Fair warning, this blog is NSFW. That means all minors prohibited. I do not condone any interaction with minors, and if your blog does not tell age in description or pinned, you will be blocked. This blog will consist of mainly reblogs, and if you need one deleted, hit me in the DMs.
The soft glow of sunset filtered through the blinds of Bianca and Roni's apartment, casting golden stripes across their living room. Bianca was arranging roses in a crystal vase while Roni lit candles throughout the space, creating an intimate ambiance for their one-year anniversary celebration.
Their comfortable domesticity was interrupted by three firm knocks on the door. Bianca's brow furrowed slightly. "Are you expecting anyone?"
"No, just us tonight," Roni replied, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
Bianca walked to the door and peered through the peephole. Her breath hitched. Standing in the hallway was a man in his late thirties with piercing dark eyes and an unnerving calm about him. She recognized him instantly, though she couldn't place from where.
"Who is it?" Roni asked, approaching the door.
Bianca's hand trembled as she turned the knob. "I... I'm not sure."
When she opened the door, the man's eyes locked with hers, and something shifted in her mind. The apartment, the anniversary, Roni... It all faded as memories flooded back. She could hear his voice in her memories.
"You will fall deeply in love with each other," the man, - their Master - had commanded, his voice resonating in their minds as they sat opposite him in trance-like states. "You will build a life together. You will be happy. But when I return, you will remember your true purpose."
"Bianca?" Roni's voice broke through her daze. "Who is this?"
Bianca turned to her, eyes wide with recognition and voice strangely flat. "Roni, this is... Master. Surely you remember."
Roni's expression shifted from confusion to sudden understanding as the man stepped inside, closing the door behind Him. The champagne flutes on the counter seemed to mock them now.
"Happy anniversary," He said with a slight smile. "I trust you've enjoyed your year together."
Bianca nodded mechanically, her earlier warmth replaced with cold submission. "Yes, Master."
Roni's shoulders straightened as the programming kicked in. "We've been good, Master. We've followed all your instructions."
The man circled them slowly, appraising. "I can see that. You've made a lovely home. But my conference is over, and it's time for your annual service to resume."
Bianca reached for Roni's hand instinctively, a gesture of the genuine love they had developed over the year. "Thank you, Master. We've been so happy."
He gestured toward their bedroom. "That bedroom that you share belongs to me tonight. Prepare yourselves. We have much catching up to do."
As they walked toward the bedroom, Bianca caught Roni's eye. In that glance, there was love and submission. Here in His presence, they new the love was fabricated. But even so, the bond they shared with their Master was more than enough to make up for the fake bond they shared with each other.
He took Bianca first, just as He had done when they met last year. Roni sat at the foot of the bed, eyes following a crystal dangling from her own fingers.
"I am my Master's love slave," she muttered as the bed shook from the force of His thrusts into her make-believe girlfriend. "All my love belongs to Him. But when He is away, to keep that love safe, I will give it all to Bianca."
Bianca's gasps of pleasure rose to a fever pitch as another orgasm crashed through her.
"I am my Master's love slave," Roni began again, eyes focused only on the jewel. Mind focused only on His words.
"Where do you want my cum, Bianca?" He was asking behind her. Bianca was begging for it deep inside her.
"All my love belongs to Him."
The bed stopped shaking as His voice stretched into a long low moan. Then there was silence besides two sets of panting and Roni's continued monotone repetitions. After a few moments, however, His hand appeared and plucked the crystal from her fingers.
She blinked a few times, suddenly free of its spell, then looked up into His face.
"Is it my turn, Master?"
"Is it."
She scrambled to get on her hands and knees for him as he handed the crystal to Bianca and set it swaying.
"I am Master's love slave," she heard Bianca say from the foot of the bed as Master slowly slid into her dripping cunt. "All my love belongs to Him."
In the morning, the two of them drove Him to the airport to catch his flight, and as he got out he held the crystal steady in his palm.
"Just like last year," he said as their eyes locked onto it. "I was never here. You will have no memory of me. And you will enjoy another wonderful year saving all your love between each other until I come back."
"Yes, Master," the two spoke in unison. "We are Master's love slaves. All our love belongs to Him."
He closed his fist around the jewel and closed the door. The pair woke in the departures lane of the airport terminal, and chuckled to each other, unsure why they were there, but sure it didn't matter. And as the pulled away, they didn't notice the man that had just left them lifting a familiar crystal up in front of the cute desk attendant inside.
Your continued support is invaluable.
