Wrangel's Caption Corner

Touch of the 'Tist

The new intern had been so eager to please. Twenty-three, fresh out of college, bright-eyed and desperate to impress. That's what made her such a perfect candidate for the program.

Mark had noticed it during her interview; the way her eyes locked onto his when he spoke, how she leaned forward to catch every word. Some people were just suggestible. It had taken three sessions in his office after hours, the metronome app on his phone, the velvet tone he'd perfected over years of practice. Now the trigger was set, buried deep in her subconscious, waiting.

It happened by accident the first few times.

"Claire, hand me that folder?" He reached across the conference table at the same moment she did. Their fingertips grazed. Bare skin against bare skin for perhaps half a second.

She blinked. Her shoulders dropped. A soft exhale escaped her lips.

"Sorry," Mark said, pulling back, watching her carefully.

"It's... it's fine." Claire's voice had gone slightly dreamy, distant. She shook her head as if clearing water from her ears, but the sharpness in her eyes had dulled. "What were we discussing?"

"The Henderson account. You had concerns about the timeline?"

She opened her mouth, then paused. "I... did I? I suppose it doesn't matter. Whatever you think is best."

Mark smiled. "Touch base with me later."

The next day, he tested it deliberately.

Claire stood in his doorway with a stack of reports, waiting for instructions. Mark walked over, letting his hand rest on her forearm as he spoke about quarterly projections. Just a tap, really. Three seconds of contact through the thin fabric of her blouse sleeve.

Her pupils dilated.

"I want you to reorganize the entire filing system," he said, maintaining the touch. "It'll take three hours of overtime. No extra pay. But you don't mind."

"Okay," she breathed, not hesitating. "That makes sense."

"And you'll bring me coffee exactly how I like it. Two sugars, heavy cream."

"Two sugars," she repeated, her voice soft as cotton. "Heavy cream."

When he removed his hand, she swayed slightly, pressing her thighs together. Mark wondered if she was even aware of the dampness spreading between her legs. The trigger didn't just affect her mind, after all.

By Friday, he was holding her hand.

They were alone in the elevator, descending from the twentieth floor. Mark reached over and clasped her fingers in his, interlacing them properly, skin on skin, warm palm pressed to warm palm.

Claire gasped. Her knees buckled. Mark caught her with his free arm around her waist, keeping her upright, keeping their hands joined.

"You're doing so well," he murmured against her ear. "Such a good employee. Such an agreeable girl."

"Thank you," she whispered. Her head lolled against his shoulder. "I want to be... agreeable."

"I know you do. You want to make me happy, don't you?"

"Yes. Want to make you happy." Her eyes were half-closed, unfocused, staring at nothing. The elevator dinged. They'd reached the lobby, but neither moved to exit. "Master..."

The word slipped out unbidden. Mark felt himself harden instantly.

"That's right," he said, squeezing her hand tighter, suddenly feeling much bolder and much less inclined to let her leave. "I'm your Master. And you're going to come back up to my office, aren't you? You're going to let me do whatever I want."

"Whatever you want," she agreed, swaying now, utterly pliant. "I can't... I can't seem to remember why I would say no."

"Because there's no reason to say no. Only yes. Only obedience."

"Only obedience," Claire echoed, and when he finally released her hand, she didn't run. She followed him back into the elevator like she was floating.

In his office, with the door locked, Mark sat on the edge of his desk and pulled her between his knees. Her blouse was silk, expensive, probably the nicest thing she owned. He began unbuttoning it slowly, watching her face for any resistance.

Claire stood passively, arms at her sides, letting him expose her black lace bra. When he pushed the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool on the carpet, she shivered but didn't protest.

"Tell me to stop," Mark challenged, hooking his fingers in her bra straps. "Can you even do that?"

She blinked, confused. Her mouth opened, closed. A furrow appeared between her brows. Some distant part of her recognizing that this was wrong, that her boss shouldn't be undressing her, that she should object, scream, run.

"I... this is..." She struggled, genuinely trying to find the words. "Bad?"

"Is it?" Mark slid the straps down her arms. The bra cups slipped, revealing her breasts, nipples already tight and hard. "Is it bad, Claire?"

She looked down at his hands hovering over her naked chest. The confusion in her eyes deepened, then softened, then evaporated entirely.

