The effect of Mike’s command was immediate.  My head rolled back, my fingers dropped open, and I slumped like my spine had been removed.  Had I been standing, I would have fallen hard and fast enough to do damage.  I started sliding off the smooth leather, Mike’s legs and the chair conveniently placed to interrupt my descent.  My skirt slid up over my knee as my legs separated, gravity doing its part to expose me.

“Mmmm.  Good girl.”  Mike hummed appreciatively.  The words sent an instant thrill through my body.  I felt his hand slide along my leg up my thigh, over my skirt, then back down.  He shifted from the chair to the couch, pushing my legs together again in the process.  A part of me whimpered in disappointment, longing for his hand to retrace its previous path, but under my skirt this time.  I felt his weight settle next to me, my body leaning towards his greater bulk like a scale tipping.  He stretched an arm behind my head, stroking my hair and turning my head to face him.

His other hand began to trail up and down my neck, his touch light and tantalizing.  I could hear his breathing, steady but excited.  He smelled of cologne, starch, and my whiskey, the last so familiar to me it only added to my sense of safety and contentment.  I felt his warm breath as he leaned in to kiss just below my ear and down towards my collar.  His lips barely touched my skin; he was so gentle.  I imagined what he must be seeing, my eyes closed, my face in blissful repose in the dim light, shadow highlighting my full lips and high cheekbones.

He grew bolder, burying his face against my neck, adding his teeth and tongue, as his hand trailed lower onto my chest, pushing under my jacket to grasp my breast.  He squeezed it, thumb rounding the pert nub until it stood out, hard and aching.  I felt my lips part, my chest pressed harder into his hand as I inhaled deeply.  My body responded without my conscious input.  All I had to do was feel the pleasurable results.

I focused more intently on his touch, splitting my attention between his lips and hand.  I could feel how each movement rippled through my senses, how his pectoral muscles rippled against my side when his fingers contracted around my breast, how his leg brushed against mine as he nibbled my earlobe.   I felt the flick of his tongue as he pinched my nipple, the timing purposeful.  The more my mind drifted among the sensations, the more they echoed and amplified each other.

If I had been under my own impulses, I would have turned toward him, pressed him against the couch, and straddled him, riding the bulge in his trousers and driving us both insane with need.  Instead, I lay quietly as he took his time, exploring my body with excruciating patience.  He lifted my arm and let it drop back into my lap, chuckling at the dull thump against my leg.  He lifted it again and held it out straight, tapping the wrist.  From his earlier instruction, I knew this was a sign to hold in place, and my arm remained extended when he let it go.  He hummed again, louder, turning back to my neck and sucking hard enough to leave a mark, while my left hand hovered awkwardly in the air.

The trance magnified both my yearning for more and my contentment with what was occurring.  As much as I needed Mike’s touch, to please him by holding my arm in place was equally gratifying.  The radiating warmth of obedience was the constant heartbeat of my existence, while the erotic touches were exhilarating peaks and caverns being carved into my soul.  With every breath, I became attuned to him, his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat.  I found I could study him almost as closely as he was studying me.  My observations were building a catalog of his desires, where he wanted to touch me, how my natural responses increased his excitement, even how long my arm was outstretched was a clue to his intentions.  To the outside observer, I may have been dormant, but under the surface, I was as involved in the moment as the most attentive lover.

Taking my wrist once more, he lowered my hand to his lap, laying it on the thick bulge of his member.  His cock twitched at the weight, and I heard him gasp, low and quick.  His head was turned to watch my hand, and my head bumped against his cheek when he shifted our positions.  I was close enough to his neck to have mimicked his kisses, but with no instructions to do so, simply enjoyed his body supporting my weight, imagining us on a park bench under a starlit sky.  My pulse quickened.

Entwining his fingers in mine, he began to move my hand, stroking himself with it over his pants.  The friction of the fabric heated my palm, and I felt his girth increase with his excitement.  His other arm, still wrapped around me across the back of the couch, pulled me closer.  His index finger traced a singular line along the sensitive vein of my neck in time with the caresses in his lap.  I connected the sensations again, noting the pressure of his touch increase and decrease with the pressure applied to his length.  The trance cemented the associations, imprinting the truth that his pleasure was my pleasure, that my actions to please him would lead to my own reward.

