This was the perfect summoning spell. It cost very little mana, the words rolled easily off the tongue, and the other preparations could be kept to a minimum as well. No wonder the faculty didn't want anyone to poke around in that sealed-off section of the library when these sort of spells invalidated all the rigorous training regimes they made the apprentices go through. Kella was drawing the last line of the protective circle, the circle itself also kept to a minimum. Being able to summon like this shaved off hours in prep time and literal gold coins worth of protective materials.

The candles seemed to dim a little the moment she finished the incantation, and the air was sucked out of her. She gasped, took a step forward as if trying to rush after her breath, before planting her feet firmly on the ground. She stood barely an inch shy of crossing into the circle. In front of her, light seemed to coalesce into a swirling pattern, the shades of shadow and flame all mingling into a colour pattern that shouldn't be possible to derive from just candle light. The mass of colours pulsed and twisted in the air, slowly lowering itself to the ground, always keeping her attention, always keeping her focus. Kella couldn't remember just what she had tried to summon, or what subjugation spells she had meant to cast right after the summoning, and right now all that mattered was to take in that beautiful, enrapturing ever twisting play of colours, pulsing, swirling, an endless rhythmic flow of spectacular forms and patterns too pretty to ignore. The mass of colour had hit the floor, now a swirling pool, a perfect circle of motion in front of her, sucking in the light, sucking in the air, sucking in her thoughts, her-

She tried to focus. She had almost taken another step into the circle, almost let herself give in to that weird temptation of plunging herself head first into these colours, that weirdly enticing endless movement of patterns and pulses that kept drawing her attention, grabbed it and sucked it in just like it was sucking in the light, sucking in the air, her thoughts, sucking all those thoughts straight out of her mind until the mass took shape into an endless bundle of tentacles, each one of them striped in all the colours that had held her focus, each one of them twisting up into the air, like they were dancing, a confusing, dizzying array of movement. It was tiring to follow them all, tiring and exhausting and draining and-

The first tentacle slithered up her legs. Kella gasped, it shouldn't have managed to leave the circle, not unless-

-she had taken that last step into the circle. She had to get out, she had to get these protective lines back between herself and the summoning before-

The tentacles kept dancing, swirling and twisting among themselves, right in front of her face, rearranging themselves in a way that reminded her of the pulsing, spiralling patterns she had stared at mere seconds ago, a reminder to that warm haze she had felt when the patterns had sucked in the light, sucked in her breath, sucked in all of her thoughts, had left her so empty and blank, that relaxing feeling when all her worries and anxieties simply drifted away, sucked into the patterns. She had been surprised how much easier it felt when thinking wasn't an issue, when thinking wasn't required, when she could simply lean back against the tentacles softly caressing her back and let the tension flow out of her, tentacles coiling around her legs, reaching up her arms.

She hadn't meant to summon tentacles. Had she? Maybe. It was hard to tell. Hard to remember. To focus. The colours were just too much. There were dozens of the things now, all of them moving back and forth, moving in pairs or trios or as coiling patterns. It was so hard to think. The tentacles felt nice, though, so she had probably meant to do that. When they moved across her skin they left a warmth in their wake, almost a heat that was so pleasant and slightly tingly, almost- almost arousing- almost-

Kella tried to take a step back, but found her legs pinned in place by the tentacles. Something had woken her from her almost mindless reverie, but it was so hard to put a finger on it. So hard to focus. The patterns were still dancing in front of her face, the tentacles kept rubbing up her legs, reaching higher. Two of them had slipped under her top. That was it, she realised with a start. Some of the tentacles had started sliding under her clothes. Had started to rip open her top. Another moment of clarity, a sudden rush of adrenaline she tried to use to regain control. There were a couple of spells to get her out of the situation, to cancel the summoning, for a start, to blast the tentacles into bits and pieces-

But it felt so nice to watch them. The spell died on her tongue while the tentacles pulled down her bra. Began rubbing around her tits, squeezing softly, testing her limits. She gasped. She moaned. Yes. She had meant to summon the tentacles. Right? Right. Yes. Tentacles kept wrapping around her tits while others pulled down her pants, all of them leaving an almost intoxicating tingling in their wake, all of them pulsing with colours, with swirling, unfathomable patterns. Yes, she had meant to summon tentacles to caress her tits, to wrap around them, to squeeze them and to keep her attention firmly on these colourful, flashing spiralling patterns. "Yes," she moaned when a tentacle turned out to have a mouth-like suction cup at the end, which had latched on to her nipple, constantly mixing between squeezing, softly caressing and pinching her, quickly followed by a second.

