Same Bat-Time

by DarthKyra

Tags: #consensual_kink #dom:male #f/m #hypnosis #pov:bottom #sub:female #hypnotic_orgasms #wholesome

Corrine keeps getting a package in the mail that she didn’t order. Why shouldn’t she look to see what it is?

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Corrine made a face at the return address of the package in her PO Box. “I don’t know who keeps ordering something from MSTR, Inc., and putting in the wrong address, but I’m tired of it.”
She headed back to her car and tossed the package that was for some other “C. Brown” in the front seat. The front window was already closed so she couldn’t return it today. 
Later that night, her curiosity got the better of her - and since it was sent to her box with her name, why shouldn’t she open it?
Grabbing the package she tore it open and pulled out the contents. One note and a t-shirt. “‘Ten thirty. Be ready’,” she read aloud. “What the heck does that mean?”
Leaving that mystery, she unfolded the black T-shirt. A size smaller than she comfortably wore, she noted, and the only design was across the chest, in white lettering. ‘Henchwench'
“Weird,” she muttered, setting it down and taking off her blouse and bra. “Who would wear this on purpose? Is this some sort of minimalist costume, like in the 60s Batman tv show?”  She pulled the shirt over her head and settled it, moving into her bedroom and checking herself in the full length mirror. “Was it Penguin’s henchmen who wore shirts advertising their status?”
The words stretched tightly across her breasts, thanks to the too small size. She turned from side to side to check it out. Something didn’t look right. Her hands went to her waist, removing her slacks and letting them drop to the side before removing her slippers. Standing in just the shirt and her panties, she nodded. That looked right. 
“Henchwench,” she murmured, moving over to the small table where she kept her personal laptop. Since working from home had become a near permanent thing (fuck you very much pandemic) she had moved the personal laptop into her bedroom. 
Logging into the laptop, she uncovered her camera, put in her wireless earbuds, and waited, but not for long. At 10:30pm, an incoming call rang and she answered it. 
“Henchwench Cori is present, Master.”
“Very good,” the male voice on the other end said. Her camera flickered on, and she could see herself, bedroom in the background, her henchwench shirt front and center, still straining against her breasts.  Master’s screen flickered and a spiral appeared, black and white and catching her attention.
“I see you got the t-shirt,” he said as she stared at the spiral. 
“Yes, Master.”
“And you are wearing it as specified.”
“Yes, Master.”  Her voice was softer, but that barely registered to her mind. 
“Very good,” he purred.  “What is your color?”
“Very good. My good girl can go deeper now, letting her mind surrender to the spiral, to my voice.  Down deeper. Deeper.”
Her mind registered his voice but she didn’t respond, letting herself drop deeper into hypnosis. Deeper into his control. “Good henchwenches go deep,” she murmured when prompted. 
“Good henchwenches obey their Master,” she murmured a few moments later, unprompted. 
“Good girl,” her Master murmured. “What level?”
“Very good girl. Now, my docile henchwench, did you remember that you had mailed yourself that shirt?”
“No, Master.” She squirmed a bit at the phrase he called her. 
“Did you remember that you had written yourself that note?”
“No, Master.”
“Did you remember that you texted me that you had received the shirt today and that I told you when you could open it?”
“No, Master.”  She continued to stare into the spiral. 
“Very good girl.  And do you know why you did not remember?”
She paused. Something tried to push at her memory, but something else blocked it. “No, Master,” she finally said. 
“Oh, very good, my docile henchwench,” he said, the phrase causing her to squirm more as arousal shot through her. “No, you didn’t remember because we agreed that you would not, to be surprised by the package, by my call.  And you were surprised, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“In fact, I’ll bet you didn’t even realize you were getting ready for my call, did you?”
“No, Master.”
“I think my docile henchwench should be rewarded for her compliance with my instructions. Adjust your shirt to its proper position, henchwench.”
Cori tugged the shirt up, rolling the fabric until the word “henchwench” displayed just above her nipples, moaning a little as they hardened in the cool air. 
“Very good. Play with your breasts and nipples for me, henchwench, but do not come.”
“Yes, Master.”  Her hands went to her breasts, pushing them together, then lightly circling the flesh, teasing and pinching her nipples, randomly changing directions based on what felt good to her, building arousal. 
“Very good. Tell me, do you want to do this again, Henchwench Cori? Do you want to be surprised by the package, obeying instructions your conscious mind will never remember? Never truly realizing that your unconscious mind is controlling you, submitting to my will without question?”
“Yes, Master,” she gasped, pinching her nipples.
“Yes, you do, as you’ve done so many times before.” Her Master chuckled.
“How many times have you received that shirt in the mail, henchwench?”
“Thirteen, Master.”
“How many times did you consciously know it was coming?”
“Yes, and one of those was when I had told you it was coming, but your conscious mind did not recall what I had instructed you to do with it.”  She gasped a little at the memory, hips shifting as she got more aroused from playing with herself, and from the knowledge of her past surrenders to her Master.
“Not yet, my docile henchwench. Good girls don’t come until they are told, repeat.”
“Good girls don’t come until they are told.”
“Use your right hand to play with your clit, but don’t come.”
Her hand slid into her panties and she moaned louder at the stimulation.  Her mind barely registered that the spiral was gone, her Master’s face on the screen, holding up a crystal pendant on a chain. “I am my Master’s docile henchwench and I obey my Master’s orders,” she said in reaction to the pendant. 
