I’m still playing with hypnotism being alone at the office and the result becomes wet and hot.

“You dare not read Claudine at the office.”

I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing him, but as was usual with him, he gave little away. Whether his phrase was a challenge or an observation was something I’d have to guess on my own.

“You’ve done similar things when your coworkers have left, but of course, with Claudine it’s different since you’d end up naked.”

Now yes, now he couldn’t hide it anymore, and a warm little smirk crept across the corner of his lips. He was daring me. And I, being who I am, took the bait.

“Would you like me to read Claudine at the office alone, sir?”

My eyes, unconsciously, didn’t blink, and my head had tilted slightly, letting my hair spill more over that shoulder. I loved pleasing him even before he’d discovered hypnosis with me, but it wouldn’t be the first time he left me hanging or simply showed me a door without asking me to cross it. I didn’t know if he did it on purpose or not, and it would never, ever occur to me to ask in my submissive state. It was his game, and I adored him playing with me even if the rules were unknown to me.

“I’d like that,” he replied.

Just thinking about it already had me aroused.

“You’re going to enjoy it,” he added.

“I want you to enjoy it too, sir.”

And so it began—what was already on its way to becoming a tradition. Taking advantage of the lunch hour when my coworkers leave the office and I stay alone to keep progressing with hypnosis.

Still, this time was going to be different. Claudine was an erotic induction, unlike the vanilla ones I’d grown up with and become completely comfortable in trance. It wasn’t an easy path; my nerves and fears about a new form of submission were atrocious at first, but now, guided by him, I felt like a fish in water, always seeking a moment of solitude to self-induce with one of the stories he himself wrote. Curiously, I’d developed a loyalty to him, and I truly wasn’t interested in any other hypnosis someone else might offer. And besides, it was automatic—any hypnotic text written by him made my vision blur almost instantly, as if my mind sought to disconnect automatically on his lap from the fond memories of that time he hypnotized me.

When my coworkers left, I repeated the same ritual as that first time. I made sure all the doors were securely locked and moved the phones elsewhere.

Before getting down to business and reading that erotic induction for the second time, I sent him a brief message:

“Claudine, here I go.”

Almost the moment my eyes began reading the first lines, I let myself go. I didn’t resist at all that pleasant sensation where my vision grew drowsy and the letters of the text merged and separated with each heartbeat. I was starting to enjoy feeling this way, in that sort of half-sleep where he gently rocked me with his words. My eyelids began to weigh a ton, my hand barely held my phone, and my head threatened to hang limp from my neck as he guided me into that state of relaxation.

With a pasty mouth, I repeated some of his words on my own:

“relxed…”

“hypnotzd…”

“arousd…”

“obey…”

“arousd…”

“arousd…”

I feel my sex hot, wet in a growing excitement that, though my rational mind knows I’m not reading anything erotic at all, feels as if it were.

I read the word “undress” in the induction and I do it.

I do it because I’m a good girl, because I like being obedient. And dazed, with a vacant stare, I begin to undress at my workstation. On my desk, I toss my blouse, my pants, my bra, and my panties haphazardly. The floor is cold, and like an automaton, I rest my feet on my shoes. My hair has slipped from my ear and hangs limp over one of my eyes, but I don’t care.

As soon as I return to my reading, I spread my legs and begin to softly caress my sex. It’s nice to feel so horny… I read and my arousal grows. I touch and my arousal grows. I read and I touch. I read and I touch. I touch and read. I touch and read. My index and ring fingers slide along my vulva, and with my middle finger, I pull back the hood, exposing my clit. I rub it gently, tracing small circles over it, flooding myself in little waves of pleasure that follow and complement each other between Claudine and my own touch. My chest deflates in a long, continuous sigh, and I let my finger slip inside me. I’m tremendously juicy, and my sex swallows it whole without mercy, seeking a warm, wet home inside until the third knuckle. I slide it out, bring it back in. In, out. In, out. My breathing quickens, and my moans echo softly in the office. I return attention to my little button and caress it this time with more fervor. The orgasm comes to me between lines of words that my eyes can barely follow and a countdown from 10 to 1 ordering me to cum.

But I’m not allowed. My owner hasn’t authorized me to have an orgasm. And when I reach the peak, I stop my fingers and moan in impotence and desperation.

I read the word “awaken” in the induction, and though I sit up in my chair, I still feel my head gone… This waking up thing I still handle a bit poorly… I never fully wake up, is that normal?

I switch hands and with the right send him a text while keeping the left entertained on my vulva. With the tip, I feel the entrance of my lips as the edge slowly evaporates in my crotch like dew on a summer morning. I’m soaked.

“God… The heat still lingers,” I write him. “Still dazed, touching myself…”

“Very good,” he replies, and I, like a fool, miss him saying Good Girl.

“These edges in hypnosis are the best and the worst. It kills me not being able to cum… And that’s saying something since denial is something I handle well…” I continue telling him. “Tell me to stop touching myself, please…”

I don’t know why I keep doing it and turn to him as if he could pull me out of the spell I’m still under.

But he doesn’t respond. Staring at the screen, I wait for a reply that doesn’t come. I don’t know if because he hasn’t read it, I don’t know if because he wants to see how far I can go on my own. I don’t care. The edge was completely insufficient, so I turn to one of his stories, my favorite. One where he masturbates a bound and exposed woman and makes her taste her own sex with his fingers while she contracts and writhes, and every time she’s about to cum, hypnotized by the swing of a pendant, he tells her out loud to stop even though she desires that orgasm. Still drowsy from the hypnosis, I masturbate this time the way my owner likes, even though he’s not there to see me. Heart and ring fingers inside my sex, thumb pressing as best it can on my clit. The woman in the story and I are one in those moments. Her moans are mine, my gasps are hers. And though my fingers are the ones penetrating me, the pleasant fantasy of the story makes me feel they are his until I can’t take it anymore, and tired and whiny from not being able to cum, I stop at the gates of orgasm once again.

“I kept reading, this time the story I love so much… Your bondage and hypnotism one,” I write him. “Getting dressed now…”

“You enjoyed it a ton,” he replies on the other side of the screen almost immediately.

“And you too.”

I didn’t need to see him in those moments to know he’d been hard for a while.