“Don’t you dare!”
It was too late, though; Miranda was already running out the bedroom with a giggle, and Stephen could only enjoy the site of her shapely back as she bounced away from him. He was tangled in the sheets—and still erect from their teasing play—and couldn’t get off the bed in time to chase her down. If it had been a fair fight, she’d never have made it to the kitchen, where her notebook waited on the little round dining table; he was so much taller and longer-limbed than his petite girlfriend she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Instead, he could only yell through the open doorway as he tried to disentangle himself from the sheets, careful not to painfully jostle his throbbing dick, lately lengthened by Miranda’s skilled fingers, just gentle enough to tease him to full hardness while they talked about the newest way she could fuck with his mind.
“You’d better not write that down!”
She didn’t bother to answer, even to giggle at him. He could already imagine her scribbling away in her notebook, tongue poking out the side of her mouth in one of the unconscious gestures he found so adorable. Her eyes wide and gleaming as she imagined toying with Stephen in a fun new way.
He marched through the door into the kitchen, trying to maintain a dignified pose even as his prick jutted and wobbled in front of him, as though to announce, “Your naked, horny plaything has arrived!”
But Miranda wasn’t writing. She was sitting at the table, her notebook in front of her, the sea-green cover closed. She held her pen at the ready, and she was just watching him. Her eyes *were* wide and gleaming, and she was smiling.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” She asked, in the oh-so-innocent voice that never failed to fill him with an arousing sense of dread and *I’m-so-screwed* anticipation. “You don’t want me to record that little slip of the tongue?
“You don’t want me to remember it, so later I can use it against you?”
“I—” Stephen had a sarcastic reply all ready to go, but then Miranda casually flipped the cover of her notebook open, and a funny feeling came over him.
It started at the top of his head: a tingling, Miranda’s imagined fingertips massaging his scalp. Instead of relaxing him, however, he stiffened, his muscles growing rigid to match his erection. He found himself staring at a point over Miranda’s head, unable to move his eyes. He certainly couldn’t spy on what she was writing.
He couldn’t even move.
He felt confused, but pleasantly dazed and passive. It felt good, and erotic, to stand at attention while Miranda took her time, writing down her latest ideas for hypnotically controlling him.
It seemed only fitting to be under her hypnotic control while she did that.
And it made him throb with painful pleasure to realize he was under her hypnotic control. He didn’t remember her installing the trigger—that’s what he assumed this was, why she’d waited to flip open her notebook until he could see her. He wondered, through the dreamy haze that clouded his thoughts, when she would release him.
Miranda flipped the notebook shut and put her pen on the table, and suddenly Stephen could move. He shivered reflexively, free of the rigid pose he’d snapped into. His girlfriend just continued to smile at him, with that look that said, *“I got you again.”*
He glared, but couldn’t sell it—he was smiling, too. “You’re not even pretending to play fair anymore, are you, babe?”
She cocked her head forward, a tangle of hair falling over her eyes. It was coquettish and cute; she knew he couldn’t resist it, and Stephen didn’t want to. He swept across the room, bent over the table, put his hands on either side of her head, and kissed her deeply. Their tongues met, and she reached out and found his cock, and started stroking it. It wasn’t very long until they were in the bedroom again.
It was late when Stephen opened his eyes. He lay very still in the dark, until the sound of Miranda’s breathing told him she was asleep. She was curled in a ball, her back pressed against his, small and warm. Normally he would have thrown an arm over her and cuddled, but tonight he’d decided on a mission.
He was going to see what was in that notebook once and for all.
It was the trigger that made up his mind: the fact she’d went to that trouble to ensure he couldn’t peek over her shoulder, as erotic as it was, only filled him with curiosity. While he was normally happy to let Miranda surprise him with her sexy ideas for play, tonight he wanted to know.
He slid very quietly out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. He remembered doing something similar when he was a kid; knowing it was a dumb idea and he’d get in trouble if caught, he nonetheless crept down the stairs—grimacing and waiting an interminable minute every time one of the treads creaked under his small feet—just to have a little more Rocky Road.
There were no stairs now, and he smirked at the thought of getting in trouble. Whatever punishment his little sweetheart might come up with, he suspected he’d enjoy it. Most of her “punishments” ended with both of them cumming, hard, and collapsing in a sweaty tangle in each other’s arms.
He carefully shut the door to the bedroom behind him, so Miranda wouldn’t be disturbed when he flipped on the light over the dining table. Her notebook was still there left behind when he’d practically carried her back to bed. It looked so innocent, just like she did, with its sea-green cover and just the title “Stephen Notes” written in her careful, loopy handwriting in the little white box centered on the cover for that purpose.