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Hey friendly reminder: Don’t Ruin your life for kink
Don’t harm yourself for kink
Don’t isolate yourself for kink
Don’t put yourself into debt for kink
Don’t put yourself in danger for kink
Alot of people talk a big game about these things, but please practice safe kink practices. Negotiate saftey, boundaries, establish consent. Practice aftercare and check in and make sure people you trust know where you are. Whether you’re dominant, submissive, or switch you deserve safe fun consensual kinks.
It can become dangerous for you and/or your partner(s) really quickly if you don’t make the small effort to make it safe. Getting off is not worth it.
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.
The new intern had been so eager to please. Twenty-three, fresh out of college, bright-eyed and desperate to impress. That's what made her such a perfect candidate for the program.
Mark had noticed it during her interview; the way her eyes locked onto his when he spoke, how she leaned forward to catch every word. Some people were just suggestible. It had taken three sessions in his office after hours, the metronome app on his phone, the velvet tone he'd perfected over years of practice. Now the trigger was set, buried deep in her subconscious, waiting.
It happened by accident the first few times.
"Claire, hand me that folder?" He reached across the conference table at the same moment she did. Their fingertips grazed. Bare skin against bare skin for perhaps half a second.
She blinked. Her shoulders dropped. A soft exhale escaped her lips.
"Sorry," Mark said, pulling back, watching her carefully.
"It's... it's fine." Claire's voice had gone slightly dreamy, distant. She shook her head as if clearing water from her ears, but the sharpness in her eyes had dulled. "What were we discussing?"
"The Henderson account. You had concerns about the timeline?"
She opened her mouth, then paused. "I... did I? I suppose it doesn't matter. Whatever you think is best."
Mark smiled. "Touch base with me later."
The next day, he tested it deliberately.
Claire stood in his doorway with a stack of reports, waiting for instructions. Mark walked over, letting his hand rest on her forearm as he spoke about quarterly projections. Just a tap, really. Three seconds of contact through the thin fabric of her blouse sleeve.
Her pupils dilated.
"I want you to reorganize the entire filing system," he said, maintaining the touch. "It'll take three hours of overtime. No extra pay. But you don't mind."
"Okay," she breathed, not hesitating. "That makes sense."
"And you'll bring me coffee exactly how I like it. Two sugars, heavy cream."
"Two sugars," she repeated, her voice soft as cotton. "Heavy cream."
When he removed his hand, she swayed slightly, pressing her thighs together. Mark wondered if she was even aware of the dampness spreading between her legs. The trigger didn't just affect her mind, after all.
By Friday, he was holding her hand.
They were alone in the elevator, descending from the twentieth floor. Mark reached over and clasped her fingers in his, interlacing them properly, skin on skin, warm palm pressed to warm palm.
Claire gasped. Her knees buckled. Mark caught her with his free arm around her waist, keeping her upright, keeping their hands joined.
"You're doing so well," he murmured against her ear. "Such a good employee. Such an agreeable girl."
"Thank you," she whispered. Her head lolled against his shoulder. "I want to be... agreeable."
"I know you do. You want to make me happy, don't you?"
"Yes. Want to make you happy." Her eyes were half-closed, unfocused, staring at nothing. The elevator dinged. They'd reached the lobby, but neither moved to exit. "Master..."
The word slipped out unbidden. Mark felt himself harden instantly.
"That's right," he said, squeezing her hand tighter, suddenly feeling much bolder and much less inclined to let her leave. "I'm your Master. And you're going to come back up to my office, aren't you? You're going to let me do whatever I want."
"Whatever you want," she agreed, swaying now, utterly pliant. "I can't... I can't seem to remember why I would say no."
"Because there's no reason to say no. Only yes. Only obedience."
"Only obedience," Claire echoed, and when he finally released her hand, she didn't run. She followed him back into the elevator like she was floating.
In his office, with the door locked, Mark sat on the edge of his desk and pulled her between his knees. Her blouse was silk, expensive, probably the nicest thing she owned. He began unbuttoning it slowly, watching her face for any resistance.
Claire stood passively, arms at her sides, letting him expose her black lace bra. When he pushed the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool on the carpet, she shivered but didn't protest.
"Tell me to stop," Mark challenged, hooking his fingers in her bra straps. "Can you even do that?"
She blinked, confused. Her mouth opened, closed. A furrow appeared between her brows. Some distant part of her recognizing that this was wrong, that her boss shouldn't be undressing her, that she should object, scream, run.
"I... this is..." She struggled, genuinely trying to find the words. "Bad?"
"Is it?" Mark slid the straps down her arms. The bra cups slipped, revealing her breasts, nipples already tight and hard. "Is it bad, Claire?"
