a lesbian, Isabella.
That was easy. It prompted no resistance or cognitive dissonance. Isabella had already accepted and internalized that completely. She was a lesbian. She always had been. But almost immediately, the mantra changed.
You are a submissive lesbian.
Isabella twitched a little. It was a deceptively large change. She was a lesbian, yes, but a submissive lesbian? What did that mean? Isabella had never once considered herself to be a submissive anything.
And yet she was. She was a submissive lesbian. She knew that now. It was beyond question.
And so, her mind started to search for rationalizations. What about the way Clea had been bossing her around just now? Why hadn’t Isabella put her foot down about it? Why had she just tripped over her words, and ended up meekly obeying?
Was it because, deep down, she’d been enjoying it?
Isabella’s first response to that notion was to reject it outright. But it had its hooks in her, and as time passed, she found herself dwelling on it more and more.
Didn’t it make sense? She wasn’t just a submissive, she was a submissive lesbian. And Clea was the person she had a huge crush on. It stood to reason that Clea would be the person she wanted to obey. It was the clearest way to make sense of what she’d just learned about herself. Sure, it was strange that she’d been so oblivious to it until just now, but given how long it had taken her to realize she was a lesbian, it wasn’t exactly unprecedented.
Isabella was starting to accept it. She was a submissive lesbian.
Obeying Clea makes you feel good.
This mantra made Isabella stir too, but not out of shock. It fit perfectly alongside what she’d already accepted, after all. Instead, what made her stir was the memory of what had just happened, when Clea had pushed her against the wall and made her watch the music video.
That experience was suddenly cast in a new light. It wasn’t shocking or confusing. It was hot. Really, really hot.
Isabella squeezed her legs together half-consciously as sudden arousal washed over her. A delayed response, she figured. She couldn’t believe how good it had felt to do what she was told.
She was a submissive lesbian, and obeying Clea made her feel good.
Clea knows what’s best for you.
This, too, deepened the new, submissive part of herself Isabella had just discovered. Clea knew what was best for her, and so it was only natural to be submissive towards her. Clea knew what was best for her, and so it was only natural that obeying her felt good. Strangely, nothing about that was surprising. Isabella could think of countless times when Clea, as her secretary, had anticipated her requests or made perfect suggestions. Yes, clearly Clea knew best.
As a submissive lesbian, Isabella was so grateful her crush knew what was best for her.
It was a little embarrassing that a woman so much younger than her knew what was best for her. But not unpleasantly so. Instead, for a submissive lesbian like Isabella, that was another exciting dimension of the fantasy.
You crave sexual contact with Clea.
Even though she was deeply hypnotized, Isabella’s lips parted slightly and she let out a low, needy moan. She’d already known that. She was a lesbian, after all, and she was incredibly attracted to Clea. But her awareness of her own desire redoubled. She couldn’t believe how worked up she was. Isabella’s libido had never flared like this before - certainly not with her husband.
She wanted Clea to touch her. Just thinking about little things, like Clea’s hand on her arm, right now, was dizzying. But that was the least of her desires. She wanted to Clea to kiss her. She wanted Clea to undress her. She was a submissive lesbian. She wanted Clea to dominate her. To mark her body. To grab her, to push her around.
Isabella was so wet.
And then the last mantra came.
You are in love with Clea.
That hit Isabella like a thunderbolt. But how could she deny it? She was a lesbian. She was attracted to Clea. She loved obeying Clea. Clea knew what was best for her, and she constantly craved Clea’s touch.
What was all that, if not some kind of love?
“I’ll let that sink in while I finish cooking,” Clea said out loud, knowing Isabella couldn’t really hear her.
With a smile on her face, she reached for Isabella’s hand and lifted it, pressing the phone into her hand and holding it up close to her face like she was posing a mannequin. She knew Isabella wouldn’t move. She had no will of her own right now. She was merely an empty vessel, in which new desires were taking form.