“Such a good girl.”  I could hear the smile in his voice and felt a rush of warmth course through me.  He had sensed no hesitation in my body, either to touching him more intimately, or to being positioned and groped more intimately myself.  Whatever conditioning he was attempting to achieve, he seemed to be happy with the results so far.  “You liked that, didn’t you…being touched…touching me…”  His lips brushed against my neck again and a jolt of electricity went through me.  “Such a perfect slave could only want more.”  His fingers pressed my hand against his cock again, sliding it slowly towards the tip with increasing pressure, like squeezing toothpaste out of the tube.  Before it reached the sensitive end, he inhaled deeply and shuddered before placing my hand back in my lap and releasing it.

He turned towards me, kissing my cheek dotingly before moving back over to the chair.  “Do you want to cum?”

“Yes.”  My voice was flat, unfettered with thought or emotion.  It was a reflexive response.  Of course I wanted to cum.  I always wanted to cum.  Didn’t everyone feel this way?  It seemed silly to me that he had asked.

He chuckled softly, as if he’d read my mind.  “Of course you do.  You’re a good slave, and all good slaves want to cum.  You know you haven’t earned it yet, though, don’t you?”

“Yes.”  It was obvious to me.  He hadn’t said I’d earned it, and I wasn’t climaxing, so therefore I still needed to.  It didn’t disappoint me, though, as much as it would have outside of my trance.  It only meant he had more tasks, more ways for me to please him, more was to grow my own need and longing before it could be sated.  I heard him push the chair back and pour another drink.

The glass made a dull thump as it returned to the desk.  My eyes were still closed, my body following the slope of the couch at a rather uncomfortable angle now that Mike was no longer supporting me.  I would have had a crick in my neck if I stayed in that position much longer, but I was unconcerned.  I had no need to be.  He hadn’t said I should.  “Right now, you are a rag-doll.  Your body and mind are my playthings.  Without my instruction or touch, you move with gravity, your autonomic responses controlling you with the barest of input from your conscious mind.  My words have more effect on you in this state.  When I say “rag-doll” or command you to “drop”, this is what you will become.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to snap my fingers.  When I do, I want you to open your eyes and return to your passive trance state, obedient and aroused, able to follow my instructions with your own personality and abilities, until I tell you otherwise.”

Snap.

My eyes opened and I sat up straighter, not bothering to adjust my clothing or hair.  My hands rested on my knees, and my lips grew a lazy grin.  Mike smiled back at me, the lurid hunger of his gaze almost palpable as he raked his eyes up and down my body.  His legs were splayed wide as he leaned back in the chair and took the bottle from the desk.  His manhood pressed so hard against the fabric of his pants I could see the distinct outline where the head met the shaft.  I felt my tongue brush over my lips and Mike chuckled nefariously.

“Good slave.  Now get on your knees and suck my cock.”  He took a pull straight from the bottle as I crawled off the couch and undid his belt.  My hands moved deftly to his pants, slipping the button and unzipping his fly, my mouth watering at the thought of putting my lips around his dick.  I pulled back the elastic of his drawers and his member practically jumped towards my hand.  Mike sighed at the relief of pressure from his throbbing organ.  He lifted his hips, helping me slide his clothes out of the way of my prize, before settling back in the wooden seat.

I admired the thick shaft, rising from the downy tufts of hair.  I fondled his sac gently as I bent forward and licked him from base to tip, circling with my tongue before repeating the action, wetting the warm skin and feeling the heat of him against my cheek.  He groaned and I looked up, making sure I hadn’t done anything to hurt or displease him.  He grinned back down, taking a moment to push his thumb between my lips, using it like a crowbar to lower my head back to his tip.  I suckled it eagerly, a soft whimper escaping my lips before he replaced his digit with my true target.  He gripped my hair and pushed my head down, forcing me to open my mouth and surround his turgid member with my lips or ram it into my face.

Eagerly, I opened my mouth.  His skin was velvet soft over the rock-hard muscle and smelled of soap mixed with his natural musk.  He relaxed his grip on my hair, letting me suck and play my tongue against the flesh at my own pace.  Now that I had begun my task, I had little intention of not finishing.  I moaned as I took him deeper, the feel of him in my mouth more satisfying than I imagined it would be.  My sexual reputation bordered between “parking” and being a full on “floozy” depending on who you asked.  It was probably a bit of both.  I enjoyed sex and sexual acts but wouldn’t participate in them with just anyone.  I wanted deep connection, a partnership, but not necessarily in the traditional sense.  Going down on a partner was one of the first things I’d tried, and one I enjoyed almost as much as intercourse itself.  Mike learned firsthand exactly how much I liked it.