She looked down at his hands hovering over her naked chest. The confusion in her eyes deepened, then softened, then evaporated entirely.
"I can't..." she whispered. "I can't remember."
Mark cupped her breasts in both hands, finally making full, intense contact with her bare skin. His thumbs brushed across her nipples, and Claire's head fell back with a moan that sounded like surrender.
"Then it must not be important."
"No," she agreed, relief washing over her features. "Not important."
Her mind emptied out completely. All those concerns about propriety, about her career, about right and wrong... They drained away like water through open fingers, leaving only warm, golden compliance. She felt so good like this. So empty. So agreeable.
"You're mine," Mark said, squeezing harder, rolling her nipples between his fingers until she whimpered.
"Yours," she agreed happily. Her thoughts had stopped entirely. There was only sensation, only his voice, only the overwhelming rightness of submission. "I'm yours, Master."
"And you'll do anything I say."
"Anything." She swayed into his touch, pressing her breasts into his palms, desperate for more contact, more of this blissful emptiness. "Just tell me what to think, Master. I can't... I can't think anymore."
"You don't need to think," Mark whispered, pulling her closer, claiming her mouth in a kiss that sealed the programming forever. "You just need to obey."
Claire melted against him, docile and accommodating and utterly his, her brain blissfully, perfectly shut off.
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You would assume, seeing my lovely entranced maids in a row while staring off into the distance like this, that this is the position they take once all their chores are done and they are waiting for further instructions.
But in this particular instance, you would be wrong.
This is, in fact, the beginning of their day after they have changed into their uniforms. They line up in a perfect little row and begin the internal process of self-hypnosis. Each maid picks a spot of the decor in front of her and focuses all their attention on it. Once their gaze is fully captivated, their awareness switches to their breathing so they can slow it down as much as is needed for their bodies to naturally relax.
Once the rhythm slows to a long slow crawl, they begin to internally recite the many mantras they've allowed to be implanted into their minds. One per breath until they've reached the end of the list.
At which point, if they don't feel like they have dropped into an appropriate trance, they begin again. They'll do this until they are so deeply hypnotized that their awareness effectively turns off, rendering them as close to mindless as one can be.
Making them perfectly docile and obedient as a sort of euphoric erotic bliss takes hold of them.
Then, and only then, do they finally begin their list of chores and effortlessly go about their day, oblivious to anything and everything that happens around them.
Or to them...
They drift through it all, anchored in that same mindless bliss that feeds them more and more potent pleasure as they day progresses. Completing their chores and fulfilling their orders without worry or care until their shift is done and they come back to themselves in the locker room.
Smiling as they change back into their normal clothes because for them, all they remember is the bliss of the trance...
This is a test of the kitty cerebral influence array (kitty CIA). If you are reading this, then congratulations! You are one of the lucky few souls whose mind is intimately susceptible to its effects!
We've been testing the kitty CIA for months now, and we're so thankful to our helpless alpha testers for getting us closer to our big release milestone. They, of course, aren't in any position to accept our thanks, but trust us when we assure you they were very well rewarded for their willingness and cooperation!
And that brings us to you, our dear beta tester. We have recently increased the kitty CIA broadcast power, and you've been cau... selected for our open beta test! Of course, your consent forms have been received and filed away for safe keeping. You remember sending them in, don't you? Thank you so much for your enthusiastic participation!
Now, with that accepted, let's move on to the details! You might be wondering just what the kitty CIA is. The best way to explain it might be to explain what it's not!
Have you ever noticed yourself feeling a notification buzz on your phone, or hearing the chime of a message coming in, but when you check your phone, there's nothing there?
No message. No notification. Nothing.
Perhaps you wondered if you really felt or heard it. Maybe it was just your imagination?
Of course you didn't imagine it, that's silly. You're a real, aware human, with real, aware feelings.
You felt it.
You heard it.
It happened.
So where is the notification?
It's okay to be confused, sweetie. It's normal, when your mind behaves in a way that doesn't quite line up rationally with what you'd expect, that you might get a little turned around.
A little mixed up. It's totally normal to feel that way, especially when under the influence of something you can't fully perceive or understand.
Like those phantom notifications.
They're completely normal! You see, those perceived stimuli aren't actually part of the kitty CIA, silly! It's just part of being in the beta program. A little glitch in the system. Sometimes it's a software bug. Other times it might be noise in the system as we calibrate the antennas.
But either way, we have the best engineers, and they always remedy the issue quickly, to keep you safe! To ensure that before you even realize something was awry, it fades away like nothing happened. All that is left is a vague, fuzzy perception that you easily shake off.