This was going too far. Her resistance came slowly, but ended up gaining momentum in the face of this indecency, in the face of this obvious and brazen assault on her body, so she tried to grip the tentacles holding on to her nipples.

The pleasure forced her to her knees, mouth open in a perpetual moan. The moment she tried to grip the tentacles, they transferred some of that pressure straight into her nipples, sucking harder, squeezing, pulling on them, overwhelming her with a wave of mind-numbing arousal. While she was on her knees, a tentacle slid into her soaked panties, grinding against her pussy, only adding to the growing heat in her body, the heat that kept melting away her thoughts. She could enjoy this for a moment. Of course. Nothing wrong with that. She still had the spell in mind to cut the connection for the summoning, that sort of emergency stop she could always scream out to make it all go away and to-

A tentacle slowly made its way up her back, along her spine, the heat it was leaving in its wake seemingly enough to melt the last of her strength. She went limp, held in place only by the mass of tentacles surrounding her by now, and every few seconds she caught herself squeezing the tentacles sucking on her nipples again, just to feel that overwhelming sensation of having her tits caressed, taken care of, of having her nipples sucked and pinched so thoroughly that her vision blanked out. It felt too good to stop. Squeezing the tentacles again and again, a constant pressure now, a constant flow of exhilarating arousal that left her gasping, moaning, needy.

One of the things was trying to fuck her. Her body tensed, her legs closed as much as she could, even in her current state of blank arousal, of simple, primal heat, even now a part of her brain recognised that it would be a bad idea to let her summoning fuck her brains out, and she knew, with an undoubtable certainty, she knew full well how deep she would drop for this pleasure if she took this any further. Her mouth opened for the spell, the emergency stop, the incantation that would force the creature back to where it had come from, a simple, one-word spell she could simply-

Her tits felt amazing. The thing squeezed them again, sucking harder at the same time, dozens of tiny tongues along the tip of the tentacles constantly caressing her nipples, no clamping down, pinching, pulling. At the same time, the tentacle playing with her pussy had gone back to grinding against her, her body, still only held in place by the creature, moved along with the motion. Her mouth was still open. Wide open. Even when a tentacle crawled up her body, looped around her throat before dancing right in front of her eyes, a thick, white liquid slowly dripping down from its opening at the tip, even then she didn't close her mouth. Even when the thing smeared the liquid across her lips, even when it entered her mouth, slid inside her along her tongue... 

The liquid was hot. Kella couldn't tell for how long or how much the thing poured down her throat, but it was hot, it left a trail of its heat down her throat, a heat that slowly spread away from her tummy, hotter than the tentacles had left on her skin, hotter than what her needy, aching pussy had made her feel all this time, simply too hot to think about it while she swallowed more of it, and more, until she fell down on all fours.

Her mind changed gears. The moment she was on all fours, her eyes went blank, what was left to her in terms of strength and thought simply leaked out of her pussy. When the tentacle tried to push inside her again, she spread her legs for it. She tried to moan, but the other tentacle was still in her mouth, now sliding in and out, as if fucking her face, as if fucking her brain directly, fucking all her thoughts away. Her hips pushed back against the other, her tits still played with, toyed with like the rest of her body and mind alike. The tentacle was fucking her. Harder. Thrusting in. Out. Back in. It was shifting, stretching, adapting to her pussy, filling her up so perfectly that it felt simply natural to push back against it, to try to get it deeper, to roll her hips with its movement. Every time the tentacle thrust in, her mind blanked out some more, beyond what she had thought capable. There was no thought inside her anymore. There was just the pleasure, and the patterns of a couple of tentacles were still showing her in front of her face, like a rhythmic pulsing communicating with her mind on a deep, subconscious level.

So Kella stared. She stared at the pretty, colourful pulses and patterns while drooling past the tentacle fucking her mouth, while her eyes went blank every now and then when the tentacles sucked harder on her tits, caressed her nipples, so she stared while the other tentacle fucked her deeper, hit her spot on every thrust, shaped itself to fit her, to be natural for her.

