I bet you guys want to hear about the photos now. The ones Richard took of me during that first hypnosis session.

I know I was eager to see them myself. He sent them across to my phone after we’d finished up for the night, and I gazed lovingly at them for much of the next day. I’ll give you the scene: I’m on the couch, holding my phone up to my face, close enough that I can take in every little detail of the pictures, a wicked, horny little smirk on my face.

The first photo was taken when I was staring at the spiral, letting the swirliness suck my mind away. My eyes are fixed on the laptop screen, my eyelids almost half-closed, making me look half-asleep. My mouth’s drooping open slightly, and I think there’s a tiny little dribble of drool in the corner, though that might just be my imagination. My hair - which is sort of dark auburn, or you could just call it light brown, and there’s quite a lot of it, going way past my shoulders - is hanging loosely. A few strands have drifted in front of my face, but I’m clearly too entranced to notice.

I almost humped my phone when I first saw this. God, the sight of myself in that mindless state was almost too much to bear. (Sidebar: is it vain for me to be so attracted to myself? Actually don’t answer that, I don’t care. I’m gorgeous and sexy, especially when hypnotised, and I’m just owning that. Hehehe.) And that, boys and girls, was the softcore pic. I had my clothes on and everything.

The other two, being as they were later in the session, were more lewd. Photo number two was when I was naked and tied up - arms up in the air, legs apart, held in place by invisible ropes - and had just been mercilessly tickle-tortured. My head’s facing slightly to the left - I think I’d been shaking it from side to side, largely because it was the only part of me I could shake. My eyes are tightly shut, my mouth is wide open in a laughing shape, and my hair is now completely out of control. Looking at this picture, I could almost hear my squeals of laughter all over again. Of course, I didn’t need to tax my imagination too hard - the memories of the previous night’s shenanigans were vivid in my mind, and would be for a very long time.

In the final shot, I was in much the same pose as in the second - still tied up on the couch - but this time my eyes were closed because they’d been ‘glued’ shut by Richard. My eyebrows are up so high they’re barely visible under my untidy hair, my mouth wide open in an ‘O’ of arousal. (This was before my mouth had been bound open.) My pussy is in view, and I’m visibly wet. I was wet again just looking at it.

Luckily, as I sat there studying the images of myself, I was naked. So there was no obstruction to me beginning to rub myself as I flicked back and forth between the photos. I lingered on the first picture the longest, despite the fact that I’m fully clothed in it, just because that trance face is so erotic. I could stare at myself staring at that spiral all day long.

I heard footsteps. “What’re you doing?” Richard’s voice asked, sounding amused.

“Just enjoying some mementos from last night.” I looked to my left. He was standing in the doorway of the lounge, which leads to a corridor that itself branches off to our bedroom, bathroom and spare room. Ours is not exactly a lavish apartment, but it has more than enough space for the two of us. Think of Leonard and Sheldon’s apartment from The Big Bang Theory, and you’ve pretty much got the layout of ours, except our lounge is narrower and deeper (it’s basically like theirs has been rotated 90 degrees). Also the paint job is generally darker shades than theirs.

“That poor sofa’s barely had a chance to recover,” he chuckled, walking over to join me. He sat to my right, which I noted with a wry smile, recalling that of the three couch cushions, the one on the right was the only one neither of us came on last night. Peering over my shoulder, he licked his lips (no, honestly, he did) at the sight of the first photo. “Mmm, I love that face,” he sighed.

“I know, right? Just look at me - nothing going on behind those eyes. It’s fucking hot!” I still had my fingers in my pussy as we talked, and I nodded in that direction with a small laugh. “Hence, y’know... this.”

He beamed. “Seems like you really are finding this as exciting as I am!”

“Oh, hell yes. I’m so glad we did this - I just wished you’d told me about your kink sooner. And I wish we were still going! I can’t wait for the next time...”

I trailed off at the sight of his frown. “But, whatever do you mean?” he said slowly. He sounded confused and ponderous, but I could tell he was play-acting. The use of the word ‘whatever’ was a dead giveaway.

Refusing to play along, I gave him a hard stare and asked, as obtusely and brattily as I could, “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

He kept up the façade, clearly enjoying it as he said in his most posh, British voice, “Why, my dear - we are still going.” When I continued to stare at him blankly, he added, “You’re still hypnotised.”