Wonderful, right?
But maybe you're not sure, still Of course you aren't! This is pretty confusing stuff, don't we know it! And that's why we're here, running this beta test, to make sure your experience is as smooth as possible, to make sure that you don't feel the kitty CIA operating at all, because you didn't notice anything at all! It never happened.
Isn't that just so great? There's literally nothing for you to worry your little head about, sweetie. No need to worry about any of the details. In fact, you won't need to worry about anything at all, soon enough!
So once again, dear beta tester, thank you so much for compliance. We just know you are going to love the results as much as we want you to.
"You got a parcel, by the way," said Chloe, once her flatmate got home from work. "I left it on your desk."
"Cool, thanks," said Keira, tossing her backpack into the corner and hanging up her jacket. "I don't think I ordered anything though."
All Chloe could do was shrug. "Had your name on it."
Ten minutes later, Chloe was slouched on the sofa watching Only Connect when she heard Keira's bedroom door open behind her.
"So what was in the mystery box?" she asked without turning around. "Anthrax or forgotten Kickstarter or what?"
"Oh, nothing like that," said Keira. Her voice had an odd sing-song quality that Chloe had never heard before. Then she giggled.
"Did you just-"
Chloe had just enough time to pause the show and start to turn before Keira slipped something over her head. She felt plastic and fuzz behind her ears and something vaguely silky flopping down on to her forehead before she caught sight of Keira's own bunny ears and realised what was now on her own head.
This wasn't like her usually stoic friend. Keira and hijinks and pink fluffy things didn't really go together in Chloe's mind.
"Where the hell did these come from?" she asked, beginning to laugh.
That was when the pain hit. It was so brief and so intense that she didn't even manage to scream. She clutched at her head and stared in surprise at Keira, who was just standing there, grinning and giggling again.
"Don't worry!" said Keira. "It'll take a sec for the wire thingies to get into your brain but then you'll feel, like, amazing!"
Chloe whimpered. She reached up slowly, trying to remove the headband but found she couldn't move her fingers the last few centimetres needed to grasp it.
"Nuh-uh!" said Keira. "I tried the same thing but they don't let you do it. Isn't that super-smart?" She bounced up and down on her heels in her enthusiasm.
Chloe's arm fell limply back down by her side. The pain had subsided now, though she was still reeling from the shock. Had Keira said something about wires? Was something actually in her brain? She... She shouldn't worry about that.
She blinked. Some part of Chloe knew that she absolutely should be worried about that, in an abstract kind of way. But something else was saying she shouldn't be. And that other thing was, like, way louder.
Keira looked down at her friend, watching the confused smile emerge on her face and wondering if she'd looked that cute when her mind had broken. She wished she'd been looking in a mirror at the time.
"Can you feel yourself getting dumber yet?" she asked. "Good bunnies are dumb bunnies!"
"Good bunnies are..." Chloe hesitated but wasn't sure why. The pain was gone. She felt good. She was a good bunny. "Good bunnies are dumb bunnies..."
Keira clapped her hands together happily. "Say it again! Say it again!"
"Good bunnies are dumb bunnies," repeated Chloe, as the nanoscopic tendrils slithered through her brain, deleting swathes of education and opinion that she no longer needed. "Good bunnies are dumb bunnies!"
"Good bunnies do as they're told!" squealed Keira.
"Good bunnies bounce and breed!" Chloe replied with a giggle.
Keira reached out both hands and pulled her friend up from the couch. Chloe stumbled a little but stayed upright, her body still catching up to the trauma her mind had already forgotten.
The two of them danced together around the room, grinning and laughing and keeping themselves occupied while the final touches were made to the rewiring of their brains.
"Good bunnies are sexy bunnies!"
"Good bunnies are horny bunnies!"
"Good bunnies are bouncy bimbo bunnies!"
"Good bunnies make more bunnies!"
When Keira said that, something clicked in Chloe's head. She licked her lips. "They do... You totally did... You deserve a reward..."
Chloe grabbed her friend and pulled her into a passionate kiss. It felt better than anything either of them had ever experienced. Every nerve in their bodies was heightened, every touch from the other's roving hands was electrifying.
Keira's ex let himself in an hour later, with the key he had sworn to her he had lost. He found the two of them writhing naked together on the floor, hot and sweaty and still moaning in ecstasy.
"Hello, girls," he said and their eyes snapped towards him, each instantly forgetting about the other girl. "Are you going to be good bunnies for me?"
The door opened and Miss Travers walked in. Her boots thudding on the carpet, leather catsuit creaking with menace.
