HypnoLover

Cis Male, 26, Bi, interested in cis women, cis men, and trans women. I live in California and looking for hypno fun (and maybe a friendly handjob). Mainly, reposts of hot hypno stuff I find with occasionally self posts. Working too much in healthcare as a nursing assistant, hypnosis lover, history lover, gamer, artist, Dms always open

[the-helpful-wolffe-hypnotist]

Happy Pride Month🌈

Guess it's no better time to say I'm Bi, and even more. I was in the middle of a church event when I really accepted the fact that I am. Always been an ally, my best friend is a lesbian, and a few of my closest friends are trans and bi. I never thought myself that way, but I guess recently I just accepted that I am. Anyway, probably no one will see this, so it's easier to just say and launch it into the space.

[hypnoticdom1]

Bachelorette Brainwashing

Britney thought it was odd that her best friend Amber decided to have a “hypnosis-themed”  wedding, but Britney knew Amber and her fiancé, Alan, were into that sort of thing. Britney was admittedly curious about the kink stuff that the happy couple was always so open about, so she accepted the invitation to “get tranced” and have her mind and body “erotically played with” by hot hypnotists at Amber’s bachelorette party. Britney was, however, very surprised when the hypnotists turned out to be the bride and groom. Everyone that showed up for the party was clearly down for the couple’s plans for the night though, and Britney’s surprise turned to excitement. The event started out casual enough; everyone mingled and played typical party games with some apparently “hypnotic” audios on in the background. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. An hour later, everyone was given custom headphones that must’ve cost Amber and Alan a fortune; they were really going all out for this thing. The audios that the couple recorded together began playing from the headphones and said Britney’s name specifically as they mentioned how blank and warm and wet she was getting. It seemed laughable at first, but she had to admit that the suggestions seemed more and more plausible as she watched the behaviors of the women around her change—some friends and acquaintances seemed to be getting physically closer to each other whether that was while playing Mario kart or chatting it up around the snacks. Britney swore she saw eyes becoming more vacant, but it all seemed surreal. She tried not to think about casually brushing her fingers across her nipples or resting some of her weight on the corner of the table between her legs. Everything seemed chill and fun despite the possible… okay, noticeable increase in arousal throughout the rooms. Britney lost track of how much time had passed, but the custom headphones were eventually traded out for custom VR headsets. Again, it probably cost a fortune, Britney thought. But hey, this was the couple’s night, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The headsets were playing some sort of “hypnotic spiral” that she admittedly did feel compelled to stare at. It wasn’t long before she noticed her panties were wet–more than wet, if she was being honest. Maybe the idea of being mind-controlled or whatever was actually kinda hot. When the words “Rub Your Clit” flashed before her eyes, Britney barely thought about why she was obeying the command. One hand pulled up her dress, and the other reached into her panties and began rubbing her new “off-switch,” as the VR headset explained. Britney really wasn’t sure why obeying felt so good, but she wasn’t complaining; it just surprised her that “weak,” “wet,” and “willing” described her so accurately right now. Thinking about how suggestible and horny she was only made her more suggestible and horny. “Fuck, this is hot” Britney proclaimed aloud as she realized how much she was enjoying the programming. The VR headset seemed to recognize Britney’s statement, and audio, in the voices of the couple hosting the event, responded accordingly. “Yes, Britney. ‘Fuck’ is exactly what you need to do right now.” God was that true, Britney thought. Without any conscious effort, she stopped rubbing her clit and began walking forward. She felt her off-button throbbing as she stared at the spiral and continued walking to her unknown destination. Suddenly, her legs stopped.

“Hello, Britney,” said Amber, the woman of the night. “How are you enjoying the party?”

“Umm I’m enjoying this wayyyy more than I thought I would! Thank you so much for inviting me, Amber. Could you help me out though? I feel the need to tell you that I’m really fucking horny and… I want more.”

“I’m glad you’re having such a great time! It seems like the other girls are too. Since you want more, what will you offer in return?”

The VR headset flashed words before Britney’s eyes and simultaneously echoed them in her ears. “Tits.”

“My tits,” Britney repeated.

“Ass.”

“My ass,” She continued instinctively.

“Pussy.”

“My Pussy.”

“Mouth.”

“My mouth.”

 “Mind.”

“My mind,” Britney finished. She’d absorbed the answers effortlessly.

“Is that so,” Amber said with a sly smile. “Present your tits for me, please.”

Britney’s hands slowly moved to slip her the straps of her dress off her shoulders and tug her dress down. Revealing her tits, she cupped them with her hands and pressed them together.

“Good girl, Britney,” Amber praised.

Britney’s pussy pulsed in excitement at the reward.

“Now your ass.”

Britney turned around, stuck her ass out, and pulled her dress up to put herself on display. Amber stepped forward and gave Britney’s butt a firm squeeze with both her hands.

“That’s what I like to see. Pussy now.”

Amber reached back and pulled her slick panties down, exposing her pussy to Amber’s gaze.

“Mhm. Just as expected. Mouth.”

Britney let her panties fall to the ground as she stood up. Calmly, she turned to face her friend and opened her mouth. Amber slid two fingers over Britney’s tongue, and the obedient woman instantly began salivating.

“Very good, sweetie. Finally, your mind.”

“My mind?” Britney asked, confused. “My mind…” she droned on, processing the instruction. “My mind… is yours,” Britney stated as she felt herself drop deeper into the hazy headspace that had been overtaking her.

“Good girl. One final thing before I help you get to the next level of pleasure. Are you ready to let go completely for the rest of the night?”

“Yes, Amber,” Britney responded methodically.

“Good,” Amber replied in satisfaction. Seeing that her guest was ready, she reached her right hand down and pressed her middle and index fingers firmly against Britney’s sensitive clit.

“Auuhhh!” Britney moaned loudly. After she overcame the sudden wave of pleasure, her newly acquired programming took full control. “Your hypnoslut is ready for use, Mistress,” said Britney mindlessly as her headset continued deepening her brainwashing.

“Here’s your custom-cock, Britney. Go join the other hypnosluts fucking themselves with their dildos and melt your mind for me. You’ll be joining myself and Alan in the back room once we call you over. I think I’ll actually keep you as my own tonight and tell Alan to use a different hypnoslut while you and I take care of each other. How does that sound?”

