Lois Lane

           Lois Lane is someone else who I somehow never got a chance to play with in all the conventions we’ve been out. We started two scenes, but both were aborted for various really good reasons. So prior to the convention we had spent some time negotiating what we wanted and what we were up for. She had also lightly teased me by mentioning some lingerie that she had purchased for the weekend. And by lightly… well… I *do* have a lingerie fetish.

           Fortunately, we were in the same hall, so I got to her room from the previous scene, freshly showered, and just about right on time.

           She greeted me in civvy clothes and we went over our negotiations, even clearing up one minor miscommunication. (“Sex” can mean different things to different people, as it happens. Right? Who knew??)

           She set out the various toys that we had options to play with. We made out for a little bit (something else we hadn’t had a chance to do much of in the past). We removed her clothes and under the very practical sweater and jeans she was wearing the most exquisite lingerie set. She looked absolutely beautiful. We had negotiated a fairly intense spanking and masochism scene, so I spent considerable time playfully slapping her breasts. Then turned her over and began working her ass over with some bare-handed spanking.

           Now, through some sort of weird body positioning, I had wound up spanking her at a perfect angle to turn her on a lot, and I was really getting into it. However… however….

           It was not a good angle for me, sadly.

I felt a little tweak in my arm as I let her ass have it.

           Did I stop?

Reader, I did not.

           Which, although cool in the moment (I’m on a good rhythm, I’m loving the moans, this is really hot, etc. etc.), is not recommended. Don’t do this.

My arm (as I write this a week and a half later) still hasn’t fully recovered.

           Nevertheless, I kept going. I was enjoying being an invited sadist.

At some point, we pulled out some toys, including a vibrator, and I began using them on her. She had said something about people sometimes having a difficult time with accuracy. I’m happy to say that, with a few assists from her, I was able to hit that spot.

           I also, I should point out, was not content with just one orgasm. Her shouts were delicious, the way her body reacted, and her incredibly sexy eye contact before, during, and after each climax was just intoxicating.

So I just kept going (and this was well within our negotiated boundaries).

We both kind of lost count. After a while we both wound down, recovered and chatted some more. I helped put herself together a little bit, and, after some aftercare, both went on to our next things. I, specifically, went in search of some painkillers for my arm.

Worth it, though.

A little ramblesmut for @ablnk1 cuz they’re a bruh who helped me buy pretty trancy lights! CW: hypnotic language, control, pleasure, second-person trancy bullshit, “good slut”. This is like 60% story, 40% induction, and you’re welcome to get trancy as you read it if you like, but there’s no awakener or anything, so take care of yourself.

* * * * *

Well if you’re ready to begin, just look into my eyes. And before you say anything, yes, I know you’re a visual subject—I noticed the way your eyes ticked up and to the left when I asked you to imagine the best sex you’d ever had, that’s one of the big tells. But also, it’s bold of you to imagine that there’s any piece of you that that I wouldn’t notice. Anything you could hide from me.

Right now I can see the way your cheeks are beginning to flush with arousal at the tone of my voice and the easy way I’m reading you. That little almost-gasp as your lips part, as that focus on my eyes starts to drag you under. Do you understand what’s happening yet, slut?

I. See. Right. Through. You.

And you can’t look away, can you? You’re helpless to tear your gaze away from my eyes, even as I’m looking into the core of you, noticing every little weakness that I can use against you. It’s a funny kind of circular logic: you’re trapped because you can’t look away, but can’t look away because you know you’re trapped. Nothing to do but watch; nothing to do but listen.

When a visual-type subject looks a bit off into space when they try to summon a mental image, that’s one of the tells, because the eyes track the thoughts, see? As they visualize, their thoughts go somewhere abstract outside of themselves, and the eyes follow, and thus it follows that if the eyes follow the thoughts, and your eyes follow my eyes, and your mind follows my words as it fixes your eyes to mine…

Well, all of your thoughts must be concentrated. Right. Here.