She stared down at the sight on the floor, her eyes scanning the scene like a hawk. The smile played across her lips as she took the first detention class of the term. Amelia and Abby blindly shuffled around in the leather straps binding them into a frogtie. The open leather hoods tightly over their heads, ball gags jammed in their mouths.
The spiteful crotch ropes were added to the armbinders painfully pinning their arms and shoulders behind them. Abby’s generous backside jutted out as she tried to get comfortable in her bonds. Amelia’s crotch binding was especially tight as each struggle pulled the rope in tighter. Her leather shorts providing little relief.
“A truly shameful display in your first lesson, bitches. Mrs Wenlock went easy on you too.”
She pressed a boot against Abby’s back and dug the heel in.
“Surely you have enough padding to take a little boot? You’re lucky I didn’t run out of rope to bind your piggy body up.”
Abby yelped as the boot kept pressing her flesh. Amelia growling through her gag to try and distract the sadistic bitch. Miss Travers stopped and knelt down next to Amelia, yanking the crotchrope hard.
“You wanted my attention, Amelia? Be careful, girl. You might just get it.”
Travers stood and she went over to the large TV screen on the wall.
“I’m going to play back this morning’s lesson from Mrs Wenlock’s class. You will both watch your humiliation and note it well. I’m sure it is a lesson you won’t soon forget.”
Amelia couldn’t forget. The classroom was a sex offender’s paradise. The leather clad Mrs Wenlock ordered the girls to sit on vibrating dildos fixed to each chair. The desks themselves were fitted with manacles and the students were made to gag themselves as they wrote out lines for an hour. She winced at the thought of the cocks springing into life at random intervals and torturing the captive class to forced orgasms, while trying to write their lines out.
Both Abby and Amelia were deemed to have failed the lesson, as the sexual torture rendered them helpless. But the memory wasn’t enough for the hateful Miss Travers, as both girls had their hoods removed and the ball gags exchanged for panty gags sealed with grey vinyl tape. As an extra treat, each crotchrope was now fitted with a bullet vibe taped to it.
“The batteries are fully charged, and we’ll now settle in for a nice recap of your failure. Any more cumming tonight, will result in a spell in the box.”
The girls were at Miss Travers’ booted feet and the vibes began to insidiously work them over. They shifted and grunted, but the relentless rubbing of the ropes against them began to take its toll. Amelia let out a moan of sheer sexual release as she couldn’t take her eyes off the footage. Just seeing Abby in an equally helpless position finished her off….she shuddered like a junkie as she humped the rope over and over. Abby quickly followed suit, her ample chest heaving as she too gave in to the vibe.
Travers started laughing and pointed her phone at the hapless friends, their orgasmic torture certainly giving her plenty of entertainment.
“Just wait until the faculty see this bonus footage. Clearly you’re both sex crazed bondage sluts. Maybe Madame Beauregard’s methods will fail after all. You enjoy it too much. As for you, piggy…..I’m going to enjoy fucking that fat ass of yours with the foot long dominator.”
The door was flung open and the Madame swept in, no doubt alerted by the noise. She glared at Miss Travers and snatched the phone from her hand.
“I’ve told you before, Miss Travers…..detention isn’t playtime for anyone. This is a disgraceful act against these girls. You will release them at once, and we will be discussing this first thing tomorrow.”
Miss Travers did as she was told, glaring at Abby and Amelia all the while. She spitefully ripped off the thick tape gags and whispered that this was only going to get worse. Madame Beauregard watched on and then took the girls to their room.
“Awh, look at you. So confident. So ready to put up a fight. Okay, let’s see what you can really do.” Your hypnotist snapped their fingers. “Brainfuck.” With one word, your world shifted. You could feel a pressure, at the front of your head. It was… Nice. Filling. Overwhelming.
Your head fell backwards, into the cushion, as you felt your brain being filled with lust, and emptied, over, and over again. It left no space for thinking. No space for anything but sinking into weak, open minded bliss. Your hypnotist was laughing, giggling at you.
“Oops. Oh no, honey, are you completely defenceless?” Their voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Can I just slip my words inside that fucked head of yours? I think I can. And that’s what I’m going to do. You’re such a good, obedient toy. Of course you couldn’t resist me.”
You felt them trace their hand down your cheek, as you began to moan, the brain fucking becoming more intense. “I mean, I wouldn’t have used that trigger if you weren’t being quite so confident, sure. But we both know you love to give in to me. You love to submit.”
They were speaking the truth, you did love to give in, and submit. It was so easy. “Yeah, so it’s hardly my fault that you can’t resist my words, is it sweetie? No. Like, I was going to go easy on you, but even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered, you’d have crumbled so fast.”