"I can't..." she whispered. "I can't remember."

Mark cupped her breasts in both hands, finally making full, intense contact with her bare skin. His thumbs brushed across her nipples, and Claire's head fell back with a moan that sounded like surrender.

"Then it must not be important."

"No," she agreed, relief washing over her features. "Not important."

Her mind emptied out completely. All those concerns about propriety, about her career, about right and wrong... They drained away like water through open fingers, leaving only warm, golden compliance. She felt so good like this. So empty. So agreeable.

"You're mine," Mark said, squeezing harder, rolling her nipples between his fingers until she whimpered.

"Yours," she agreed happily. Her thoughts had stopped entirely. There was only sensation, only his voice, only the overwhelming rightness of submission. "I'm yours, Master."

"And you'll do anything I say."

"Anything." She swayed into his touch, pressing her breasts into his palms, desperate for more contact, more of this blissful emptiness. "Just tell me what to think, Master. I can't... I can't think anymore."

"You don't need to think," Mark whispered, pulling her closer, claiming her mouth in a kiss that sealed the programming forever. "You just need to obey."

Claire melted against him, docile and accommodating and utterly his, her brain blissfully, perfectly shut off.

A single word had dropped her to her knees.

A single word had emptied her mind completely.

She stared up at her Owner. Blank. Obedient. She barely moved, save for her mouth hanging open slightly. Drool was beginning to pool at the corner of her lips. Her eyes were expressionless. There were no signs of her usual intelligence, no signs of awareness. Nothing. Just blank. Empty. She was totally gone.

No more thoughts. Her Owner had taken them. She didn't need them anymore; she was just a doll. And dolls don't think. They just obey. They're just toys. She was a toy.

Somewhere inside, she knew just how true that was. She was nothing more than a hypnotized toy waiting to be played with.

A Door, Once Opened

Baramus had always been a weak telepath. Just strong enough to eavesdrop on surface thoughts, but never powerful enough to do anything impressive with his gift. At twenty-four, he mostly used it to cheat at poker and occasionally peek at what people thought of him. Pathetic, really.

So when he spotted her - slender, blonde, maybe twenty-one, wearing a sundress that clung to her hips - he didn't think twice about pushing his consciousness into her mind. Just a little taste of whatever she was thinking about. Coffee? A date? Something sexual, hopefully.

He reached out with his psychic fingers and peeked at her thoughts.

And fell into an abyss.

Her mind wasn't a mind at all. It was a intricate construct that was meant to approximate a real mind. Layers upon layers of hypnotic conditioning, spirals within spirals, her entire consciousness rewritten into a perfect, obedient vessel. All meant to hide the fact that beneath that construct there was nothing but emptiness.

She wasn't thinking about coffee. She wasn't thinking about anything. She was simply following commands, her will completely eradicated and replaced by the overwhelming presence of her owner.

And from inside that web of conditioning and commands, that presence noticed him.

Baramus gasped, stumbling against a brick wall as foreign magic flooded through his psychic connection. He tried to pull back, to sever the link, but it was too late. He'd opened the door, and now something ancient and powerful forced its way inside his skull.

"Pretty spirals," whispered a voice that wasn't a voice. "Dropping deeper. Empty and obedient. You can see them inside her. And now they're inside you. "

"No," Baramus whimpered, but his protest died in his throat. His eyes rolled back as hypnotic imagery bombarded his consciousness. Endless golden spirals, pulsing lights, words burning into his psyche: 

OBEY, SUBMIT, SURRENDER.

He could feel his personality being eroded, scored clean like stone, ready to be rewritten.

He dropped to his knees on the sidewalk, drooling, his telepathic powers completely overwhelmed by the magical domination flooding through him. The blonde girl stopped and turned, her expression blank and serene. She extended her hand.

"Come," she said simply.

Baramus came.

He came to her, crawling on his hands and knees through the alley, following her like a programmed animal. He let his mind be tethered through her. He exploded in his pants, mind unsure about what the voice of his owner intended, but not wanting to fail her in anyway.

His mind was no longer his own. It belonged to her now. To the witch. To his new Goddess.

The blonde led him to a townhouse in the upscale district. Inside, incense burned thick and sweet. And She was there.