I laughed. “Bullshit, no I’m not! It can’t have lasted a full twenty-four hours! Everything I read suggests it would’ve worn off eventually, probably in my sleep. Maybe at some point you’ll be able to have me hypnotised for days on end, but this was our first time!”

He nodded thoughtfully. (Mock thoughtfully, I should say - he was still putting on an act to mess with me, even though he knew he wasn’t fooling me at all.) “I think I see what happened here. Tell me, what day did you find my hypnosis folder?”

“Monday,” I answered.

“And you talked to me about it on...”

“Thursday.” I shook my head in exasperation. “What’s with the recap?”

“What day is it today, babe?” he asked.

I gave him a mockingly dopey expression. “Uh, Saturday. Duh!”

“So, you think we had our first hypnosis session on...”

“Friday,” I sighed. “Obviously.”

But he was shaking his head. “No, we didn’t. We had our first session on Saturday - today. Tonight.”

I snorted dismissively. “No, dude, we did it yesterday! I gave you the day to prepare, to write that list of hypnotic suggestions for me to go through, and practice your inductions, your hypnotist patter. But neither of us could wait any longer, so we started last night.”

“Oh, no we didn’t!” He smiled teasingly. “I actually spent two days preparing, and we started the hypnosis tonight. About...” He checked the time. “An hour and a half ago, now. We just fucked on the sofa, and then I put you in trance and let you calm down a bit. Then I told you to forget that you were hypnotised and think that we did it all last night, and I sent the photos to your phone, and I woke you up and let you look at them for a bit while I went to the bathroom.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “No...” I said slowly. “I still don’t believe it... You couldn’t have me that far under control by now, could you? Forgetting what days things happened on, thinking I’m not hypnotised when I am?”

“It seems like I can, dear,” he said condescendingly.

I rolled my eyes, but smiled to take the sting out of it. “Nah, I still call bullshit. It was yesterday. You’re just gaslighting me, and it’s not gonna work.” I folded my arms firmly across my bare chest, indicating that I would brook no further argument.

“You’re absolutely sure that you’re not hypnotised? You’re positive it all happened last night, Friday night, not during the last hour and a half?”

“Sure as rocks are rocks,” I replied. “Sure as I am sure that I can’t have dairy. Sure as I’m sure that you know more about Doctor Who than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He grinned a very specific kind of grin, a satisfied, almost predatory glint in his eyes. I would come to fear that grin - this was the grin he used when he was about to drop the hammer and smash my reality apart.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, oh so innocently.

I opened my mouth to answer automatically, not even thinking about how odd the question was coming from my boyfriend of two years.

And then I closed it again, frowning. I got nothin’. I attempted to think of my name, trying harder and harder, but my brain just went blank. You know what it’s like, when you can’t remember a lyric from a song that you sing all the time, so you just hum the tune? Or you’re trying to think of an actor, but the name just won’t come to you? That’s what was happening with me just then. It’s disconcerting when that happens at all - but about a thousand times more so when it’s your own name.

“Oh, what the fuck?” I spluttered through astonished laughter, covering my mouth in shock.

“Your first name, come on,” he said teasingly. “What is it?”

I flapped my hands in front of me helplessly, staring at him in complete bewilderment. “I don’t know! I - I can’t think of it! What - how...” I tailed off, dissolving into helpless giggles of disbelief, burying my face in my hands.

“How about your last name?”

Nope. Couldn’t remember that, either. I kept my hands over my face, too embarrassed to look at him. I knew my brain-melt was entirely his fault, but it still felt humiliating not to be able to remember my fucking name. If he could make me forget that, surely he had complete power over my mind...

Fuck. That turned me on so much. At that moment, when I had that thought - and right now, writing this.

“Or hey, you’ve got a nickname,” he continued, in that same mocking tone that only served to enhance my feelings of powerlessness. “What’s that?”

I looked at him at last, blushing furiously. “My nickmane - nickname, I mean,” I stammered. “I - I know I had one... It was letters, wasn’t it?”

“Well done!” he said patronisingly, smiling at me like I was a puppy who’d learned a trick. I’m surprised he didn’t pat me on the head. “It was letters. Two letters. I’ll give you a hint - it was your initials. So, if you can just remember what your name started with...”

