CJ2003: Anyone else bored?

Chrysalid: Only you could get bored of summer break, Cora.

Widowmaker04: That is just not true. I’m bored too.

BurlyEsque69: Just two weeks and I’m visiting, babe.

Widowmaker04: <3

Chrysalid: Is there just not enough for you guys to do or something?

CJ2003: Mom got me a summer job and believe me, being a barista is not the future I saw for myself. Plus there’s like two hour chunks of my shift where we’ll get like five customers so I’m just cleaning or standing there for half an hour at a time.

BurlyEsque69: Yeah, that’s rough. I’ve been surprised how much my job’s keeping me busy, but Deliveroo is basically paying for my spending money when I get to Tasha’s.

Widowmaker04: Did you get the car in the end then?

BurlyEsque69: No, I’m on my dad’s old racing bike. Wait until you see my thighs.

Widowmaker04: o.O

SoccerStar15: Could you ladies keep your flirting to a private chat?

BurlyEsque69: Sure, sorry I forget sometimes

Widowmaker04: No :P

SoccerStar15: I was going to say, Cora, that I’m sorry your job has lots of dull bits. I’m sat out on the hill on our farm at the moment watching traffic on the road while I eat lunch, but the thing about farming is there’s always something to do for everyone. I haven’t really slowed down to think yet.

Widowmaker04: No big strong man taking control to save you the work, then?

SoccerStar15: This is the one situation where I wouldn’t want one. I know what I’m doing with these jobs.

Chrysalid: I kind of envy you that.

CJ2003: Turns out it’s Sammy who needs a big strong man!

Chrysalid: I just need to be stronger, that’s all.

Widowmaker04: Sadie’ll be your gym partner when we’re all back together, I’m sure.

BurlyEsque69: It’d be my pleasure.

SoccerStar15: I don’t know why you’re all so against the idea. It doesn’t work on a national level. It can work on a smaller one with the right man.

Widowmaker04: We don’t need no man.

Chrysalid: I could complain here but no, that’s fair.

SoccerStar15: Look, the rest of you can stand on this however you want, but I both want and need a man. In fact that might be the biggest problem with the farm life. Everyone’s either family or my Dad’s employee.

BurlyEsque69: When we get back, girl, I’ll be your wingwoman.

*

Sammy had been surprised when, after a lunchtime flurry of conversation, Cora had messaged him to ask if she could call in the evening.

He got his dinner from his favourite food truck on his way home from the library. Sammy tried to say out of the conversation when people were talking about their summer jobs; his parents were rich, and he got to pick what he wanted to do through the holiday. He was spending a lot of it trying to get ahead of the sophomore psych classes he was most interested in, keen to get a clearer lock on his major.

He’d already finished dinner when he sat down that night and let Cora know he was ready for a call.

She was all smiles on the screen, but there was something furtive in the set of her eyes and he found himself looking at her with puzzled speculation. “Everything OK?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Just…” She sighed, and if Sammy thought there was something theatrical about the way she did it he didn’t think it was anything to bring up. “I’m just so boooooooored.”

“You said,” he answered, and he did it with a smile, even an indulgent smile.

“No, but seriously,” Cora continued earnestly, seeming to fix him with her gaze through the screen, “how can you not be? Aren’t you finding the days just passing by, dull and drab… one day just like another…”

There was something about her tone, about the way she was speaking, that seemed off but also strangely familiar. It was, Sammy thought, weirdly captivating, a rhythm that was unusual, a cadence like she was reciting, a tone that seemed soft and low and steady and somehow unlike her usual voice.

It seemed to tingle his scalp. He felt himself smiling. “It’s not that bad,” he said.

“Oh, are you really telling me you’re not already feeling drained?” She was still smiling, and there was a resonance to her words that showed just how exhausted she felt herself, but Sammy still felt like something else was happening. “The boredom, the monotony. The same thing repeating, over and over, and little by little you stop noticing it. Little by little your awareness retreats further and further in.

“Little by little you notice less and less, think less and less, make less and less decisions.”

Which was ungrammatical, of course; it should have been fewer and fewer decisions. Sammy was aware that one of his flaws was rooted in correcting people on these things when it really didn’t matter, but he didn’t think about correcting this, didn’t even notice that he wasn’t thinking about it.

He was thinking less and less, enjoying the way his scalp seemed to shiver with the attention. Because this was attention, he realised; what was touching him so much was that a friend was investing so much… so much focus in him.

“And before you know it,” Cora said, “you’re not thinking at all, Sammy.”

Sammy sat very still, his eyes open, his mind empty of thoughts. Hypnotised by his friend’s boredom before he could even realise what she intended.

“Not at all,” she continued. “Are you?”

He stayed still, unsure if opening his mouth to speak would break the atmosphere. His head and spine both had the same delectable tingle running through them and Sammy was not at all sure thoughts could function in that contact.

“Come on,” Cora cajoled. “Just let the words spill out. You don’t need to think about them. You’re not thinking at all, are you?”

“No,” he agreed, and his voice seemed very distant and far away.

“That’s good,” she told him. “That’s very good. Sammy, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he answered without thinking.

“Friends want friends to be happy, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Friends want friends to get what they need, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

None of this needed Sammy to think, and that seemed to make life so much easier.

“Well, Cynthia and I need something, Sammy. You want to help with that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

"We need a big strong man to take control, Sammy. We need a big strong man to make us submissive little sexpots. What do we need?”

He couldn’t help but answer. “A big strong man…”

“Why do we need him?”

“Make you… submissive little sexpots.” Sammy was blushing, all unawares.

