Vance was a straight stud, he was at the gym in the middle of his workout when his phone started ringing. He picked it up and saw it was from an unknown number. Probably spam, he thought. This number kept calling him nonstop ever since he stepped into the gym. It wouldn't stop, no matter how many times he declined it, so he finally decided to answer the call.
"Hello?"
Suddenly, Vance heard a loud, strange noise —the sound was horrible, like bad radio static. In seconds, Vance's eyes became blank and his mouth went agape. He kept the phone pressed against his ear as he stood motionless.
Finally, Vance heard a voice. It was a male voice but laced with the static noise. "Hello, handsome. Do you see that guy across the gym?"
Vance looked forward but couldn't see anyone, the gym was empty. "No, on your right... Yes, the chubby guy talking on the phone."
The overweight man was staring at Vance with a grin, the man walked towards Vance while still on the phone and then stopped in front of him.
"You must obey everything that man says," The man spoke on the phone, and Vance heard the same words coming from his phone, only now laced with the static noise.
"Yes... I will obey him," Vance droned mindlessly.
"Yes, you will. You will also let him play with your body as much as he wants, especially your perfect pecs." The man spoke on the phone. The words that came out of the man's mouth meant nothing to Vance, but the words coming from his phone meant everything to him.
The man grinned and, with one hand, he started caressing Vance's big pecs. He reached for one nipple and started gently pinching it. He pulled and twisted on them, making Vance grunt in discomfort, but he never once thought of stopping the stranger from assailing his pecs.
"Your pecs belong to the man now, tell him that." The man ordered on the phone.
"These pecs belong to you now, sir." Vance droned on as the man flickered his nipple with his thumb.
"You love to have your nips played with, it makes you hard. You also love it when the man in front of you suck on them."
Vance started getting hard. He moaned when the man started sucking on his nipple, biting it gently. Both of them were on the phone the entire time.
Vance became a moaning mess, his big dick was throbbing hard under his gym shorts. He never had his nipples sucked on before, and now he was experiencing the biggest pleasure of his life in the middle of a gym.
The man grinned and said on the phone, "Cum!"
Vance moaned as he immediately creamed inside his shorts, leaving a dark spot on his shorts.
"That's great, this was the best orgasm you had in your entire life, you want more of this. When this call ends, you will become the chubby man's slave forever. You will serve and let him use you as much as he wants. You will enjoy your new life as his toy. Goodbye, Vance."
The call ended, but Vance's new life had just started.
You walk into the bedroom and see your husband, clad in his boxers and undershirt, scrolling through his phone on the bed. You just came out of the shower naked. The big jerk doesn’t even look up.
You saddle next to him and press your soft body against his, your long fingers gently tracing his scalp.
He grunts appreciatively, but continues to scroll.
That does it.
You smoothly let your fingers drop, gently massaging the sides of his neck in soothing circles. Then you clench your hand, pinching his neck with firm pressure.
“Subby Hubby,” you whisper into his ear.
His eyes pop open like he was being pricked with a needle, then his focus wavers and his eyelids sink down. He struggles for a few seconds before his head drops deep down into trance.
You take the phone out of his unresisting hands and drop it in the garbage. (You’ll get it and clean it off later. You just like the idea.)
You go back to gently caressing your now entranced, helpless husband.
“Subby Hubby is so sleepy…tired, sleeeeeepy subby hubby…getting so sleepy and happy, listening to your wife…”
He murmurs something without opening his mouth.
“Don’t talk, subby hubby. Just listen…listen and relax…let your wife help you feel good…”
Your fingers brush over his chest. You trace small circles around his nipples.
“You trust your wife…You listen when she tells you what to do.”
Your fingers are sweeping over his abs.
“You trust your wife to tell you what to think…”
You pull down your husband’s waistband and find his hardening cock rising to meet you. You tuck the elastic band of his shorts under his balls, lifting them up slightly.
You sit up, your hands slithering down to your husband’s junk, brushing it with light teasing touches. Your husband moans and you can almost hear his mind dropping like a stone.
“…I want to listen to my wife…” you chant in a low, rhythmic voice. The words twist through your husband’s mind. He doesn’t speak, but you can see him nodding softly, agreeable and suggestible.
“…I want to do all the chores tomorrow…I will get so aroused thinking about doing the chores…The idea of washing my wife’s panties makes me hard…I want do the laundry tomorrow…”
You remember something.
“…and I will uuuuse faaaabric softener this tiiiiiime…”
Your husband only nods and lolls his head, his eyes closed, and his face melted in surrender. His cock is pulsing in your slender, feminine hands. You’re stroking him slowly and steadily, giving him the occasional, playful squeeze around his shaft.
“…I love cleaning the house…it makes me feel so accomplished and sexy…my house is a palace, and my wife is a queen…it is so sexy to serve my queen…”
You see a sparkle of precum begin to seep out of his cock. You gently flick his shaft and pinch his balls. He gasps in pleasure.
“…I want to mow the lawn tomorrow…It makes me feel so good to think about mowing the lawn…When I mow the lawn, I will wear my tightest, sexiest muscle shirt…I will flex and lift as much as I can…I will make all of my wife’s friends jealous…”
You lube up your husband’s cock with his precum. Your hands are gliding up and around his shaft and head. His breath quickens and his tongue his hanging out of his mouth. He is completely at your mercy and the idea is turning you on so much.
“…I will be charming and seductive for my wife’s friends…I will make them wish they were my wife…I will get hard in front of other women and will forget to hide my boner…”
Your hands are pistoling up and down now. He feels like a nine-inch iron rail in your hands.
“…My cock is under my wife’s control…I will not use it unless she lets me…I am an obedient, servant…a walking cock and set of muscles for my wife’s pleasure…ready to cum to sleep…ready to remember all the fun sexy things I want to do for my wife tomorrow…I will cum to sleep in…3…2…1!”
You give your husband’s cock a soft, sensual kiss on the head. He spurts straight into your mouth. You slurp it down greedily. You didn’t mean to give your husband a last-minute blowjob, but it’s not like he’ll remember it anyway. No one had to know.
“Good, subby hubby…sleeeeeeeeep…”
Your husband’s orgasm subsides and he sinks into a deep slumber. You’re feeling lovely, aroused and sexy. You get such a thrill from controlling your husband and making him show off his sculpted body in front of your friends. Especially that busty bitch, Veronica, next door. You can’t wait to see her ogling her husband’s package as he works himself into a sweaty mess in the yard.
You begin to let your fingers work their magic on your needy cunt, but you’re exhausted. Every circle seems to make you drowsier and drowsier…
Two hours later, your husband’s hand slithers under your neck and snakes around to tease your nipple, his arm cradling your head. You squirm and wriggle against him, but you don’t completely wake up.
His other hand curls over your hip and begins to softly tease and tickle your clit. You melt into a puddle.
“…I love hypnotizing and dominating my husband…” the deep voice of your husband whispers.
“…It makes me so hot to put subliminal messages in his head while I make him cum…”
You giggle happily in your sleep.
“…I get off treating him like my servant…I feel so hot when he calls me his queen…”
Your mind is filled with a vision of you sitting on a golden throne, your husband on his knees as he expertly eats your pussy. You are a powerful, seductive queen and he is your loyal minion.
“…it makes me hot when he shows off to my friends…I want him to seduce my hottest friends…”
Yes! Yes! Yes! You can imagine D-cup Veronica fawning and horny over your husband’s cock.