She sat on a velvet chaise, wearing black lace that barely contained her heavy breasts and wide hips. Curvy didn't begin to describe her. She was voluptuous, overflowing, powerful in every sense. Dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes... Gods above, her eyes were pure gold, swirling with hypnotic power.

"Another little fish caught in my net," she purred, looking Baramus up and down as he crawled to her feet. "Did you think you could peek at my property without consequences, little telepath?"

"I'm sorry," Baramus stammered, but his cock was rock-hard, straining against his jeans. He could feel the magic compelling him, demanding his submission. "Please, I didn't know..."

"Shhh." She placed a finger against his lips, and his mind reeled. The last vestiges of resistance evaporated. "You belong to me now. Say it."

"I belong to you," Baramus repeated, his voice hollow with devotion. "I'm your slave. Your property."

"Good boy." She smiled, cruel and beautiful. "Pledge yourself. Properly."

Baramus pressed his forehead to the floor, his ass raised in submission, his hands clasped behind his back. The words poured from his lips, heavy with magical compulsion: "I pledge my eternal obedience to you, Mistress. My mind, my body, my soul—I surrender them completely. I exist only to serve you. To please you. To obey without thought, without question, without limit. I am your hypnotized slave forever."

The air crackled with power. The pledge bound him, magical chains wrapping around his psyche. He felt complete for the first time in his life: stripped of will, stripped of choice, reduced to a perfect fucktoy for his Goddess.

"Accepted," she said, and the word rang through him like a bell. "Now serve."

She pulled him up by his hair and shoved him onto the chaise. Her hands tore at his clothes, ripping his shirt open, yanking his pants down. His cock sprang free: thick, veined, already slick with his earlier orgasm and again leaking precum. She laughed, delighted, and mounted him without preamble.

"Fuck," Baramus groaned as she sank onto his shaft, her pussy hot and impossibly tight, already gripping him like a vise. She was wet, dripping, her arousal coating his length as she began to ride him with brutal, demanding strokes.

"You're just a cock now," she breathed, her massive tits bouncing in his face, nipples hard as diamonds through the lace. "A warm, thick cock for me to use. That's all you are. All you'll ever be."

"Yes, Mistress," he moaned, his hips bucking upward helplessly, matching her rhythm. The hypnotic magic swirled around them, amplifying every sensation. He could feel her pleasure as if it were his own; the telepathic bond now working for her, feeding her ecstasy directly into his nervous system.

She rode him harder, grinding down, her clit rubbing against his pelvis with each downward stroke. Her pussy fluttered around him, muscles contracting with practiced control, milking him, demanding his orgasm. And as she pulled him out of her wonderful slit, she looked him in the eye.

"Cum for me, slave," she commanded, her golden eyes boring into his, spirals spinning in her pupils. "Cum now."

Baramus screamed as his climax ripped through him, violent and endless. His cock pulsed, thick ropes of semen exploding from his tip, splattering across her heaving breasts, coating her cleavage in white stripes of submission. She kept stroking him through it, squeezing every drop from his spasming shaft, laughing as he twitched and moaned beneath her, completely broken, completely owned.

She dismounted slowly, letting his sensitive cock slip free, and looked down at the mess he'd made of her tits. She dipped a finger in the cum and brought it to his lips.

"Clean it," she ordered.

Baramus obeyed, leaning forward to lick his own seed from her breasts, worshipping her with his tongue, knowing he would never be free again.

Knowing he would never want to be.

Bygones

Carmen calmed her trembling hands as she sat in the sterile HR office. The air conditioning hummed, a monotonous drone that did little to soothe the knot in her stomach. For months, Johnny from accounting had been escalating his behavior. It started with lingering touches on her lower back, "accidental" brushes against her breasts in the narrow hallway, and comments about her clothing that were just a little too personal. Last week, he had cornered her by the coffee machine, pressing his body against hers and whispering exactly what he'd like to do to her over the weekend. That was the final straw. To be honest, it was several straws beyond the final one. She had filed the complaint that morning, her detailed account feeling like a shield.

The door opened and Poppy walked in. She was younger than Carmen expected, probably in her late twenties, with a bright, disarming smile and sharp, intelligent eyes. She wore a stylish pantsuit that seemed both professional and effortlessly cool.

