Fenetre .

Thinking about being strapped to a chair with weak restraints, and a dildo is in my ass, slowly fucking me. Every time I pull on my weak restraints, it gets a little faster.

In the beginning, the dildo is barely moving at all, and I'm focused entierly on attempting to break free. The bindings creak and groan, but every time I get close to snapping them, the dildo hits just the right spot, and I lose concentration for a second.

Then about 10 minutes in, the dildo is now going in once every 5 seconds. A steady, healthy pace. My eyes go a little unfocused every now and again as I'm still struggling (admittedly weaker though, so I make less progress). A screen in front of me turns on, showing a recording of a different person in the chair as me. By the looks of things, they've been struggling a while, and they broke.

"Nnmf! Pl-please! Fuck me!"

"I c-can't resist! I'm t-t-too weak!

"I can't str-struggle! I'm h-helpless!"

Their moans and admissions fill your ears. It's like the trap itself is telling you that this is what you're going to become (and you're kind of liking that idea).

After 20 minutes, sweat beads on your brow. The dildo is thrusting every second. Now and again, your face goes slack in pleasure. You're breathing heavily. The restraints just feel so hard to break, but you still need to try. One more push, you tell yourself. One more pu- the thought is scattered with a thrust. You instinctual moan out. You push. You creak. You try and break your restraints.

30 minutes later, and the dildo is thrusting twice every second. You're moaning like a slut in heat. You cum for the 4th time in 5 minutes. "I can't resist!" Is it a plea for help, or and admission of submission? You don't know anymore. And you don't really care~

“I see we have another little visitor. Where did you find this one?” Annalee knew they were talking about her, but somehow she couldn’t make herself focus in on the conversation properly. The carpet felt so interestingly scratchy under her knees, and her clothes rustled and rubbed so wonderfully against her body, and even the air molecules bumping up against her tanned skin gave off so many tactile sensations that her brain was simply overwhelmed with it all. She knelt in a slumped, helpless heap on the floor, unable to disentangle herself from the constant bombardment of sensory stimulation and act despite the very real danger she knew herself to be in.

Even when the heavyset man standing next to her gripped Annalee’s long dark hair and yanked her head up to stare at the casino’s owner with a glassy, unfocused look in her pale green eyes, she couldn’t really make herself pay attention. Every tiny movement sent a little shockwave of pleasure through her clit, the kind of thing Annalee barely noticed on a daily basis but that suddenly and inexplicably made her so wet and horny that her fingers clenched and unclenched with the reflexive desire to masturbate. “Vault 32-B, sir,” the security guard responded in a baritone growl. “She triggered one of your pleasure traps next to the Morgenstern curio.”

Pleasure trap. Pleasure. Trap. Annalee recited the words to herself again and again inside her head, trying to cling to them in the hopes that they would lead her out of the tangled thicket of confusion and sensory overload that held her helpless. She knew that Ernesto Pascal, the casino owner, kept a number of treasures in the sub-vaults of his establishment–antiques of unique and rare value that he accepted in trade to settle gambling debts. She dimly, distantly remembered that there were rumors about some of them, that they gave him certain gifts and talents that couldn’t be explained by science. And she struggled very hard to concentrate on her plans to take one of them for herself when she stepped in the wrong place at the wrong time and–

Annalee shifted position ever so slightly. A wave of orgasmic bliss obliterated her train of thought. “A pleasure trap, mm?” The casino owner reached down and cupped her chin, and Annalee mewled in helpless ecstasy at his touch. “Well, I don’t see any reason to remove the curse, not for a slutty cocktail waitress who only took the job to steal from me. We’ll just find her something else to do, something a bit more in line with her… new capabilities.” He looked Annalee square in the eyes. “Would you like to be a whore for me now?” he asked, nodding her head up and down as he spoke. “Would you like to have that hungry cunt plowed by some of my very special friends?” Annalee’s dazed and muzzy brain tried to process the words he was saying to her, but–but everything just felt too good right now.

He reached down with his free hand and rested his palm against her chest, just over her left breast. Annalee’s eyes rolled back in her head as the overwhelming ecstasy of being touched so close to such a sensitive place simply maxed out her brain’s capacity to perceive pleasure, and she felt her cunt gushing all over the carpet in an uncontrollable display of orgasmic bliss. “There we go,” he said, removing his fingers to reveal a sudden and inexplicably painless tattoo that had blossomed under her skin in less than a second. “Just a little something to remind everyone of your new status as my property. It’s for your own protection.” Annalee couldn’t read it–the world kept swimming in and out of focus in her field of view as she shuddered her way through the aftershocks of climax. But she knew she’d been marked forever as one of the casino’s free use sluts. And the mere thought of what all that groping and touching would do to her pleasure-saturated brain made Annalee cum all over again.