She came hard. The constant pleasure, the constant arousal made it difficult to realise what her body was doing but she blanket out completely when it hit her, passed out and slumped to the floor in dumb, empty orgasm.

By the time she realized he was actually succeeding in hypnotizing her, his words had already slipped so deep that the effort of standing up and staggering away from him took all of her focus. She had no idea how he had managed it. She had noticed the almost sleazy undercurrent of his tones almost immediately, but with no better company in sight for the evening and the prospect of experiencing at least a wannabe hypnotist worth making fun of later, she had stayed with him. She had listened to his feeble attempts to empty her out, to drag her into that deep, inescapable trance where she didn't have to think, where she could just indulge in the joy and pleasure of giving in and letting someone else do all the work for her. He hadn't been very good at it, his words simply washing over her without much effect, and so she had started to browse her Tumblr instead, tuning out his attempts.

Tumblr had helped distract her a little, of course. Spirals turning everywhere, colourful patterns flashing in her face, mantras, short stories, her mind simply absorbing it all, diving into the much more entertaining world of hypnosis compared to what the guy was trying to pull. She hadn't actually listened to him in what had felt like ages. But at some point in between ignoring him and losing herself just a little while browsing her blog, her mind had snapped into that gentle warmth of a light trance, that moment where she felt everything go a bit dizzy, a lightheadedness taking hold of her that was so hard to shake, and felt so familiar and enticing that her mind kept pushing back on the idea of resisting in the first place. She wasn't empty. She wasn't dizzy, or dumb, or blank. She was just… enjoying one more spiral. One more text post talking about rubbing her wet, leaking pussy like an obedient hypnoslut. His words didn't have any effect. It was just…

She was losing her focus. Again. She had started walking away from him, one step after the other, but he was insistent in following her, sometimes lightly touching her elbow as if guiding her. She tore herself away, freed herself from his grip but it was hard work to keep it that way, hard work when it took so much effort and focus to simply walk, to stare straight ahead, and she had to admit that it was a lot easier with his hand steadying her, with his whispers in her ear telling her where to go and where to turn and into which car to step. Thinking was so hard. Making decisions was even harder. It felt so much nicer to let go. To let all those silly thoughts of resistance and independence drop away. Dropping deeper.

She woke up again when he led her out of the car. Her panties were gone. She was leaking her thoughts down her thighs. She had a vague memory of him stripping her, his hands on her inner thigh, his fingers circling her clit while he kissed her neck and collarbone. She had a vague memory of the sheer pleasure, of her attempts to push him away only for her arms to flop uselessly at her side while he spread her legs and started pushing his fingers in, and out. In. Out. The memory of it sent shivers down her spine. Called up a fog strangling her thoughts. In. Out. She was so wet. Her thoughts were leaking out of her pussy, down her thighs. Her bra was gone. While she could somewhat piece together where her panties had gone, memories of her bra were nowhere to be had. Instead all she could think of, what little thoughts she had left, were poured into her hard, sensitive nipples brushing against her top.

She was in his apartment. Her awareness only came in little thrusts, much alike to his cock slowly filling her up. He had claimed her. Taken her. However laughable his initial attempts to hypnotize her had been, now he was fucking her empty, every thrust another victory over her. Every now and then she woke to a different position. Him eating her out, tongue eager for her pussy. Him nibbling at her nipples while his thumb was circling her clit. His cock in her mouth, deep, her thoughts all gone, a simple sequence of sucking his cock, of pleasuring him before he filled her up once more.

She woke up the next morning. Her head empty. Her eyes blank. She woke to a particularly hard thrust. He had started fucking her in her sleep. On an instinctual level she knew he had never stopped talking to her all through the night. She couldn't put a finger on what he had programmed into her obedient, dumb head, but that didn't really matter. What mattered was that his cock felt incredible, that she didn't have to think, that he was taking care of her.

There wasn't a thing Kate could do. The man had trapped her quite neatly, with one of her best friends in the massage booth next to her, separated only by a thin film of fabric. Kate had recommended the massage parlour. She had heard great things about it, had studied the reviews and had ultimately been swayed by her neighbour's recommendation. It would do you good, he had said. It would help you relax, he had said.

