"Whoa, whoa, easy, easy there, pretty girl!" Tom's voice was filled with a warm, comforting condescension that never failed to make Kristina squirm in her seat, despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. "You want to take little sips of that, sweetheart. That's a strong drink for a little thing like you, and the night is still very young. You don't want me carrying you out of here, do you?"

She knew he could do it if it came to that; Kristina was 5'8", and her boyfriend was still tall enough to kiss the top of her head without needing to raise up on the balls of his feet. And he did, which was one of the things that always made Kristina weirdly, squirmily hot in a guilty sort of way. No matter how many times she tried to explain to her libido that she was a strong, independent woman who bristled at any kind of chauvinism and hated being talked down to, especially by big brawny guys with lots of caveman muscles and a chiseled jaw and sparkling blue eyes....

Kristina blushed, realizing Tom was actually waiting for an answer to his question. "Um, n-no," she mumbled, setting down her fruity drink and staring meekly at the table. "No, I, um... um, thank you." She squeezed her legs together involuntarily, feeling a surge of heat in her wet pussy and wishing that they could skip the 'dinner' part of 'dinner and a movie'. And that they could watch the movie back at Tom's apartment. And that she could skip the 'watching' part and get straight to the bit where she closed her eyes and spread her legs and let him rub her cunt through her soaking panties while he called her a good girl.

God, she felt terrible about this. Even though it was all consensual, even though she negotiated everything and she had a safeword and Tom never pulled his 'now see here little missy' act around her friends or her family or god fucking forbid her co-workers, Kristina always felt so fucking guilty about how turned on she got every time her boyfriend treated her like a silly little girl who needed a big strong man to do the thinking for her. It seemed like she was breaking some ultimate taboo, betraying not just her own independence but the independence of every woman who had to fight non-stop against the kind of treatment Tom was pretending to give her.

But the taboo was what made it so fucking hot, wasn't it? When Tom gave her a big, smug grin and said, "That's my cutie pie! You know that even those girly drinks go straight to your head, don't you?", with an expression of sincere concern radiating from his bright blue eyes, something inside Kristina melted all the way down to her cunt. It felt so comforting, so... so safe to let go of the constant need to push back against obnoxious guys who thought that a Y chromosome and a penis made them an expert on everything. She could let that fuzzy, drifting warmth fill up her head and not have to always be smarter, always be right, always have the proof close at hand for that one asshole who was 'just asking questions'. She didn't have to worry about accidentally slipping up and playing with her long blonde hair or letting out an 'er' or an 'um' that instantly destroyed an entire speech's worth of credibility.

"Um, yeah," Kristina heard herself giggle, staring into Tom's bottomless blue eyes as she took another sip of her drink. "The girly drinks do kind of go to my head, don't they?" She was acutely conscious of the fact that she was repeating a man's opinions back to him. And it was making her so fucking wet.

Tom gave her a chuckle and a tiny encouraging nod, just enough to give her subconscious permission to sink deeper into the post-hypnotic suggestion that drifted lazily out of reach of her waking memory. She remembered being hypnotized, she remembered discussing every suggestion with Tom before she went under and enthusiastically agreeing to each and every one of them. She just... couldn't remember what they were. "Of course they do, sweetie heart," he cooed, reaching across the table and taking her small, slender hand in his own. "Let's face it, you're kind of a lightweight, aren't you? One strong drink and you're completely blitzed."

Kristina's mouth froze in the act of pursing sensually around the straw. She swallowed with a nervous gulp and set the drink down. "I, um... I'm not t-that bad, am I?" she asked, almost as much to herself as to Tom. She looked at the fruity cocktail, thick with pureed strawberries; it didn't taste strong to her, in fact it didn't even taste alcoholic at all, but her boyfriend seemed so certain in his conviction that Kristina found herself questioning her own judgment. Which just made her even more horny and fuzzy and eager to stare into Tom's pretty blue eyes and mess up her own mind that much harder.

Tom patted her hand. "Oh, silly," he said, his voice once again full of that same smoldering confidence that eroded Kristina's faith in her own intellect and left her feeling deliciously weak and small and befuddled. "You really are. You're a complete and total lightweight, honestly. You can't handle a drink like that at all." There wasn't a trace of hesitation in his smooth, husky tones, not a hint of doubt in his gleaming blue eyes. Eyes that Kristina couldn't stop staring at. Eyes that always made her so fuzzy and foggy and....

"I'm a complete and total lightweight," she heard herself say, a drunken giggle in her voice. "I, uh, I can't handle a drink like this at all." She hefted it by way of illustration, the intention of having another swallow the furthest thing from her mind, but once her fingers wrapped around the cool glass and the straw brushed against her lips, Kristina's impulse control deserted her and she took another long sip of the sweet, fruity concoction. It was so strange. She couldn't taste any alcohol at all, not even the faintest undertone of it, and yet the moment the drink went down her throat her head swam like she'd just slammed down a whole shot of tequila.

Tom shook his head ruefully. "Are you sure you want to drink like that on an empty stomach, missy?" he asked her, his expression gently cautionary. Kristina's brow furrowed in confusion as she struggled to piece together the suddenly muddled chronology of the evening's events--she knew she was having a little trouble thinking clearly, and honestly it was getting harder and harder to look away from Tom's piercing hypnotic stare long enough to survey the table, but... but wasn't this an after-dinner drink? Didn't they... didn't she....?