“Perfect, Mistress. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Britney. Now go prepare yourself for Mistress,” Amber commanded excitedly with a gentle slap of Britney’s pussy. Britney moaned involuntarily at her Mistress’s touch.

“Yes, Mistress,” Britney managed between heavy breaths. 

After acknowledging the command, the beautifully brainwashed hypnoslut turned and walked towards the gasps and moans growing in volume, swaying her hips from side to side as she traveled in order to tease and please the hypnotic woman she knew would be watching her. Finding her place among the hypnosluts thanks to her headset’s GPS, Britney slid down onto her dildo with a breath-snatched gasp. Resting for a moment, the hypnoslut smiled to herself. Her choice to experiment with hypnosis was the best she could’ve made. After having what would  be her last personal thought for a while, Britney began bouncing on the custom-cock Amber provided, and her mind turned solely to the fantasizes of fucking and serving her Mistress for the night (if not for longer).

[laserking12]

Always a good reblog for my (potentially) future wife @nerdcrafthome4 and the slut @cutelittlesootsprite so that they remember our wedding plan

[laserking12]

A classic to reblog for my wife @nerdcrafthome6 and my doll @cutelittlesootsprite

[laurentidalreborn]

Who are your favourite authors of Hypno stories and what are your favourite works?

Here's a listing of stuff from mcstories that I have bookmarked that should give you a pretty good look into what I like...

@amuscobblestone

Lauren Meets Miss Titzy

Lauren Meets Miss Titzy 2

Miraja's Anniversary Gift

Aunt Trippy's New Boyfriend

Planned Parenthood

TempleSiren_NULL

Samantha

@hypnoswriter

Jedi Mind Trick

Your Man: Agent Moran

A Nosy Mouse

Alondra, The Pool Girl

Moon Party

Obedient Sister-in-law

Hypnotic Harlequin

Chaos at the Carnival

My Mom Is a Supervillain?!

Pixel Sunsets

Without a Sound

@sammyflashfics

Falling for Her Tits

Enslave All Cheerleaders

From Barista to Priestess

Slaves to the Snake Goddess

Theatre Slut

[butchpounder]

"i detrans ftms because i love getting off to their trauma and sadness" whatever. i detrans ftms because i like seeing them succumb to the pleasure of having someone they trust decide their identity for them. nothing's hotter than an ftmtf girl who rubs her pussy every day because she's so glad someone finally helped her figure out she's a horny lesbian and not a man

[thelastmesmerist]

She feels her mind getting numb and soft as I hypnotize her.

[another-hypno-toy]

good gods, those eyes.

[tiktoks-for-dead-pope]

[snazzy-hats-and-adhd]

[my-dailydreams]

[drainerpet]

we need to bring back sex cults for completely normal reasons

[missemma003]

The Assessment

You woke up feeling groggy, your eyes were heavy, your head was pounding, and you felt weak. It was like you had partied a bit too hard last night, but the thing was, you didn’t.

The last thing you remember was walking home, and now you are… as you came to your senses, you noticed that you had no clue where you are. You looked around for clues of where you might be, but all you saw was a room with the walls covered in white sheets, white bright lights pointing to your face, and a camera a few feet from you.

You tried to gather any strength you had to get up and try to find a way out, but you soon realized your wrists were tied to the uncomfortable chair you were sitting in.

You tried your best to process whatever was happening to you, but your brain didn’t seem too keen on the idea, it could barely keep up with your surroundings, much less come up with explanations of what happened to you. You tried to keep your thoughts small and simple, nothing too overwhelming, despite your situation, you were kidnapped and clearly drugged, but why? Why you? Why leave you in this dumpster of a photobooth? Panic gripped you; even though you wanted answers, wanted to ask questions, wanted to scream, your brain was lethargic, incapable of reacting appropriately to the situation, all thanks to the drugs that were still coursing through your system.

You didn’t have time to come up with any theories, because you heard the creak of a door opening and a tall slim figure entered the room. You couldn’t quite make out their face, because the bright lights in your eyes blinded you.

“How are you feeling today?" The voice sounded sweet, almost caring, and definitely feminine.

"Who are you? Where am I?” You tried to ask, but it was as if you were saying a tongue twister and the words didn’t come out quite right, too sluggish.

“You can call me doctor, and this is just a screening, I’m here just to make sure you are in good condition to move on to the following stages" the doctor spoke calmly, like they do this a hundred times a day, like it was any other ordinary check up. You watched as they moved to the camera, adjusting the lenses, before a small red light lit up.

"Are you going to record this? Why-Why am I tied up?” You started to grow more anxious and your speech suffered the consequences of it, you saw them walking in your direction, and you tried to struggle once more against your restraints, to no avail.

“Calm down, this is all for your security, this is all going to be okay." You felt a pinching pain in your arm while she comforted you, before going numb as a wave of calmness took over your body. You no longer had any strength to struggle, not that you had a lot, you could still move, but you knew you couldn’t run or fight if you wanted.

They untied one of your wrists and made a few tests, like lifting it up and seeing how long you could hold it up, how tightly you could hold their hand, and of course, if you would try to attack them or escape in any way. After seeing that the drug left you compliant enough, she fully untied you and went behind the camera.

"We are now recording the first medical assessment of patient 1620, brought in for treatment by their spouse. Can you please state your full name and age for the camera?" Their sweet tone gained a new layer of coldness, like a researcher talking about their lab rat.

“Spou-I don’t have a spouse, I’m not even dating, what are you talking about?” Your confusion was clear in your voice.

“The patient reports not remembering spouse, the reported memory problems have already been observed. Patient 1620, can you please state your full name and age for the camera?” They continued as though they were talking about a delirious person.

"Memory problems? What are you talking about? Please, please, just tell me where I am, what is happening?” Your pleas were weak, and a small tear dropped from your eye. You were just so confused, none of this made sense.

You watched as the doctor sat down, and started to go through some paper, they stopped on what seemed to be one of the first pages. You observed them fixing their glasses, and then they opened a notebook and started writing something while reading the notes.

"Patient 1620 seems unable to answer the questions made to them, further giving evidence to these so-called “memory lapses" that were reported when they were brought in.” They looked up from the papers to you

“To answer your questions now, this place is a private facility specialized in neuropsychological research. Your spouse brought you in because according to them you had lost your memory, and I am here to help you recover it. And from my initial assessment I can see it is true, so we will start with the process. Don’t worry, it is mostly harmless.” They spoke in a sweet, and caring voice, like this was all very normal, and not completely unsettling.