He hadn't mentioned that he was one of the masseuses. He hadn't mentioned that there were no female masseuses available on the day he had gotten her a slot for free with a +1 option. He hadn't told her that she'd be in the same room as her friend, that there'd be so much talking, so much...

She was neatly trapped in a social conundrum of her own making. She couldn't just get up and leave, it would be weird in front of her friend, and rude toward her neighbour and... and...

The words just kept pouring in. They weren't even meant for her. Her neighbour was working on Carol while another man was kneading her thighs at the moment, the warm massage oil so warm and comfortable on her skin that her thoughts kept running into a wall head-first. At least she was pretty sure it was because of the oil. Totally not because of her neighbour's words she kept overhearing from across the room divider. Those words pouring out of his mouth, their meaning lost on her mind while she tried so hard not to listen. On some level, her mind knew what was happening. That she had been lured here, that she had been used to bait her friend into this establishment, that she had to get up and fight the words. Another part of her mind, the stronger part, was simply content. Yes, she could relax now. Yes, taking deep, audible breaths in helped her calm down. Her muscles loosen up. Yes, breathing out made her thoughts slow down, and trickle away from her, thoughts drifting off and it felt incredible to finally be able to let go of them all. To simply enjoy these hands wandering up and down her legs, massaging her feet, up again, across her calves, past the back of her knees, fingertips playing along her inner thighs, thumbs brushing up right at the edge of her panties.

She couldn't tell when she had let the man remove the towel. When she had agreed to this sort of intimate massage. She wanted to raise her voice, to make sure he didn't touch that close to her aching, pulsing pussy again, but by the time the thought had formed enough to be spoken, his thumbs brushed across the same spot again, and her attempt to speak turned into an attempt to keep the moan bottled up inside her. Another try, another thought formed with great difficulty, and then her neighbour's voice rang across the room. She relaxed. She calmed down. Enjoyed the touch, that pulsing, throbbing arousal slowly drowning away her worries and resistance in a wave of heat that melted away her thoughts along with her strength.

The man wasn't massaging her body anymore. He was massaging her pussy. His hands constantly playing with her upper thighs, moving up to trace the edge of her soaked panties, fingers slipping under the fabric or brushing across her pussy. Her hips wouldn't stop moving. Her mind wouldn't stop failing her, resistance melting under the constant throbbing of arousal that kept her body in the firmest of grips. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't fight it anymore. She moaned. Moaned until she had to gaps for air, the worry about Carol next to her suddenly forgotten.

Her neighbour drew back the curtain. Carol was asleep, her oiled-up body still and calm. Her neighbour had been whispering to her, whispering into her ear, it seemed, a thin trickle of blood dropped from his mouth, from the sharp fangs visible through Kate's fog of arousal. He glanced up at her. Glanced at her with the gaze of a hunter seeing his prey helpless and weak. She shuddered, the man behind her pulling down her panties at the same time when her neighbour stepped up in front of her.

"Such a good girl," he said, his hand running through her hair before he bent closer to her. His breath hit her neck, his fingers traced lazy patterns into her skin before he started kissing her neck, trailing up and down with his tongue before she felt the sharp pang of his fangs scratch against her vulnerable skin. She couldn't bring herself to fight him. She was relaxed. Ready to submit. To surrender. To be his. She loved to be his. She loved to be his good girl. She words sprung to her mind unbidden, and she didn't know how deeply he must have buried them to call them up like this, with the sort of pleasure that shot through her body and made her blank and docile.

Blank. Docile. Empty. The words kept running through her head. His good girl. She felt the tip of the other man's cock rub up and down her pussy, the sensation somewhat distant yet no less potent at scrambling her mind. A glance to the side. Carol was asleep. Deeply asleep.

"Don't worry," her neighbour said, his voice in her hear. "Her training is done for the day. But you'll bring her back to us, won't you? You'll bring all your friends here. One after the other. You'll help us make good girls out of all of them. Good, obedient girls eager to be fed upon."

For a split second she wanted to run. She wanted to fight and wake up Carol and-

The other man pushed inside her. His cock going in slowly, her pussy filling up with his cock, the heat melting away her brains and lower body alike. In front of her, her neighbour smiled, and buried his fangs in her exposed neck. The orgasm took her, waves of pleasure simply rolling through her body back and forth, in tune with the man's thrusts, in tune with the conditioned sensation of arousal from the feeding. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't fight this. The realization gave her a measure of peace in the turmoil of orgasms wrecking her mind, driving her further into obedience. She couldn't fight it. Why bother trying?