I listened to the sounds he made as my lips and tongue serviced his throbbing need, paying particular attention to his reactions, cataloging them, carving the connections between my body and mind.  I not only wanted to satisfy him, but to let him enjoy it for as long as possible.  It meant I spent more time lapping at his dripping head and caressing him with my hand, teasing him as he grew stiffer under my fingertips.  I wanted to please him, be more to him than a robotic, lifeless hole.  Judging by the moans and the way his hand sank back into my hair, he was enjoying my efforts.  Finally, I took him deep into my throat and began bobbing up and down, slowly at first, my tongue supporting his weight within my mouth and guiding it further back with each dip towards his lap.

He was large, and thick, and filled my throat.  His tip rubbed against the ridges of my soft palate as the speed and force of his thrusts grew.  I relaxed my muscles, letting my mouth hang open as I felt him push against the back of my head, driving him deeper down my gullet.  We moaned in unison as he took control, his fingers gripping tightly and forcing me further towards his crotch.  I felt my heat rise, my breaths, when I could get them, ragged and needy.  My breasts pressed into his legs, hard nipples rubbing maddeningly against the rough cotton of my bra and increasing my passionate thirst.  I drooled as he used my mouth, the wet liquid creating a slick transition between the cool outside air and the heat of my throat.  Soft, wet pops reverberated each time he withdrew before shoving himself harder and faster into my waiting orifice.  He tilted my chin up, catching my gaze as he thrust into my face repeatedly.  I stared, helpless, hopelessly turned on, begging with my eyes for his approval, falling deeper under his spell with every passionate sound from his throat.

He had amazing control, a natural sense of how deep and fast he could drive himself into me before he blocked my airway or triggered my gag reflex.  His eyes twinkled, the golden flecks flashing brighter, my eyes practically rolling back in my head to keep staring into his fascinating orbs.  His breath was no more labored than if he had run around the corner and back.  I was a mere mortal, unable to achieve the Olympic heights of his power, but, like Sisyphus, climbing towards the summit regardless of my success.  I wanted to conquer the mountain, feel the lava burn me as it erupted, know that I, in some small part, had helped it flow free from the confines of its stone-hard spout.  I wanted to feel him lose himself, release himself into me, feed me the hot magma from his loins.

Mike pulled my head away from his slick and glistening cock, my tongue still trying to lap at the sensitive tip.  I whimpered plaintively.  He pulled my hair as he grabbed his erection and stood.  His full height towered above me.  I had to tilt my head back even further to keep staring into his loving eyes.  My disheveled appearance left no imprint on my desire, or embarrassment from him seeing it.  He stroked himself idly as he regarded me, as if choosing between two loafs of bread at the market instead of the next actions of a fellow human being.  I didn’t care.  As long as it pleased him, I would do it.

“Keep your mouth open and close your eyes.”  I obeyed, tongue still hanging out in hopes of another taste of his delicious cock.  I heard him grunting with effort, felt his fingers yank my hair, bringing my face nearer to his weeping bell-end.  His hand moved faster over his sex.  With one last groan, he peaked, sending a stream of viscous hot seed over my face and down my throat.  I swallowed as much as I could, eagerly licking around my mouth to collect every stray drop I could reach.  I could sense his cock, just in front of me, and my tongue stretched, trying to reconnect with the source of the nectar that covered me.  He must have been watching me, still, because he shifted his hips and released my hair, letting me lean forward and clean his shaft of its leavings.  My grin widened, even as the semen cooled and began to stick to my face.

“Magnificent.”  I beamed at the praise, mouth still open and eyes still closed, clothing disheveled, covered in cum, kneeling but completely confident and proud.  I agreed.

“Go wash your face and fix your hair, but not your clothes, then come back to me.”  Mike helped me stand, making sure I had regained my balance fully before his hand left my elbows and I walked into the bathroom and rinsed my face.  I didn’t bother turning on the light.  I knew the office and the darkroom well enough without it, and I didn’t feel like straining my eyes in a sudden burst of brightness.  I let the tap run to heat the water while I pulled a washcloth from the cabinet beneath the sink.  I dunked it and held it to my face, the hot steam opening my pores, refreshingly welcome as I scrubbed away the traces of our tryst.  I hung it neatly on the bar and turned off the water, pulling out the pins in my hair before straightening the curls and replacing them properly.  When I emerged, I looked as if I had run to catch a trolley car, rather than been the target of Mike’s eruption.