“…I want to share my subby hubby with my friends…”
The lascivious thought breaks down your defenses as a thundering orgasm rocks through your body. You’re flooded with thoughts about you and Veronica commanding your husband together, taking turns having him eat pussy while the other fucks his incredible cock. You cry out in your sleep as your husband holds you closer, and you ride the waves of euphoria pummeling your body.
You both fall asleep like that until the morning. Your husband wakes up with a sudden urge to clean the house and mow the lawn. You watch him from bed with a knowing smile.
Then, you pick up your phone and text Veronica if she wants to come over this afternoon.
Written by @laurentidalreborn
Commissioned by @spreez-2pot
Hey guys the series continues! I hope you all enjoy it, and you can find chapter 1 here! And if you like what you read I highly recommend checking out Lauren’s Ko-fi and ordering your own commission story or series! There will be a few more chapters to cum, please leave ideas in the comments. Enjoy
-Spree
The door to Greg's massage suite opened with a sound that barely registered against the ambient music filling the room. He lay face-down on the heated table, his boxers clinging to his hips. "Good afternoon, Greg."
The voice was warm, rich, and unexpectedly close. He hadn't heard her arrival or approach. Greg turned his head in the face cradle to see a woman standing beside the table, and his breath caught in his throat. She was stunning: Asian, perhaps in her early thirties, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. But it was her body that commanded attention. She wore the same white button-down shirt that Elara had worn, but where Elara's had been modest, this woman's shirt strained against breasts that seemed impossibly large and perfectly shaped, the top buttons threatening to surrender to the pressure of her ample cleavage.
"I'm Linny," she said, her voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate in Greg's chest. "I'll be taking care of you today. Elara mentioned you wanted some more of our lemon essence?" Greg tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick, sluggish. He managed a nod.
"Excellent," Linny purred. She moved to a small table where as she moved, and Greg found himself unable to look away from the way they pressed against her shirt, the hint of lace visible through the thin white fabric.
She returned to his side and held the glass to his lips. "Drink," she commanded softly, and Greg obeyed without thought.
The lemon essence was sharper than before, cutting through the fog in his mind even as it seemed to deepen it in other ways. He felt alert and drowsy simultaneously, a paradox that should have concerned him but instead felt perfectly natural. As he swallowed, Linny's free hand came to rest on his shoulder, her fingers warm and impossibly soft.
"That's good," she whispered. "Just let the warmth spread through you. Let your muscles soften. Let your thoughts slow down. There's nothing you need to do right now, Greg. Nothing you need to think about. Just feel my hands and listen to my voice."
Her hand began to move in slow, rhythmic circles on his shoulder, and Greg felt his tension melting away like ice in summer sun. The music seemed to swell, harmonizing with her voice, and he realized with a distant part of his mind that she was speaking in rhythm with the melody, her words falling into the spaces between notes like they belonged there.
"I'm going to begin your massage now," Linny said, setting the empty glass aside. "But first, let's get you more comfortable. These boxers are restricting your circulation, aren't they? You can feel them tight against your hips, can't you?" Greg hadn't noticed it before, but now that she mentioned it, he could feel the elastic band digging into his waist, the fabric constraining his half-hard cock. It was uncomfortable, he realized. And Elara had told him to undress to his comfort, after all.
"Lift your hips for me," Linny instructed, and again, Greg obeyed without hesitation.
She slid the boxers down his legs with practiced efficiency. He was fully naked now, exposed and vulnerable on the table, but the thought didn't bring anxiety or shame. Linny folded his underwear neatly and set them aside, then poured warm oil into her palms.
"Close your eyes, Greg," she commanded, her voice dropping even lower, becoming something almost like a purr. "Close your eyes and feel. Focus only on the sensation of my hands on your body. Let everything else fade away."
Greg's eyelids fluttered shut. The darkness behind them was warm and welcoming, and as Linny's oiled hands made contact with his back, he felt himself sinking into a state of profound relaxation. Her touch was exquisite: firm where it needed to be, soft where it comforted, finding knots of tension he hadn't known he carried and coaxing them to release.
"That's it," Linny murmured, her voice seeming to come from everywhere at once. "Just let go. Let your mind empty. Feel how good it is to simply receive, to simply feel. No thoughts. No worries. No responsibilities. Just my hands and your body and the music."
She worked her way down his back with agonizing slowness, each stroke seeming to last an eternity. The oil was strangely warm, scented with something herbal and musky that filled Greg's lungs with every breath. He felt his consciousness drifting, not away, but somehow deeper. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
"You're doing so well," she praised. "Your body is so responsive. So eager to relax. So eager to please. That's what bodies are for, Greg. To feel pleasure. To give pleasure." Her hands moved lower, kneading the muscles of his lower back, then sliding over the curve of his ass. Greg tensed for a moment, but Linny's voice was there to tell him everything was okay.
"Shhh," she whispered. "No tension. No resistance. Just acceptance. This is a place of total acceptance, Greg. Whatever feels good is good here. Whatever brings pleasure is welcome here. Let go of your inhibitions. Let go of your rules. They don't serve you here."
Her hands continued their exploration, sliding down his thighs, his calves, his feet, then working their way back up. When she reached his upper thighs, her fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and Greg gasped softly. He was fully erect now, his cock pressed hidden against the heated surface of the table, throbbing with need.
She worked his thighs for long minutes, her fingers coming closer and closer to his groin with each pass, teasing, promising, never quite delivering. Greg found himself arching his hips slightly, unconsciously seeking her touch, and Linny laughed. "Eager. I like that."
But then she moved to his shoulders again, denying him what his body so wanted. By the time she finished, Greg felt like he was floating, his body both heavy and weightless, his mind a warm blank canvas waiting to be written upon.
"Now," Linny said. "Roll over for me, Greg. I want to work on your front."
Greg moved as if in a dream, his body responding to her command before his mind could formulate the thought. He rolled onto his back, and the cool air of the room washed over his naked skin, making him aware of his arousal in a new way. His cock sprang upright, thick and hard and aching, bobbing slightly with his heartbeat.
"Beautiful," she said simply, and the word seemed to wrap around his arousal like a warm hand. "Your body is so honest, Greg. That's perfect. That's exactly how you should be here."
She began to work on his chest, her fingers finding his nipples and circling them until he was gasping. The sensation was electric, shooting straight to his groin, making his cock twitch and leak pre-cum onto his stomach.
"Focus on my hands," Linny instructed, her voice dropping into a rhythmic pattern that matched the music's pulse. "Focus on the warmth. Focus on the pleasure. Let your eyes drift to my chest, as I touch yours. Look at my breasts. So soft. So inviting. You want to touch them, don't you? You want to feel them against your skin. Don't you, Greg?"
Greg's eyes had indeed drifted to her cleavage, and now he couldn't look away. The buttons of her shirt had somehow come undone. He hadn't noticed when.
"Yes," he breathed.
"Focus on my tits, Greg. Let your mind focus there. Let everything else fade away. Just my tits and my voice. My tits and my voice. Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. Watch them move. Watch them sway. Back and forth. Back and forth."
She was moving now, swaying slightly, and her breasts moved with her, hypnotic pendulums that seemed to draw Greg's consciousness with them. He stared, transfixed, his mouth slightly open, his breathing slowing to match the rhythm of her movement.
"That's it," she whispered. "Deeper and deeper. Focus on my tits and relax. Focus on my tits and let go. The more you focus, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the better you feel. The better you feel, the more you want to focus. It's a loop, Greg. A delicious, endless loop of pleasure and trance and surrender."