His whispers accompanied her into sleep. Into that blissful emptiness that followed the feeding, that warm, mellow afterglow where she didn't have a care in the world. That addictive warm haze that would stay with her for the rest of the day. By the time she came to, Carol had already woken up, clothed and a glass of water in hand, smiling. "That was amazing," she said. "We'll have to come back soon."

"Can you count them for me?" he asked. Kate looked up from her notes; the meeting was nearly at an end, and the other colleagues had already filtered out of the room. She had a full schedule ahead of her, and was in no mood to play some silly games with the new colleague who thought he was a big shot.

"Count what?"

"The polka dots."

She followed his eyes. He was staring at her legs, covered by white stockings with black polka dots sprinkled across. "Can you count them?"

Anger rose up, a righteous indigniation she had no intention of suppressing. HR would boot him off in no time if they heard about-

"There are quite a lot of them, and it's quite relaxing to try and count them," he said, and she actually saw his eyes making tiny jumps, moving from dot to dot. The tone in his voice gave her pause, it was even, low, and she almost had to strain her ears to make them out against the background buzz of the office outside of the meeting room. "One, two, three," he said, and then he mouthed the rest of the numbers.

"What are you-" He held up a finger, a single finger, and Kate was surprised to find herself stopping her tracks. Not just that the words had gotten stuck in her throat, but she found herself without the strength to get up and simply leave.

"Just try it. I've seen your schedule, it's close to bursting and let's be honest, prolonging this meeting is a good enough excuse to get some relaxation, don't you think?"

Was he joking? She searched his face for the punchline but then he stared up at her, for the first time, and his eyes met hers. She was his prey. The intensity in his eyes screamed at her to run, to get up, throw her notes at him to make a getaway and yet... she was rooted to the chair. Her muscles refusing any attempt to move, her words still not coming out at all. He rolled closer with his chair, until the wheels of his bumped into hers, and she could smell him, really smell him in a way she had never smelt anyone before. There was a tone to his smell just as there was one to his voice, something calming, relaxing, something that was quite disarming and charming and-

Kate recoiled at her own thoughts. This man was coming on way too strong to her, at the workplace, despite the ring on her finger, and she mustered her strength again to get up, to-

"One," he said, and poked her stockings at a random polka dot, his fingertip lingering on the spot. She stayed still in the chair, her eyes not moving away from his, seeing his hand lift up and move in her periphereal vision. "Two," he said, and found the next spot. There was a fleck of red in his eyes that seemed entirely unnatural, and a sharpnes to his words, something swinging along with the soothing tones of his voice and smell that made her feel like he was about to pounce.

"Three," he said, and she gasped, for reasons she didn't understand. He was so close now, leaning closer, his smell growing stronger with every breath. "In, and out," he said, his words distant. "In." His other hand began to run up the side of her chair, until his fingertips were stroking up her sides, up her neck, tracing her earlobe, and back to her neck again. "Out," he said, and her breathing flattened, complied with the rhythm he was suggesting.

"Good," he said, and smiled without showing his teeth. His hand was on her neck now, coaxing her movements. "Four," he said, and his other hand found another polka dot, and for some reason a wave of warmth crept up from his touch, rolled up her lower body, up her spine until it hit the heat on her neck, the heat from his other touch. The waves bounced off each other, back and forth, just like she was taking deep, audible breaths in. In. And out. Relaxing. Calming. Empty. And docile.

The thoughts weren't her own, she realized with a start, but she couldn't look away from his eyes. Couldn't move, not with his hand on her neck, softly caressing her, not with his fingers tracing the polka dots, not with his smell so strong in her nose, in her head. She felt dizzy, the heat only adding to the feeling, the haze slowly turning stronger. "Five," he said, and his finger moved to a dot on her inner thigh. She spread her legs for him, with no resistance from her whatsoever. She spread her legs and gave a silent moan while his finger settled on the dot, the heat surging into her pussy. "Such a good girl," he whispered, his voice directly in her head. She felt something sharp scratch against the skin of her neck, again, and again, before withdrawing. "Good girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse and heavy with lust.