“Very good girl. My good docile henchwench, playing with herself at my orders, unable to come unless at my command. So deep and docile. So wonderfully responsive to my hypnotic control.  Frozen Henchwench.”
Immediately her hands stopped stroking her breasts and clit, her mouth remained open from panting, and she could blink but not move, not look away from the screen. Just staring at her Master and the pendant he swung. “Good girl. Left arm unfrozen.”
Her left hand resumed stroking her breasts as she stared at the screen, panting harder. 
“Right arm unfrozen.”
Instantly she began stroking herself again, moans rising from her throat as she got closer to an orgasm that was so far away, willingly locked behind her master’s words. 
“Hm. My docile henchwench wants to come. But my docile henchwench can’t ask for permission. My docile henchwench can’t move, either. What is a docile henchwench to do?”  Her Master set the pendant down, out of her sight. “I think the only thing my docile henchwench can do is obey her Master’s commands.”
She wanted to nod, to agree, she was a docile henchwench who obeyed her Master’s commands.  But she couldn’t. All she could do was blink as she continued to stroke herself, as commanded. 
“My docile henchwench will come when I count to five.”  He leaned forward in the screen.  “One.”
Oh, that felt good, her orgasm feeling closer. 
She tried to will her hands to speed up, but they wouldn’t, locked into the rhythm they’d been in when he’d frozen her. 
I am my Master’s docile henchwench and I obey my Master’s orders, she thought, waiting, as he dragged out the last number. I am my Master’s docile henchwench and I obey my Master’s orders. 
“Five.” He snapped his fingers. “Come.”
Pleasure rushed through her as she shook, noises escaping her throat in response to the orgasm rippling through her pussy, the pain from her left fingers involuntarily pinching her nipple adding to the pleasure. 
She panted as she came down from the high, still frozen, one hand on her breast and the other in her panties. 
“Mouth unfrozen.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You are welcome, my sweet.  It is such a pleasure to watch you.  Henchwench unfrozen.”  
She relaxed, resting her hands on her thighs, closing her eyes and sighing deeply as the last frissons of the orgasm danced on her nerves. 
When she opened her eyes, they caught on the pendant her Master held. “I am my Master’s docile henchwench and I obey my Master’s orders,” she said automatically as it began to swing. 
“Very good.  Ten.  Nine.  Eight. Seven.”
Her eyes closed.
“—wake.” *snap*
Corrine drew in a shuddering breath and stretched, adjusting the shirt she wore before looking back at the screen. She frowned at her Master, her fiancée.
“You’re letting me remember our session?”
“Mm. Some of it. For a bit,” Mark said. “Mostly to get your reaction.”
“To what? Getting a shirt in the mail and it being a hypnotic trigger?”
“How did that feel?”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve probably asked me that before.”
“I have, but oddly enough, your answer changes each time, usually based on your mood when you get the package.  You have been angry at it before, and we didn’t play that night.”  
“I have ways of letting you know that I don’t remember?”
“Hey, this is supposed to be safe, sane, and consensual fun while we’re stuck on opposite sides of the country in this pandemic.  If you don’t have a way to tell me you don’t want to play, then it’s not safe or consensual.”
“Good point.” She considered her mood that afternoon.  "I was frustrated when I got the package. It was a long day and too many people doing too many stupid things. And then I got mail in my box that I *knew* wasn’t for me because I hadn’t ordered anything from...” she trailed off and laughed. “Oh, man. You totally made sure I didn’t twig to the return address. Master Incorporated.”
“I thought it appropriate.”
“It was.  So, I know I won’t remember, but when did I text you that I was good to play tonight?”
You text me when you get home after picking up the package. I wanted to make sure your unconscious has time to make a decision. Stoplight colors, green is 'go', red is a hard 'not tonight', and yellow is you want to talk or play but not that particular type of play.”
“And if I’m good, you text me back when I can open the package?”
“Yep. I mean, we speak everyday at around this time, so it’s pretty easy to know when to set things in motion.”  
She settled back into her chair, tugging at the shirt. “Best $20 I spent I at the start of this whole quarantine mess.  Well, $20 plus the costs to keep mailing it to myself.”
“Mm. The gift that keeping on coming?” Mark asked with a wink. 
“And coming and coming,” she laughed.  “And will come again.”
His grin turned sharp.  “My docile henchwench will come,” he said, voice commanding as he snapped his fingers. 
Corrine gasped and curled up, pleasure rocketing through her, her mind hearing her Master as he coaxed to to another orgasm, and another. “I my Master’s docile henchwench,” she gasped out as she started to come down, in response to a question from her Master.
“Good girl.”  Her Master’s said something else, and her eyes slammed shut. 
Corrine blew a kiss to her fiancée on the computer screen, and he blew one back. They signed off, and she sighed. She hated this pandemic that was keeping them on opposite sides of the county, but at least they had these nightly chats to keep each other grounded. 
Getting up, she tugged at her pajama top and noticed the shirt from the package mistakenly sent to her lying on the bed. She grabbed it and took it back to her home office to get a box and print out a return label. She’d drop it off at the post office near her work the next time she had to go in.  Maybe someone at MSTR, Inc., would get the hint that this kept getting sent to the wrong person. 
After all, what need did she have for a too small shirt with “henchwench” written on it?

Thanks to SciFiScribbler for the title inspiration.


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