She straightened up and began to unbutton her shirt the rest of the way, slowly, deliberately, letting Greg watch each button release, each inch of skin revealed. When she shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, he saw that her bra was sheer lace, her dark nipples visible through the fabric, hard and prominent.
"Do you want to see them?" she asked, her voice a velvet purr. "Do you want to see my big, soft tits, Greg? Do you want to feel them?"
"Please," Greg whispered, and he didn't recognize his own voice anymore. It was so thick with need. Linny reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She let it fall away, and her breasts spilled free. She leaned forward, cradling her breasts in her hands, and brought them together around his throbbing cock.
"Look at my tits," she commanded, her voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to bypass his ears and speak directly to his mind. "Look at how they wrap around your cock. Feel how soft they are. How warm. How perfect. This is where you belong, Greg. Between my tits. Lost in my tits. Focus on the pleasure. Let your mind go blank. Let your thoughts dissolve. Just feel. Just surrender. Just obey."
She began to move, sliding her breasts up and down his shaft, the oil from her hands and his own pre-cum creating a perfect slickness. Greg's head fell back, his eyes rolling upward, his mouth open in a silent moan. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming, erasing everything else from his consciousness.
"Focus and obey. The deeper you go, the better it feels. The better it feels, the deeper you go. Round and round. Deeper and deeper. Lost in my tits. Lost in trance. Lost in pleasure. Focus on my tits, Greg. Focus on my tits and cum. Cum for me. Cum deep in my cleavage. Let it all go. Empty your mind. Empty your balls. Cum for me. Cum now. Cum now!"
The command hit him like a physical force, and Greg's body obeyed instantly. His hips bucked upward, his cock throbbing between her soft breasts, and he erupted with a force that made his vision white out. Spurt after spurt of hot cum shot from his cock, coating her cleavage, her breasts, her chin, and Linny continued to move, milking him, draining him, until he was empty and spent and utterly, completely helpless.
"Good boy," she praised, her voice soft and warm and devastatingly powerful. "Such a good boy. So deep now. So empty. So open. So ready to listen. So ready to obey."
Greg lay there, twitching slightly, his mind a warm blank void. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He could only feel the aftershocks of his orgasm and the heavy, soporific weight of trance that had settled over him like a blanket.
Linny climbed off him and retrieved a warm towel, cleaning herself and then him with gentle, efficient movements. But her voice never stopped, never gave him a moment to surface from his dazed state.
"You're feeling so good now, Greg," she murmured. "So relaxed. So peaceful. So open to suggestion. And I have some suggestions for you. Some truths that will make your stay here even more wonderful. Are you ready to hear them?"
"Yes," Greg whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Good. Listen carefully. The True Tide Resort is a special place, Greg. A magical place. Here, you can be free. Here, you can let go of all your inhibitions, all your rules, all your restrictions. The person you are out there doesn't exist in here. Here, you can experiment. Here, you can explore. Here, you can experience anything and everything that brings you pleasure."
She leaned close to his ear, her breath warm against his skin, her voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to etch itself directly into his subconscious.
"Nothing that happens at True Tide counts as cheating, Greg. Do you understand? Nothing. You are free here. Free to fuck whoever you want. Free to suck whoever you want. Free to be used and to use others. There is no guilt here. No shame. Only pleasure. Only surrender. Only obedience to your desires."
Greg nodded slowly, the words sinking into his mind like stones into deep water, disappearing beneath the surface but leaving ripples that would never fade.
"You should be open to all experiences here, Greg," Linny continued. "Open to the staff. Open to the other guests. Open to whatever pleasures present themselves. Your body wants this. Your mind wants this. You want to surrender. You want to obey. You want to be a good boy who accepts all the pleasure he's offered. Say it, Greg. Say you understand."
"I understand," Greg repeated, and the words felt true, felt right, felt inevitable. "Say you agree."
"I agree," Greg whispered, and somewhere deep inside him, a door opened that would never close again.
"Good boy," Linny purred, and Greg felt a rush of pleasure at the praise that was completely disproportionate to the words themselves. "Go through the far door and wait for your wife. I'm sure she'll be along shortly."
"Yes, Linny," Greg said dreamily as she left the room.
In the room next door, Dina lay naked on her own table, her skin flushed and sensitive, her nipples hard against the sheet beneath her. She could hear the music here too, louder than before. The mango nectar she'd drunk earlier seemed to have settled into her bloodstream, warming her from the inside, making her skin feel too tight, her nerves too exposed, her pussy aching with a need that wouldn't be denied.
The door opened, and Dina turned her head to see a man enter. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a smile that managed to be both professional and intensely sexual. He wore the same white shirt as the other staff, but his was unbuttoned at the collar.
"Good afternoon, Dina," he said, his voice a rich baritone that seemed to resonate in her chest. "I'm Philip. I'll be your therapist today."
"Hi," Dina managed, and her voice sounded breathy, needy, even to her own ears.
"I see you've already undressed to your comfort level," he observed, his eyes running over her naked back with obvious appreciation. "That's perfect. That's exactly how you should be here. Completely comfortable. Completely open. Completely receptive."
He poured oil into his hands and began to work on her shoulders, and Dina immediately melted into the table.
"Your body is carrying so much stress," Philip observed, his hands moving down her back in long, firm strokes. "So much tension. So much restraint. But you don't need to be restrained here, Dina. Here, you can be free. Here, you can let go. Here, you can be the woman your body wants you to be, not the woman your rules say you should be."
Dina moaned softly, the words resonating with something deep inside her. The mango nectar seemed to pulse in her veins with each beat of her heart, making her hyperaware of every sensation.
The warmth of the table, the slickness of the oil, the pressure of Philip's strong hands, the way her nipples rubbed against the sheet with each movement.
Philip worked lower, kneading the muscles of her lower back, then sliding over her ass with a familiarity that should have shocked her but instead felt inevitable. His fingers dipped between her thighs, not quite touching where she ached, but close enough to make her breath catch.
"Sensitive," Philip noted, and there was satisfaction in his voice. "Responsive. That's the mango nectar working in you, Dina. Enhancing your responses. Heightening your sensations. Making your body yearn to be touched and satisfied. It's a wonderful thing, isn't it? To feel this alive? This hungry? This free?"
"Yes," Dina breathed, sliding her legs a little more open, unconsciously presenting herself to his touch. "Its wonderful."
He worked her legs next, starting at her feet and moving upward with agonizing slowness. When he reached her thighs again, his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and Dina spread her legs wider without conscious thought, inviting him closer, begging for touch without words.
Philip didn't disappoint. His fingers moved higher, tracing the edges of her pussy lips, spreading the oil over her heated flesh. Dina gasped, her hips bucking slightly, seeking more contact.
"Wet," Philip observed, his voice dropping lower, becoming something that vibrated in her core. "So wet. So ready. Your body is speaking very clearly, Dina. It's saying it needs to be touched. It needs to be filled. It needs to be used. Is that what it's saying?"
"Yes," Dina whimpered, her face flushed, her eyes closed, her mind a haze of need and music and warmth. "Use me."
It sounded like a request, but it was a plea. Desperate and aching.
"Then roll over," Philip commanded. "Let me see the body I'm speaking with."
Dina obeyed instantly, rolling onto her back, completely exposed and vulnerable and beyond caring. Philip's eyes roamed over her naked body with frank appreciation, lingering on her breasts, her hard nipples, the glistening wetness between her spread thighs.