I really tried. Staring off into space in furious concentration, I ran through the alphabet in my head, to see if any of them sounded right. A, B, C, D, E, F... You get the picture - I thought of each one in turn. By the time I got to K, I was despairing. Every letter felt equally familiar - any one of them could’ve been the first letter of my name. Either name - first or last.

“Not getting very far, are ya?” he chuckled.

“Fuck off!” I told him, still gazing in front of me as I continued thinking as hard as I could.

“Would it help if I gave you some options?” he offered. “One of these is your real first name: Grace, Chloe, Alyssa, Danielle or Harley. Which is it?”

I took a gamble. “Danielle?” I said uneasily, pretty sure I was wrong. Then again, all the names sounded equally wrong - and equally right. A 20% chance was bad, but better than nothing.

He just raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel like a Danielle?”

I gave him a withering look. “I don’t know, dumbass, what does a Danielle feel like?”

He laughed loudly, raising his hands defensively. “Alright, fair enough! Anyway, it seems like you’re fighting a losing battle here...”

“So Danielle isn’t my name?”

He smirked. “What’s my name?”

“Richard,” I said automatically, then sighed. “Oh, that fucking figures. You let me remember your name.”

“I guess I’m pretty hard to forget,” he said, and winked at me.

Then we both burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you just did that, you loser,” I spluttered.

“I know, I could barely keep a straight face,” he wheezed. Regaining his composure, he gave me a piercing look. “So, still can’t remember your own name?”

“No. Assface.”

“You’re so mean to me,” he laughed.

I reached over and grabbed a cushion from the nearest armchair, then whacked him with it. “You’ve made me forget my name!”

“OK, OK! Mercy!” he cried as I continued to beat him with the cushion. “I’ll let you remember!”

I lowered my soft, squishy weapon. “You’d fucking better!”

“It actually wasn’t that hard to make you forget,” he told me matter-of-factly. “It’s just an extension of the ‘bound’ trigger. Like when I say a body part is bound and you can’t move it, I can describe a fact or a thought in your mind and say that that’s bound, and you can’t think it.”

“Shit, seriously?” He nodded. I whistled in amazement. “So you can do that with any thought, any memory - not just my name?”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned, and I could see the fires of excitement blazing in his eyes. “And I might just. But for the time being - name, release. So... what’s your name, babe?”

“Alyssa,” I said, sighing with relief. “Alyssa Johnson. AJ for short. Thank God for that! That was the weirdest thing ever. Even compared to all the other weird shit we’ve done tonight...”

He frowned thoughtfully. “So you remember that it was tonight we did the hypnosis on, then?”

I stared at him for a moment, considering this. It was hard to think all of a sudden - my memories of the hypnosis session and when it had happened were cloudy. Earlier I’d been positive that it had happened yesterday, but now I wasn’t so sure, probably because the name amnesia had proven to me that the session was still very much underway.

“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly. “I don’t really remember clearly... It’s like, I remember it happening yesterday, but I know now that it happened today, so... the days are blurring together.”

“Hmmm. I didn’t consider that,” he said. “Don’t worry about the confusion, though - it’s nothing to be concerned about. All your memories’ll sort themselves out once I take you out of hypnosis later tonight. It’s not a problem, just an unforeseen glitch.”

I shrugged. “OK. I mean, it doesn’t freak me out nearly as much as losing my name did!”

“But you remember it now, right? Still?”

“Yup,” I confirmed, nodding. “Alyssa. Hi!” I gave him a little wave, giggling slightly.

He smiled back at me, but it was that mischievous smile that indicated he was up to no good. “Name bound,” he said. “What was it, again? I didn’t quite catch that...”

Just like earlier, I opened my mouth to answer, but my brain seemed to say ‘no results found’. I gave him a look of mortified confusion and another frantic arm-flap. “Seriously?!” I practically yelled. “I just said it! How can it be gone again?”

Richard laughed uproariously. “That’s so cool! I was wondering if that’d still work so well if you’d just said your name a few seconds ago - and as it turns out, it did! Fantastic!”