"Wait- Start the pro- Ah!” Before you could ask any questions about the process that was supposed to help you, the light in front of you started to flicker rapidly, distracting you, and throwing you off your train of thought.

"Don’t close your eyes, it is very important you look at the lights, watch how they flick and blink, allow them to help you, to help you take away all the things that don’t matter, opening space for all that was gone to come back again” their voice was soft and inviting like an embrace, and even though the light bothered your eyes, you couldn’t help but be tempted to stare at them, just to be able to comply with them.

“Allow yourself to relax, just let your eyes stay open, they will grow accustomed to the lights soon enough, they will see how much the light calms you down. Which blink, which strobe, which flicker, sends a wave of relaxation down your mind, drowning away your thoughts, your worries, your stresses. Yes, you are doing very well, just let the light envelop your mind.” Like honey dripping down your brain, their words stick so easily on you, their suggestions were too enjoyable to not follow. So you let your eyes open, you stared at the light as it flickered, and the more you stared, the more everything in your mind went away. You felt your mind becoming light, no thoughts, or ideas, or wants, just the light.

“And I can see those eyes getting heavy, and it is okay, because once you do the light will keep flickering inside your head, keeping you warm and blissful, calm and relaxed. I want you to listen to me, you are going to stare as much as you can at those lights, because once you close your eyes, your mind will be fully open for use to continue your treatment, and you want to be properly ready. Because

3, your mind is so very empty,

2, you want to get better,

1, totally open to me, and

SLEEP,

close your eyes and sleep.”

And for what felt like an eternity, you were now in total and absolute peace, no mind, no worries, just the lights and their voice guiding you.

“And as we can see patient 1620 is now in hypnotic trance, and we can proceed with reinstalling their programing.” They talked coldly to the camera.

“Patient 1620, can you hear me?” This time their voice had a commanding tone, like they no longer needed to play a part.

"Yes, doctor".

“I would like for you to go deep down into your memories, the places buried inside your mind, and search for the last time you were here. Do you remember being here before?” they said firmly to you, weaving the instruction to your mindless brain to follow.

And so you did.

This wasn’t your first time here, you remember now.

One day coming back from work you were drugged and brought into a strange room with the walls covered in white sheets, with white bright lights pointing to your face, and a camera a few feet from you. They made the lights flicker until you were empty and mindless, and they told you things that would soon turn into your truth.

You were taught how much better it was to simply not to think, they showed you how hard it was, how much energy you spent everyday on it, on ideals, beliefs, wants and needs. They showed you an easier life, a better life, one that came without effort or hard work, one that was graciously given to you, the life of servitude.

You no longer needed to think, or have ideas, wasting time on remembering useless stuff, like what’s your job? or where you lived? or what is your name? You just needed to remember two things, that obedience is pleasure, and pleasure is obedience. After all, obeying is so easy when your head is so empty, following instructions doesn’t require thought, it just requires you to feel pleasure.

You were made to understand that you weren’t a person, just a slave. Your purpose was to serve, that obedience was pleasure, and pleasure was obedience. They said you were nothing more than a toy to be used and discarded, and they turned you into one.

And you have never been happier.

Not thinking was the best thing that ever happened to you, not having the burden to decide was a blessing. Every command you were given, every task completed, was a jolt of mind numbing pleasure straight into your veins, you spent every second in pure ecstasy.

“Yes, doctor, I remember." As you spoke a hit of arousal appeared in your speech.

“Good slave, so what we are doing today is a follow up session. We had complaints from your owner regarding "free-thinking”, and we don't want that, do we?" They said in a condescending tone.

"No, doctor” the last thing you wanted was to be a bad slave, you wanted to be the best you possibly could.

“Good, open your eyes, I want you to masturbate, while staring at the light, and repeating what I say. We will make sure that you will associate the pleasure you feel from touching yourself with the idea of serving your owner, so when you do serve them, you will feel as if you were masturbating." They methodically, like it was nothing out of ordinary, just another procedure they do every single day.

Your hands obediently reached in between your legs and you knew you were ready for your training to start.

[qu1eter]

Homework given. She studies well. There's only one Theo.

📸: @alwayzzzleepy

[butchpounder]

"i detrans ftms because i love getting off to their trauma and sadness" whatever. i detrans ftms because i like seeing them succumb to the pleasure of having someone they trust decide their identity for them. nothing's hotter than an ftmtf girl who rubs her pussy every day because she's so glad someone finally helped her figure out she's a horny lesbian and not a man

[esthermika]

We need more middleplay. Where you're domming someone while also being dommed by someone else. Endless potential there.

[esthermika]

for example:

head maid teaching the new recruit how to properly worship her Mistress' property.

cuck wife at the lesbian bar scouting for girls that her wife would like.

hypnotist who brainwashes people with same programming she was once brainwashed with.

as i said, endless possibilities

[laurentidal]

A Poison In Our Marriage

"She's always there," Emma was pleading with her husband. "She's always going to be there; driving a wedge between us. I don't understand why you can't just let her go."

David looked as his wife as she pled with him, tears rolling down her cheeks. He knew somewhere inside what he should be feeling seeing that. He knew that he should be torn up and distraught. He should be rushing to console her; doing anything he could to make it better. He knew. But for some reason, he just couldn't make himself feel it.

Instead, his defenses rose not around his wife, but around Sarah, the woman his wife was so intent on attacking.

"There's nothing go on between us," he said, feeling his anger rise at having to defend his friendship for the hundredth time.

"I don't care!" Emma shouted. "She doesn't have to be fucking you to be a fucking problem. I don't understand. I don't understand why you can't see it. When was the last time you and I did anything just the two of us?"

David bristled at the accusation. Sarah had to come along on their trips and adventures. That's what good friends did.

"You brought her on our fucking honeymoon, David!"

Of course he had! Sarah had always wanted to see Italy. She'd been talking about it since they were children. That's why David had suggested Italy as a destination in the first place. It wouldn't have been fair to plan this trip for her then not invite her along. But no matter how many ways he tried to explain these things to Emma, she never got it.

"I'm at the end of my rope, David." Emma collapsed onto the bed in a sobbing heap. "Even now, you won't do anything to help me. You won't comfort me. You won't give an inch. So I guess I don't have any other options. Either you cut that cancerous woman out of your life, or I'm calling a lawyer to get divorce papers drawn up."

