Have fun bois and girls

More Hypnotic Fantasies by SweetTist 

“To be clear, that’s ‘please fuck you up’, is that right?” Mistress Vicky’s voice came cool and collected through Lincoln’s phone.

Lincoln lay on his bed, his phone resting on the pillow next to his head as he and Mistress Vicky spoke.

“Yes, please.” His voice came out a bit too submissive and Lincoln cleared his throat. “Yes. Please fuck me up, Mistress.”

They’d been working together for about 6 months now and, more than anything, Lincoln loved how creatively evil she could be.

“Do you want to be fractionated?” Mistress Vicky’s voice was slow and seductive. “Denied? Teased? Triggered? Gaslighted?”

Her teasing laugh came through the speaker. “Do you want to be turned into a fucktoy unable to feel his own pleasure, only able to feel mine?”

Oh, to stroke himself and feel nothing. To hear her masturbating along side him. To only feel pleasure when her moans echoed through the phone.

“Yes, Mistress.” He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible, though he suspected she could tell the effect she was having on him. She knew him too well.

“Oh? Just a, ‘Yes’?” Again she laughed that teasing laugh of hers. “Which is it? I gave you several options. Perhaps I should give you more options?”

“Yes, Mistress.” What was he saying ‘yes’ to again? Oh. Right. How she was going to fuck him up. He squirmed on the bed, looking forward to whatever she had planned for him.

“All of those options sound good, Mistress.” he prided himself on how steady his voice sounded.

“Are you sure you want one of those options? Because I could also make you blank, mindless, and aroused.”

Could she hear his breath catch? Perhaps not, for she continued. His fist clenched and unclenched, waiting, waiting for her to chose.

“Oh. I could make you cum over and over and over again. Making you forget each and every time, returning you back to that denied state until you’re incredibly horny and desperate to cum but touching your cock is painful.”

The laugh she gave at this was more evil than teasing. Why had he liked it when she was evil?

“N-no, Mistress.” Lincoln’s voice shook as he protested, though he could feel himself pulsate at the idea. Oh, that’s why. It was arousing.

“No?” she laughed again. “Don’t like the idea of cumming non-stop for me but unable to remember it?”

He involuntarily humped the air a few times at that, before forcing his hips down to the bed. What was she doing to him? And how? 

He wanted more.

“I… do, Mistress.” He loved how easily his Mistress made him forget. “I don’t like the idea of a sore cock, Mistress.”

“Are you sure about that?” her voice lost most of its humor, slipping into her hypnotic tone.

He shivered at her change in voice, he considered touching but he didn’t have permission. “Yes, Mistress. I’m sure.”

Another laugh and everything she had been doing to him culminated in that moment.

He could feel his cock straining, begging to be touched, begging for release.

“That’s too bad.” Her tone hinted that he’d missed something. “Are you horny and desperate for me, now?”

How could he be anything but?

“Oh, yes.” all of his composure devolved and he knew she could hear his desperation. “Yes, Mistress!”

“Then stroke for me.” The command was sultry, but demanding.

Obediently Lincoln’s hand slid down past his treasure trail and stopping just above his slit, where his cock pulsed and begged for him to touch it. Begged for release.

Using his thumb and first two fingers, Lincoln stroked. Oh the pain!

It hurt. But it felt so good. The pain warred with the pleasure but he needed to stroke more, more, more.

He slid his other hand down to grasp and pull open his thigh. His hand immediately soaked with the evidence his Mistress been doing this to him for a while now.

He didn’t care. He needed to stroke for her. He needed to cum for her. He needed release.

Soon, rather than detracting, the pain added to his pleasure.

Some part of his mind realized he could still hear her, through his own moans, and gasps, and ‘please’es.

“Cum for me, boy. Be a good boy and cum for me. I want to hear you cum for me.” Her tone was soft but he could hear her arousal. He knew she was masturbating too, which only served to heighten his own pleasure.

He could feel himself reach the edge of his orgasm. Should he stop? Should he edge? Should he wait for her?

“Cum for me, boy. Let me hear those wonderful, deep moans of yours. Let me hear you… cum!”

And he came, his throat letting out a deep moan, his hips unconsciously gyrating with the force of it, his mind splintering off in a hundred directions.

He could hear her own moan as she orgasmed with him, which sent him higher.

He lost time before his mind slowly followed the guiding hum that was his Mistress’s voice.

Once back in his head, he groaned. He could feel the shallow ache of his cock and slid both hands away, letting his leg fall back alongside its twin.

“Lincoln? Are you back with me?” Her voice was soft, tender. “Lincoln?”

That was him. She was talking to him.

“I’m here.” His voice was gravelly and he cleared it, trying again. “I’m here, Mistress.”

“Good boy!”

He smiled a weary smile, knowing she couldn’t see it. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Drink some water for me.” And he could hear her drinking her own, as well.

His cup wobbled in his hand but he managed to get a few mouthfuls down.

“Done, Mistress.”

“Very good.” she purred through the phone.

snap

“Forget and be aroused. The more you forget, the more aroused you get. The more aroused you get, the more you forget.”

He whimpered as his mind wiped the past 20 minutes from his mind and his aching cock lengthened again.

“The more you forget the more aroused you get. The more aroused you get the more you forget. Good boy.”

He was her good boy. He could cum for her. She’d let him cum for her.

“Please. Please. Please, Mistress.” Lincoln heard himself beg. “Please.” How long had he been begging?

“To be clear, that’s ‘please fuck you up’, is that right?” Mistress Vicky’s voice came cool and collected through Lincoln’s phone.

Lincoln lay on his bed, his phone resting on the pillow next to his head as he and Mistress Vicky spoke.