She tried to get another look at him, but her eyes weren't seeing anymore. Glazed over, she saw rough shapes at best, but the sharp teeth of his stood out. She had been warned against vampires, of course, they had all gotten the self-defence training, but nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing had prepared her for the slow, audible breaths in, the relaxation, the arousal sweeping through her body. Breathing out, and she felt so blissfully empty. Docile. And weak. Prey for him to do with as he pleased.

She spread her legs further, already anticipating what happened next. "Six," and his hand caressed her inner thigh, finding another polka dot further up, the heat of his touch so close to her pussy that she instinctively tried to edge forward in her seat. He held her in place, and smiled, showing his teeth this time. She came at seven, his finger nowhere near her pussy, and yet every touch felt like it was closing in, inches away from her clit. She came in his arms, moaning into his shirt while he patted her back and let her inhale his scent in full. By the time she came to, she remembered none of it, and was alone in the conference room.

***

The next time Kate wore the polka-dotted stockings...

She was on her lunch break, in a small cafe close to her workplace. It wasn't unheard of to meet colleagues here, but that the newest one would enter just a few moments after she had sat down, and then confidently steer towards her table like he was invited... she didn't look up from her book. Not even when he sat down right next to her on the bench, rather than the chair in front of her. Not even when he started talking to himself. He was being rude, and annoying, and she was just waiting for a chance to get something on him to pass on to HR and-

She took a deep breath in, and for a moment lost her train of thought. Right. Report him, and then-

She breathed out, and the thought was gone again, replaced by the realization that he was counting.

"Five," he said, and when she glanced sideways and followed his eyes, he was staring at her legs.

"Excuse me," she said, but the rest of her words stuck in her throat. She had meant to sound angry, abrasive, maybe, and instead her voice had been so small, so... weak.

He didn't stop looking at her legs. "Six," he said instead, and out of reflex Kate tried to pull her dress down a little more, even though it couldn't possibly cover any more. He took her hand away from the hem of the dress and placed it at her side, keeping his hands closed around hers. It felt warm, familiar, and not at all uncomfortable, even though she should have been furious, should have been-

"Seven," he said.

"What are you doing?" she finally managed to burst out, one, embarassing queaky burst of her voice.

He looked up at her, and his eyes caught hers, and wouldn't let go. She felt his hand on hers acutely, aware of his blood pumping through his fingers all of a sudden, of how close he was sitting, his scent, clinging to the air, every time she took a deep, audible breath in, and out again... she was aware that she couldn't get up anymore. "I'm counting the polka dots, of course. It's very relaxing."

It sounded like the worst excuse to harass her that she'd ever heard. It sounded so-

"Eight," he said, and turned towards her, placing his fingertip on one of the dots on her leg. The touch sent a shiver up her spine, forced her to close her eyes for just a second, and lean back against the bench. The stress of the day fell of her. The stress of what was to come fell off her. All that counted, right now, was to take deep, audible breaths in, and to relax. To calm down. To breathe out again, and feel the blissful emptiness take hold. "Relaxing, isn't it?" he said, his voice a soft, slow and measured tone so soothing she barely heard it.

"Yess. Relaxingg," she said. breathing in a steady, slow rhythm.

"Relaxing," he said, and moved his hand further up her stockings. "Nine."

She suppressed the gasp. The cafe was crowded, and she was losing control. She was letting him touch her, control her, force her into submission...

"Ten," he said, and his finger was on the dot closest to her pussy. Her body was shuddering, his breath hitting her neck now, just before he was kissing her, teeth scratching softly. The moment lasted but a heartbeat, nothing that would be noticed by the other guests, but it forced her body into overdrive. "Cum for me," he whispered, and she could do nothing but obey. To give in. To surrender.

By the time she came to, she had to hurry to pack her book away and leave. She felt refreshed, somehow, even more so than usual when she visited the cafe, and left a larger tip than normal. Something in the coffee, maybe.

***

The next time Kate wore the polka-dotted stockings...

"Very nice stockings," he said. Kate started up in her chair; she hadn't heard him approaching. For a second she felt like she should admonish him for remarking on her appearance out of the blue, but then his hand settled on her right shoulder, and the tip of his thumb began softly rubbing up and down against her neck. Now she should really tell him off, she thought, but even while her mind was churning through the motion of turning idea into speech, the process slowed down somewhere in between, somewhere in the middle it all just fell apart, slowing down so badly that the thought ended up dropping altogether. It dropped deep enough to stop bothering her, and then the next thought followed, and the next. She craned her neck for him, and he rolled her office chair towards one of the sofas reserved for customers. The rest of the office was out for lunch. Kate had only wanted to finish this one E-Mail before... before...