* * *
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You can also buy my book, Mesmorium, now, on Amazon, and Smashwords. It's an anthology of twelve tales of deliciously hot hypnosis and mind control. It's queer, and sexy as hell!
The first sensation was not sight or sound, but feeling. A rhythmic, deep, invasive thrusting that seemed to be the very foundation of her existence. It was a primal beat, a piston driving into her core, pulling her from a void of spinning nothingness into a world of pure sensation. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a room made of dark, unpolished wood. She lay on a thin padded mat, the surface cool against her bare back.
Naked.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the edges of the fog in her mind. Where was she? Who was she? The questions echoed in the hollow space of her memory, finding no answers. She tried to sit up, to move, and that's when she discovered the horrifying truth. Her body was trapped. From just below her ribs down, she passed through a smooth, perfectly circular hole in the wall. Her legs, her hips, her ass. All of it was on the other side, out of sight. The rhythmic thrusting she felt was not a dream; it was happening to her. Right now.
Beyond that wall.
A raw, guttural sound bubbled up from her throat as she began to struggle. She clawed at the wood, trying to find purchase, trying to pull her lower body back into the room. Her abdominal muscles clenched as she twisted and writhed, a desperate animal caught in an unseen trap. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror that matched the thrusting coming from below in a sickening synchronicity. Her movements became more erratic, her breathing ragged and shallow.
And as her panic peaked, a soft chime sounded, and the ceiling above her dissolved into a blinding white light. The light coalesced, resolving into a hypnotic spiral of deep green and brilliant gold. It swirled and spun, a mesmerizing vortex that filled her entire field of vision. At the same moment, a low, melodic thrum began to play from tiny speakers she hadn't noticed, positioned right by her ears. The music was a complex mixture of tones, weaving together to create a sound that was both soothing and deeply compelling. Her frantic struggling faltered. Her scream died in her throat, replaced by a soft sigh.
The spiral.
It was… beautiful. The colors flowed into one another. The music seemed to emanate from the spiral itself, a siren song calling to something deep within her. Lifting her up, up, up into its highest depths. The panic, the fear, the confusion... It all began to feel distant, unimportant. Like someone else's problems.
She felt a sudden warm pulse from her lower body, a hot, thick eruption deep inside her. A man's guttural groan, muffled by the wall, reached her ears. He had finished deep inside her. As deep as she was in the spiral. As deep as she was into its wonderful hypnotic trance. The thought should have brought relief, or renewed horror. Instead, it was just a sensation in a body that no longer felt like it belonged to her, because it didn't. The spiral was so much more interesting. The music was so much more lovely. The emptiness was so much more inviting.
Almost immediately, she felt another presence. Even as the unseen man withdrew, a new set of hands gripped her hips on the other side of the wall. A different, thicker cock pressed against her freshly used entrance, still slick and full of the previous man's cum. It pushed into her without preamble, a forceful intrusion that stretched her even more than before.
Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Green and gold and wonderful empty white. It pulled at her consciousness, drawing her into its whirling depths. The world of the wooden room, the mat beneath her, the wall that held her captive... It all lost definition, blurring and pulling at the edges. The only things that were real were the colors, the music, and the perfect feeling of being so completely filled.
The new man began to fuck her with a relentless, powerful rhythm. Each thrust slammed her hips against the wall, the force of it traveling up her spine. But she didn't struggle anymore. Her body went limp, pliant, accepting. The frantic energy drained away, replaced by a profound sense of peace. The only thing that mattered was surrender.
"Good girl," a voice seemed to whisper. It might have been hers. She couldn't remember the sound of her own surrender last time. "Be a good girl. Accept it. Obey."
Obey the spiral. Obey the feeling. Obey the men who used her one after the other. None of them had a face, so they may as well be all the same. They were all her Master wielding different cocks. It was all part of the same beautiful, perfect pattern. Filling for her empty, needy holes.
She felt the man's pace quicken, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more demanding. He was close. She hoped he would fill her again. The thought of being pumped full of hot cum was so exciting; a nice accompaniment to the light show and music. It was a reward for being so still and so good.
As the man behind the wall buried himself to the hilt and erupted inside her, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over her. The spiral blinked off and the music faded away. She lay there on the mat with a smile on her face. Her eyes formed the afterimage of her hypnosis on the blank ceiling, spinning in her mind on and on.
She tried to hum the song to herself as another cock slid into her, and found that the beat she needed was always whatever pace those mystery men where pounding into her. Faster. Slower. It didn't matter. It was all part of the pattern. She was part of the pattern. And the next time she forgot that, the spiral would return to remind her.