“Yes, please.” His voice came out a bit too submissive and Lincoln cleared his throat. “Yes. Please fuck me up, Mistress.”

The End

@consensualhypnofics

I’m a highly anxious person, and as such negotiating a kinky relationship with me can be INTENSE. I have lists and lists of questions, so many hypothetical concerns, and a need to know that the other person really understands what’s happening.

I’ve met a new boy, who I refer to as the bunny (he’s a rope bunny). He first messaged me on fetlife, we met in person, and then we negotiated for two weeks before actually doing anything together. Back and forth negotiations for two weeks. A few of my friends told me I was overdoing the negotiating, I was overwhelming him and taking the fun out of kink, but I disagree. That negotiation was so fucking hot. For me, it was two weeks of foreplay. Because the bunny and I were constantly talking about what we wanted. I was making plans based on what he said, and he was fantasizing about what all he knew COULD happen because of what he consented to.

For example, I’d once sent him a list of nicknames and said “check which ones I can use”. I loved knowing that he was sitting in some vanilla setting, thinking about how he felt about me calling him “slut” or “fuck toy”, or me referring to him as “greedy” or “desperate”. I’d texted him randomly, saying things like “hi! Forgot to ask... How do you feel about rope around your balls?” or “Happy Friday! How would you feel about my friends watching us? They wouldn’t participate.” He also volunteered things he liked or wanted to try, and the fact that we were both thinking so much about it was so stimulating.

I remember I asked him whether I could dress him in costumes. He responded “what kind of costumes?” and I said “French maid, school girl, my friend actually just gave me a slutty nun costume, things like that” and as I was talking this blush crept over his face and he shifted awkwardly in his seat before nodding shyly and saying “okay, yes, that sounds like a lot of fun”. I absolutely asked as many other questions as I could think of to see that blush again.

My favorite was writing a list on a big piece of paper taped to the wall and telling him to mark “yes- now”, “maybe in the future”, or “probably not ever” for each item. I tied his arms behind his back- I wanted to see how he felt in that position- put a marker in his mouth, and told him to record his answers. It didn’t take long, but by the time I removed the marker from his mouth, I had a drooling, sleepy-eyed little boy with a wet spot on the front of his boxer briefs, his responses written down for me to refer back to, AND an idea of what to change with the rope harness the next time I tied him. So many wins.

The relationship I have with the bunny is such that reaffirming consent is easy, and fun. Conversations like...

Me: do you want to try this vibrator in your ass?

Him: Yes. Yes Ma’am.

Me: *smiles at him* Say it, then.

Him: *blushes, then says really quietly* I’d like to have your vibrator in my ass.

Me: Beg me. And call me Ma’am.

Him: *more blushing, practically whispering now* Please Ma’am. Pleeeeeeseease.

I’ve heard it said that consent isn’t sexy but it’s necessary, and while I agree that consent is necessary, I absolutely disagree with the idea that it’s unsexy. Consent is just learning what the other person wants you to do to them, how is that not hot? Certainly not everyone would appreciate lists and the level of granularity that my anxious brain requires, but negotiations can still enhance sexual energy instead of reducing it.

“I’m going to count down now, okay? Five…”

“N-no,” I pleaded. “Not now. Not here.”

—

I had once learned the hard way that it wasn’t the best idea to withhold such divisive desires from someone you cared about. Everything comes out eventually, and if you’re not in control of that information, you’re in trouble.

Her name was Diane, and nearly a year’s worth of maintaining a mostly healthy relationship couldn’t dissuade her from packing up her things shortly after stumbling upon things I forgot to remove from my search history. “Get help,” she told me. “Or, at least, find someone who doesn’t mind that you’re a fucking pervert.”

After that, I made it a point to start being a little more candid about those sorts of things early on. It usually went one of two ways - complete indifference or complete displeasure. It didn’t matter much anyways, things rarely lasted that long. I blame that on myself more than I do the confessions of my interests. I had been noncommittal and pessimistic towards potential partners, and it probably showed.

—

“Four…”

“Look,” I said, “there must be another way? Another place? J-just wait a little bit. Please?”

–

Caroline was different, which she made apparent immediately. She exuded confidence and curiosity in spades, both of which greatly appealed to me. Her happiness was infectious, and I found that I was happiest when I was making her happy.

Only a few minutes into my second cocktail of the evening, someone pulled out the barstool next to mine and sat down. Normally this wouldn’t bother me too much - this was a common occurrence at a bar. But Ricky’s was barely even busy tonight. Why did someone have to sit right next to me, of all places?

“An old fashioned?” the woman said, pointing to my drink. “Somethings never change.”

Caroline. It had been at least a year since I saw her last, and I had been holding onto the hope that I might just get through the rest of my life without seeing her again. 

“H-hey you,” I said, as politely as I could muster. “It’s been a while.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Well…you know…”

Really like the cute little whores with super nasty labelling. Let’s imagine her as a young profesional woman, respected by her coworkers and held out by her boss as an exemplary worker. Maybe she even has supervisory authority over some men. And this is what she looks like under her nice professional business suit. Hahaha. What a slut.

Maybe her coworkers wonder why she almost never removes the jacket of her suit. They think she is too conservative. But, of course we know that’s because she never wears underwear and the body writing she is labeled with keeps her constantly aroused, so she is concerned about her nipples or even the writing showing through the sheer blouses she is required to wear. Just the threat of having to remove the jacket and be exposed like that causes her pussy to drip so much she must go to the restroom and use some paper towels to mop up the slime leaking from her cunt lest it stain her skirt, her chair, or leave a puddle on the floor wherever she happens to be standing when those thoughts occur to her, if she doesn’t hurry to the restroom.

We like whores like this, don't we?