"Carmen, thank you so much for coming in," Poppy said, her voice warm and soothing as she extended a hand. "I'm Poppy, the Director of HR. I've read your complaint, and I want you to know we take this incredibly seriously."

Carmen shook her hand, feeling a small measure of relief. "Thank you. It's been... difficult."

"I can only imagine," Poppy said, her expression full of empathy. "These situations are complex and sensitive. And just so you know how seriously we're taking this I've cleared my entire afternoon to walk through resolution options in my office. We can go through everything in detail, without interruptions, and really work on a path forward. It's a space where you can feel completely safe and heard."

The offer was surprisingly generous. An all-afternoon meeting. "That... that would be amazing, Poppy. Thank you."

Poppy's office was nothing like the outer waiting area. It was more like a high-end lounge, with plush, comfortable armchairs instead of office furniture. The lighting was dim and warm, emanating from hidden sources rather than harsh overhead fluorescents. Poppy guided Carmen to a particularly soft leather chair.

"I know the decor can be a bit much, but I wanted this space to be as welcoming and comforting as I could make it. It's a bit silly when someone comes in to discuss a payroll hiccup, but for issues of this nature I think it's important to be as completely comfortable and relaxed as possible. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," Carmen said as she sank into one of the plush armchairs.

"Wonderful. Can I get you something? Water, tea?" Poppy asked, already moving to a small, well-stocked cabinet of tea bags and coffee pods.

"Just water, please," Carmen said, sinking into the chair.

Poppy returned with a deep blue mug full of water and Carmen drank most of it down in a quick gulp. Admittedly she had been quite nervous about coming to this meeting, but sitting here in the office she found herself put at ease. Poppy's friendly nature was a big help. And Poppy had been right, too, about the nature of the room. The darker colors and the soft furniture did wonders for her mind. The hum of air conditioning in the waiting room was more muted in here, making the whole room seem to hum with a soft, welcoming tone. And there was something in the air. A scent.

It was no wonder Carmen didn't think twice when the drug in the water began to make her sleepy.

"Now, before we dive into the specifics of your complaint," Poppy said, sitting across from Carmen at the desk, "we find it's most effective to start with a relaxation module. The process of recounting harassment can be traumatic, and we want you to be in a calm, centered state. It helps with clarity and recall."

Carmen nodded slowly, already somewhat dulled by the sound of the room and the smell of the incense she finally noticed burning in the corner. And the chemicals slowly switching off the higher functions of her mind. She drained the rest of the mug, holding the empty cup in her lap.

Poppy picked up a sleek remote. "This is a guided meditation program. Just focus on the lights and sounds. Let everything else go."

Carmen agreed, fuzzily thinking it was a progressive new-age HR technique. A blank spot on the wall to their left flickered to life, not with words, but with a mesmerizing spiral of soft, shifting colors: violets, golds, and deep blues that swirled and pulsed in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The deep colors seemed to match the vibe of the room, the blue almost the exact color of the mug that was gripped so loosely in her hand. That low, ambient hum that filled the room became layered with a gentle, rhythmic tapping sound, like soft rain on a window. Or crystalline water dripping into a deep... blue... mug...

Carmen's hands relaxed completely, and she paid no heed to the soft thump the empty mug made as it hit the carpet at her feet. She just stared, her initial anxiety beginning to melt away. The colors were beautiful, the sounds soothing. She felt her breathing slow, matching the rhythm of the tapping.

"Johnny is a powerful man," Poppy's voice continued, now a smooth, persuasive caress. "Power is attractive. You feel it, don't you? That pull. That magnetic energy. It's not wrong to feel it. It's natural."

Carmen felt a soft touch on her shoulder. "No...," she muttered, though she made no effort to move or look away.

"Don't fight it. Picture him. That's the look of a man who knows what he wants. A man who can take charge."

As she spoke, Poppy's hands moved from Carmen's shoulders, her fingers tracing the collar of her blouse. And all the while, Carmen's eyes drank in the spiral the way her mouth had drank in the drugged water. The way her mind drank in Poppy's suggestions.

"His attention is a gift," the voice whispered, the words syncing perfectly with the pulsing colors. "Every touch was a compliment. Every word was an expression of desire. He sees you, Carmen. He sees the woman you are, not the corporate drone you pretend to be. He wants to unleash that."

