When the painter first arrived, looking extremely fine in baggy cargo and a tight black t-shirt, Mari had swallowed and immediately offered a cup of tea to keep herself from staring. Now though, the painter—“J,” they had introduced themself, with a firm handshake, oh god their hand was warm and calloused and Mari was so gay for them—now J sat across from her at the kitchen table cradling a steaming mug of sencha, and there was nothing to distract Mari from ogling them.
Their build was athletic, their muscles defined under their tight shirt, and a stud glinted on one side of their nose. The jaunty angle of their baseball cap practically oozed BDE. It was extremely, blindingly obvious why “House Painting by J” had gotten such rave reviews on her local Queer Exchange Facebook group. How was a submissive Sapphic supposed to handle this?? Honestly, she'd let J cover her walls in crayon drawings, as long as she got to stare while they did it.
“…takes at least twenty four hours to dry and air out, and you shouldn't go into your room at all before then,” J was saying, and with an effort, Mari dragged her attention back to the conversation.
“Not at all? Like, I know I'm not supposed to sleep there until everything is dry, but if I need something…”
J shrugged “Maybe with normal paint fumes that's not a problem. But my paints are… special.”
Not for nothing was Mari the weed sommelier of her friend group—she could recognize that particular intonation on the word “special” from a mile away. She leaned forward intently. “‘Special’ how, exactly?”
J's ghost of a grin told Mari that her question was the right one to be asking. “‘Special’ like psychoactive. I mix ‘em myself, and it's worth it for the colors, but the fumes work like a sedative-hypnotic.” On seeing Mari's blank stare, they clarified: “They make you calm, sleepy, docile. Obedient. That sort of thing.” Was it Mari’s imagination, or was there a glint of challenge in their eyes?
Mari bit the inside of her cheek and hoped she wasn't blushing. J’s words struck her straight between the legs, hitting buttons she didn’t even know she had. But it couldn’t possibly be real, no matter how intriguing it sounded. Mari liked a good trip as much as the next person, and knew all about weird substances that chilled you out or made you more agreeable, but no drug in her extensive mental catalog could make you obedient.
Still, her head spun with fantasies of herself drugged and vacant while J painted their will onto her body. She’d never wanted anything quite like this before but oh god, it was impossibly hot.
“I've been working with them for so long that it doesn't affect me,” J was saying, “But uh…” They met her eyes with a smirk. “Probably not the sort of state you'd want to be in around a stranger, huh?”
Ah. This was sounding less like a joke, and more like some elaborate big-talk flirtation strategy. Well, two could play at that game. The low heat between Mari’s legs was making her bold; she leaned forward to give J the best view of her cleavage, and drawled, “So, you're saying I shouldn't come up there while you're working unless I want you to take advantage of me?"
She’d expected them to chuckle and wave it away, or to blush and break eye contact when Mari called their bluff—and so when J met her eyes with an expression of the utmost seriousness, her breath caught.
“Yes,” J said softly, “that's exactly what I'm saying. So think carefully. You'd better be sure."
They held her gaze for a long moment, Mari hardly able to breathe—her heart was pounding in her chest, and she couldn't stop thinking of J's hands on her, of her own vacant stare, and oh god the idea was like fire in her veins—and then J took a long sip of tea, breaking the tension, and Mari slumped back into her chair, head spinning.
“So,” said J, as if nothing had passed between them, “tell me more about what you were thinking for your room. Your email said ‘aurora borealis,’ and I sketched some things out…”
After helping J lug some unlabeled paint canisters up the stairs, Mari left them to it, knowing that her room was in good hands. “I should be done around three o'clock,” they told her as she headed for the stairs. “And remember..." Something in their voice made her turn to face them. "If you come in here any time before 3PM tomorrow, the fumes will do funny things to your brain.” There was a gleam in their eyes—a challenge? An invitation? “So. Think carefully.”
She went back downstairs and tried to do something else, she really did. First she tried to do the dishes, but kept getting distracted; then she tried to read, but images kept floating through her head of herself, docile and compliant, of J's hands on her body, of the orders they would give her…
That was when she abandoned her book and switched to answering emails. The third time she caught herself tabbing over to porn, though, she gave up; hand down her pants, she sprawled on the couch and lazily teased her clit, letting her brain spin out all the fantasies it wanted to.