Clea left Isabella to keep hypnotizing herself, and went into the kitchen to finish their romantic meal.
***
Before Isabella knew quite what was happening, she found herself sitting at Clea’s dining table as her secretary was serving up their home-cooked meal. It didn’t occur to her to ask why she’d slipped into such a daze, or what had happened in the intervening time. She soon had much, much more pressing issues occupying her mind.
The meal was delicious. Clea was obviously a talented cook - as if Isabella needed another reason to be head-over-heels for her. But throughout the meal, Isabella was beset by strange urges that were proving more and more difficult to suppress. Whenever Clea’s wine glass was empty, Isabella immediately poured her another. She kept a close eye on Clea and made sure her every need was met at once. Salt and pepper? A fresh napkin? Some water? Isabella was eager to provide. Once they were done eating, she cleared the table herself, and instinctively started washing and tidying away everything that had been used.
She couldn’t help it. Isabella was a submissive lesbian, and it felt so very good to serve.
Isabella wanted to hold back. She knew the way she was behaving wasn’t normal. She was going too far for a guest. But the allure of obedient service was too strong, and she had never felt better than when she was scurrying about, carrying, and cleaning for her secretary. Every little act of service sent a fresh shock of pleasure through her body, one that was wickedly sinful and shameful.
Indulging her fetish like this around Clea was so wrong. But the way Clea looked at her, smirking over her glass, eyes shining with delight, made her feel like Clea knew and approved of what was going on. That was its own kind of titillation.
And all night, Isabella had been struggling not to call her ‘mistress’.
Eventually, once everything was cleaned and tidied away, Clea, relaxing on her couch, summoned Isabella to her side. Isabella walked over to her, looking down demurely, arms folded neatly in front of her, with a certain excitement filling her belly.
“Thank you for taking care of everything,” Clea said kindly.
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. “Of c-course.” She bowed her head. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Sit.”
Clea said that with an amused smile. She was stretched out, leaving no space next to her on the couch, and perhaps that was why she gestured to the floor in front of her. That had to be why, Isabella told herself as her heart started to pound. Nothing more.
Nonetheless, she obediently sank to her knees on the ground in front of Clea.
“Thank you for taking care of everything,” Clea said. “Good girl.”
Isabella’s eyes flew wide. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. The praise hit her like a physical force and she whimpered as her head was utterly, hopelessly scrambled of all clear thought. Hearing that was the greatest possible pleasure. The ultimate validation.
“T-t-thank you,” she managed eventually. Now it was even more of a struggle not to add ‘mistress’.
Clea smiled down at her knowingly. “Have you enjoyed yourself tonight, Isabella?”
“Yes,” Isabella replied immediately. There was absolutely no doubt about that. If anything, she’d enjoyed herself a little too much.
“But,” Clea pressed, “you’re not completely satisfied. Are you?”
Isabella’s heart skipped a beat. She knew. Clea knew. That was horrifying, but Isabella couldn’t bring herself to hide anything. “No.”
“In that case,” Clea told her, “I want you to tell me what it is that you want, right now. Tell me, completely truthfully, what you need to be satisfied.”
It was a command, and so Isabella had to obey. She needed to obey Clea. It felt so good. Her submissive nature overrode even her embarrassment. The only difficulty was in figuring out what to say. There were so many things she was craving. So many things she longed for. How was she to pick?
But when she looked up at Clea - at the woman she loved - her gaze settled on Clea’s lips, and an answer came.
“I want you to kiss me,” Isabella confessed, blushing.
Clea licked her lips. “That’s a very good answer.”
Isabella couldn’t believe her luck as Clea bent down towards her, lips prepared for a kiss. As their bodies touched, the need that had been mounting in her body all evening finally overflowed. She melted into the kiss and let Clea claim her, and as she did, she came.
“Fuck,” Clea panted when she pulled back. “I can’t believe how long I’ve waited for this.”