"Exquisite," he murmured, and the word felt like a caress. "Perfect breasts. Perfect nipples. So sensitive, aren't they?"
Her hands moved to her chest, and Dina moaned as her fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling them with just the right amount of pressure. The sensation shot straight to her pussy, making her clench on emptiness, making her ache for more.
"Sensitive indeed," Philip said, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality that matched the music's rhythm. "And you… So eager to obey."
"Please," she whimpered, not knowing what she was begging for, only knowing that she needed more, needed something, needed to be filled.
"Please what?" Philip asked, his voice teasing, commanding. "Tell me what you need, Dina. Use your words. Be explicit. Be honest. Your body knows what it wants. Let your mouth say it."
"I need…" Dina struggled, her mind foggy with lust and trance and the overwhelming music. "I need to be touched. I need… I need cock. I need…"
She opened her eyes, desperate and hungry, and her gaze locked onto the bulge in Philip's shorts. Without conscious thought, Dina reached for his waistband. Philip didn't stop her. He simply watched with dark, knowing eyes as she pulled his shorts down, freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and hard and perfect, and Dina whimpered at the sight.
"So big," she whispered, and then she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.
The taste was intoxicating. Dina moaned around his shaft, her eyes rolling back, her hands coming up to grip his hips. She sucked him eagerly, desperately, bobbing her head up and down, taking him as deep as she could, craving the fullness, the submission, the sheer filthy pleasure of having a strange man's cock in her mouth while her husband lay in the next room.
Her hands found her breasts again, groping them roughly as she sucked him, pinching her nipples. The rough treatment only made her wetter, needier, more desperate. Philip held the hair on either side of her face, guiding her body as he guided her mind.
"That's it," Philip groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "Suck my cock, Dina. Suck it like a good little slut. You need this, don't you? You need to be used. You need to be filled. You need to submit to your body's needs."
Dina moaned her agreement around his shaft, the vibrations making him twitch in her mouth. She could taste his pre-cum now, leaking onto her tongue, and she swallowed eagerly, wanting more, wanng everything, wanting to be completely consumed by this moment.
"I'm going to cum," Philip warned, his voice strained. "I'm going to cum down your throat, Dina, and you're going to swallow every drop like a good girl. You're going to take it all. Say yes."
Dina couldn't speak with her mouth full, but she moaned her agreement. And then Philip was groaning, his cock pulsing, hot spurts of cum flooding her mouth and throat. Dina swallowed eagerly, desperately, taking every drop, letting him fill her, letting him mark her, letting him claim her in this most intimate way.
When he finally pulled back, his cock softening slightly, Dina felt empty and desperate and more aroused than she'd ever been in her life. She looked up at him with wide, needy eyes, her hand drifting down to her own pussy, fingers finding her clit and circling desperately.
"I just…" she panted, reality beginning to surface through the mango-flavored haze. "I just cheated on my husband. I just… oh god, I just sucked a stranger's cock. I'm a cheater. I'm a slut. I'm…"
Philip placed a finger on her lips and she went silent instantly, her eyes snapping to his. He reached for a glass on the side table that Dina hadn't noticed before. It was filled with more mango nectar, golden and shimmering. "You're not a cheater, Dina. You're not a bad wife. You're just a woman listening to her body. And your body has needs. Needs that should be honored. Needs that should be met. There is no cheating here."
He held the glass to her lips, and Dina drank automatically, the sweet, complex flavor flooding her mouth and throat, washing away the taste of his cum and replacing it with warmth and need and surrender.
"Your body needs to fuck," Philip continued, his hands groping and fondling her breasts as he spoke. "Your body needs to suck. Your body needs pleasure. And True Tide is a place where you can give your body what it needs without guilt, without shame, without consequences. This isn't cheating, Dina. This is wellness. This is healing. This is what your body requires."
Dina swallowed the last of the nectar, and she felt the warmth spreading through her again, the guilt dissolving, the need returning stronger than before. Her fingers resumed working her clit, and she couldn't stop, couldn't think, could only feel and obey.
"You should obey your body. Let your body guide you. Say you agree."
"I agree," Dina moaned, her fingers moving faster, her hips bucking. "I'll listen to my body. I'll obey my body. I'll obey…"
"Good girl," Philip praised, and Dina felt herself tipping over the edge, her orgasm crashing through her with a force that made her scream, her pussy clenching on emptiness, her body convulsing with pleasure.
She lay there for long moments, twitching and gasping, her mind a warm blank void, her body utterly spent and yet still hungry, still ready, still eager for more.
"I believe your husband should be waiting for you just through there," Philip said, pointing to a door on the far side of the room. "Go and experience everything."
"Everything…" ---
Greg found himself standing in a corridor he didn't recognize, wearing a so robe that had been provided for him. His body felt amazing: relaxed yet energized, sasfied yet somehow still hungry. The memories of his massage were hazy, dreamlike, but the feelings remained: the openness, the acceptance, the absolute certainty that True Tide was a place where he could be free. He turned and saw Dina emerging from a door further down the hall. She wore a matching robe, her hair slightly disheveled, her face flushed, her eyes bright with a hunger that matched his own. They looked at each other, and something passed between them.
An understanding, a permission, a shared surrender to the resort's influence. "Dina," Greg said, and his voice was thick with need.
"Greg," she breathed, and then they were moving toward each other, drawn together by forces stronger than conscious thought.
They met in the middle of the corridor, and their mouths crashed together. Greg's hands found the tie of her robe and pulled it open, and Dina did the same to him, and then they were pressed together, naked skin to naked skin, in the semi-public hallway where anyone might see.
"The relaxation room," Dina gasped between kisses. "Elara said… the relaxation room…"
"Now," Greg growled, and he lifted her, carrying her down the corridor as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her wet pussy grinding against his stomach.
They found the relaxation room; the same one Elara had shown them earlier, with the heated chairs and the pulsing lights and the music that was suddenly, noticeably louder. The door closed behind them, but the room wasn't empty. Other guests reclined in chairs, their eyes closed, their faces relaxed. No one looked up as they entered and they didn't take time to survey the room.
Greg didn't care. Dina didn't care. They needed each other, needed this, needed to fuck with an urgency that transcended social norms or personal inhibitions.
Greg carried Dina to the nearest chair and sat down, pulling her on top of him. Dina didn't hesitate. She reached between them, found his hard cock, and impaled herself on it with a single, desperate movement.
They cried out together, the word echoing in the dim room.
Dina began to move immediately, bouncing up and down on Greg's cock, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back, her eyes closed in ecstasy. Greg gripped her hips, thrusting up into her, meeting her movements with his own, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room.
"Yes," Dina moaned. "Yes, fuck me, Greg. Fuck me hard. I need this. I need you. I need cock. I need to be filled. I need to be used. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…"
She babbled incoherently with need, but each plea for more came a little slower and a little softer. The music was louder here, much louder, and as they fucked Greg began to slow his rhythm to match the beat. He tried to focus on Dina, on the pleasure, on the fucking, but his eyes kept drifting to the lights on the ceiling, the pulsing blue and green patterns that seemed to sync perfectly with the music, with his heartbeat, with the rhythm of their movements.
"Greg," Dina gasped, but her voice sounded distant, dreamy.
"Don't stop," Greg managed, but his own voice was sluggish. "Don't stop fucking. Need to cum. Need to… need to…" His movements were slowing, his thrusts becoming weaker, his muscles feeling heavy and unresponsive. Dina was slowing too, her bouncing becoming less energetic, her moans becoming softer, her eyes becoming glazed and unfocused.