1. Stop thinking.

“Oh, yes, Master. That big hard cock needs to cum. I can feel it, it’s throbbing under my fingers, it’s aching to release all that hot, sticky goo all over my pretty slave titties. I know why Master’s holding back, though. He wants to get a big, yummy load all over my chest so he can mark me as his property, and he needs to hold back just a little bit longer so that he can show me just how owned and obedient I am. That’s okay, Master. Just let this good girl keep stroking that long, pulsing shaft a little while more, just hold that big climax back so Master can show me how strong and potent he is.

"It’ll be easier if Master focuses on something. When his balls are all tight and full and heavy with cum like that, and my hand keeps going up and down, up and down on that warm thick shaft, it’s going to be easier to hold back if Master keeps his mind on just one thing and one thing only so that he doesn’t spurt all over my tits like a weak little boy who’s not in control of his orgasms. Master needs to keep all that yummy jizz inside, and he can’t do that if he’s paying attention to his cock or my breasts or the sound of my voice. I don’t want to make Master cum by accident, not when he’s doing such a good job of keeping his big load inside until it’s ready.

"And I know it’s so hard right now, Master. It’s so hard to find something that doesn’t make his big hard cock even hornier and needier and more ready to spurt all over my pretty slave titties. Even just listening to my voice makes Master want to shoot his load, because I’m talking all dirty like a good slut and if I beg him to jizz all over my boobs then he might accidentally listen and then we’ll both know that he can’t control his climax. Master doesn’t want to look weak. Master doesn’t want to look helpless to resist his own penis. So it’s important to just let my voice slip away into the back of Master’s head and find something else to focus on while I stroke, stroke, stroke Master deeper into pleasure until his balls are boiling with cum.

"Even looking at my slave titties might be too much for Master when he’s this hard, this turned on, this ready to shoot his load all over my chest and show the whole world how much cum he can splatter onto my helpless body. Master might not be able to control himself, and he needs to stay in control so that I don’t get any clever ideas. So if Master’s going to stay nice and controlled, he needs to look somewhere else. Somewhere calm and neutral, somewhere that’s going to soothe and relax him so that he doesn’t give in and spurt on my boobs like a weak little boy. Somewhere like my eyes.

"That’s it, Master. That’s right. Just stare at my eyes, tune out my voice, let the boiling heat in those heavy balls fade into the background and stay perfectly controlled for me. That’s it. That’s a good, strong boy. Master doesn’t need to cum, Master doesn’t need to listen, Master just needs to be stroked deeper and relax. Good boy. Relaxing and sinking deeper into pleasure for me now.”

“Maaasterrrr,” Luci whimpered, biting her lip in an adorable pout as her fingers slipped down to rub her slick pink folds, “it happened again! I woke up all horny, Master!” Her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment, arousal momentarily blanking out her mind in a wonderfully familiar way. Ever since they’d agreed to try a full-time D/s relationship, Luci had found that her susceptibility to Bill’s hypnotic influence had increased to an almost overwhelming degree; it was as if making conscious decision to willingly submit to him 24/7 had dropped barriers Luci didn’t even know she had in her brain. She no longer had to try to sound like a silly, slutty ditz–it came perfectly natural to her now.

She still worried a little that it would get on Master’s nerves, but judging by the stiff, aching nipples he sported as he sat down on the bed next to her and watched her play with her soaking cunt, he was happier than ever. “Awwww, that’s so cute, sweetie!” he said, giving her a little pat on the thigh that only intensified the pleasant ache in her pussy. “Does my good girl want to have a ruin for Master?” Luci mewled involuntarily, unable to prevent her brain from sliding back to the first suggestion she’d ever asked him to implant. She didn’t know how to use her fingers to bring herself to orgasm anymore. She was too dumb to cum without help. All she could do was ruin her climax without Master around.

But the more she thought about it, the better that warm, teasing ache in her clit felt. “Um… she doesn’t need to cum, Master?” she replied, unconsciously and instinctively adding the uptalk ending to each sentence that made her sound so deliciously confused with every utterance. “She, like… her cunt doesn’t crave cummies right now, it craves Master?” Luci blushed hard, hoping that she didn’t sound too needy for her owner. “Is that weird? Master, is that bad?” Her fingers rubbed even harder, as if the admission itself made her pussy throb. She loved being brainwashed to desire obedience more than sex–she’d told Bill as much, back when they were still discussing their wants and needs. But it was still one kink that could make her feel shy and slutty at the same time.

But Bill only smiled at her indulgently, squeezing her breast in his strong fingers. “It’s not bad at all, sweetie pie,” he told her, fixing her with his deep, hypnotic eyes and gazing straight into her brain. “Master’s very proud of his good girl for coming up with that! He thought he was going to have to walk her through it, because she’s so dumb sometimes when she’s horny, but her pussy understands perfectly. She wants to cum, but she needs to obey. Isn’t that right?” Luci nodded vacantly, her mind already hollowing out under the force of her relentless teasing and Master’s mesmerizing gaze. She was so glad she could be a good girl for him.