“Me too,” Isabella moaned, shivering from her orgasm. The pleasure was overwhelming.
Clea reached down and wrapped her hand around the back of Isabella’s neck. “But now you’re mine.”
Isabella just nodded. There was no question of it. She was Clea’s. She loved being Clea’s.
She didn’t care that she was betraying her husband. She didn’t care that she was having an affair. This was more important.
Clea pulled her in, and the two of them started kissing again. They didn’t stop until the sun rose.
---
I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:
Oh this reminds me of a story from my youth, which I don’t Actually Remember Happening, but it has been recounted to me.
Basically when me and my bro were little, once, my mom had been making us supper. and she left the room for a minute for something, and when she came back, my brother was standing on a chair, and I was passing him green beans, which he was setting on the blades of the ceiling fan.
Now, when my mother saw this, she did what any respectable parent would do, and told us to sit our butts down and wait til our dad gets home.
Not much later, dad got home from work, ready to sit down to supper.
And mom sighs and goes, “honey, it’s hot in here, would you turn the fan on?”
The human body is actually a marvel. It is just that our bodies are meant to move (not exercise, just lots of different movements throughout the day).
Here is a video of the Hadzabe, one of the last hunter-gatherer tribes alive (when I was studying biomechanics I used to watch hours of these videos). They sprint, squat, walk, well into their 70s without any pain.
I know we can't change our professions, so if you are dealing with neck pain, carpel tunnel syndrome etc, please try to maximise your recovery by eating and sleeping well, and if you can, try visit a physiotherapist or check out physio-pedia.com
My best general health advice is: get barefoot shoes, and walk on uneven terrain once or twice per week. Without getting too much into detail: the feet have evolved over millions of years to adapt to the terrain we walk on to provide stability. There are many bones in the feet allowing them to become many different shapes. These shapes affect the kinetic chain above the feet (ankle, lower/upper leg, hips, lower/mid/upper back, neck). All these structures try to organize themself to keep you in balance and move you forward, a beautiful interplay between your body and gravity. Due to the uneven terrain, your body will take on many different shapes which keeps your body healthy. With narrow shoes you will limit some crucial movements/shapes your feet should be able to make, so something else will have to compensate to make up for that movement option your feet are lacking. Often times, you will get lower back pain. I used to get it all the time when walking in Timberlands or Nike court shoes. Anyway, barefoot shoes are not the most trendy, far from it, but they are bringing out better and better designs each year. Remember, start with once or twice per week 30 minutes, uneven terrain (start soft, grass, forest, meadow), relax your entire your body, feel your weight transition fully on your feet as you walk, let your arms swing naturally, let gravity help you.
y’all didn’t even add a tutorial of how to do this so imma put one right here
1. type in cmd.exe into your windows search and right click on Command Promt search result and select “Run as Administator”.
2. Type/Copypase in net.exe stop “Windows Search” and make sure Windows Search is in quotations. It should then respond saying “The Windows Search service is stopping” and then tell you it’s stopped.
This is only a temp fix though, if you want it switched off permanently then do THIS:
1. Press the Windows key + R at the same time and type in services.msc.
2. Scroll until you find Windows Search and double click it to enter its Properties window.
3. Change the Startup type to Disabled. Apply this change and you can exit out.
VOILA, NO MORE TAKEN UP DISK SPACE
Righteous Torrence “Chevy” Hill, A black trans man, was murdered on February 29, 2024 in Atlanta. I’ve seen very few people reporting on this, other than a few small local news sites and queer news sites, please don’t let his murder be overlooked.
Customer: THIS IS A GIFT FOR MY WIFE! IT WAS HER IDEA. THE REASON BEHIND THIS PLATE IS WE HAVE TWO SONS CORDER AND DEACON!
DMV: BOY BREEDER
Verdict: DENIED
gamechangershow
gracieabrams
stormborns
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
vaporwave
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
origamiaround
pixelskylines