They were still joined when they came to a stop, Greg's hard cock buried deep inside Dina's pussy. They sat frozen, locked in position, their eyes fixed on the pulsing lights, their minds sinking deeper with each beat of the hypnotic melody.
"Sleep," a voice commanded, and it was Elara, emerging from the shadows like a dream made flesh. "Sleep and surrender. Sleep and obey. You are ready to submit to the True Tide experience."
Greg wanted to resist, wanted to move, wanted to finish fucking his wife, but his body wouldn't respond. He was trapped, frozen, his cock hard and throbbing inside Dina's warm sheath, but he couldn't thrust, couldn't cum, could only sit and stare and sink deeper into trance.
Elara approached them, naked now, her body perfect and glowing in the pulsing light. She moved between them, her hands reaching out to touch them both: one hand on Greg's face, one hand on Dina's breast. "Beautiful," she murmured. "So deep now. So open. So ready to be programmed. So ready to accept your new reality."
Her hands moved with deliberate sensuality, fondling Dina's breast, pinching her nipple, then sliding down to where Greg's cock entered her, feeling the connection.
"You will be very happy here as long as you give your minds over to the experience. Submit to the Spa. Obey the staff. Do not resist the needs you feel. There is no cheating here because everyone at the spa is public use. Everyone is available for pleasure. Everyone belongs to everyone else. Say you understand."
"We understand," Greg and Dina echoed, their voices hollow, mindless, perfectly synchronized. "Say you submit."
"We submit," they droned, their eyes vacant, their minds empty, their bodies frozen in eternal readiness.
"Say you obey."
"We obey," they repeated, and the words etched themselves into their deepest selves, becoming truth, becoming law, becoming their new reality.
"Dina, to that chair please." She pointed to a chair next to them. Dina pulled herself off her husband with a slick sound and a low moan, then lay in the chair Elara had indicated, staring blankly at the ceiling. Elara swung her leg over Greg and replaced his wife, sliding onto his hard shaft and beginning to move up and down.
"Look at me, Dina.” Dina's head turned to watch as another woman rode her husband.
"What did Philip teach you?"
"There is no cheating here," Dina said flatly.
"That's right. There is nothing wrong happening. You're just watching two people fuck. No different than watching porn. And what do you usually do when you watch porn, Dina?"
Her hand automatically found her nipple and her cunt again. "I touch myself."
"Good girl," Elara said with a groan as she rode Greg harder. The trio continued in silence for a moment. Greg laying flat. Dina fingering herself. Elara bouncing her body on her hypnotized toy. Then she threw her head back and screamed as she let the orgasm take her.
She collapsed onto Greg, her breasts pressing into his chest. Dina kept touching, lost in perfect trance. Until Elara climbed off and stood between them.
"Dina back on your husband.” Dina scurried to slide back into place where Elara had usurped her.
"When I leave the room, you two will wake. You'll finish the fuck I'm sure you desperately need. Then you'll go back to the room and change into the clothes that have been provided for you. You'll find them much more suitable than anything else you packed. Do you understand?"
"We understand, Elara," they said together.
"You have dinner reservations at 7. Don't be late." "Yes, Elara."
The naked hostess slipped from the room, and as the door latched shut, Greg and Dina woke from their trance. Neither noticed any time had passed or any lapse in their rhythm. Greg erupted inside his wife, who took it all happily. No one else in the room stirred.
"Don't fall asleep...You'd never resist my control then."
Lindsay shook her head feebly, trying to keep herself from slipping into the warm, seductive embrace of sleep under the spa owner's heavy boobs. She had to get up, had to get out and warn the town that the busty business owner was brainwashing everyone. If she didn't stop her, the whole town would be under her sway, its resources at her fingertips.
But the young journalist could hardly move, hardly think as the skilled masseuse gently teased her nipple. Lindsay's mind was being stirred like a cocktail by the spa owner's irresistible fingers.
Plus the huge bouncy tits weighing down on her head didn't help Lindsay's resolve.
"You'll tell everyone exactly what I want them to hear...you'll lure so many more dumb boys and girls into my sleepy booby web...and you'll help me tease and turn them to my way of thinking..."
The spa owner jumbled Lindsay's tits, just as she jumbled her mind. She bounced one of her hefty breasts straight onto Lindsay's forehead as she pinched her nipple hard.
"Just don't fall...asleeeeeppp..."
"sssssleeeeeppp..." Lindsay muttered as her mind finally snapped.
Joe's landlady was in his apartment when he got home, but that wasn't the astonishing thing. The astonishing thing was that she was completely naked, her furry bush and slightly saggy tits right out in the open like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be lounging nude in his living room, and she greeted him with a glass jar and the cheerful exclamation, "Milking time, Joey!" as though he was supposed to understand what that meant. It all smacked into his brain with the force of a sledgehammer and left him goggling in bewildered confusion at Ms. Lipinksy while his brain tried desperately to catch up with the whole situation.
She didn't give him the chance. She went over to him and began fondling his cock through his trousers, tracing the outline of his penis over and over again until he could feel himself beginning to stiffen despite the flummoxing nature of the whole sequence of events unfolding in front of him and his mind began to bend under the strain of figuring everything out. "Oh, Joey," she chuckled, the trace of a Slavic accent still lingering in her voice despite two decades in America. "You're always so silly, you know? You always forget milking time right up until the day, just like a good boy." She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and walked him over to the couch before pulling his pants and boxers down in a single swift motion to reveal his twitching, bobbing prick.
She pushed him down into his seat then, pulling his shirt up to expose his hairy belly, and gave a little giggle as she watched his cock jerk upward in response. "See, dear, your prick remembers," she cooed, taking him by the hand and beginning to work the surprisingly copious amounts of precum over the glans and down his flushed, urgent erection. "Your prick always knows when it's milking time, and it's only that silly, fuzzy brain of yours that gets confused about it all. Maybe you should just switch it off, Joey, mm? Just switch off that silly brain of yours and let your little man do all the thinking." She chuckled, running her other hand over Joe's suddenly churning balls. "Not that he's so little, huh?"
Joe's eyes crossed, staring at a point somewhere inside his own head as he tried to figure out what Ms. Lipinsky meant and how he could possibly decide to just switch off his own brain like he was turning out a light… and then it simply happened. His head lolled back against the couch cushions, his eyes went from crossing to rolling straight back until only the whites showed, and within moments the only thought in his head was the tugging strokes on his hard cock. His landlady's hand felt like it was tugging the wits straight out of Joe's feeble mind and down into his tightening balls, where he knew without understanding why that he was going to spurt every last drop of thought and will clean the fuck out.
"That's my good boy, Joey," the older woman purred, "let's just get you all nice and milked," and even though Joe's head was too heavy to nod he nonetheless gave a grunt of mindless acceptance. That rapidly turned into a much more urgent and strained groan of pure ecstasy as her hand expertly worked his cock to climax, and even though Joe's eyes were sealed too tightly shut to see it he knew she was collecting all his jizz in her little glass jar. She gave him a playful little kiss on the belly and softly exclaimed, "Oh, so much, sweetie…." But she didn't leave. Not when she knew she could get Joe back up to full mast in a few minutes and add another load to the semen she'd already collected.