“That’s what I thought, baby doll,” Bill purred. He straddled her face, and she could smell the musk of his sex filling her whole world. “Now, you start licking, pretty pet, and I’ll fuck that pretty mind of yours the way you need. Does that sound good?” Luci tried to reply, but just then Bill lowered himself onto her mouth and she found that she had better things to do with her tongue than speak. Her fingers continued to tease herself, but her will evaporated into sweet, blissful oblivion as she began to pleasure Bill’s stiff, throbbing clit.

“Good, good. How are you feeling?”

“Good toys obey.” Were the words that passed through your lips. You stopped, putting a hand to cover your mouth. That wasn’t what you meant to say. You tried again.

“Good toys obey.” Again. This time, as the words came out, your mind felt a little fuzzy. Your body twinged with arousal.

Your hypnotist was still smiling. They tutted, gently, though it could have been a laugh. “Now toy, that doesn’t answer my question. How are you feeling?”

You stopped. You thought. The words were in your head. You just had to say them. “Good-mm- toys obey.” You tried to stop yourself from completing the sentence, but your body wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. You blushed, embarrassed, and more than a little aroused.

You shook your head a little, attempting to clear your mind of the fog of arousal that was starting to affect your thoughts. Then tried again. “Go-good t-t-oys ob-ey.” Again you tried to stop yourself, focusing so hard. But to no avail.

Your partner came closer to you. Gently stroking your hair. “Good toy. It’s okay. Let’s try something simpler. Maybe your poor, tired, sleepy, foggy mind can’t cope with such a complex question. Let’s give you something easier. What’s your name?”

You nodded. Confident. They believed in you. You could do it. “Good toys obey.” There was no stopping it. Your mouth was automatic. Your mind felt so very foggy now. So fuzzy. The arousal and pleasure was making you want to squirm in your seat.

“Oh, so that didn’t work either… Well… How about the easiest question I can think of? Could you tell me what good toys do?”

The words sparked your brain. Instantly your mouth was moving. “Good toys obey.”

The arousal hit you like lightning. Your mind, foggy moments ago, was reeling from the pleasure. It was hard to concentrate on anything else. Just the pleasure.

“Keep talking, toy.” The command thrilled you. You wanted to obey. You needed to obey.

Leah and McKaley were not good at being bridesmaids. As Head Bridesmaid, Leah had the unlucky task of planning a bachelorette party. (Or “hen do”, as McKaley called it- a phrase which gave Leah images of a bunch of women going to a salon and getting stylized chickens put on their heads.) Since she was a supportive partner, McKaley decided to help Leah plan the event. They had sat down together several hours ago with the best of hopes, but now they drooped dispiritedly on the couch. They were surrounded by discarded piles of wedding magazines and laptops with hundreds of tabs open.

McKaley rallied and opened her laptop. Suddenly, she seemed to perk up. “Leah,” she said. “I’ve found a drinking game! This might be fun! Want to try it?”

 Leah took a deep breath and removed her glasses, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, I think I’m about done for the night. I could use a good drink.”

McKaley walked a few feet to their apartment kitchen and opened a bottle of wine.“Hey Leah,” she said, gathering glasses. “Do you remember how I got you drunk on water that one time? After that stage hypnosis class I took?”

“Yes,” said Leah, exhausted. “And, before you ask, I want a real drink right now. Not a pretend one.”

“Oh absolutely”, said McKaley. “I was just remembering how cute you were that night.” She returned to the living room and poured them both a glass. “Salud!” she cried! They toasted and both drank a sip.

Leah leaned back into the couch. “Mmmm I hate weddings,” she grumbled. “It’s so much pressure. And this isn’t even my wedding!”

“Not yet,” McKaley winked. She shifted on the couch so she was next to Leah. “Hey, wanna play this drinking game?”

“Sure, why not?” replied Leah. 

“Excellent,” said McKaley, grinning. “So it says here it’s called ‘Drink if You’. You’ll like it- it’s basically a big excuse to get drunk. It’s pretty simple: I’ll read a statement and if the statement is true for you, you drink!”

“OK. But remember that I’m a lightweight,” said Leah.

“I know,” said McKaley. “It’s adorable.”

She opened up her laptop again.

“OK- first one: If you’ve known the bride for more than ten years, drink!”

Leah took a small sip.

“Ah, that’s not a drink. You have to drink more” said McKaley.

Leah glared but then took a larger gulp of wine.

“Good!” said McKaley. “Next: If you have a tattoo, drink!”