You knew it was true the moment I said it, didn’t you? That all of your thoughts, your focus, your awareness, your will-power, are distilled into your gaze, and your gaze is locked on my eyes, so all that power is mine. Your gaze is drawn to me because I am powerful, because I hold that power. And that’s the reason you can’t look away.

Not that you’d want to. The other lovely part of my eyes being so powerful, of them ensnaring you so well, is that they’re very nice to look at. Comfortable, enticing. So easy to get lost in them, isn’t it? To watch all the different ways the light glances off them, to see the way they search you, to lazily wonder what new thing they’ve just seen that I can exploit…

And if your eyes are following your thoughts, and I control your thoughts, then I can tell you that allllll of your thoughts and your conscious awareness right now is concentrated on the tip of my finger here, and your eyes follow. Your eyes now, glued to my fingertip as it traces lines in the air.

Every single atom of your concentration, right here. Imagine paying such close attention that you can read every whorl of my fingerprint. Imagine what it would feel like on your body. Just that one fingertip, because it has all of your concentration, would feel like pure pleasure. I bet you would feel contact from every dip and whorl of my fingertip magnified a thousand times, like a supernova. Know, just know, deep in your bones, how amazing it will feel when this lazy fingertip stops ensnaring your eyes and starts caressing your body.

And even as that knowledge builds, even as your skin sings in anticipation, your eyes follow my finger.

Because your eyes follow your thoughts.

And I’ve captured your thoughts. Right. Here.

As my finger gets closer, as it becomes harder and harder to keep your eyes focused on it, that focus can grow, and so can that need.

And if, in a moment, when I finally touch your forehead, your eyes roll up as they desperately try to follow this finger, well.

That’s your eyes, searching in your mind for your own thoughts. 

And the way that they’ll flutter and stutter all rolled up like that, with only the whites showing, like a human glitch?

That’s because their search is fruitless. There’s not a thought left in your head, is there?

That’s what I thought. Good slut.

And because your eyes follow your thoughts, and your eyes follow my finger, then your eyes will roll blankly back in your head, where there’s not a single thought to be found, because I hold your thoughts, and your focus, and your pleasure; because there’s nothing you need to know except how good a single touch of my finger can feel, how that pleasure can rock and spasm through your whole body from just that slightest bit of contact.

There’s no need to think, even if you could: you know happens when you keep following and your eyes roll back and your body explodes from that pleasure

when I push right in here in the center of your forehead

right

You could probably resist me.

Sure, I’ve been hypnotizing people for years. I’ve been STUDYING hypnotizing people for years- learning nlp and psychology and body language and scams and all sorts of little techniques that can help me get into your head. I’ve been watching you specifically- picking up on how you speak and how you move and how you think in just the way that I want you to. You don’t see the structures, the prodding, the bait my words lay to lead you along my path. You just follow happily. Blindly. As if this were all a choice and  it was just a coincidence that your desires line up perfectly with my plans.

But still. 

You could probably resist.

If it were just you.

But, you see- it’s not just you.

There’s a simpler self- a more malleable self- that lies deep inside you. A self that tells you to hit snooze on your alarm in the morning. The self that tells you to eat sweets instead of healthier foods. The self that reminds you that  inconvenient tasks can surely wait for another day.

A self that pursues pleasure. 

A self that avoids pain.

A self that always simply wants to do whatever feels best in the moment.

A self that often wins out even when you KNOW that some other goal should guide you long-term. 

You don’t want to fight me, deep down.

You want to feel good. 

And all I have to do to control that self is simply remind it of how wonderful it feels to give in.  How enjoyable it is to let go. How exhausting resistance can be and how amazing it will feel to finally, finally rest.

Especially when you’re tired, like this. When you’re needy. When you just want to feel something simple and good. 