He stood there quietly at the foot of the bed, watching her cry for a few moments before sitting beside her. "Okay," he said finally. "Whatever you need." He got up and left the room, walking as if in a daze down to the kitchen to fix her something that he knew would make her feel better, and when he returned, he pushed a cup of tea into her hands.

She drank it through sobs and sniffles. She asked if he meant it. Would he really be done with her forever. He told her that if it meant losing her, he couldn't maintain their friendship. If there really was no way for the two of them to share his life together, then he would choose his wife. Then he watched as the drugs in the tea took effect, and Emma's eyes began to lose their focus. She slurred a thank you as her head fell back onto the pillow.

And David set to work.

When Emma woke, she was no longer in the bed. She was sitting up in a chair against the wall. She heard them before she saw them. The familiar squeak of the bed springs. The unfamiliar whimpering of the woman she hated most. Her vision was blurry when she first opened her eyes, but the moving shapes eventually resolved into a scene of horror.

"Finally awake," Sarah said as she moved her body up and down on David's rigid cock. Emma couldn't see her husband's face past that bitch's full, round, bouncing tits, but he made no movement or sound. But then again, neither did Emma.

Without understanding why, she just sat there, limp, feeling the cool air on her bare chest.

"The tea does that to you," Sarah said, as if reading her mind. "It makes everything all dull and slow and sloppy. You could probably move if you really, really wanted. You just don't want to. And you could probably look away if you really, really wanted. You just don't want to. And you could probably fight off the commands I'm going to give you if you really, really wanted. You just won't want to."

Emma could feel the truth of her words. She didn't feel paralyzed. Just… lazy. Completely overwhelmingly lazy. It was so much easier to just sit here angrily than it was to act in any way. And all the while, she could also feel her eyes moving. Tracking those bouncing tits. Tracking those hard, pointed nipples up and down. So she knew she could move. It's just that no other part of her wanted it.

"David tells me you had some cruel things to say about me. That's understandable. I haven't given you much of a reason to like me. I've given David so, so many reasons. He'll defend me until his dying breath, won't you David?"

"Yes, my Lady," Emma heard him croak out.

"I apologize to you, Emma. I should have considered your feelings more carefully. You have my word that I will no longer be a poison in your relationship. I'll be a tonic. There is no greater bond than a shared devotion. It's time you learn to serve me as David does."

Emma's eyes simply flicked up and down as she listened to that beautiful whore talk. That wonderful, beautiful, divine slut. And suddenly, the laziness began to fade from her hands and arms. They pulled up and groped her own naked tits as she watched and listened and learned to obey.

And when David emptied his balls into Sarah's perfect pussy, Emma found out how wonderful it could be to lick it all back out again.

She never complained about Sarah again. David had promised that he would choose Emma if he had no other choice. That was all Emma had wanted to hear. It was so wonderful then, that Sarah had found a way to make that choice unnecessary. Because Emma doubted she could ever go another week without the taste of Sarah's body on her tongue.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, you can request a story in my Asks for SUBMISSION SUNDAY! Or please consider BUYING ME A COFFEE. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[laurentidal]

New ask story to keep you busy: Bed n Breakfast with a farm attached. The men end up working the fields, the women start producing milk and keeping the men company in the evening

As Long As You're Here

The rolling hills of the countryside cradled the old stone bed and breakfast, a place that promised a rustic escape from the relentless pace of city life. For Liam and Lillian, it was a sanctuary. For Mark and Sarah, it was an adventure. The four of them, friends for years, had rented the entire property for a week, lured by the promise of fresh air, home-cooked meals, and the charming, buxom owner, Elara, who seemed to be a living embodiment of the fertile land itself.

Elara was a woman of the earth, with curves that flowed like the hills and a knowing smile. "The farm is part of the experience," she explained on the first day, her voice a low, honeyed hum. "The men help with the fields, the women help with the… house. It's the natural way of things."

Liam and Mark, eager to shed their office-bound softness, agreed. The next morning, they were given rough linen shirts and straw hats and sent to the fields under the tutelage of Elara’s silent, weathered husband. The work was brutal. The sun beat down, their muscles screamed in protest, and their hands became raw and blistered. By dusk, they were exhausted, their bodies aching with a profound, primal weariness they’d never known.

Meanwhile, Lillian and Sarah’s experience was entirely different. Elara led them not to a kitchen, but to a small, warm barn attached to the main house. "These are our special girls," Elara purred, demonstrating the technique on one of the cows. Her hands moved with an expert, rhythmic pull, coaxing streams of thick, pearly liquid into a wooden pail. "The rhythm is everything. You must feel it."

Lillian and Sarah exchanged a look, a mix of apprehension and intrigue. They tried, their hands clumsy at first. But under Elara’s guidance, they found the rhythm. The rhythmic pulling, the warmth of the animals, the scent of hay and milk—it was a strangely intimate, hypnotic act. They found themselves swaying with the motion, listening to Elara as she droned on with words of encouragement and praise and guidance. It was very easy to follow her lead. Follow her voice. Follow her suggestions and commands….

Their own bodies responded to the primal pulse of creation and nourishment. By the end of the day, they weren't just milking; they were communing, their own breasts feeling heavy and sensitive, a strange, potent ache building within them.

When the men returned, caked in sweat and soil, they found the women waiting for them in the B&B's main parlor. A fire crackled, and the air was thick with the scent of the evening meal and something else… something musky and female. Lillian and Sarah were flushed, their eyes shining with a new, earthy confidence. They had changed into simple cotton dresses that did little to hide the hardened points of their nipples, still sensitive from the day's work.

Dinner was a feast of roasted meat, fresh vegetables, and creamy cheese that made their tongues tingle. The wine flowed freely, dark and potent. As the firelight danced across their faces, the dynamic shifted. The men, stripped of their city bravado by a day of hard labor, looked at their partners with a raw, unfiltered hunger. The women, in turn, saw not just their lovers, but powerful, virile beasts of the field.

The conversation died, replaced by a charged silence. Lillian rose and walked over to Liam, her movements fluid and graceful. She knelt before his chair, her hands tracing the hard lines of his forearms, feeling the callouses that were new and exciting. "You worked so hard today," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "Let me help you relax."

Her hands drifted lower, undoing the buttons of his trousers. His cock, already half-hard from the sight of her, sprang free, thick and demanding. She took him in her mouth, her lips and tongue working him with the same rhythmic expertise she’d learned in the barn. Liam groaned, his head falling back as the pleasure, sharp and absolute, washed over him.