He had put her legs up on his, her feet resting in his lap. "Very nice stockings," he said again, taking off her shoes one by one. "Thank you," she said, slightly out of breath. Doubts came back to her, doubts why she was letting him talk to her like this, why she let him-

His fingers began rubbing her soles, and she groaned, and leaned back in her chair. She was dimly aware of his voice, of his words and how they kept coming, but it felt like so much effort to actually listen. So much effort to think about what he was saying, and so she just nodded, nodded along while hoping his sentence would never end so that he'd never stop massaging her feet. His thumbs kept rubbing up and down, up, and down, and her breathing changed in rhythm, synchronized with his massage. Up, and she took a deep, audible breath in, up, and she relaxed, she calmed down. His thumbs slowly moved down, with just the right pressure, taking away the stress of the day, the pain of the walking in heels. Down, and she breathed out, feeling the warm haze settle on her mind, wrapping around her and helping her empty out her mind.

"So easy to relax," he was saying, and some of his words pierced the fog now and then. "Easy to drop to my voice." She nodded, not knowing what he had said before, or what came after. She nodded, and a surge of warmth spiraled down her body, spread into every corner. His thumbs moved up, and she took a deep breath in, relaxed some more, and down, down and she breathed out, out and her mind was empty, and docile.

Docile. The word rung an alarm bell, briefly, for a moment her eyes opened and she saw him, sitting here, her feet in his lap, his smile so confidet, his eyes staring directly into hers. He shuffled forward a little, just an inch, and she felt his bulge brush against her toes, and she couldn't keep herself from pushing her sole flat against the outline of his cock. Her protest got stuck in her throat, what little thoughts she had recovered went tumbling down into the dephts, kept dropping down, dragging her with them into a deep trance.

"Good girl," she heard in the distance while she sunk back into the chair. "Good girl," she heard while his hands began to move up her feet, past her ankle, up and down her calves. She was doing her best to rub both her soles against his bulge, unable to keep her body from betraying her, helpless against the urge to rub. "Such a good, empty girl," he kept saying, kept muttering the words until she heard them with every breath, and every time the warmth turned a little more into a heat, the heat melting away her resistance. Memories swept back into her mind, of past encounters, when he had gotten her alone, during breaks, after work, on her way to the rest room. He was always there, overwhelming her, his smell, his eyes, his aura sapping away her resistance, rendering her helpless, and yearning for his touch, for his voice.

"Good girl," she heard while he picked her up, and settled her on his lap, her skirt hiked up, his pants on the floor. He was kissing her neck, his face buried in her hair, his hands roaming up and down her sides, fingertips brushing against the side of her tits while she felt his cock rub against her panties, the heat of it numbing her lower body to the point that she couldn't move it on her own at all, dependent on his hands, on his will. "Breathe in, deep, audibly, and you are so horny now. So sensitive. Out. And you're empty. Weak. Mine."

She gasped. His teeth were softly scratching along her neck, while his smell surrounded her like a cloud, keeping her inside, keeping her pinned. One of his hands went under her skirt and pulled her panties aside. He pushed in slowly, his cock filling her up, slowly going in, the heat of it melting away the last of her thoughts. In, and in until he hit her spot, and then out again. The tempo increased. Thrusting, fucking her empty, and docile, even more than she had already been. Always fucking her deeper, always a little deeper into his control. He kept whispering, never stopping the torrent of words that drowned her will, that buried her attempts to resist whenever they surfaced even for a second. Her body moved up and down on his lap, guided by him, steered by him, under his spell, his control.

There were instructions hidden in the usual words. She was aware, dimly, that there was going to be some work travel to be done soon. That she would make sure the two of them would go, the two of them alone for a week for a conference, and that she would love to do this for him, for the two of them. That she would enjoy finally becoming his, completely, docile, and weak. She nodded as best she could in between moaning and grunting, his cock thrusting in, hitting her spot, filling her up while he kept whispering, kept pouring in the words, the thoughts he wanted her to think.