“Oh yeah, great,” I snapped. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself so much.” I looked and sounded annoyed, but he knew I was just being bratty. On the inside, I was very amused - and so turned on. (Then again, that was probably very clear to him anyway. As I mentioned, I was still stark naked.)

“Do you want to know the real beauty of the bound suggestion?” he asked, leaning towards me, looking, if anything, even more excited. I could practically hear his heart pounding. “Right now, I can say your name out loud - first name, last name, nickname, whatever - and after I say it, you still won’t be able to remember it. You won’t be able to think of it.”

I stared at him. OK, that was a bridge too far, surely. “Wait, hold on a second there, Hypno-boy...”

“I prefer ‘The Mesmeric Master’, but go on.”

“Dork. Anyway, you said my name earlier, when you gave me those options! I was able to think of all five of them just fine afterwards...”

He wagged a finger at me. “Ah, but I didn’t tell you which one was your real name! It’s a loophole, babe.”

I folded my arms again, making sure they covered my boobs. The petulantly defiant mood I was in at that moment, I didn’t want him enjoying the sight. “Fine. Go ahead. What’s my name?”

“Your name is Alyssa,” he answered immediately. His eyes narrowed. “So what’s your name?”

I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish. “I... I don’t know,” I admitted.

He was visibly trying to contain his glee. “I’ll say it again. This time, really try to remember, OK?”

I rolled my eyes at his blatant condescension, blushing at the same time as it made me feel more powerless and more aroused.

“Your name,” he said slowly, enunciating carefully, “is Alyssa.”

As he spoke, I concentrated furiously. I hear him say every syllable: Al-liss-ah. Then I went back and tried to replay it in my mind, starting with the first syllable.

Nothing. No clue. I’d just heard it, literally one second ago, and I’d already forgotten. The second syllable too, and the third, and the fourth... Wait, were there four or three? Or two? Or five? I couldn’t even remember how many syllables my name was any more.

I shook my head helplessly. “Nope,” I practically whimpered, flattening the palms of my hands against either side of my head. “It just won’t stick!”

“Aw, poor Alyssa,” he teased. “Poor AJ. Just can’t cling on to your name, can you?”

I gave him a sulky look. “Stooop,” I moaned. “I don’t deserve this treatment!”

“Well, that’s debatable,” he chuckled. “After all, you’ve been very rude to me tonight. I think some payback is justified.”

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Being able to control my thoughts, screw with my memories...”

He raised his hands in a ‘what did you expect’ kind of gesture. “Of course I am! And let’s be honest, I’m not the only one, am I? Admit it.”

I pointedly looked away from him then, staring in the opposite direction. “No. I will not admit that. I refuse to say anything on the subject. I plead the Fifth.”

“I’m English, remember? We don’t have the Fifth. We tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So come on, tell the truth now - how does all this make you feel? Being amnesiac, helpless, and under my power?”

Under my power. Hearing him say it sent a big ripple of pleasure through me. My clit hummed for so long, it could’ve been performing a song. I kept my mouth tightly shut and shook my head, still looking away, refusing to answer or to let any excited noises escape from within me.

“Fine,” I heard him say playfully. “If that’s how you want to do this... Your ability to lie, or to not answer a question, is bound. Now, whenever you’re asked a question, you have to respond, and you have to do it honestly.”

I finally looked back at him, frowning. Surely this wouldn’t work...

“How do you feel right now, Alyssa?”

“I’m so fucking horny,” I blurted.

“How does it feel to not be able to remember your name? To hear me say it and not be able to keep it in your brain?”

“It’s awesome,” I sighed, feeling pleasure course through me. “I’ve never felt so controlled, so powerless... I love it. I love it.” I bounced in my seat a little, unable to contain my ecstasy.

“There,” he said triumphantly. “That wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

“No...” It was then that I remembered I was meant to be trying to be bratty and defiant. Fixing him with a glare, I slowly raised my hand and extended my middle finger.

“Good answer!” he chortled. “Are you really pissed off with me?”

“Yes... and no,” I replied begrudgingly. “I’m not actually mad at you - I fucking love being so helpless, feeling so weak and compelled, having to do whatever you say. But I’m not gonna make it easy for you - then it wouldn’t be as much fun!”

“True enough,” he nodded. He stood up, stretching his arms and legs. “OK, I think I’m gonna mess with you some more now,” he told me.