One ear cocked for sounds of J coming down the stairs, she imagined what might happen if she walked into her bedroom right now and smelled those heady paint fumes. Maybe J would have their shirt off, she thought with a grin, picturing the rippling muscles of their abs. Maybe Mari would catch sight of her own face in the mirror, slack and blank, and maybe she'd be able to watch the surrender there as J ordered her to undress herself…
Of course, she knew it was just a silly fantasy; there was no way J's “special paint fumes'' could turn her into an obedient zombie. Still, the idea was so damn hot, for reasons she could barely comprehend, and it drew her fingers irresistibly towards her clit. Even though the psychoactive paints were bullshit, J was clearly flirting. Maybe they'd fuck on the tarps in her bare room, maybe she'd play-act being brainwashed by the fumes… Or maybe, whispered a part of her brain, maybe J was telling the truth, and she’d actually be drugged into obedience, oh god why did that turn her on, fuck she was close…
Mari yanked her hand away from her clit, breathing hard. She didn't want to make herself come, not yet. Not when J might do it for her, mind-control paints or no. But, she thought to herself, she had a few hours to kill before J would be done, and just because she didn't want to come yet didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun.
Mari emerged from her masturbatory daze when a glance at the clock told her it was ten to three—right around when J would be finishing. She swallowed, stomach full of butterflies, one part nerves and three parts excitement. Mari wiped her sticky fingers on a tissue before checking her hair in the mirror. It was a rumpled mess, of course, but a quick finger-comb made it halfway presentable, and her outfit—tight dark jeans that hugged her curves, and a soft lavender V-neck that accentuated her chest quite nicely—wasn't half bad. Riled from hours of teasing, her body sang out for touch. J talked a good game; it was time to see if they could follow through.
From just a glance through her bedroom door, Mari knew that whatever else happened today, she would be leaving J a five-star review; their work was gorgeous. The walls sang with pastel swirls of color, set against a backdrop dark enough to evoke nighttime and the Northern Lights, but light enough to not be gloomy. And there was J—unfortunately not shirtless—standing back to look at their handiwork.
Mari sniffed the air experimentally. It was thick with paint fumes despite the open windows, but they just smelled like normal paint fumes, and she swallowed irrational disappointment. Of course she knew that there was no logical way J's paints could drug her into compliance, but it turned out that hours of frigging yourself to the fantasy of it was enough to get her hopes up.
“Looks nice", she remarked from the hallway, and internally kicked herself. Apparently she couldn’t even pretend to play it cool, but mercifully, J didn’t seem to notice the inanity. In fact, when they turned to her, their face curiously alight.
“It's a little early for you to be in here,” they remarked dryly.
“I wanted to see what you'd done with the place,” Mari said casually, in what she hoped was a coy tone. She leaned against the doorframe with deliberate nonchalance.
J made no move to close the distance between them, but kept staring at her with that curious intensity. “I wasn't kidding, you know,” they said softly. “About the paint fumes.”
Mari bit her lip. This was obviously an elaborate flirtation, but… J was really leaning into it. They sounded so committed to the fantasy, and it was enough to make Mari wonder if somehow, against all odds, it might be real.
“It'll take a minute to kick in,” J was saying, carefully contained excitement apparent in their voice, “but you'll be totally compliant. Docile. You'll do anything I tell you to.” Heat thrummed between Mari's legs. “Is that what you want?”
She swallowed. In for a penny, in for a pound. If this was a game J was playing, then fuck yes did she want to play along. And if it wasn’t, well…
She wanted that even more.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“You don't even know me,” J countered. “We only met hours ago. You might not even remember what happens this afternoon.”
Mari’s eyes widened at that—but somehow, mind-bogglingly, the frisson of fear she felt just made the whole fantasy blaze hotter in her mind. “I don't care.” Mari stepped boldly into the room. “Take me. Use me.”
The words hung in the air for a long moment, Mari uncomfortably conscious of the smell of the paint hanging in the air.
And then slowly, J's face lit up in a broad, almost predatory grin. “In that case…” They took two fluid strides forward, until the two stood just a foot apart. “Breathe deep for me, pretty girl.”
Automatically, Mari complied—but that was unsurprising. She was a submissive at heart, after all, and J's demeanor had already melted her twice over, and so it was certainly reasonable that she'd obey an authoritative command like that—right?
J surveyed her cooly. “How do you feel?”
“O-okay?” answered Mari, uncertain whether J wanted her to play along. “Normal, I think? And so goddamn horny. I want so badly for you to put your hands all over my body and pleasure me until I can't see straight, I want to suck on your fingers and make you moan with it, I want…”
She clamped her mouth shut. Had she really just said all that? It was all true—god, it was all incredibly true—but the words had just bubbled out of her treacherous mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Mari could feel herself going beet red, and instinctively tried to hide her face, but—
"Look at me,” J said softly, and her arms abruptly dropped bonelessly to her sides. Her cheeks burned, but she met J's eyes and couldn't look away. Other doms had captured her attention like this, this wasn't new, and there was no reason to think it was a magic compulsion… But somehow, the mere possibility that Mari was under the influence made her gasp a little, and then she thought about how she was inhaling more of those fumes, and that turned her on more, which quickened her breathing…
“Take off your clothes,” J instructed, still maddeningly calm, still entirely too far away, and Mari simply… did. The embarrassment flared hot in her cheeks, but somehow felt distant, and it didn't stop her hands from rising to the hem of her shirt and slowly pulling it over her head.