Mike had moved to the couch, his pants fastened and a pleased smile on his lips.  He patted his lap as I approached, guiding me to sit in his arms like a child visiting Santa.  I smiled and leaned my head against his shoulder.  His hand slid easily up my skirt, fingers prodding the sodden fabric of my underwear gently before pushing it aside and resting over the hot, yearning slit.  His left arm curled around me, undoing the top buttons of my blouse and tracing the edge of my bra slowly.  I felt my body respond immediately, nipples aching, heart racing, eyes closing as he stilled, holding me against him much as the velvet ropes had restrained me in the hotel room, firm but yielding, sensual in their constant unwavering presence.

He kissed my cheek, letting me snuggle against him.  I was tired, not having slept well in the car, in addition to the afternoon of physical exertion.  In this light state of trance, I felt more akin to a lover than a slave.  His tutelage had been thorough, but kind, and there was no question we had both enjoyed its most recent iteration.  I could still taste him on my lips and wondered how soon he would let me repeat the performance.  He sighed contentedly, kissing me hard on the lips and squeezing my breast again.  My tongue pressed against his lips, pleading entrance.  My mouth opened hungrily as he obliged, the length and depth of passion rising with each moment we spent locked together.  Finally, he pulled back, his eyes searching my face with a predatory glare.

“Look into my eyes.”  He waited until I complied, which was only as long as it took me to raise my head from his shoulder.  “You may only cum when I tell you.  Do you understand?”  I nodded, a hitch in my breath betraying the excitement and anticipation of his command.  I shifted in his lap, trying to relax even though every portion of my body tensed and quivered.  “Tell me so I know you understand.”

“I may only cum when you command.”  I looked at him, the trance helping me remain calm despite the rushing blood in my veins.  I fought the incessant impulse to shove myself over his fingers repeatedly until I sat in a pool of my own juices.  I wallowed in the unyielding frustration of holding myself against acting on my own.  The temptation of release warred with the need to submit to his control.  He waited patiently, a smirk on his lips as he saw my struggle play over my face.  He nodded, kissing me sweetly.

“Do you want to cum?”  His voice was soft, tender, but there was no doubt to its strength.  He flicked a finger against my clit in time with the last word and I gasped, nodding.  He pushed his hand into the cup of my bra, thumbing the sensitive skin and squeezing once quickly, adding to the emphasis of his question.  He waited, letting me inhale and exhale slowly until my pulse had quieted.  Then he did it again.

Each repetition took longer for me to recover.  Each instance of his touch drew more focus to its absence.  Each stroke lingered longer, pushed my desire higher, drove me frantic with the competing goals of intense action and perfect tranquility.  I squirmed, unable to escape the arm around my chest and the weight of his elbow on my thigh.  He kept his fingers just out of reach, letting me push against the steel of his muscled body but never letting me feel the delicate pressure until he said the word, and only saying it when I was quiet and settled in his arms.  My mewling cries became lurid groans.

I began to cycle through every alluring gesture and tone I could think of, hoping one of them would trigger a response, give some clue to how I could gain his permission and succumb to the avalanche of pleasure dangling just out of reach.  His voice remained stoic, tender but resolute.  The twinkle of gold amidst the deep blue pools of his irises flared as the impossible nature of my predicament became apparent.  I realized he was no longer moving with the words, but I was.  His fingers weren’t resting longer on my chest, or pushing further into my sopping tunnel, they just felt like it because I was timing my struggles to his speech.  He saw the realization in my eyes and leered, his features sharpening as his predatory nature conquered my submissive will.

“Drop.”

All strength left me as he cradled me, roughly planting his mouth over mine.  His thumb flicked my swollen clit as his fingers ploughed between my pliant limbs, sliding between my nether lips as his tongue forced open the ones on my face.  He groped my breast, squeezing in time with his thrusting digits before he shifted my weight to the sofa.  I was wet, aching with lust, but completely incapable of moving.  He slid out from under me, taking the opportunity to lick his fingers before straddling my inert form.

He pulled my bra down, licking my chest before beginning to suckle and tongue the taut mound.  His hand returned to my crotch, slippery and waiting for its renewed penetration.  My mind sunk deeper into the cacophony of hazy thoughts and acutely blissful sensations.  I moaned loudly, not aware it was my throat making the noise until I felt his teeth clamp onto my neck then recede into another point of pressure for my building passion.  Every ounce of me wanted to explode.  Every fire within me fed by his quickening movements, his teasing interruptions, and his continued words.