“Or,” I said quickly, “you could let go of my mind? Give me my name back, and let me not have to tell you the truth any more?”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you really want that?”

“No. Yes,” I said, trying hard to resist the compulsion to give an honest answer. “Yes, I - no I don’t. Fuck.”

He was visibly amused. He’d been visibly amused for about two hours now. “Alright, AJ, you poor, flustered thing, I’ll make you a deal - an exchange, I guess. I’ll give you back either your name or your Fifth Amendment rights, but in return I take away something else from your mind...”

I stared at him. “What kind of deal is that?!”

“The only kind you’re getting,” he said firmly, that vindictive smile back in place.

I shivered from a chill of fear, which paired nicely with the simultaneous pulse of arousal. “God, I’m starting to think I made a mistake letting you hack my brain...”

“Well, as long as everything’s still lime,” he said carefully - prompting a hurried nod from me, which he responded to with a relieved smile before returning to his tormenting hypnotist persona - “then it’s too late now. You don’t have any choice in the matter any more. So, which do you want back more? Your name, or your ability to not respond to questions truthfully or at all?”

I felt compelled to answer, but I wasn’t sure which I wanted more. Truth be told, both restrictions frustrated and thrilled me in nearly equal measure. Not knowing my name made me feel stupid, and kind of scared - I needed it so I could go through life like a functioning person! But at the same time, having no name, no identity, just being this anonymous thing under mind control... Mmmm, that’s the good shit right there. Always drives me wild just thinking about it.

In the same way, having to honestly answer his every question made me feel completely helpless, open and exposed - like my mind, heart and soul were just as naked as my body - which turned me on a storm too. But then again, I really liked being a brat and giving him a hard time. (I wonder if a part of me, deep down, realised that day that resisting and frustrating him would just lead him to be crueller and take away more of my mind? I’ve certainly realised that by now, and I can assure you I’m taking full advantage of it!)

“Tick tock, AJ. What’s it gonna be?”

“I want to be able to not answer, and to lie,” I said finally.

He nodded as if he expected me to say this. (Later, he admitted to me that he did expect it. Shows how well he knows me, eh?) “Very well. Your ability to lie and not answer questions is released. Still horny, by the way?”

I just stuck my tongue out at him.

“And she’s back,” he laughed. “But don’t celebrate too soon, poor, nameless Alyssa, because your free will is bound.”

My eyebrows shot up. “My - my free will?” I said uneasily.

“Yup,” he grinned. “And now, you just do whatever you’re told.”

“OK, that is not a fair exchange!” I protested. “I get to not answer questions, but I have to give up my free will? That’s like, ten times worse! Plus you could presumably just order me to answer questions now anyway...”

“Oh yeah, didn’t think of that.” He shrugged. “Ah well. Them’s the breaks, babe.”

As I glared at him, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, like a supervillain stroking his beard. (He sometimes has a goatee, but not that day. I don’t mind either way, but when he does let his beard grow, he usually shaves it off pretty quickly because the hairs make his face itchy. I digress. You don’t care.) “The big question now,” he said slowly, “is what to do with you first? So many choices...”

“You could tell me to put my feet up and relax,” I suggested.

He gave me a withering look. “Nice try. Alright, let’s start small. Suck your thumb.”

It was like my body acted before my brain could catch up - before I had time to think about it, my thumb was already in my mouth.

“Oh, why woul’ you ’oo tha’?” I sighed, struggling to articulate around the digit as I gave him a look of bemused outrage.

“Because,” he said earnestly, as if his explanation was going to be hugely important and make sense of everything, “it’s... hilarious.” And he winked at me.

I rolled my eyes, trying hard not to smile - and to move my thumb, which remained obstinately in place. I could feel it growing moister by the second as saliva collected in my mouth.

“Start sucking on it like a lollipop,” Richard told me. “Up and down, in and out...”

I went to work on it, giving him another exasperated glare. But my consternation vanished as he smiled and said, “Good girl,” sending a big ripple of pleasure through me, which prompted me to slightly speed up the movement of my thumb.

“OK, that’s enough,” he chuckled after a few more seconds, “you can take it out of your mouth now.”