Across the room, Sarah had already straddled Mark, her dress bunched around her waist. She rode him slowly, deliberately, her hips grinding in a circular, earthy motion. Her hands were on his chest, her nails digging into his skin as she took her pleasure, her head thrown back in a silent scream of release. The room filled with the sounds of their coupling—the wet slap of skin, the guttural moans, the soft sighs of the women.

Elara watched from the doorway, a satisfied smile on her lips. By the second night, Lillian and Sarah's nipples began to leak as freely as their partners cocks. The scent of earth and sweat on the men drove them into heat. They supported their men with their bodies. Sucking and fucking and rewarding their hard workers. Then, they would come to Elara so that she could milk them the way they milked the cows during the day.

Each squeeze sent orgasmic tremors through their bodies. Spray after spray would ring from the bucket in Elara's room as they stifled their whimpers so as not to wake the men down the hall. They never knew in the mornings whether the milk they drank with their breakfast was their own, but they hoped it was.

"You'll need to carry on the work," Elara told Mark and Liam, handing them a pamphlet on milking. "They'll stop after a week or so of being home, but until then, make sure you're taking care of their udders at least once a day."

"Yes, Elara," the two replied flatly. "We know the work to be done and do it with pleasure."

"I know you do, boys. We'll see you back in a few months for your next holiday, right?"

"Yes, Elara."

She waved at the four as they pulled out of the lot and smiled as the next couple pulled in not ten minutes later. "Welcome to the house," she said. "Let me give you the tour. The farm comes with the experience."

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, you can request a story in my Asks for SUBMISSION SUNDAY! Or please consider BUYING ME A COFFEE. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[laurentidal]

Think about gathering everyone you’ve ever hypnotized into a large room. Enthralling them so completely they’re only able to obey. Their minds blank except for rapt adoration of their queen.

Now imagine the little hooks in your mind tugging you to turn around, to find the one who makes you a puppet. The smile on your face as you sink to your knees and go blank.

Downline

The air in the hotel suite was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low, electric hum of the air conditioner. Thirty minds sat quietly, submerged in deep trance. I stood in the center of the circle, the heart of my own little universe, and felt a pulse of pure power. They were all here. Every man and woman I had carefully selected, seduced, and broken over the last twelve months.

There was Mark, the senior partner at his law firm, now slack-jawed and drooling slightly onto his silk tie. He’d been so arrogant, so certain of his control. It took me three dinner dates and a whispered phrase in his ear to make him kneel. Next to him was Sarah, the boutique owner who thought her feminist ideology was a shield. I’d fucked her in her own shop after hours, her protests melting into whimpers of obedience as I reprogrammed her understanding of power. And then there was David, the shy programmer, and Jessica, the influencer, and Tom, the retired athlete… a Their eyes glazed, their bodies limp in the plush armchairs I’d arranged. They were beautiful in their surrender, a perfect monument to my skill.

My collection.

My downline.

My pussy throbbed with a familiar, triumphant heat. This was the culmination, the final harvest. I had conditioned each of them to respond to a specific trigger phrase, a post-hypnotic suggestion that would bring them here, to this room, at this exact time, and sink them into this state of profound pliability. They weren’t just my lovers; they were my assets. Each one a node in the network I had so painstakingly built. I ran a hand over my own thigh, the silk of my dress cool against my flushed skin. I had outdone myself. This was my empire.

The click of the suite door unlocking was the only sound that broke the monotonous hum. I didn’t turn. I didn’t have to. His presence washed over the room like a tidal wave, a cold, authoritative pressure that made the air crackle. The trance-bound subjects in their chairs shifted, a collective, subconscious shudder of recognition.

He entered the room, and the space seemed to shrink around him. He was older, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than my car. He didn’t look at me, not at first. His gaze swept over the circle of my conquests, an appraising, clinical look, like a farmer inspecting his crop. A faint, satisfied smile touched his lips.

“Excellent work, Cassandra,” he said, his voice a low baritone that vibrated through the floor and up my spine. It was the voice I had first heard a year ago, the voice that had undone me.

My own feeling of godlike control evaporated, replaced by the familiar, intoxicating wave of submission. I was still the hypnotist, still the mistress of this room, but I was also his. The duality was the source of the most exquisite pleasure. I turned to face him, lowering my eyes in a gesture of respect I had never shown another soul.

“Sir,” I said, my own voice steady. “The downline is assembled. All are fully integrated and receptive.”

He walked toward me, his shoes silent on the thick carpet. He stopped just before me, so close I could smell the clean, masculine scent of his cologne. He lifted my chin with a single finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. In them I saw the reflection of my own ambition, my own lust, magnified a thousand times.

“Show me,” he commanded.

My body responded before my mind did. This was the final presentation, the proof of my productivity. I walked over to Mark, the lawyer. I ran a finger down his cheek, and he sighed, a sound of utter contentment. “Mark, my dear,” I cooed, my voice dropping into the hypnotic cadence he craved. “You belong to me. Your mind, your body, your cock… they are all mine to command. And I belong to him.” I gestured toward the man in the suit. “Therefore, you belong to him. Repeat.”

Mark’s lips parted, and his voice, usually so commanding and clear, was a slurred, worshipful murmur. “I… belong to you. You… belong to him. Therefore… I belong to him.” A bead of precum darkened the front of his trousers.

I moved to Sarah next. I knelt beside her chair, brushing her hair back from her vacant face. “Sarah, my sweet little feminist,” I whispered, my lips close to her ear. “Remember how you used to talk about empowerment? I’ve shown you true empowerment. It’s the freedom of surrender. You will serve. You will pleasure. You will obey. Your new purpose is to please our Master. Isn’t that right?”

Her head lolled to the side, a single tear tracing a path through her foundation. “Yes… my purpose is… to please… our Master.” Her hand drifted between her legs, pressing against the fabric of her skirt.

I went through each of them, a litany of ownership and reprogramming. I reminded David of his secret desire to be used, Jessica of her need for validation that only total submission could provide, Tom of his hunger to be dominated once more. With each word, with each trigger I pulled, the atmosphere grew heavier, thick with unspoken lust and absolute obedience. They were my downline, my sales, my recruits. And I was turning them over to my upline, the man who had created me.