It won’t take long. When you’re ready, that part of you will show me. It will wave and signal and speak to me in a language that it knows I understand. It knows that I can give it what it craves. It knows how easily it can override your conscious thoughts. It’s just waiting for permission to give in to me. 

You don’t even have to be aware that it’s happening.  When I’m ready, I’ll take you so under easily that it will feel effortless- just as natural as breathing in and out.

Breathe in- you’re here.  Breathe out- you’re mine.

“It’s just lovely,” I said, turning toward her. She’d just given me the tour of her new place; I’d seen the pictures she’d posted, but they really didn’t do it justice. The difference between seeing it through a lens on a screen and seeing it in person really was vast.

Of course, I could say the same for her. We’d been friends - real friends, the kind whose number you call more than your own family - for ages. Two years of being stuck on video calls were two too many, and seeing her that morning was part relief and part elation.

A friend of mine lost his smell for a few years and said when he got it back, it was “like smelling in 3-D.” Take long enough away from something, and you see it (or smell it, as it were) in a different light.

I pondered that as I pondered her - our friendship had been through a few waves of being something more than “just friends,” so the occasional lingering look wasn’t so out of line, but my eyes caught hers and we both grinned a bit.

“It really is good to see you,” she said. “I mean, see you for real, anyway.”

The levity was a graceful way to break the moment, and as we walked back down the upstairs hallway, a gust of early winter breeze blew outside and a hint of the crisp air seeped in.

“It’s beautiful, but the building is 100 years old,” she said. “Drafty is just part of the charm of life by the water.”

I could hear the waves crashing outside and remembered how envious I was that she had the world’s best white noise machine built in. As we passed her bedroom, she stopped.

“I forgot to show you the best part!”

She took my arm and guided me into the room.

“I’d been waiting for the right moment to officially make use of the house’s best feature… drum roll, please.”

I did my best tapping on the doorframe, and she strode to the wall and flipped a switch by the door… the “foomf” noise caught my eye and the fireplace in the wall sprung to life.

I’d not even noticed it as we went through her bedroom before - it was the back side of the fireplace in the living room, but I’d been too taken by the tour guide to really pay attention to that detail. Now that it was on, though, I watched the way the flames danced and leapt among the fake logs.

“It’s great, right?” She was beaming. I’d missed that smile.

“It’s perfect,” I replied, looking back at the flame. “How long does it take to heat the room?”

“You know, I’ve never checked. It’s just now cold enough to really need it.” I noticed out of the corner of my eye she was looking at me instead of the fire.

“I like the way the flames seem to move around,” she said. “It’s built to match an actual flame, where the pattern is really unpredictable.”

I nodded and kept looking.

“There are even little hot spots where the wood begins to glow with the heat. It takes a while for that to happen, but it’s really nice when it does.”

I thought I saw a corner of a log start to glow, but I wasn’t sure.

“I find the warmth really moves up by body as the air heats up. It’s slow. Steady. I watch the way the smaller flames flare up here and there, adding little bits to the radiant heat. It’s just fascinating, isn’t it?”

I nodded, still looking for the glow she’d mentioned, but getting distracted by the smaller flames.

“That cozy warmth, and the flames, the way it glows and flickers… and it’s perfect with the bed right here.”

I’d forgotten where I was. Her voice was warm and comfortable and I was so focused I had really started to tune things out. It sounded so much better in person.

“Keep watching the flames. You’ll see it.” She said it more directly, but still with that warmth. I was aware, tangentially, that she’d moved right beside me - her voice sounded closer; it felt closer.

“See? Right there,” she said, and my eyes followed her finger, pointing at the fireplace, but as soon as my focus shifted, she raised the finger right toward my face.

“That’s it. Perfect. You are so good at this. You’re such a good boy.”

I felt myself shudder at that phrase. She felt it, too, taking advantage of the moment to press her hand to my forehead.

“Drop. Now.”