With a wet popping sound, I immediately removed the thumb, scrunching up my face in displeasure. “Ewwww,” I groaned, wiping my hand on my bare leg. “Why, dude? Why? God, now it’s soaking wet...”

“Is it, now?” he giggled.

“Shut up, man. You’re such an ass, I can’t believe you.”

“But didn’t it feel good, having to do as you’re told? Even if it was something really stupid?”

I didn’t answer, just crossed my arms and lowered my gaze sulkily.

He tutted. “Oh dear, you’re gonna make this difficult, aren’t you? And after you were such a good girl earlier.” I suppressed a whimper. He continued in a sing-song voice, “Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to get on with it, then. Put your hands behind your head, crossed over at the wrists.”

Unfolding my arms, I raised them and held them together behind my head, like I was bound at the wrists. Squirming slightly in my seat and starting to breathe more rapidly as the pose riled up my pussy, I rolled my eyes at him again. “Seriously? This again? Y-you can’t think of anything mo-more original?”

“If it ain’t broke,” he grinned, and he reached out and pinched my right nipple. I let out a gasp, then bit my lip to stop myself from moaning as he squeezed my tit.

“I don’t know about you,” Richard chuckled as his hand moved over to my left boob, “but I’m really enjoying this.”

Me too. “Bet you are,” I snarked, having returned to my sulky expression and glaring away from him.

He let go of me after a minute or so and leaned back, admiring the sight of me. “You know what? I’m kind of tired,” he said finally. “I’d kind of like to put my feet up... Get on all fours in front of the sofa. You’re gonna be my footstool.”

I gave him a look of open-mouthed outrage, even as I began to get up from my seat. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Deadly serious,” he replied. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it too.”

I tried resisting, just to see if I could - but, of course, I couldn’t. My body acted seemingly of its own accord, kneeling down in front of the couch and leaning forwards, putting my hands flat on the carpet. I suddenly felt his feet gently but firmly situate themselves on my back.

“Ah, that’s better,” he sighed.

I struggled to move from my position, to no avail - each failed attempt to move only served to turn me on even more. But I continued to contain my noises of arousal, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I can’t believe you’re d-doing this to me,” I stammered. “You’re such a pr-prick!”

“Come on,” I heard him say, “you can’t expect me not to make use of this!”

“I expected you to fuck me, not make me into furniture! You could just put your feet up on the couch...”

“One: what on Earth would be the fun in that? And two: we don’t have a couch. We’ve got a sofa.”

I couldn’t give him my usual stubborn glare because I was at the wrong angle, but I glared ahead of myself instead, imagining the armchair was him. “It’s a couch,” I said defiantly.

“It’s a sofa,” he replied, equally resolute.

“Couch.”

“Sofa.”

“Couch.”

“Sofa. You know, footstools don’t normally talk quite so much...”

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” I teased. It was only after I finished that sentence that I realised perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest thing to say.

He didn’t answer for a moment, but I could picture that wicked smile on his face again.

“W-wait,” I said quickly, “just hold on now, I know what you’re thinking, but just wait a sec... Don’t do anything I might regret!”

“AJ, m’dear...” he said, and I could hear the relish in his voice.

“No, come on, dude, don’t do it, don’t do it -”

“Silence,” he commanded.

And I obeyed. I couldn’t help it. My voice cut out mid-sentence, unable to make a sound. When I realised I was completely mute, a big surge of pleasure swept through me. My clit wasn’t just humming any more, it was belting out the national anthem. I thought I could feel my juices trickling down my legs, but it might’ve been my imagination - I’m still not sure either way!

The worst part, though, was that I couldn’t express it at all. I was locked in place, and my voice had deserted me - I couldn’t produce so much as a whimper. And right now, all I wanted to do was moan, long and loud. Ironic, after all the time I spent trying to suppress my excited noises just to spite Richard. I was regretting it now. All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and try to ride the waves of pleasure, panting desperately.

“Good girl,” Richard said softly, which did not help at all with my plight. “Trapped in place, helpless, powerless, so turned on... You must be in agony right now, you poor thing! You’re absolutely dripping wet, and you can’t do anything about it. Can’t move, can’t cry out... Completely controlled by my words, completely obedient to my commands... No will of your own...”