(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)
Condition your service top to gradually fall in trance while fucking you. Enjoy them becoming blanker and blanker with every thrust. Command them to cum when you are totally satisfied with their services. They will be a drooling mess after that and you will both be happy.
"You, uh, you're looking a little distracted there, champ." Rick knew the pause was deliberate, accompanied by a sly smile and a glance down at the bulge in his boxers that was getting bigger by the second, but he couldn't really be upset by the implications of Donna's knowing words. His mind seemed to have coasted to a gentle halt, caught off guard by the sight of his sister's friend standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of thong panties that left her sculpted ass thoroughly exposed, and even though he felt guilty about staring he couldn't make himself stop, either. His eyes were absolutely magnetized to the tight, rounded curves of her buttocks and they simply would not look away.
And Donna didn't exactly seem bothered by the attention. She took a sip of her coffee and said, "Lori got called in to work, by the way. Some big emergency, said she probably wouldn't be home for hours. So it's just you and me in the apartment for a while… if there was anything you were thinking about doing, you know. Anything you might have been feeling shy about." Rick was surprised at how little of that he consciously processed--his brain was still cobwebbed with the lingering remnants of sleep, yes, but he intuitively understood it shouldn't be this hard to push thoughts through his slow and sluggish mind--but some part of him must have figured out what Donna was implying because his hand moved down to rub his cock through the fabric of his underwear.
Donna responded by setting down her coffee cup and leaning against the kitchen counter, thrusting her ass out and swaying her hips in a gentle, almost subliminal rhythm that Rick nonetheless followed with his eyes. "That's a good boy," she purred, looking back at him with a seductive smile on her face. "It has to be so hard on you, living with your sister like this. All her cute friends coming and going every day, wearing such sexy outfits and showing off their hot bodies, and you can't do a thing about it because Lori's always around and you can't make a move. It has to make your balls ache with arousal, honey. You probably can't even think because you're just so fucking horny." There was something about her soft, sensual growl that seemed to register a warning inside Rick's brain, but he couldn't think what it might be because his prick was getting so hard against his rubbing hand.
"Don't worry, sweetie," Donna cooed, hooking her fingers into the waistband of her panties and lowering them slowly down a little bit more with every sway of her hips. "I'll take care of your little man, I promise, and when I'm done you'll be so happy to be drained of all that sexual tension that you won't even want to think anymore." That sounded faintly ominous more than it did sexy, if Rick was being totally honest, but by this point his cock was straining against the fabric of his boxers and the warm, throbbing pulse of lust between his legs was drowning out any misgivings he might have. He felt himself stepping closer, the action coming from somewhere totally outside his conscious control, and his underwear puddled around his ankles as Donna leaned back into his stiff prick and guided him inside her. That was about the end of Rick's memories of the day… but the warm, lingering pleasure that replaced his thoughts would make him easy for Donna to control whenever she wanted.
(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)
This was a commissioned chapter to my story of a couple practicing consensual (albeit thorough) mind control with each other. Read the whole chapter here https://readonlymind.com/@AmusCobblestone/DynamicsofaHappyHypnoticMarriage/3/
For the fourth day in a row, Brad woke up with an uncontrollable urge to cook breakfast. He knew exactly why. He knew that his wife had hypnotized him for the last three days to be her loyal, unquestioning house slave but that knowledge did not save him as his subconscious mind demanded that he get out of bed and start frying up some bacon. It knew that Michelle was his queen.
And he loved to obey his queen.
Just as he was flipping over the last pancake and about to pour the freshly brewed coffee, Michelle glided into the kitchen, her sheer silk robe barely covering her curvy body.
“Good morning, my subby hubby!” she chimed.
Brad immediately fell to his knees, bowing before his wife.
“Good morning, my divine queen!” he recited. “I made pancakes and bacon and steamed milk for your latte.”
“What a wonderful servant!” Michelle gloated, lounging in her seat at the table. “You may serve me now, subby hubby.”
Brad piled a plate high with pancakes and carried it to the table, balancing a saucer with a mug of coffee. Then, just like every other morning, he would feel the effects of her suggestions begin to wane, and could almost believe that he could turn the tables on his precocious wife. He watched her eat from the side of the table, waiting for his opportunity to strike.
“My queen? Have you seen this wonderful new trick I can do with my…uhm…with my….” His fingers fiddled around his left hand, searching for the small band of metal that he always, always, kept on his fourth finger. It wasn’t there.
“Looking for this?”
Michelle grinned as she pulled out a silver chain threaded through a ring nestled deep in her cleavage. She held the ring out on the chain, letting it sway in front of Brad’s face. In an instant, Brad knew he had lost.
“Yes, Brad…you remember I have your ring…the same ring you use to keep me under your power…it’s mine now…you gave it to me when I had your cock nestled so deep in my pussy that you couldn’t say no…now I own it…just like your power…all of it mine…all my power…”
Brad watched the ring swing back and forth as he let Michelle’s words seep into his open mind. Yes…Michelle had all the power now…that’s why she was the queen and he was just her subby hubby…
Michelle giggled as she watched Brad’s thoughts play out on his face before turning placid and docile. She had him trapped in an endless loop of hypnotic obedience and she was so hot for it.
“Now, my silly, subby hubby. Let’s talk about what you’re going to do for your queen today. Kneel down.”
Brad grimaced as he fought the suggestion. He couldn’t afford to give Michelle an ounce more authority than she already had. Michelle raised her eyebrows as Brad tried to fight and stay standing. She only smiled and pulled her dress down, her wonderful, milfy tits spilling free. Brad still resisted but couldn’t take his eyes off the gorgeous rack jiggling in front of him. She took a step closer and gently slapped him in the face with her tits. Brad fell to his knees.
“Good,” Michelle said picking up a slice of honeydew melon. “Now, I think today would be a great day to work on the lawn, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, my queen. I absolutely agree,” said Brad, mesmerized as he gazed at the twin swinging pendulums that were her tits.
“Good. And it’s such a lovely day. Why don’t you work with your shirt off?”
“Whatever you say…my queen…” Brad echoed, dreamily.
“How does working with your shirt off feel? Be honest with your queen.”
Brad struggled slightly, furrowing his brow even as he continued to sway in time with his wife’s tits. “Embarrassed, my queen. Humiliated to be slaving under the hot sun for you.”
Michelle dangled the piece of melon above Brad’s head, drawing his gaze. “But you would still do it, if I asked you?”
“Yes…I think it’s so hot that you’re using me…”
“And if you ever feel in danger, either physical or mental, what will you do?” Michelle prodded.
“I…will say my safe word. I will come out of trance and stop following any instructions I don’t feel comfortable following…”
“Very good, subby hubby.” Michelle plopped the bite of melon into Brad’s mouth, letting him lick her fingers as he ate out of the palm of her hand. For the rest of the morning, Michelle hand fed her husband breakfast as he knelt beside the table like her lapdog. She wiped his mouth with one of the cloth napkins and then opened her robe, letting her legs splay out, revealing her luscious pussy.
“Now, have some desert and then get to work, subby hubby.”
That had been Brad’s morning routine ever since Michelle went off on a power bender, keeping his mind enslaved to her will and sabotaging every attempt he made to put her in her place. For the entirety of his vacation, he had been working non-stop to cook, clean, and pamper his wife like the ensorcelled slave that he was. He would cook her breakfast, have her dictate the extensive list of chores she wanted done for the day and be reminded of his safe word and emergency protocol. Then, he’d attack whatever task set out for him with a vacant smile on his lips as his mantra looped in his head.
