Beguiled Scene Log: Sunday With Lois
“We have the same trance face.”
It was a fleeting realization, in the moment. I have no idea if other people are self-aware of their trance face, but I know mine. It’s a heavy-lidded grin, sometimes opening into an out-and-out smile, and on special occasions becoming a big-eyed look of expectation and waiting.
I made that face a little bit at Beguiled, and I can feel it when it happens. And I saw it mirrored in her face in that final moment, when everything was at its peak.
But I’m a few steps ahead of myself here.
Perhaps you’re familiar with the tale of me and @bylineloislane; if not, this post will give you what you need to know. In summary: there’s 20 years of A LOT OF HISTORY between us.
Beguiled was her very first hypno con after five years of me bugging her about how much she’d love it, and about 13 years since the amazing evening from the post above. We had played a little as the weekend progressed, but not done anything too involved.
At least, that is, until Sunday afternoon, where I found myself smirking at Lois as I tossed lengths of rope between my hands like one very cocky motherfucker. We’d just gone to @zanydanger’s rope lounge and I’d re-learned some of the basic ties they had taught me years ago, and I was, as I say, feeling my Wheaties.
We’d played a little with rope the weekend before when I was in town, but without anything actually getting tied. What I did do was build a potent suggestion for Lois that the rope I use was *very* powerful and would cause intense and pleasurable feelings, or perhaps tranciness, or perhaps both, when it touched her or she touched it.
So there I was, tossing around the rope like I was some boss dom, but I actually possessed just two things: the knowledge of essentially three ties I’d learned about 20 minutes earlier and a play partner whose brain was ever-so-willing to help me out. But that’s really all you need.
Things started simply enough, as I reminded her how good the rope would feel as it wound around her ankles and her wrists. Lois is such a vibrant person that it’s striking when she slips into trancy space, and it was even more striking as she stayed in something of a waking trance as I tied.
There’s something fundamental for me that’s touched off when I’m touching her. Knowing that I could do something to keep her here, both literally and metaphorically? That was a good thing, and I savored every moment of it.
Once I was done, I decided to play with a trigger we’d built where any time her arms were raised, she would emerge from trance, but when they were lowered or dropped, she’d drop back down into trance. Of course with her arms bound together, the rope in my hand had a lot of say as to how awake she was… or not.
It was in that moment that inspiration struck, and while she was in trance, I got another rope and made what I’m calling, for lack of a better term, the Fractionation Machine. I tied her arms to her legs with a fairly loose rope, and told Lois to raise her arms. Since the rope was loose, she was able to raise her arms fairly well and come most of the way out of trance.
When she lowered her arms and went back into trance, though, I took some of the slack up between her arms and legs. The next time up wasn’t quite so far, and the drop, well... it was all the deeper for the short trip up.
Every time up would be harder, with the line going taut and rebounding her back into trance more quickly than before. It was… rewarding to see her strain against the rope in an ultimately futile effort to come back up from trance. It also didn’t hurt that I eventually held the middle rope in my hand instead of tying it off, sometimes giving a little more slack only to yank it tight just when she thought she was emerging from trance.
Actual look on my face.
Seeing her struggle between waking and trance was utterly delightful, as was knowing how much she was enjoying the ride.
After a while, I brought Lois back to some modicum of awareness and began to untie her. She was in that post-trance bliss we all know and love, and I was riding super high on the toppy energy of the moment.
It would be fair to say that hypnotic amnesia fascinates her, and as deeply gone as she was the time was right. I suggested that she’d find the details of what we’d done becoming increasingly distant, and that the remembered feelings would be more than enough to satiate her curiosity.
As I brought her up from trance, I was ready to shift to aftercare, but...
I wish now that I could remember what she said that pushed me over the edge, but memory fails me.
Whatever it was she said pulled the reins off the part of me that had wanted to show her what I could do when given the chance for a while. I have some complex emotions going on when it comes to Lois, and it’s hard to state how much more complex they got over the weekend of Beguiled. Perhaps it was the ease with which she’d been topping me on and off through the weekend, or the way she’d jumped into some fun scenes with a few folks that went places I wasn’t sure I could go, but I felt a very potent need to remind her who showed her this stuff in the first place.
I needed her to see how well I knew her and how well I could wield that knowledge against her. It was a moment I’d idly and not so idly fantasized about for years.
I quickly wrapped the rope around her wrists, one by one, just enough for her to notice it was there. As much as the physical restraint is fun, the mental restraint is and always will be the heart of the matter.
So I laid her back on the bed, leaning against the headboard and pinned her arms above her, tying them firmly in place and telling her she wasn’t allowed to be in trance.
As long as her arms were stuck, she didn’t get to feel that bliss or that release. She was unable to relax and sink, and the need was building. It started as something like a whimper, and maybe a salty glance, but that was not what I was there for.
I was there to hear her ask. I was there to hear her not just want the release and bliss of trance but to *need* it and to need it from *me*. I toyed and teased, more self-assured than I’ve felt in years, lying beside her as she moved from amused to needy.
It was then that I slung my legs over her, mimicking a move she’d discussed being a favorite of hers as a top. I snaked my way up to her face, and told her:
“What is it you want?”
“I want to drop.”
“Say it again.”
Her voice became clearer.
“I want to drop. I want to let go.”
“You’re going to have to ask for it.”
“Can I please drop?”
My face was inches from hers, and that’s when I saw the look. The eyes somehow droopy and wide all at once, the muscles slack but expressive in equal measure and that sense of longing and expectation and need. That was the one.
I remembered it from myself and from her face more than a decade ago. It was the face that stuck with me; the one that I remembered more clearly than anything else. My heart was racing and my own mind spun with the possibilities. Oh, the things I wanted to do.
As the energy and the tension grew, she didn’t notice how my hands had moved to the ropes tied to her wrists, still pinned above her. I built the anticipation higher, and then told her to ask one more time.
“Can I ple-”
I pulled the ropes.
Her arms fell.
She went limp and sank beneath me as it all went away.
She couldn’t have been closer and yet farther away in that moment.
I couldn’t have felt more satisfied or more needy.
It was so, so good.