Tired as he was, his cock stirred in his boxers at the thought of the notebook’s contents. He forced himself to sit in the chair, turn the book towards him, instead of just flipping it open and devouring whatever was inside. He took a deep breath, and opened the book.
The entries were dated, and went back a few months, from the time she first started hypnotizing him. Actually, the first entry was from slightly before—when they’d only flirted about the idea of her taking control.
Stephen grinned at Miranda’s excited handwriting—”Gave him a trigger to go back into trance today, and he dropped so deep!!!”—he loved her enthusiasm, and it turned him on to have her playing with his mind. He flipped a few pages, trying to find the latest entry to see what she’d made of his offhand remark earlier in the day.
The page he landed on had a spiral squiggled in the corner in bright green pen. His eyes were drawn to it automatically, and the words in block capitals written on top:
It hit him harder and faster than the triggered immobility when Miranda opened the notebook. His eyes slammed shut, and he felt himself plummet into blankness.
“...on the count of... count of... *oh fuck!* count of three!” It was Miranda’s voice, hazy and far away, but coming closer as awareness returned.
“One... ohhhh God!”
Stephen found his eyes opening, sensation returning to his body... a LOT of sensation.
Disoriented, he realized Miranda was above him, her eyes squeezed shut, her face contorted in ecstasy, the kind of expression she made before she...
“Ohhh fuck! Threeeeeefffuuuccck....”
As she came, she managed to squeal out the last number, and Stephen awoke. No longer in trance, he was nonetheless frozen in place, this time on his back. They were in bed, and she was riding his cock—throbbing and stiff and, like the rest of his body, motionless even as her pussy squeezed tight around its length.
“Mmmm... Mirrr...anda?” It was hard to speak, as though he hadn’t used his voice in a while. He felt amazing all over, but, as awareness returned, frustration at his paralysis came with it; he wanted to grab her hips and fuck her, give as good as he was getting, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from her face, supposed he was lucky he could at least move his lips.
The thought came to him that she was just using him like a dildo with a man attached, and his face grew hot. His cock tried to strain inside her, but it was as susceptible to her control as the rest of his body.
She was coming down from her orgasm, hands flat on his chest, lowering herself down carefully so she could nuzzle against him. He tried to put his arms around her and stroke her hair the way he usually did in the afterglow, but he was still bound by her suggestion.
“Miranda... when did? I don’t... remember...” His mind tried to run in reverse, but it leapt a big black gap in his memory. The cover of her notebook, sneaking into the kitchen, getting out of bed, their previous lovemaking session... However he’d gone from the kitchen table to being stiff and frozen in bed with Miranda riding him, the memory was gone.
*Erased,* he realized, and his cock tried its best to twitch again.
The complete control Miranda had over his mind—even as she curled up against him, so small and gentle, kissing his collarbone—drove him crazy with desire. If only he could move... but no matter how warm and wet and delicious her still-pulsing pussy felt along his shaft, he couldn’t thrust, couldn’t do anything. He wondered if she’d at least let him cum, now that she was finished with him.
“Miranda? Baby?” He asked, softly. He was hoping she wouldn’t just fall asleep and leave him frozen in place.
She murmured something back to him. He tried to stroke her hair again, was again reminded that his body was locked in place when his arms stayed resolutely at his sides.
“Would you... uh... c-can I? It’s just... I’m...”
She looked up at him sleepily, until she realized what he meant. Then her eyes gleamed. It was the same gleam he’d seen earlier that day, the gleam that made his stomach drop, realizing she was formulating yet another mischievous torment.
“Ohh! You can’t move at all, can you, sweetie? And you can’t cum, either...” She sang the last bit, like it was a schoolyard taunt.
Stephen could only whine in desperation. She started to slide slowly off of his still-rigid shaft. Pinning him with that same wicked, teasing stare.
“That gives me an ideeeaaa...”
“Miranda... ohhh...” His cock twitched a final time as her pussy released him, and she rolled to the side so she could hop out of bed. Stephen remained frozen in place, at her pleasure.
“Wait right there!” She giggled, and hurried into the kitchen, no doubt to write her latest scheme in her little sea-green notebook.
“Miranda, No! Come back here!” He shouted after her, but he knew it was pointless. Ever since he’d agreed to become her hypnotized plaything, she kept coming up with new ways to play with him. And thus far he’d been helpless to resist every single one of them.
And they were all written in that darn little notebook! She never even bothered to keep it hidden. One day, Stephen told himself. One day he’d say “to hell with it!” and he’d just flip the cover open and take a good look inside.