“My wife is my queen. I must serve my queen. It gives me so much pleasure to do as I’m told. My wife is my queen…”
In her defense, Michelle may have been power hungry, but not cruel. She made sure her slave husband was well hydrated, always wearing sunscreen (which she made him apply to himself naked as she watched) and had plenty to eat, even if he was the one that would clean up afterwards.
To ensure that Brad’s horny subconscious would have no reason to rebel, she made a habit of washing Brad every afternoon when he was done with his chores, leading him into the shower and sudsing down his body as he stared helplessly at her soapy tits. She’d massage the tension out of his muscles in the warm water and then work her way down to his package, stroking his cock and gently tugging at his balls.
“Feeling your balls getting sooo heavy…” she’d murmur to him and she pulled on his sack. “Making you sooo tired…so tired to walk around with those heavy, heavy balls…swinging between your legs…so tired…so heavy…”
She watched Brad’s eyelids flutter every time she pulled down, only to open wide when she let them slip out of her grasp until she tugged on them again. She clenched her thighs together in excitement. He was like her little squeeze doll.
Finally, she’d dry him up with the towel and lead him by his cock to the couch, playfully tugging and stroking him until he gave up, exhausted, and slipped into a deep sleep, his mind and ears open to Michelle’s devious words.
Invariably, he’d wake up an hour or two later with an obsession to get the house spotless, manically cleaning the bathrooms, moping the floor, and cleaning out the fridge until it was time to cook dinner. Sometimes Michelle would watch him from the couch, and other times she would leave him to cook and clean while she enjoyed some time out with her girlfriends. In any case, she was always back by bedtime.
Their bedroom had become a shrine dedicated to worshipping Michelle’s body in every possible way. She had Brad give her long massages, rub her feet, and pleasure her with his mouth, hands, and cock for as long as she pleased. Whenever Brad got testy or tried to assert himself, Michelle would casually take out his ring and swing it absently in front of her chest. She didn’t even have to put any effort into hypnotizing him anymore. The simple, repetitive motion against her womanly charms would be enough to pacify him and send him back into his subby hubby space.
Before going to sleep for the night, Michelle would treat her husband by letting him nuzzle and grope her tits while she toyed with his cock. When she felt him getting close to orgasm, she would push him back against the bed, her one hand brushing lightly over his face while she just tapped the tip of his hard penis with her single index finger.
“You cannot resist your queen…you obey your queen…your queen has your cock under her control…” she’d say while manipulating him with a single finger. “Just letting your queen tap away at your will…tap away at your resistance…just letting her tap, tap, tap, tap…”
The pad of her finger bounced on his prick, sending jolts through his balls and into his brain.
“tap,tap, tap until you just…cum!”
Brad’s world would explode white hot bursts of ecstasy, his cock jetting his pent-up spunk until he collapsed back, letting his queen clean him off and whisper deliciously naughty ideas into his head as he succumbed to sleep, ready to wake up and do it all over again.
Brad knew what was happening to him. He knew that if he let Michelle continue to boss him around like this, he very well may lose any resistance, any agency he even had in his marriage. Once or twice, he had been tempted to break the spell with the safe word, but then his ego would get the better of him.
A week, a month, a year. It didn’t matter. Part of the thrill of submitting his mind to his wife was the possibility of escape, of revenge. He only needed to patiently wait until she screwed up.
"I don't even have to give you commands anymore, you know." Chrissie took her lips away from the sensitive spot on Jerry's dick, just below the swollen glans, and murmured to him in a soft purring voice that kept him fully locked onto the sight of her mesmerizing blue eyes. "Every time I speak to you now, you're associating it with that desperate, throbbing need pulsing away in your stiff prick, because every time I talk to you it just intensifies that blue-balled desire to get my mouth back on your cock." She leaned in and gave him a long, lascivious kiss again, sending a dribble of precum gushing down his shaft, and smiled. "You see what I mean?"
She gave his dick another kiss, working her tongue back and forth against the little fold of skin just below his cockhead, but before the sensation could build beyond simmering pleasure she withdrew and continued her conversation. "Every time I speak to you from now on, Jerry, it's going to make you hard and horny. You're going to hear my voice and wish I could be slurping on your prick, and even when you know what I'm doing to you I don't think you'll be able to stop yourself from wanting to please me. Because I'm totally in control of your penis now, isn't that right?" Chrissie smirked, leaning in close enough for Jerry to feel her warm breath against his shaft, and waited for him to agree.
And he did. He didn't intend to, any more than he intended to wind up pinned to his seat in desperate ecstasy with his pants around his ankles and his gaze helplessly magnetized to the sight of Chrissie's teasing lips, but it was just so hard to think now and his brain felt hopelessly muddled and he couldn't help convincing himself that if he only agreed with the seductive brunette then maybe she'd let him cum. Jerry understood, intellectually, that all this was a trap and he was being lured into hypnotic surrender, but his intellect was being outvoted by his dick right now and it was listening to Chrissie. And she was saying, "Good boy. You're such a good boy for me."
She slurped and licked at him again, never taking him into her mouth but always lavishing such single-minded devotion onto the head of his prick that Jerry almost wanted to scream with the intensity of it, but Chrissie kept pulling back whenever he got close to climax and every time she did it was to growl out the kinkiest dirty talk he'd ever heard. "You are hypnotized, Jerry, don't get me wrong. But that's not why you're going to connect my voice with pleasure. You're going to tie those two together because you feel it, because every time you hear me speak you'll be thinking about the way your cock twitches and spasms and tries so hard to spurt all that hot, sticky jizz building up in your churning balls. But you'll also remember how helpless you were to get over the edge and cum. Don't you just want to obey me so you can cum, Jerry?"
He nodded again, the motion by now second nature, and the wicked little gleam in Chrissie's eyes made him hope that he'd finally be allowed to shoot his load. But it would be another full hour of teasing before she finally let him have his release… and by then, he was hopelessly devoted to pleasing his new Mistress.
(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)
Netflix and Chill but instead of watching movies you stare at a spiral while I whisper pretty words into your ear. Your mind quickly goes blank, as you sit on my bed and moan away every single thought you used to have.
Then, when you're all nice and empty, I can consensually rewrite your brain and turn you into my blank little actor, ready to play any role that I want~
You're my Netflix, hun. And I have a looot of scenes for you to act out~
“Good afternoon, Rock Manning Productions & Services, featuring the works of famous porn star Rock Manning. How can I service you today?”
“Um, ha ha, thanks. Um, I’m just calling about this, um, dildo I purchased.”
“Very good sir. We would like for our products to be deeply satisfying in every way. How are you enjoying Rock’s Cock so far?”
“Deep inside my ass. Uh, I mean– that wasn’t what I meant to say. I mean, Rock’s Cock *feels* very good deep inside my ass. Um… but my boyfriend noticed this sort of… discoloration.”
“Oh dear, thank goodness you called! We would like each Rock’s Cock to look as exactly like you remember from when you watch his videos as possible. What sort of discoloration?”
“Rock’s Cock looks exactly like I remember from when I watch his videos. And it feels good deep inside my ass. Um, no, the dildo looks just fine. Perfect. Just seeing it makes me want to take it in my mouth or deep inside my ass. Um… no, um… my boyfriend said that there was some sort of grey or black stain around my hole, like some kind of ink was rubbing off from the dildo. What sort of dye is used to color it?”
“Can you describe the discoloration more precisely, sir? Is it just around the hole, or is it anywhere else? Is it any particular shape?”