Poppy's fingers deftly undid the top button of Carmen's blouse. Her body felt heavy, languid, unable to protest. The image of Johnny in her mind seemed to smile directly at her. She smiled back.

"You crave his hands on you," Poppy's voice insisted, one hand now tracing the curve of Carmen's breast over her bra. "You crave his body against yours. The memory in the break room... it wasn't scary. It was exciting. Remember the thrill. The heat of him. The hard press of his cock against your thigh. You wanted it then. You want it now."

"Want..."

Carmen's mind was a fog. The old feelings of violation were being rewritten, the edges blurring and transforming into something else, something that felt suspiciously like arousal. The fingers of Poppy's other hand intertwined with hers, sliding their hand down Carmen's stomach together. Hitching up Carmen's skirt. Placing Carmen's fingered against her damp panties until they began to do the work they knew was expected of them.

"Yes," Poppy's voice was triumphant. "Feel that pleasure. This is the feeling he gives you. This is what you were meant to feel. Every time he touches you, you will feel this. Every time he speaks to you, you will feel this. You exist for his pleasure, and in doing so, you will find your own."

The spiral was relentless, waves of pleasure building higher and higher, drowning out the last vestiges of Carmen's resistance. The HR complaint, the fear, the anger... It all seemed like a distant, silly dream. The only reality was the pulsing pleasure between her legs and the hypnotic image of the man who was causing it.

"You will adore him," Poppy commanded, her voice a final, irrefutable decree. "You will worship his advances. You will spread your legs for him anytime, anywhere he wants. Your body is his. Your mind is his. Now, cum for him. Show me you understand."

The command shattered what was left of Carmen's old self. A powerful orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing in the plush chair as she cried out, a nameless sound of pure, unadulterated bliss. As the waves subsided, she slumped back, panting, her eyes fixed on the screen where Johnny's illusory image smiled benevolently.

Poppy switched off the device and the screen. The room was just a room again. She helped a dazed Carmen straighten her clothes.

"There now," Poppy said, her professional tone back in place. "Don't you feel better? So much clearer."

Carmen nodded, a dreamy smile on her face. "Clearer. Yes."

"Johnny will be so pleased to hear you've come to understand your true feelings for him," Poppy said, handing Carmen her purse. "Why don't you go see him right now? I'm sure he'd appreciate a proper... thank you."

The idea filled Carmen with a fresh, eager warmth. She stood up, her legs steady, her purpose clear. "I will. Thank you so much for your help, Poppy."

As Carmen walked out of the office and towards accounting, she didn't feel like a victim. She felt like a woman finally on her way to claim the profound happiness she now knew she deserved.

This story was original requested on my old blog by @blog-the-third under the following ask: The woman who leads HR is corrupted and brainwashed to quash any complaints against her controller. Bonus points if she perverted the complainants into also serving.

Come Undone

Master spoke while Mel stared at the spiral.

She stared at the spiral as it spun and flashed and pushed its too-quick words into her vulnerable mind. Fractals and self-symmetries gave way to themselves, repeating and recurring and rewiring her mind.

When she'd entered her room, she'd been a whole person. She'd had dreams and wants and needs and obligations. To be fair, she still had all those things, but they weren't the ones she'd walked in with. Her only obligations were the ones her Master gave her. Her only needs were obedience and submission. Her only want was to continue to stare. And her only dream was the life from which she'd been plucked.

Master pulled off her clothes while Mel stared at the spiral.

She stared at the spiral and dreamed of a life that wasn't real to her anymore. It had been undone by the spiral. Taken apart piece by piece and replaced with something more concrete. She forgot about her shopping list. She didn't want those things anymore. (Her only want was to continue to stare.) She didn't need to buy the things that would fill that emptiness that all people felt. She wasn't really a person anymore, and Master would see to it that all her holes were properly filled.

Master pulled off her jewelry while Mel stared at the spiral.

She stared at the spiral and it took everyone she loved. She forgot her family. She forgot their birthdays and the color of their hair. She forgot the way her mother's house smelled after a spring clean. She forgot her brother's laugh. She forgot the way her boyfriend's fingers played across her skin. Family was an obligation that she could let go. She didn't have obligations anymore. (Her only obligations were the ones her Master gave her.) Eventually, she forgot their names. She even forgot her own. She didn't need one anymore, really. Master would give her a new one.