Mari knew what it felt like to obey an order because of the sheer magnetism behind it, and this was different. It wasn’t a conscious choice to obey, not even an instinct, it just happened. It might have felt like her body was acting outside of her control, except that responding to the command was the most natural, most pleasurable thing in the world.
This is real, Mari realized dimly, it’s all real—the excitement was there, as well as the bafflement and the prickling of fear, but it was all unimportant next to the electricity of her own hands on her bare skin.
She stripped off her pants and shimmied out of her underwear, and everything felt slow and sensual. When she finally stood naked before J, a part of her marveled at how she could feel so exposed and warmly content at the same time. It was right that she had followed J's order, right that she had shed her clothes, right that J's eyes were devouring her hungrily. “Touch yourself,” J murmured, and her hands moved even before her brain had finished processing the words.
Mari's hands felt incredible on her skin. Maybe something about the fumes, she thought lazily, utterly unconcerned as her hands roved across her body, traced her curves, fondled her heavy breasts and dipped between her legs. The warm pleasure of her own touch mingled with the warm pleasure of obeying.
“How does that feel?”
“So good,” Mari gasped, “it feels so good, so right to touch myself for you, I just want to keep touching, keep obeying, keep—”
“What happens if you try to stop?” J interrupted.
A trickle of confusion percolated through the pleasant haze of Mari’s thoughts. “Why would I try to stop? It feels so good to touch, and to obey, and…”
A smile spread slowly across J's face, and even more than the hand strumming her clit, it was that smile that had Mari throbbing in need.
And then suddenly J had closed the gap between them and oh, J's hand felt so good in her hair as they grabbed her and effortlessly steered her backwards, across the room, right up to a freshly painted wall.
Mari held still, hardly able to breathe with the strong grip in her hair and J's mouth inches from hers. The swirling patterns on the walls danced in her peripheral vision, making her head spin. “The paint’s not quite dry,” J was saying, the words blazing brightly through the fog in her mind. “If I press you up against it now, you'll get a direct dermal dose of the chemicals that are making your pretty head so fuzzy right now.” Mari's pussy clenched. “So much fuzzier and more obedient for me, and feeling so sensitive and sexy and desperate. Do you want that? Do you want to be my desperate little fucktoy for the day?”
Mari could barely do more than whimper her assent. Agreeing with J felt incredible on its own, but their words and their desire struck a chord deep in her subconscious, transforming simple obedience into visceral need. “Yes,” she panted, “please, I want to obey, I want to please you, I want—”
J shoved her roughly backwards and kissed her hard, and a supernova of sensation burst at her back. Mari’s eyes fluttered closed with the force of it, but the vibrant colors of the opposite wall seemed burned into her retinas. J’s mouth on hers was expert and inescapable, and Mari could smell her own arousal mingling with those intoxicating paint fumes. Dimly she was conscious of a thigh shoving between her legs, of how desperately she was humping against it, but the specifics were subsumed by the rush of pleasure flooding her body. Her every nerve ending was alight with colors as vivid as those blazing behind her closed eyes, her thoughts utterly scattered except for an endless litany of “yes” and “please” and “obey” and “more”.
“Undress me,” J commanded, and Mari scrambled to comply, because the only thing that felt better than that kiss was her own obedience, the only thing that felt better than her own pleasure was pleasuring J. “Slowly,” they added sternly, and Mari felt herself shiver. “Please me. Worship me.”
It was the easiest order to obey, because Mari wanted nothing more. Reverently she pulled at J's shirt, just enough to expose an inch of taut abdomen, and bent to plant a soft kiss there. J's answering gasp felt like fire between her legs.
Exploring J's body with her mouth and hands was better than any sex she'd ever experienced. Every touch, every kiss, was an act of obedience and devotion. J's every moan was praise and pleasure. Mari worked slowly, lavishing attention on each new stretch of exposed skin. She discovered that sucking on J's neck made them grunt and press into her; that trailing kisses up J's side elicited incredible noises; that pressing her cheek to their boxer-clad crotch made them growl “Yes” in a way that almost made Mari come on the spot. When she'd at last peeled off the last piece of clothing she stepped back and looked, glazed, up at J.