When I was finished, I returned to stand before him, my heart pounding with a mixture of pride and raw, animal need. He looked at me, his approval a palpable force.

“A multilevel marketing scheme for the soul,” he mused, a cruel amusement in his tone. “You recruit them, break them, and pass them up the chain. And in return, you get a cut of their consciousness, a share of their will. You’ve been my most productive associate, Cassandra.”

He reached out and cupped my breast, his thumb stroking my nipple through the silk. I gasped, my body arching into his touch. The power I felt over the others was nothing compared to this. This was the source.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper that was more commanding than any shout. “Collect your commission.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I sank to my knees before him, my hands fumbling with his belt. The others were forgotten, mere background scenery. The only thing that mattered was the man before me, the architect of my own delicious enslavement. As I took him into my mouth, my eyes closed in bliss, I knew this was the ultimate pyramid scheme. And I was thrilled to be both a predator and the prey, forever climbing, forever serving, forever collecting my reward.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, you can request a story in my Asks for SUBMISSION SUNDAY! Or please consider BUYING ME A COFFEE. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[laurentidal]

Green Flash Sunset

Chapter 13 of the Red Mesa series.

The wind was our master, and on its breath, we carried our purpose to the shore. Elara and I, sisters of Highspire, moved in silent tandem, our simple linen shawls whipping around our bodies. The air was thick with the scent of salt and anticipation, charged with the energy of the coming twilight. Our feet left no prints on the damp, packed sand of the private cove, for the wind erased our passage as soon as it was made. Between us, we guided the woman provided to us by Mother Agni. Her hands were cold, her face pale, but her eyes held the resolute fire of a woman chosen. She did not stumble; the wind buoyed her, steadied her, prepared her.

At the center of the crescent beach, where the sand was soft and golden, stood the altar. It was not stone, but a massive, low bed, carved from the pale, sun-bleached driftwood of ships that never reached their ports. It was draped in the deepest blue silk, a sheet that seemed to drink the last of the day’s light. This was the place of convergence, where all our domains met.

He was already there, waiting. A man from the House of Neptune. He was built like the cliffs that overlooked these waters, broad and solid, with skin weathered to the color of brine-soaked wood. He wore only a pair of loose, dark trousers, and around his neck, on a heavy silver chain, hung the medallion. It was a polished disc of obsidian, inlaid with a swirling pattern of silver that caught the dying light and held it captive. He did not move, did not speak, but his presence was a weight, a pressure that was the very essence of the deep.

We brought her to the foot of the bed. Elara and I took our positions, one on each side, our hands resting gently on her shoulders, grounding her. The man from the sea stepped forward. He did not look at us. His gaze was fixed on our guest.

“It is time,” we said, our voices soft and airy. "We present to you the acolyte of Red Mesa, Katherine Card. You know what to do, Gregory Livermore, Waters of Life."

At the sound of his name and title, his body slumped slightly before returning to it's upright position, even more erect than before. He was subservient to us, just as all those of the House of Neptune were. Just as the wind controls the waves. He lifted the medallion from his chest. It was large, heavy, a perfect dark mirror. He held it before Katherine’s eyes, just a few inches from her face.

She had asked no questions of us on this trek from her home in the desert. Mother Agni had commanded that she accompany us on a task of great importance. That was enough for the acolyte of Red Mesa. But here standing before the bed and the man and the softly spinning pendant, we saw concern and confusion cross her eyes.

But only briefly.

“You will watch the disc,” he commanded, his voice low and in tune with the rhythmic shush of the waves. “You will see only the disc. The world will fall away. The wind will quiet. The sand will vanish. There is only the disc, and the light within it.”

Katherine’s breathing hitched. I could see the tension leaving her shoulders, the last vestiges of her own will fighting the pull. But the pull was immense. The man from the sea began to swing the medallion slowly, a gentle, rhythmic pendulum.

“With every swing, you go deeper,” he intoned. “Deeper into the water. Deeper into the calm. The light in the stone is the moon on the sea making it rise and fall across the world. The swinging is the motion of the waves in and out. You cannot stop the tides or the waves of the pull of the current. The harder you try, the weaker you become. It is so much easier to stop resisting and allow the sea to pull you out and under and down.”

Elara and I began our own work. We were not just her escorts; we were conduits. We began to chant, a low, breathy prayer to the Zephyr, a song of surrender and release. Our voices were a soft counterpoint to the man’s deep monotone, the two sounds weaving together. The sound of spray thrown high into the air and settling across every surface. Uniform. Equalizing. Cooling and calming in the heat of the setting sun.

Katherine’s body relaxed more and more. Her shoulders slumped under our hands. Her head tilted forward slightly, her gaze unwaveringly locked on the swinging medallion. Her eyes, once so full of fire, were now becoming glassy, unfocused. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She was slipping, her consciousness unspooling like thread in a current. The need to be entranced was paramount; it was the only way to lower the walls of the self, to make the body a pure and willing vessel for the magic to come. Without the trance, it was mere coupling. With it, it was creation.

“Her eyes,” I said. “They are clouded. She is ready.”

We moved to undress them. This was not a hurried or clumsy act. It was a sacred unwrapping. Elara took Gregory, and I took Katherine.

I untied the simple knot at the back of her cotton dress. The fabric was warm from her skin. Elara moved to her front, her movements fluid and sure. Together, we slid the dress from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, a heap of mundane earth tones. Next was her thin slip, then the plain cotton of her bra. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples tightening in the cool sea air, pebbling into hard, dark points. She did not shiver. She did not react. She was far away, adrift in the sea of his hypnotic command.

Finally, I knelt and slid her panties down her legs. She was bare now, completely exposed to the elements, to the sky, to the sea, to the sun.

We helped her lie back on the blue silk of the great bed. She was limp, pliant, her limbs arranged by our hands. Gregory climbed atop her, nothing adorning him except the medallion that held her mind. Cock hard. Eyes as empty as hers.

He looked down at her, at her placid, trance-bound face, and then at the open, vulnerable delta of her sex. He ran a single, rough finger along her slit. She was dry, but that was of no consequence. The House of Neptune did not rely on the body’s meager preparations. He spat on his hand, coating the head of his thick cock with the slickness, and then he aligned himself with her entrance.