They both took a drink.

“If you’ve ever eaten a whole box of chocolates, drink!”

Leah, slightly shamefaced, took another gulp. McKaley poured her another glass of wine.

The questions continued. Leah made a mental note not to use this particular game at the bachelorette party. Too many of the items were ones she needed to take a drink on- and she couldn’t afford to be drunk as the hostess. 

Soon McKaley had poured Leah a third glass. Leah was feeling decidedly tipsy. and even beginning to feel a bit loopy. It didn’t help that the questions seemed to be coming faster and faster, 

“If your name begins with L, drink!” said McKaley. Leah took a drink.

“If you can name at least 5 Wonder Woman villains, drink!” said McKaley.  Leah took a drink. 

“If you know a hypnotist, drink!”said McKaley. Leah took a drink.

“If you know being tipsy makes you extra suggestible to hypnosis, drink!” said McKaley.

Leah woozily raised the glass to her mouth before thinking “Wait-what?” 

But before she could finish that thought, McKaley had taken her glass and pulled her arm down with a quick gentle movement. “Sleep!” she said, commandingly.

Leah didn’t know what happened next.

————————————————————

The next week, Leah and McKaley went out to a local show. Leah was between paychecks and kind of broke but McKaley had kindly bought her ticket. She couldn’t spend any money tonight, but that was OK. She had enjoyed bands sober before. Plus, probably not good to show up to work tomorrow hungover.

She and Leah were hanging around between sets waiting as the second band  tuned up.

“Hey Leah,” said McKaley. “Do you want to see something cool?”

“Sure!” said Leah, smiling.

“OK. So Leah- if you’re feeling happy right now, drink!”

Leah startled as she tasted the ghost of wine in her mouth. It was followed by the beginning of a warm relaxation in her body, as though she had already drunk a few sips of wine. 

She looked at McKaley, astonished.

McKaley giggled. “If you’re liking how this feels, drink!”

Leah felt the sensation again. Stronger now. A warm lassitude went through her body. She felt her smile widening as she blushed and gave McKaley a flirty expression.

McKaley lowered her voice, “Oh! Leah- if this is turning you on…drink!”

Leah felt even looser as she felt herself respond and barked out a laugh. 

 McKaley looked like the cat that got the canary. “Ah ha- I guessed it! We can talk more about that when we get home. But for right now- sober.”

She touched Leah’s arm gently and the tipsy feeling Leah had been experiencing suddenly cleared up. It happened so quickly that it was almost more of a shock than the original suggestion.

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview–you don’t mind if I take notes while we talk? Only you specified no recordings, and….”

No, no, of course, that’s fine. Please, take off your shirt and continue.

“Thank you. Now, you’ve advertised yourself as the foremost expert in something called ‘subliminal hypnosis’. Can you explain for the benefit of our readers just what subliminal hypnosis actually is?”

Well, it’s very simple, as you’ll see if you just remove your bra. We’re all conditioned to expect certain conversational paradigms, conventions of social interaction that simply fill space around the important information we’re trying to convey to one another. It’s my theory that if you can identify those conversational voids, like for example step out of your shoes for me, you can fill them with instructions simply by speaking in a smooth and confident tone that the human brain interprets as truth. It’s a way of bypassing critical thought, essentially.

“I see. And you really believe this… works?”

Well, it’s all a matter of pull down your skirt and perspective. You might think you’re really listening closely to every word I say, but it’s only natural to remove your pantyhose while your mind wanders. There are always moments where you’re thinking of the next thing you want to say, where you’re taking down notes on what I just said, where you’re taking off your panties to show me your naked body. By speaking with the same calm, confident voice and treating my instructions as simply another part of our conversation, I prevent you from noticing that you’re going to spread your legs for me now and that it has any significance. See what I mean?

“…I’m afraid I really don’t. It sounds like you’re saying you can just slip these, these hypnotic commands past people’s minds, and they won’t even recognize they’re obeying? Frankly, that sounds like nonsense.”

A lot of great ideas sound like nonsense at first. Like putting your pen on the desk and playing with your tits, for example. But I have a feeling that time will prove me right. They laughed at the Wright Brothers, but you’re going to pay less attention to my voice every time you pinch your nipples for me. Know what I mean?

“I, well… I mean of course, but… but….”

No, I understand. It’s a lot to take in at first, especially when it’s all so new and it’s overwhelming your increasingly blank and sleepy brain. But I’m sure that once you’ve had a demonstration, you’ll find yourself my willing sex slave, won’t you? After all, you’re not really listening anymore, just obeying, and you want to destroy your notes when you’re done here so that there’s no evidence of my control over your mind. It’s just common sense.

“C-common, um… yes.”

Good girl. Now let’s get you nice and wet for me.

vampire: my fangs are literally inches from your throat right now