“Do you want to cum?”  I moaned again, his fingers pushing deeper, twisting sharply, pulling me closer to the edge.  I felt my back arching, hips rising with his hand, breath coming faster and faster.  I wanted to, badly, but I couldn’t.  As much as I was wracked with throbbing convulsions, as much as I longed for the precipice, I couldn’t let go.  The tension only grew.  He worked his hand faster, drawing sloppy thwaps from my drooling pussy.  I wanted to writhe, I wanted to clamp down and squeeze until he lost circulation, I wanted to hold him still as I drenched us both in the flood of my climax.  I could only lie there, silently pleading for his mercy.

“Try, slave.  See how completely my will has consumed you.  Try to cum.”  I gasped, control returning to my limbs, mind focused on one goal.  I drove my hips into his hands, straining with effort to impale myself and burst the invisible dam holding in my release.  My fingers dug into the cushions beneath me, scratching to gain purchase no handhold could provide.  My breasts swayed with my desperate motions, heavy and pendulous and still being groped and fondled by his deft touch.  I was so close.  I could sense the wall that prevented my satisfaction, it’s insurmountable strength contrasting with its paper thin width.

“Yes, that’s it.  Feel it sink in.  Know what you are.  Know what you always will be.”  My voice echoed in my ears, the groans mixing with the lewd slap of my body against the leather.  Mike squeezed and pinched, lathed my body with his tongue, played on my every erogenous nerve.  I helped him, shifting and rubbing, losing track of time, losing track of where my body stopped and his began, losing track of everything except the need to climax and my inability to do so.  I was panting with effort, but nothing helped.  The trance held me in its gilded cage, and only Mike had the key.  I opened my eyes to see him grinning down at me, confidence and pleasure brimming from his deep blue eyes and perfect features.  The attraction I felt towards him multiplied exponentially, but it only added to the pendulous weight of lust instead of breaking the swelling tide.  Mike’s knowing gaze filled me with renewed vigor.  He shifted his weight, leaning down to place his lips against my clit.

“Now beg.”

“Oh fuck.  Please.  Please please pleeeeeaaaaseeeeee.”  His tongue lapped against my throbbing sex, his fingers plunging deeper still as he sucked on my sensitive and swollen flesh.  My hips lifted higher, offering him my body and will as quickly as I could.  My head was pounding, blood rushing from my elevated posterior towards my heavy lidded eyes and hoarse throat.  Still, I kept climbing, the summit ever out of reach.  I hooked my knee over his shoulder, and he took hold of my hips with both hands, holding me to his face as I flailed in agonizing near-rapture.  I moaned with every flick and stroke, long past any thought of decorum or neighboring tenants.  The only thing I could think of was Mike’s control over me, and how desperately I needed him.  Hadn’t I followed his instructions?  Hadn’t I done everything he’d asked?  I’d tried so hard.  I wanted to please him so much.  I needed to be his.  My leg squeezed harder against his shoulder, my muscles spasming from the strain.  He drew away from my center for one minute and I stopped breathing.  He looked at me, face shining with moisture, my chest aching but still.  He smiled and lifted his right hand from my side, making sure I could see it next to his face.  His mouth and fingers moved simultaneously.

Snap.  “Cum.”

I didn’t know how long it took, by the clock, but I knew that it was more than one orgasm.  He had commanded me, and I was more than eager to obey.  My muscles convulsed, my body writhed, and my mind whirled.  Again and again, I felt the waves of ecstasy and release crash over me.  I know he was touching me, kissing me, penetrating me over and over.  The couch was dark and wet, the leather soaking up the moisture until even it was sated and a pool formed under my skirt.  Occasionally I registered encouraging phrases, even impressed exclamations at my stamina.  They only drew out my bliss, adding another peak and valley to my submission.

Finally, the world stopped spinning.  My heaving chest moved weakly beneath my hands, cupped around my breasts as the last tingles of pleasure drained into an exhausted stupor.  Mike gently laid me out on the couch, crouching next to me and kissing my forehead like a parent tucking in a child.  I could barely keep my eyes open, and felt lightheaded, even though I wasn’t trying to sit up.  He stayed with me, stroking my hair and calling me a good girl.  The light dimmed as the sun set, the office now in deep darkness, save the single desk lamp he had turned on hours ago.  I gazed up at him adoringly but had no strength to speak or return his gentle caress.

“That’s my good girl.  You did just like I asked.  Now sleep and forget until I call you my good girl again.”  I nodded sluggishly as my eyes closed and the world went dark.