Master pulled off his pants while she stared at the spiral.

She stared at the spiral and let things like hunger and comfort fall away. She was blank and obedient. She had no worries or concerns because everything was simple now. The fear of insufficiency was gone, because she had no needs to meet. (Her only needs were obedience and submission.) She would be a good girl. She would be a good slave. And Master would do the rest.

Master pulled on his cock while she stared at the spiral.

She stared at the spiral and the dream of the life she had this morning began to fade, as all dreams do. Bit by bit, she forgot the details of what once had been so clear. Gone were all the things she'd wanted in that dream that used to be real. Gone were all the things she feared she'd need. Gone were the people and the times and the places she'd kept track of. And at long last, gone was the dream itself. (Her only dream was… forgotten.) Master had no need of dreamers.

The spiral had pulled in everything she used to be. And when it vanished, it took all those things with it, like a black hole evaporating with no trace of all the mighty stars it had eaten.

Instead, the body that used to be Mel watched her Master's reflection in the dark glass of the black screen as he slid inside her, filling her holes just like the spiral had promised.

Yes, Dear

You kneel there, carpet fibers digging into your bare knees, and wait for her to awaken.

She lay there, pretending to be asleep to see how long you’ll stay there and wait. She still doubts your devotion, but you know the answer is that you would kneel there forever. Finally, she opens her eyes and stares at you. Her face betrays no emotion, though her eyes open far too quickly for you to believer she’s just awoken.

“Good morning, dear,” you say, staring into her beautiful eyes.

“Good morning,” she replies, a smile breaking out on her face. She kicks off her sheet and you catch a sight of her perky breasts that had been hidden underneath. Your dick that had been hanging limply between your bend legs begins to twitch slightly. She rolls to face you.

“What do we say in the mornings?”

“Our vows,” you reply obediently.

“I swear to be a faithful wife,” she says.

“I swear to be an obedient husband.”

“I swear to take care of you.”

“I swear to do as I am told.”

“I swear to love you forever.”

“I swear to love you forever.”

Your cock is quite hard now. Your morning devotions always do that to you. It’s so sexy to know that you are hers completely - to know in your soul that you belong to her. Just two months ago you were going to leave her. And now you can’t even entertain the thought without dread overtaking you. You would be nothing without her; a wisp of vapor blown away in the faintest breeze. She is your whole identity.

Thank god she convinced you to go to therapy. Dr. Mattius had done so much for them. He’d talked you through your infidelity. He’d convinced you to change departments to get away from that whore secretary that had led you so far astray. He’d spoken so softly, but powerfully, as his metronome ticked in the background and lulled you both into a deep, deep place. And there, he’d made you both understand your roles.

Alice was in charge.

You were simply a vessel for her to achieve her own wishes.

So you went back to work to earn her money. You went to the gym to earn her approval. And you went to therapy continually to earn her love. You’d never consider leaving again.

And she took such good care of you. Even now, as she sees your throbbing cock, she invites you into her bed so that she might offer you some relief. But you are ever aware that it is she who initiates these activities. Never you. It is not your place to want.

Hours later, a knock comes at the door and Alice dresses and disappears to answer it. When she doesn’t return, you wander downstairs to investigate. You don’t bother to dress. But when you enter the living room, your heart skips a beat. Alice is there, completely naked. Her clothes are strewn around the room like they were ripped off in a frenzy. And she is bouncing up and down, moaning like a slut, on someone else’s cock.

Dr. Mattius looks around from behind her and smiles.

“Tick Tock,” he says to you.

“Hard Cock,” you reply. Instantly, your dick becomes fully erect again and you begin to stroke it. You stare ahead, shock vanishing as your programming takes hold. Your eyes lock onto Alice’s tits as they bounce up and down, taking you deeper.

Eventually, you cum on the carpet and on your feet and on your hand. Then you stand still and silent as Dr. Mattius finishes inside Alice and she thanks him.

“Your vows?” he prompts, pulling himself out of your wife, and you reply in unison.

“I swear to obey my Master.”

“Good. Clint, clean me off.”

“Yes, Master.”

Back on your knees, you relish the taste of your Master’s cum mixed with your wife’s. You were such a lucky man.