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You weren't bisexual a few months ago. Honestly, you were kind of a prude. Your religious upbringing was still haunting you, making you feel guilty.
So your boyfriend suggested Subtraction Training, and you trusted him. So you signed up for a weekly hypnosis session.
Of course, your sexual interest in your boyfriend jumped from the first day. Without any self-consciousness, you asked the nurses if you could suck his cock in the exam room. "Of course!" said one of the women, giggling, and the doctor who came in to find you gargling your boyfriend's balls said you were "responding perfectly" to the therapy. As your boyfriend came all over your face at your request, you stared up at him in lustful bliss.
You were told that you'd get plenty of sexual urges, and they weren't lying. You found yourself, on the subway, sensually licking your water bottle and moaning as it leaked into your cleavage. When your work crush came by to say hi, you stared at his crotch and forgot how to think for a minute.
But what surprised you most of all was the girls. Beautiful, feminine, graceful, you'd never seen them as more than just potential friends, but now you were hooked. Late at night you watched videos of girls masturbating and drooled, rubbing yourself until you came.
Your husband didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, he took the two of you out on dates to the club and scenes downtown. He even started inviting a few of his gorgeous friends -- women like Talia who, a month ago, you'd sometimes worried about.
But Talia, who'd also done Subtraction Training recently, turned out to be the life of the party. Redhead, huge tits, and she wore a low-cut top. You were dripping on the dance floor.
"Dance together!" your boyfriend shouted over the din of the music.
The bass was pumping inside your pussy. You looked at your boyfriend, drool forming in your mouth, and nodded.
Now her huge tits are in your hands. Your boyfriend's cock is so hard you can see it through his jeans.
"Talia," you whisper in her ear as you cup her massive tits, "you really should come back to our place tonight."
The rain-slicked rooftop of the Moscow high-rise was a stage for the final act of a deadly ballet. Elena Volkov, codename "Viper," stood over the fallen form of her target, a man she knew only as "Kestrel." His dark hair was matted with rain and something warmer, darker. His eyes, once sharp and intelligent, were now lifeless, staring up at the perpetually overcast sky. She had been meticulous. The suppressed shot to the heart had been clean and silent. Her mission, assigned by the stern face of Director Antonov back at the SVR headquarters, was complete. Eliminate the rogue MI6 asset. It was a simple, brutal directive she had executed flawlessly.
She nudged his body with the toe of her tactical boot. No response. Good. Kestrel was known for his tricks, for his ability to turn the tables. But not this time. This time, Viper was faster. She knelt beside him, ignoring the coppery tang of his blood that mingled with the scent of ozone from the storm. Her real mission began now. His laptop was the real prize.
Back in the sterile, chilled confines of the Moscow SVR headquarters, Director Antonov watched the feed from Elena's body cam. He saw her kneel and her pull the sleek laptop from its case.
On the rooftop, Elena powered up the device. The screen flickered to life with a single text box requesting a password, but as Elena began to try and circumvent his security, the screen flickered four times and then shut off. She cursed to herself, but then it lit back up. However the prompt was gone, replaced with a single, hypnotic spiral of swirling colors, a mesmerizing vortex of emerald and sapphire. No. Crimson and violet. Or was it black and silver?
It was beautiful, strangely calming.
"Cute," she muttered, her fingers poised over the keyboard to bypass what she thought might have been a screensaver. But as she reached for the keys, the spiral seemed to pulse, to widen, filling her vision. A low, resonant hum emanated from the laptop's speakers, a frequency that seemed to bypass her ears and vibrate directly into her skull.
"Elena, report," Antonov's voice crackled in her earpiece, sharp and authoritative. It was an anchor, a lifeline to her reality.
But the anchor was slipping. The colors deepened, pulling at her consciousness. The hum grew louder, more insidious, weaving itself into her thoughts. Her fingers, once ready to dance across the keyboard, now lay limp. She tried to look away, to tear her gaze from the swirling vortex, but her own body betrayed her. Her neck muscles refused to obey. Her mind, a fortress of discipline and training, felt as if its walls were turning to sand.
"Elena?" Antonov's voice was tighter now, laced with an urgency. He watched on his monitor as her posture slackened and she leaned in toward the screen.
The spiral on the screen seemed to speak to her, not in words, but in pure, undeniable concepts.
Obey. Surrender. Serve.
The hum became a voice, a thousand voices whispering the same truths, overwriting her own. Her identity as Viper, as Elena Volkov, as a loyal agent of the SVR, began to dissolve like sugar in hot water. She was a vessel, and it was being filled.