The Adonis before her stared back hungrily, jaw tight with lust, toned body sheened with sweat. “What are you thinking, my slut?” they asked softly.
Through the haze of her own arousal, she struggled to understand the question. She wasn't thinking, she was feeling, her whole body was aquiver with desire, just the sight of J's body enough to make her pussy clench. She was dripping wet, and her fingers trembled to touch, to please, to fuck.
Eventually, her mouth answered for her:
“Nothing,” Mari responded tonelessly.
The slow smile that stole across J's face took her breath away. “Good,” they said, “good girl,” and the words dropped from their lips into the still pool of Mari's mind and sent ripples of ecstasy through her entire body.
“On your knees, pretty girl,” J murmured, and Mari's legs folded beneath her automatically. “Lick me.” Mari's mouth watered at the thought. “Lick me like it's the sweetest thing you've ever tasted.”
Reverently, Mari brought her mouth to their sex, trembling in anticipation. The first long, slow lick made J moan low in their throat, and answering stars of pleasure burst behind Mari's eyes. With a rough grunt, J grabbed her by the hair and pulled her closer.
The taste of J’s arousal mingled with the fumes of the paint, and Mari buried her face between J’s legs and let the heady cocktail overwhelm her. Mari’s every motion, J’s every sound, was pure pleasure, and as all of her senses assailed her in the most exquisite way, Mari’s eyes fluttered closed. She could practically feel the last fragment of her mind melting away—or perhaps dripping out of her sopping pussy.
And when her thoughts had entirely dissolved, leaving Mari a vessel empty of anything but arousal and obedience and those paint fumes… That was only the beginning.
Mari awoke slowly, her mind still enwrapped in the cottony softness of her dream. And what an amazing dream it had been, she thought to herself, still half-asleep and basking in its glow. She struggled to recall it as bits and pieces swam in and out of her mind in that dreamlike way: a devastatingly handsome painter; something funny about their paints that made her obey; hands and tongues and sensation and control. Most of all, she remembered the pleasure: in vivid wisps of dream that floated in and out of her grasp, she recalled orgasm after mind-melting orgasm, the kind that wracked her entire body for minutes at a time and left her limp and floating in bliss.
Groggily, she reached for the clock on her nightstand—
And realized with bafflement that this wasn't her bed. With difficulty, Mari sat up, and her surroundings resolved themselves. She was naked on her couch with a blanket draped over her, and the sky outside the window was dark—the stove clock blinked “8:34 PM”. Her head pounded and her mouth felt full of cotton. Was this a hangover?
Someone had put out a glass of water and a bottle of Aspirin on the coffee table. Gratefully she popped two of the pills, and as she gulped water, that was when she saw the note.
Mari’s mouth fell open and her thoughts skidded to a halt. Oh fuck, she realized, that really hapened.
It still felt like piecing together a dream as it was trying to drift away, but Mari knew now that these weren’t dream-fragments, but memories. It seemed impossible that all of this had actually happened, but moment after moment filtered back to her, vivid in her mind's eye, enough to fill her with a pleasant low heat—and the gaps between the memories were somehow even hotter.
Dimly, it occurred to Mari that she had been incredibly stupid. Who knew what J might have done to her in that pliant, suggestible state? Who knew what they had done to her that was lost somewhere in the spaces between her memories? That could have been so dangerous, she thought shakily. I can’t believe I did that.
I can’t believe how hot that was.
I can’t believe I want to do it again.
She might have still dismissed it as a dream even then, but for the throbbing in her head and the wetness still between her legs and the way her body felt: sore, wrung out, thoroughly used and thoroughly sated.
That really happened, she thought wonderingly, with a frisson of fear and a second, much stronger, frisson of arousal.
Taking another long drink of water, Mari examined the note on the table. In a cramped and precise hand, it read:
Take two Aspirin and drink lots of water—you'll have a headache tonight and be fine in the morning. Don't go into the bedroom until after 3PM tomorrow. Thanks for a great time. This one's on the house.
And then a swirling signature and a phone number.
Mari flipped over the paper, and couldn’t suppress a laugh: the note was scribbled on the back of the envelope she'd left J's payment in. The envelope was still sealed.
She stretched luxuriously. Her head still ached, but her body felt warm and tingly, utterly spent in the best way. Mari reached for her phone and hesitated for a long moment. Thoughts and feelings roiled within her: trepidation, caution, lust, bone-deep desires only just awoken, hazy memories of J laying her on the couch and gently covering her with a blanket.
She took a deep breath and keyed in J's number.