I bit my lip hard, shaking my head from side to side as his words, which were so accurately describing my reality, continued to increase the pleasure I felt. God, I wanted to touch myself so badly. I wanted to rub my clit until I came, screaming at the top of my lungs. But I was bound in place, a silent, shuddering, horny object.

“Alright, this is too mean,” he chuckled. “You can make a little noise if you want, just not too loud. And you can take one hand and touch yourself, if you like.”

I went straight for my pussy with my left hand, while my right arm continued to hold me up. As my fingers went to work, I whimpered and moaned quietly.

“Bring yourself right to the edge...” Richard told me. “Right to the brink... So close...”

I mean, technically he’d ordered me to do it, but he didn’t have to. I was already nearly there, on the very precipice of orgasm. Just a few more seconds...

“But don’t cum.”

What? I whined in horror.

“You can’t orgasm,” he said, his voice trembling with excitement and amusement. “You can get so close, just a whisper away, right on the brink... but you can’t go over the edge. You’re not allowed. You can only go up to the edge, and no further.”

I sobbed with frustration, continuing to rub myself frantically. Surely, he couldn’t stop me from orgasming, could he? Even his control, which seemed absolute, couldn’t be that powerful...

Spoiler alert: it absolutely was. I kept going for what felt like hours, pleasuring myself mercilessly on all fours in front of the couch, my boyfriend’s feet on my back, my right arm starting to bend from exhaustion and dip my torso towards the floor, my knees growing sore from carpet-burn. Try as I might, I simply couldn’t make myself cum. I could take myself as close as humanly possible, feeling as aroused as I’d ever been - more aroused than I’d ever been, even earlier in the night - but that was where I stayed.

It was torture.

It was ecstasy.

“Stop,” he told me at last, removing his feet from my back. “Kneel up for me, hands on your thighs.”

Gasping for breath, I slowly, shakily got up from my footstool position and got myself upright, leaning back and putting my weight on my back legs. I gave him a look that, I think, accurately conveyed how upset I was that I hadn’t got to orgasm, and how desperate I still was to finish myself off.

He grinned. “You look a little put out, babe! Oh, you can speak again and make normal sounds now.”

“Fuck you,” I groaned. “Why? I’m so fucking horny, I need to finish. Come on!”

He leaned forwards, his eyes roaming my body, taking delight in every detail. “Beg me,” he whispered.

“Please, please,” I spluttered immediately, compelled to beg, both by his command and my own insatiable hunger for orgasm. “God, oh please, I’m begging you, please let me cum, I’ll do anything, please, I need to cum, please!”

He gave an elated sigh. “No, not yet. First, tell me you’re completely under my power.”

“I’m completely under your power,” I replied immediately.

“Tell me you are obedient and submissive.”

“I am obedient and submissive.”

“You’re my hypnotised slave.”

“I’m your hypnotised slave. Mmmm...” I shuddered, the mantras he was giving me sending more pleasure rippling through me.

He began to unbutton his jeans. “You’re my entranced plaything.”

“I’m your entranced plaything - fu-uck...”

He moved forwards in his seat, his erect cock now out. It was not far away from my face. Was he expecting me to give him a blowjob? I wouldn’t mind, but it had been his idea, early in our relationship, to rule out oral sex completely, whether it was my mouth on his lower half or his on mine. He’s a bit wary of hygiene - he always says “It’s easier to wash your hands than your mouth.” Hence, handjobs are still very much allowed. I guess that must be what he’s after.

“You’re my mind-controlled pleasure doll.”

I nodded eagerly. “I’m your mind-controlled pleasure doll!”

He grinned coldly. “I am your Master, and you will obey me.”

“You are my Master,” I told him earnestly, “and I will obey you...”

“Fuck,” he sighed. “I like that one. Must be the Doctor Who reference! OK, continue to repeat that while you give me a handjob.”

“You are my Master, and I will obey you,” I repeated, reaching forwards with one hand and beginning to stroke his dick. “You are my Master, and I will obey you... You are my Master, and I will obey you...” My gaze drifted back and forth between his penis, which grew harder and harder as it felt my gentle touch, and his enraptured face staring down at me. “You are my Master, and I will obey you... You are my Master, and I will obey you...”