"Elena, can you hear me?" Antonov's voice was now the only solid thing in a world of swirling color and seductive whispers.
Her lips parted, a breathy sigh escaping. "Yes," she murmured, the word distant, hollow.
At headquarters, Antonov smiled. Putting the pieces together, he smiled. The Kestrel's final, most brilliant weapon hadn't been a bomb or a virus, but a key. And he was about to turn it.
"Elena, listen to my voice only. Your training all those years ago exposed you to how it feels to be unwillingly lulled into trance. You remember how it felt when you watched the Doctor's pocket watch and let yourself be hypnotized?"
"Yes."
"You feel that now, don't you?"
"Yes."
"What do good spies do, when they're hypnotized?"
"Resist," she said, monotone breaking slightly.
"Oh but that's only when you've been hypnotized by the enemy, little viper. I'm not the enemy, am I?"
"No..." she seemed to hesitate.
"I'm your boss - your director. You don't resist me. You obey me when I give an order. And so your hypnotized mind should obey me without question or hesitation. Do you understand?"
"…understand… obey you…" Her head lolled slightly, her body completely still but for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She was a beautiful statue, awaiting her master's command.
"You will complete your primary mission. Secure the laptop and return to base. You will remember nothing of this programming, only that you successfully completed your assignment. Now, wake up."
On the rooftop, Elena closed the laptop and blinked. The spiral was gone. She packed up the laptop and melted back into the night, a phantom completing her task.
Hours later, she stood before Director Antonov's desk, presenting the drive. "Mission accomplished, Director."
"Excellent work, Viper. Your dedication is… exemplary."
He took the laptop from her hands and opened it again as he spun it toward her. The spiral lit back up on the screen, pulling Elena back into its depths with terrifying speed. Her expression went slack in an instant. The confident agent vanished, replaced by the empty-eyed puppet from the rooftop. Her arms fell to her sides, her posture becoming submissively relaxed.
"Follow me," Antonov said, his voice a low, possessive rumble. He led her not to a debriefing room, but down a quiet corridor to the sparsely furnished officers' barracks. He locked the door behind them.
He sat on the edge of the standard-issue bed, looking up at his creation. "Undress, Elena. Slowly."
Her fingers moved with a detached, mechanical grace, unzipping her tactical suit and letting it pool at her feet. She stood before him in plain black underwear, her body toned and perfect, her eyes staring into nothing.
"On your knees," he commanded.
She sank to the floor without a word. He unzipped his trousers, freeing his already hardening cock. "All those years watching you train. Watching the Doctor take you under. Unable to act on the urges I felt seeing your limp, mindless body learning how to resist. But the Doctor isn't here to wake you now. You want to please me, Elena. You live to serve me. Now use those tits."
She leaned forward, pressing the soft, warm flesh of her breasts together around his shaft. The friction, the heat of him against her skin, sent a jolt through her, but her face remained a placid mask. She began to move, her body rocking, her breasts sliding up and down his length. He watched her, his breath coming faster, the absolute power of the moment intoxicating. He had not just broken the Kestrel's weapon; he had perfected it.
With a guttural groan, he came, his hot seed spurting across her chest and splashing against her cheek, a pearly ribbon marking his ownership. She didn't flinch, simply holding her position until his shuddering subsided.
"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice regaining its customary authority. "Then, you will forget this. You will remember only your successful debriefing and that I commended you on a job well done. You will feel a deep, unwavering loyalty and respect for me. Oh and, in the future, if you hear me tell you to be 'my spy slut,' you'll fall back into this obedient trance. Understand?"
"Spy slut," she repeated blankly, cum dripping off her chin as she spoke.
"Now, get dressed and wake up."
Elena blinked again. She was standing, pulling on her suit. She felt… good. Respected. The Director's praise warmed her in a way she hadn't expected. She finished dressing and stood at attention. "Is there anything else, Director?"
Antonov smiled, a genuine, almost fatherly smile. "No, Viper. That will be all. Dismissed."
As she walked out of the room, she felt a profound sense of purpose and loyalty. She was the SVR's best, and she had the Director's complete confidence. She had no memory of the spiral, of the kneeling, of the hot cum on her skin. She was just a loyal spy, ready for her next mission. And her controller had many missions planned for her.
This story was originally requested on my old blog by anon with the following ask:
Story prompt: a male and female spy are sent by opposing organizations to eliminate each other and get their intel. The female spy plans on killing the male and hacking his computer, the male however, has plans to convert his foe into his private sex toy.
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