With one powerful, deliberate thrust, he entered her. He sank into her to the hilt, his balls slapping against the curve of her ass. Katherine’s body jolted with the force of it, a deep, guttural gasp escaping her lips, but her eyes remained closed, lost in the hypnotic depths. He did not pause. He began to move, a relentless, powerful rhythm. He was fucking her, but it was more than that. He was claiming her. He was the sea, and she was the shore, and he was breaking against her, again and again, each thrust a wave designed to reshape her, to fill her.

Elara and I stood watch, our shawls now still, the wind holding its breath. We were the witnesses, the guardians of the rite. We watched his powerful buttocks clench and release with every plunge. We watched his thick, glistening shaft appear and disappear, driving into her passive body. The sounds were primal, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, his harsh grunts of exertion, her soft, unconscious moans. This was the core of the ritual, the brutal, beautiful act of breeding. It had to be thorough. It had to be absolute.

He drove into her, faster and harder, his breath coming in ragged gusts. He was a storm, and her body was his harbor. Then, with a deep, guttural roar that was swallowed by the crashing of the waves, he came. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his entire body tensing as he pumped his seed deep into her pussy, flooding her, marking her, ensuring the rite would take. He held himself there for a long moment, emptying himself into her still form.

But it was not enough. One offering was not enough to guarantee a Mother of the Sun. He pulled out, his cock slick with their combined fluids, but it did not flag. It remained hard, ready, insatiable. Without a word, he flipped Katherine over onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so her ass was presented to him. He entered her again from behind, this new angle allowing him even deeper access. The second fucking was just as powerful as the first. He took her with an animalistic fury, his hands gripping her hips, leaving red marks on her pale skin. He was a force of nature, and she was his to use, to fill, to breed.

We watched the sun begin its final descent, melting into the horizon in a spectacular blaze of orange, purple, and red. The light caught the sweat on the man’s back, making his skin gleam like polished obsidian. The sky was on fire, a perfect, violent backdrop to the raw, primal scene on the sand. He came again, another hot, thick load jetting into her, a second seal on their sacred pact.

He rested for only a moment, his chest heaving, before he pulled her onto her back once more. He spread her legs wide and entered her for a third time. This time, his rhythm was slower, more deliberate, almost meditative. He was savoring it, ensuring every drop of his essence was absorbed, that her womb was utterly and completely saturated. He was planting the seed, and he would not stop until he was certain it had taken root in the fertile soil of her trance.

As his final thrusts began, the very last sliver of the sun disappeared below the edge of the world. For a single, breathtaking second, as the sky and sea met in a line of fire, a brilliant, impossible flash of emerald green exploded across the horizon. The green flash. The sign. The confirmation.

He gave one last, shuddering groan and collapsed onto her, his final offering delivered. It was done. They were sure she had been bred.

He rose from the bed, his body glistening and spent. Elara and I stepped forward. We took a clean, soft cloth and a bowl of fresh water and gently bathed Katherine’s body, wiping away the sweat and the evidence of the ritual. We pulled a simple, clean white shift over her head.

He looked down at her, a flicker of something like understanding in his eyes. “It is finished,” Elara declared. “The sun has accepted the offering. The seed is planted. Wake, Waters of Life and soon-to-be Mother of the Sun.”

We reached down and touched their foreheads.

Katherine’s eyelids fluttered. She took a sharp, sudden breath, as if breaking the surface after a long dive. Her eyes opened, clear and focused. She looked around, at the two of us, at the man who was waking similarly, at the dark, empty sky. There was no confusion in her gaze, only a profound serenity. A new light burned within her, a small piece of the Sun that she worshipped, now housed within her womb.

She was no longer just Katherine. She would return to Red Mesa for the Naming. Then, she would tell her family the good news.

Chapter 13 of the Red Mesa series.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, you can request a story in my Asks for SUBMISSION SUNDAY! Or please consider BUYING ME A COFFEE. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[laurentidal]

Green Flash Sunset

Chapter 13 of the Red Mesa series.

The wind was our master, and on its breath, we carried our purpose to the shore. Elara and I, sisters of Highspire, moved in silent tandem, our simple linen shawls whipping around our bodies. The air was thick with the scent of salt and anticipation, charged with the energy of the coming twilight. Our feet left no prints on the damp, packed sand of the private cove, for the wind erased our passage as soon as it was made. Between us, we guided the woman provided to us by Mother Agni. Her hands were cold, her face pale, but her eyes held the resolute fire of a woman chosen. She did not stumble; the wind buoyed her, steadied her, prepared her.

At the center of the crescent beach, where the sand was soft and golden, stood the altar. It was not stone, but a massive, low bed, carved from the pale, sun-bleached driftwood of ships that never reached their ports. It was draped in the deepest blue silk, a sheet that seemed to drink the last of the day’s light. This was the place of convergence, where all our domains met.

He was already there, waiting. A man from the House of Neptune. He was built like the cliffs that overlooked these waters, broad and solid, with skin weathered to the color of brine-soaked wood. He wore only a pair of loose, dark trousers, and around his neck, on a heavy silver chain, hung the medallion. It was a polished disc of obsidian, inlaid with a swirling pattern of silver that caught the dying light and held it captive. He did not move, did not speak, but his presence was a weight, a pressure that was the very essence of the deep.

We brought her to the foot of the bed. Elara and I took our positions, one on each side, our hands resting gently on her shoulders, grounding her. The man from the sea stepped forward. He did not look at us. His gaze was fixed on our guest.

“It is time,” we said, our voices soft and airy. "We present to you the acolyte of Red Mesa, Katherine Card. You know what to do, Gregory Livermore, Waters of Life."

At the sound of his name and title, his body slumped slightly before returning to it's upright position, even more erect than before. He was subservient to us, just as all those of the House of Neptune were. Just as the wind controls the waves. He lifted the medallion from his chest. It was large, heavy, a perfect dark mirror. He held it before Katherine’s eyes, just a few inches from her face.

She had asked no questions of us on this trek from her home in the desert. Mother Agni had commanded that she accompany us on a task of great importance. That was enough for the acolyte of Red Mesa. But here standing before the bed and the man and the softly spinning pendant, we saw concern and confusion cross her eyes.

But only briefly.

“You will watch the disc,” he commanded, his voice low and in tune with the rhythmic shush of the waves. “You will see only the disc. The world will fall away. The wind will quiet. The sand will vanish. There is only the disc, and the light within it.”

Katherine’s breathing hitched. I could see the tension leaving her shoulders, the last vestiges of her own will fighting the pull. But the pull was immense. The man from the sea began to swing the medallion slowly, a gentle, rhythmic pendulum.