I was barely even aware that I was still saying the mantra, my mouth moving automatically and my voice producing the words of its own accord. And yet I could hear it as clearly as ever - my own voice proclaiming my complete submission, seeming to sink into my mind, making it truer and truer every time I said it. I had no idea if that was an effect that Richard had suggested to me while I was in trance, or if my own subconscious was making it happen, so caught up in the submissive, obedient feelings I was experiencing...

“You are my Master, and I will obey you... You are my Master, and I will obey you...” I continued to caress him as he moaned delightedly. “You are my Master, and I will obey you... You are my Master, and I will obey you...”

“Mmmm... five more times...” he gurgled. “Say it five more times, and then you can orgasm during the fifth, as long and as hard as you want...”

My breathing quickened as I spluttered excitedly, “You are my Master and I will obey you - you’re my Master and I will obey you -”

“Slower,” he ordered sharply, “the same pace as before - don’t speed up. Three more, AJ, just three more...”

I forced myself to slow down again as I continued: “You are my Master, and I will obey you... You are my Master, and I will obey you... You are my Ma-ah-aaaah-ster!” I cried as the orgasm finally hit me, sending my body into convulsions. I threw my head back, eyes tight shut, and yelled, “and I will obey yooooou!”

The climax felt like it went on for hours, rocking me back and forth as I remained kneeling on the carpet, roaring at the top of my voice. Not very ladylike, but I was way past caring. Jesus Christ, that was the most intense, brutal orgasm I’d ever had! And I’m certain it was because Richard had made me wait for it, denying me the pleasure of a quick release to make the end result twice as powerful. Fuck a doodle doo, I almost came again writing about it now!

Richard got his happy ending as well - I don’t know exactly when, but I think he came in my hand fairly early on in my tremendous orgasm. Can’t say I blame him. So now both of us were wet sloppy messes. As my own pleasure finally subsided, I wanted to flop forwards and just lie down on the carpet, I was so exhausted. Sweat was falling off my head, shoulders and back like rainfall. I could barely string together a coherent thought. I felt ruined. I felt broken. I felt wonderful.

“You can lie down now if you want,” he told me, breathing heavily. Without hesitation, I unfolded my legs from beneath me (which was a bit of a struggle - they’d gone numb from the amount of time I spent kneeling on them) and lay back on the carpet, which felt refreshingly cool against my sweaty back.

Richard leaned over me. “How are you feeling right now, babe?”

“Good,” I mumbled, looking up at him through half-closed eyes. “Spent. Completely... out of energy...”

“Yeah, I’m knackered too,” he admitted. “It might be time to call it a night, don’t you think?”

“Yeah... Master,” I added automatically.

He gave me a tired, but enthusiastic, smile. “God, I love that. Alright, take a deep breath in...”

I did as he instructed.

“And, spiral.”

“Uhh...” And for the last time that evening, down I went into trance.

***

And that was pretty much the end of our evening. After a few minutes of drifting in hypnotic sleep, during which Richard removed all of my triggers for the time being and restored my free will and my memory of my name, I felt myself gradually waking up at his instruction. My eyes flickered open, and I looked up at him and grinned. “Hey,” I said simply.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, gazing down at me lovingly. “Need a hand?”

He helped me to my feet, at which point I noticed that my hand was still coated with his cum, which had begun to dry. “I might need a shower,” I remarked, “and then I think I’m gonna have to go to bed!”

“Yeah, me too,” he nodded. “I’m just gonna give the couch a wipe, and then I’m turning in...”

I raised an eyebrow. “Couch? What couch? That’s a sofa, dummy.”

He grinned. “Right. My mistake.”

Yeah, he slipped a little post-hypnotic suggestion in there, making me call our couch a sofa instead. It was a couple of days before I realised what he’d done, and I hit him in the arm in retaliation. Cheeky bastard.

So yeah, I showered, washing off both my and my boyfriend’s juices, and then joined him in bed, letting him spoon me. We were so exhausted, it took only a few minutes before we both passed out, his arms around me, holding me gently. The last thing he said to me before we fell asleep was, “Thank you so much for tonight, AJ. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” I whispered back. “And I can’t wait for next time!”

Hopefully, you guys can’t wait either. Well, don’t worry - that may have been the end of the night, but it is far from the end of the story...