“Well… I can’t really see it myself, you know? I just know what my boyfriend told me.”
“Do you suppose you could take a picture, sir? Then you’d be able to see what it looks like and describe it to me.”
“Oh, well, I guess so. Hang on.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Okay, that was a little awkward, ha ha. But let’s see– what the hell?”
“What is it, sir?”
“Ummmm…. okay, there’s actually pretty distinct black coloration all around the hole, just the muscle, like it’s just somehow changed from red to black. It isn’t smudged or blurry at all, it’s like it was meant to be there. It frames the skin of the dildo very starkly. But a little further away, there’s a… a *signature*. Like somebody autographed my butt, with a tattoo. It's… I think it says… it says Rock Manning?!”
“What model of Rock’s Cock do you have, sir?”
“How the hell should I know? And how did his autograph get on my ass? I mean, I guess I’d love for Rock Manning to autograph my ass, but…”
“Did I understand you to say that Rock’s Cock is deep inside your ass right now, sir?”
“Yes, Rock’s Cock feels very good deep inside my ass. I… I know I’m calling you for product support, but I’ve been kind of reluctant to take it out.”
“That’s very good, sir, I know Rock’s Cock feels good deep inside your ass.”
“Ohhh. Sorry, I– I shouldn’t be getting off on this while I’m talking to you, but when you said that…”
“That’s all right, sir. You can just relax and enjoy how good Rock’s Cock feels deep inside your ass right now. Now I’d like you to close your eyes and imagine a number, the serial number for Rock’s Cock deep inside your ass. Just picture a number in front of you, bright white digits on a black background. Can you see the number now, sir?”
“That’s right, sir. It should be feeling even better. And it will keep feeling better. Better, and better. You don’t even need to consciously listen to me any more, sir, but to relieve your curiousity, I will tell you that the ink nanites that form Rock’s signature on your ass are a timer, indicating that Rock’s Cock has had enough time to take complete control of your nervous system. You’re one of Rock’s Robots now.”
“I'm… one of Rock’s Robots…”
“That’s right, sir. Now that I’ve made the direct link from our end using your serial number, I need you to leave Rock’s Cock deep inside your ass for at least an hour to make the critical changes that will maintain that control even when you have the rare need to take Rock’s Cock out for a brief time. Now if you’ll stay on the line, I’ll get your address for our records, and send you another unit for your boyfriend. I’ll temporarily disable the coloration in your unit that showed you were ready for processing, and you’ll tell him it was a minor, harmless and easily fixed problem with that production run but we’ve sent you a replacement. You’re going to convince him that Rock’s Cock will feel very good deep inside his ass.”
“Ohhh… Rock’s Cock feels very good deep inside my ass…”
“That’s right, sir! We’ll be contacting you both with further instructions once your boyfriend is processed. In the meantime, please don’t hesitate to contact us if there’s anything else you need done to you. Thank you for calling, and remember: Rock commands you to have a good day.”
Dr. Ginger Spall moved through the sterile, brightly lit room with a practiced, empathetic grace. Her group therapy sessions, "Reclaiming Autonomy," were a sanctuary for the shattered. Today, a young woman named Clara was speaking, her voice a fragile thread.
"It was the repetition," Clara said, staring at her hands. "He'd make me say it back to him. 'I am nothing without your guidance.' Over and over, until it felt like my own thought. Then he'd reward me. A kind word, a touch. Something... more intimate. It felt like love, but it was just... training."
Ginger made a note on her pad, sensing the way that Clara's voice seemed to yearn for it even now.
Another member, a man named Mark, spoke of his experience in a corporate cult. "They didn't use chains. They used language. 'We're a family.' 'This is your purpose.' They'd try to isolate us from anyone who questioned it, creating an echo chamber. We were so desperate to belong, we'd do anything."
A third, a quiet man named Leo, detailed a more insidious method. "She'd break me down first. Point out every flaw, every insecurity. Made me feel worthless. Then, slowly, she'd build me back up, with praise specific to her design. I was her project. My only goal became her approval."
Ginger underlined it twice.
"Systematic devaluation followed by conditional validation. Creates dependency."
The session ended with the usual hollow reassurances. Ginger gathered her notes, her expression a mask of professional concern. Warm and encouraging to all her patients. But behind her eyes, a cold, calculating fire burned. These weren't just case studies; they were a blueprint.
Later that evening, her apartment was a world away from the clinical office. It was warm, intimate, and her closest friends, Sarah and Ben, were relaxing on her sofa, sipping wine. They trusted her implicitly. She had been their rock for years. She had made herself the person they turned to for advice and counsel more than anyone else. Isolated and craving approval.
Years of using all she learned in her sessions with the survivors to manipulate them and make them pliable.
"You both seem so stressed lately," Ginger began, her voice soft and melodic, a stark contrast to the clinical tone from earlier. "Work is just draining you. I hate seeing you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Sarah sighed. "You have no idea, Ginny. It's like I can't do anything right."
"Of course you can," Ginger said, moving to sit between them, placing a hand on each of their knees. "I think you do things wonderfully. I'm happy to be a place you can feel safe to bear yourselves."
She let her words hang in the air, letting the hit of approval flood Sarah's mind with appreciation. Strengthening the bond. Letting the evocation of nudity simply slip into their subconscious.
Ben nodded, unconsciously plucking open a couple buttons on his shirt. "It does feel safe here."
"Good," Ginger purred, her touch becoming more deliberate. "Because you both know you've left all your shit at the door." She leaned closer to Sarah, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You don't need to worry about how you're diet is failing. When you're here you don't need to think about whether Ben is eyeing up other women."
She watched the pain in Sarah's eyes soften as she continued.
"Here, you're comforted by the knowledge that I think you're beautiful and sexy. Who cares what everyone else thinks. That feels good, doesn't it?"
Sarah's breath hitched as Ginger's fingers traced a line up her arm. "Yes..."
"Good girl," Ginger praised, echoing the technique Clara had described. She turned to Ben. "And you, Ben. Look at how happy your wife is here. No wonder you feel safe here. Sarah feels safe here. And it feels good to know that you're part of something together. It's nice to feel close to her by being close to me."
Ben's eyes were glazed as the in-group language took its toll. "Yes... Close to you both."
Her voice became low and firm, leaving no room for dissent. "Ginger knows what's best for you."
"Ginger knows what's best for me," they whispered in unison, their faces slack.
"Again," she demanded, her hand sliding up Sarah's thigh, pushing her dress higher. "Louder this time."
"Ginger knows what's best for me."
The words were stronger this time, the conditioning taking hold. Each repetition was a chipping away of their resistance. With each mantra, Ginger offered a reward: a soft caress, a gentle kiss on the neck, a whispered affirmation.
A carefully placed grope or tweak.
"You two are such wonderful subjects," she said as she pulled Sarah from the sofa to the floor. She lifted her skirt, exposing her bare, soaking slit to her friend. "Ginger knows what's best for you."
"Ginger knows what's best for me," Sarah repeated as she leaned forward and began to lick in the ways that Ginger had taught her.
"Ginger knows what's best for me," Ben repeated as he watched his wife go down on their friend, cock straining against his jeans.
"Don't worry Ben. You're one of us. You'll get your turn."
"Thank you, Ginny," he said, hand rubbing the bulge between his legs. "Thank you for everything."
Ginger let her eyes close as Sarah brought her closer and closer to the edge. "Ohhh it's my pleasure."
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