Tom gave her hand a little squeeze, directing her focus back to his eyes. "You're drinking on an empty stomach," he said firmly, his words penetrating the thick fog in Kristina's mind with almost causal ease. "And it's going to your head very quickly."

Kristina's thighs pressed together hard, her labia pressing against her clitoris on either side and squeezing her memories of the evening into mush. "I'm drinking on an, an empty shtomach," she slurred, her head wobbling ever so slightly as she tried to hold her boyfriend's gaze in the face of wave after wave of sudden dizziness. The crumbs brushing against her bare arm faded into distant, blissful irrelevance in the face of his absolute certainty. "And it'sh going to my head. V-very, uhhhh... quickly." It felt absolutely impossible to disagree with him. He was so smart. He was so confident. He was so sober, which was more than she could say right now.

"Do we need to get you home, honey?" Tom asked, and Kristina found it impossible to respond with anything more than a nod and a giggle. Her thoughts seemed to have scattered just out of reach of her fumbling grasp, leaving her with nothing but a warm buzz of bliss in her brain that made her feel passive and dizzy and teetering on the verge of slumped semi-consciousness. She sagged against the table, acutely conscious of the way the rim pressed into her pendulous breasts and stiff, tingling nipples. God, it was so fucking good not to care about dressing to hide them for once.

Tom flagged down a waiter and handed her his credit card, glancing back to Kristina and saying, "This one's on me, sweetie." If the waiter noticed anything odd about Kristina's loose, lazy posture and glassy stare, she didn't say anything; she simply came back a few minutes later with the check and a receipt for him to sign. Once that was taken care of, Tom came around the table and put his arm around Kristina's waist to help her out of her seat like a true gentleman.

"There we go, baby girl," he murmured softly in her ear, letting her lean against him and carefully, deliberately walking her out to the parking lot. "One step at a time, sweetie, you can do it, that's it." Kristina could only imagine how she looked to the waitstaff, to the other patrons dining at the restaurant--a sloppy, giggly, big-titted blonde, drunkenly led away by a big strong man who needed to help her stand up straight. Her clit throbbed so hard at the mental image that it was all she could do to keep from pawing at herself under her dress.

Strangely, the drunken haze only intensified on the drive home. Tom took care to buckle her into her seat, and he talked to her the whole lengthy journey... but Kristina kept losing track of what he was saying, and her head lolled against the window in a stuporous daze. It didn't make sense, and she knew it didn't make sense--even if she was such an incredible lightweight that a single drink could do this to her, they were on the road for almost an hour. She should have been sobering up the whole time, not getting punchier and groggier.

But by the time they got back to Tom's house, she couldn't even walk. "It's okay, little lady," he drawled, sounding almost caricatured in his masculine confidence as he unbuckled her seat belt and lifted her bodily into his arms. "You just relax and let go, sweetie pie, and I'll take care of everything." He carried her into the house and set her down on the couch, and Kristina found to her bewildered delight that her whole body slumped into a semi-conscious heap. She couldn't move. She was barely even aware of her surroundings. She drifted in and out of what she thought might be an alcoholic fog, even though her deep self felt warm and safe and cozy in a way that she knew she would never be if she was really this drunk.

But whatever was happening, Kristina knew that Tom would take care of her. He was her big strong man, and she was his weak, helpless, silly little girl, and that was okay because she'd asked him for that and he knew just what she needed. And when he sat on the couch next to her and his hand slowly slid up her smooth, stockinged legs to push the hem of her dress up... and up... and up... Kristina knew that was only because she needed him to touch her like that.

She couldn't stop him, not with her whole body paralyzed in a drunken stupor, but it was okay because she didn't want to stop him right now. She wanted Tom to caress her inner thighs, his touch riding her skirt all the way up to her waist as he found her pussy and began to rub her right through her damp panties. She wanted him to tease her slick cunt while she drifted in a hazy fog, barely even aware of what was happening to her. She wanted to feel like she was helpless to resist his advances, even as she felt so perfectly safe and secure in the knowledge that it was just a fantasy and she could wake any time she wanted.

And when he tugged her panties down and off, leaving her cunt exposed to his hungry gaze, Kristina knew she wanted that too. She didn't need to feel guilty about her desires, not with her hypnotized brain so deep in trance that guilt went away along with everything else and left her drugged into near-total immobility. She didn't need to feel like she was letting down her gender, or perpetuating stereotypes, or opening herself up to accusations of 'asking for it' because asking for it was exactly what she was doing. It was why she managed, even through her groggy haze of semi-conscious lethargy, to twitch just enough to allow one leg to slip onto the floor and spread her pussy wider for him.

Kristina passed in and out of consciousness while he fucked her, coming to only when her pleasure crested and she lost herself in one whimpering, trembling orgasm after another. She knew she wouldn't clearly remember even that when she woke--one of the most taboo parts of her taboo fantasy was the confusion about whether any of it really happened at all. She loved that doubt, that constant uncertainty, and she loved it even more when Tom playfully gaslit her only to show her the footage he took of her helpless, hypnotized body cumming for him over and over. And then making her forget the footage all over again.

Kristina knew it was taboo. But that was what made it so fucking hot.

THE END