My knees buckled as she lowered me back to the bed. It’s trite, but it really did feel as if the world was falling away. My body — tense after years of All Of The Bad — was desperate to melt. My mind, just as tense, was desperate to yield.

“Such a good boy,” she said with a gentle chuckle that said she was even caught a bit off guard at how easily I’d relented. But of all the things I’d gained from the isolation from this part of my life, the strongest was the sense that I’d never take a chance for granted again.

As I felt myself slide on to the bed more fully, I could still feel the warmth from the fireplace warming my feet.

As she moved herself over and above me, I could feel her body, warming my torso.

As she leaned close and whispered, “What are we going to do with you?” I could feel her voice, warming my mind.

As I felt her breath on my face, my body yearned to lean up and kiss her deeply, but my mind, and her words, held me perfectly still.

“Whatever you ask, and nothing more, ma’am.”

New recording! It’s about the idea of choosing not to move. It’s all flowy and metaphorical, but it does include a trigger word designed to bring about that frozen state that you (or a trusted friend) can use. Of note: there’s no language here about physical restraint or struggle; if you have a concern about feeling claustrophobic, this *should* be okay. (I feel that way sometimes, so I tried to avoid that vibe.) As always, PLEASE give me feedback about this? Please?

“Are you ready? Are you watching closely? Because I’m going to do it again. Keep a very careful eye on my cleavage as I pull down my dress… I’m doing it slowly this time, because I really want to make sure you spot the exact moment when my breasts hypnotize you. You can’t possibly resist my powerful, mesmerizing tits if they catch you by surprise, can you? No. Of course you can’t. So just make sure you’re paying very close attention to the way the fabric slides down that soft, warm, luscious pink skin. Make sure you’re really absorbing every detail of the way my titflesh strains against that low collar. Make absolutely sure you don’t look away, even for a fraction of a second, as they….”

“You missed it again, didn’t you? I can tell. You were probably distracted by something. Don’t worry, I’ve pulled my top up again so that you won’t accidentally zone out like a mindless, horny tit zombie from staring at my naked breasts, and… well, we’ll just have to try it one more time, that’s all. I’m just going to have to pull my dress down once more, while you keep a close eye on that enticing valley between my boobs and keep your mind on trying to resist the sudden, plummeting pull of my cleavage on your weak and vulnerable brain. It’s okay if you don’t get it–you know I wouldn’t do anything to manipulate you while you were blank and drowsy and susceptible like that–but I’d really like to wrap this up soon. So if you could just watch closely while I….”

“Oh dear. Up up up up up! Come on, sweetie. I can’t have you just sitting there and masturbating like that to the sight of my big, bouncy tits, not when we’re trying so hard to train you to resist their deep and potent hypnotic power. Don’t worry, I understand. Lots of people have trouble fighting that mesmerizing undertow. They just wind up so completely spellbound by my amazing breasts, drooling and mindless and utterly helpless to resist that moment when I pull my dress all the way down and they pop out to captivate you some more. But this time I’m sure you’ll get it. I can see that you’re trying so hard, I can see that you’re really paying close attention to my lush, heavy, pendulous boobs, and you’re bracing yourself for that wave of sleepy astonishment you feel when they….”

“Oh, honey. You completely missed it, didn’t you? No, it’s okay. You don’t need to hide it. I could tell. One second you were staring at my curves and my cleavage, watching the fabric slide down my skin with a look of total concentration on your face, and the next… well, you remember, don’t you? Don’t you? Oh, my. You mean you really don’t remember anything that happens once you see my bare breasts? That must be a little bit unnerving–for all you know, I could be telling you just about anything while your mind is vacant and empty and completely fascinated by my big, bouncy tits. You don’t think I’m putting suggestions into your weak, vulnerable mind, do you? No, of course not. You trust me completely. You know I’m helping you. You know that I’m only doing this to make you stronger. Now, one more time, sweetie, let’s just see if you can fight that pop….”

worship her ~