“With every swing, you go deeper,” he intoned. “Deeper into the water. Deeper into the calm. The light in the stone is the moon on the sea making it rise and fall across the world. The swinging is the motion of the waves in and out. You cannot stop the tides or the waves of the pull of the current. The harder you try, the weaker you become. It is so much easier to stop resisting and allow the sea to pull you out and under and down.”

Elara and I began our own work. We were not just her escorts; we were conduits. We began to chant, a low, breathy prayer to the Zephyr, a song of surrender and release. Our voices were a soft counterpoint to the man’s deep monotone, the two sounds weaving together. The sound of spray thrown high into the air and settling across every surface. Uniform. Equalizing. Cooling and calming in the heat of the setting sun.

Katherine’s body relaxed more and more. Her shoulders slumped under our hands. Her head tilted forward slightly, her gaze unwaveringly locked on the swinging medallion. Her eyes, once so full of fire, were now becoming glassy, unfocused. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She was slipping, her consciousness unspooling like thread in a current. The need to be entranced was paramount; it was the only way to lower the walls of the self, to make the body a pure and willing vessel for the magic to come. Without the trance, it was mere coupling. With it, it was creation.

“Her eyes,” I said. “They are clouded. She is ready.”

We moved to undress them. This was not a hurried or clumsy act. It was a sacred unwrapping. Elara took Gregory, and I took Katherine.

I untied the simple knot at the back of her cotton dress. The fabric was warm from her skin. Elara moved to her front, her movements fluid and sure. Together, we slid the dress from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, a heap of mundane earth tones. Next was her thin slip, then the plain cotton of her bra. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples tightening in the cool sea air, pebbling into hard, dark points. She did not shiver. She did not react. She was far away, adrift in the sea of his hypnotic command.

Finally, I knelt and slid her panties down her legs. She was bare now, completely exposed to the elements, to the sky, to the sea, to the sun.

We helped her lie back on the blue silk of the great bed. She was limp, pliant, her limbs arranged by our hands. Gregory climbed atop her, nothing adorning him except the medallion that held her mind. Cock hard. Eyes as empty as hers.

He looked down at her, at her placid, trance-bound face, and then at the open, vulnerable delta of her sex. He ran a single, rough finger along her slit. She was dry, but that was of no consequence. The House of Neptune did not rely on the body’s meager preparations. He spat on his hand, coating the head of his thick cock with the slickness, and then he aligned himself with her entrance.

With one powerful, deliberate thrust, he entered her. He sank into her to the hilt, his balls slapping against the curve of her ass. Katherine’s body jolted with the force of it, a deep, guttural gasp escaping her lips, but her eyes remained closed, lost in the hypnotic depths. He did not pause. He began to move, a relentless, powerful rhythm. He was fucking her, but it was more than that. He was claiming her. He was the sea, and she was the shore, and he was breaking against her, again and again, each thrust a wave designed to reshape her, to fill her.

Elara and I stood watch, our shawls now still, the wind holding its breath. We were the witnesses, the guardians of the rite. We watched his powerful buttocks clench and release with every plunge. We watched his thick, glistening shaft appear and disappear, driving into her passive body. The sounds were primal, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, his harsh grunts of exertion, her soft, unconscious moans. This was the core of the ritual, the brutal, beautiful act of breeding. It had to be thorough. It had to be absolute.

He drove into her, faster and harder, his breath coming in ragged gusts. He was a storm, and her body was his harbor. Then, with a deep, guttural roar that was swallowed by the crashing of the waves, he came. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his entire body tensing as he pumped his seed deep into her pussy, flooding her, marking her, ensuring the rite would take. He held himself there for a long moment, emptying himself into her still form.

But it was not enough. One offering was not enough to guarantee a Mother of the Sun. He pulled out, his cock slick with their combined fluids, but it did not flag. It remained hard, ready, insatiable. Without a word, he flipped Katherine over onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so her ass was presented to him. He entered her again from behind, this new angle allowing him even deeper access. The second fucking was just as powerful as the first. He took her with an animalistic fury, his hands gripping her hips, leaving red marks on her pale skin. He was a force of nature, and she was his to use, to fill, to breed.

We watched the sun begin its final descent, melting into the horizon in a spectacular blaze of orange, purple, and red. The light caught the sweat on the man’s back, making his skin gleam like polished obsidian. The sky was on fire, a perfect, violent backdrop to the raw, primal scene on the sand. He came again, another hot, thick load jetting into her, a second seal on their sacred pact.

He rested for only a moment, his chest heaving, before he pulled her onto her back once more. He spread her legs wide and entered her for a third time. This time, his rhythm was slower, more deliberate, almost meditative. He was savoring it, ensuring every drop of his essence was absorbed, that her womb was utterly and completely saturated. He was planting the seed, and he would not stop until he was certain it had taken root in the fertile soil of her trance.

As his final thrusts began, the very last sliver of the sun disappeared below the edge of the world. For a single, breathtaking second, as the sky and sea met in a line of fire, a brilliant, impossible flash of emerald green exploded across the horizon. The green flash. The sign. The confirmation.

He gave one last, shuddering groan and collapsed onto her, his final offering delivered. It was done. They were sure she had been bred.

He rose from the bed, his body glistening and spent. Elara and I stepped forward. We took a clean, soft cloth and a bowl of fresh water and gently bathed Katherine’s body, wiping away the sweat and the evidence of the ritual. We pulled a simple, clean white shift over her head.

He looked down at her, a flicker of something like understanding in his eyes. “It is finished,” Elara declared. “The sun has accepted the offering. The seed is planted. Wake, Waters of Life and soon-to-be Mother of the Sun.”

We reached down and touched their foreheads.

Katherine’s eyelids fluttered. She took a sharp, sudden breath, as if breaking the surface after a long dive. Her eyes opened, clear and focused. She looked around, at the two of us, at the man who was waking similarly, at the dark, empty sky. There was no confusion in her gaze, only a profound serenity. A new light burned within her, a small piece of the Sun that she worshipped, now housed within her womb.

She was no longer just Katherine. She would return to Red Mesa for the Naming. Then, she would tell her family the good news.

Chapter 13 of the Red Mesa series.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, you can request a story in my Asks for SUBMISSION SUNDAY! Or please consider BUYING ME A COFFEE. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