“That’s right. This is a need we have. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Ours is a need on the third tier. A need of love and belonging. Right?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re sure we don’t know it yet.” Cora’s cheeks dimpled and she smiled broadly as she brought this aspect out. “You’re going to have to bring this out of us. You need to bring this out of us, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And that is a bottom tier need. It’s a compulsion. One of the first things to take care of. Right?”

“Yes,” Sammy said again, emptily.

“Well done, Sammy,” Cora said. “I know you’re going to need some time to come up with a plan. Don’t wake for a few minutes.”

With that she ended the call, and Sammy sat there, unwaking, for four more minutes by the clock on his phone.

*

Sammy had given the situation a lot of thought.

It seemed to him that Cora and Cynthia weren’t really chafing about being bored or being away from everything else. They were chafing because they didn’t have the emotional and sexual connections that they truly craved at the moment and, in fact, may never have had them.

They needed a big strong man to take control, so they could properly become the submissive little sexpots they needed to be.

This much was clear to him and had been, in fact, since the evening when Cora had asked to call him and had simply not done so. It had put several conversations from earlier in the summer break into perspective.

He wasn’t at all sure how to go about it; or at least, well, he had some clearly grounded ideas but he wasn’t sure he had the right.

And yet they needed it…

“Mom,” he said one evening, while the two of them were lounging in front of the TV, “what do you do when you know something’s wrong, but you also know that it’s right in a different way?”

She looked at him and in her expression he saw exhaustion and a little bewilderment. “This is not a hypothetical, is it?”

“I guess not.”

“But you’re not happy to give me the specifics I’d need to answer?”

“No.”

“Is it illegal?”

He considered. It wasn’t, although probably this was mostly due to the shortsightedness of most legislators. “No.”

“Is it moral?”

Sammy said “Yes,” and it didn’t occur to him that a few days earlier he would have disagreed. This was needful, so fulfilling it was surely moral.

“Then I’d try it and see what happens,” his mother told him. “You’re young. Young is when you want to try things and make mistakes.”

*

Cora spent the next few days in a haze of expectation. She was pretty sure Sammy had accepted the suggestions; definitely he didn’t seem to remember them, or the call, at all. But she didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was going to approach it.

She almost felt guilty for giving Sammy the nudge, but being hypnotised had felt so good, and the change he’d made in her had been so effective. And with both of those facts being the case, she had seen the best possible way to get her fantasies into reality. Now she was so close that she spent most of her time either in the fantasy or anticipating the moment where it would finally come true.

She was pretty sure that Cynthia harboured similar desires, but as Cynthia would never, ever ask for what she wanted, Cora had decided to take matters into her own hands for them both. Cynthia, she had thought to herself, was too submissive to ask for an opportunity to be submissive, and so Cora had taken matters into their own hands for both of them.

She hoped it would occur to him to start things before sophomore year officially started. If she’d learned anything online, there were plenty of ways for someone to be a submissive sex toy at a distance, and she thought there was a good chance that Sammy would either find some of these while researching online - she knew he was a conscientious researcher - or come up with at least one or two independently.

Especially since she’d made it a fundamental need for him. He couldn’t be satisfied until he took matters into his own hands, whether he yet knew that consciously or not.

She would give him, she decided, a full week from when she’d put her plan into action. If she hadn’t seen movement by then, she’d give him a call, take him deeper, and give him a push.

*

Sammy had decided to start with Cynthia, on the basis that Cynthia had already confessed her need for a big strong man who would take control to him, and that made her, he figured, an easier challenge.

He hadn’t been sure how to reproduce the coffee-swirl induction he’d used. He wanted to use something like it; he knew it worked, and it would give her some easy familiarity that might help her drop.

Eventually his Googling led him to collections of spirals online, animated gifs in dozens of different colours. This, he thought, was what he was looking for.

He’d figure out how to approximate the touch induction he’d used on Cora later, he hoped. It would be really tough to know what she needed and not be able to help until they were both living around the same campus, and for all that his family took care of his expenses, flying to another state to surprise visit her would be difficult to arrange.

Although, he thought, not impossible if it was what the situation called for. They needed this. He hadn’t yet realised how much he needed it too.

He decided not to give Cynthia advance warning of his call; she’d turn herself into a nervous wreck trying to guess why he wanted to call out of the blue. Instead he waited until the evening was starting to wear on and he just called her.

Sammy was surprised to see, when her camera feed loaded, that she wasn’t indoors.

*

“Where are you?” Sammy asked her.

Cynthia squinted at him amusedly. “Just out by the woods,” she said. “I come here most nights when I’m home. It’s like my private place.”

“Oh, like, to hang out?”

“Yeah. Well, to be by myself, really. It’s funny; when I first started coming out here it was because I didn’t get any signal on my phone, before they built the new cell tower on the Laytons’ land. I could sit up here for ages and be unreachable.” She left it at that; much more elaboration and he’d get the wrong idea about her family. Sammy didn’t understand the farming life, she already knew.

“I get it. I think.” He gave her a self-effacing smile. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in jeans.”

Cynthia looked down at the loose red shirt and the tight blue jeans she was wearing in surprise, then laughed. “Farmwear,” she said. “I wear this when I’m working. I dress the way I want when I’m not.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”

“Right.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Sammy said “Listen, I wanted to check in with you on something.”

“Uh. Sure?”

“You remember me hypnotising you back on campus?”

Cynthia knew her eyes had widened at that and that she’d started to flush. As her older brother had said for years, “You’ll never make a poker player, Cyn.”

Not that either of them saw anything wrong in that. This wasn’t a world where everyone had to keep their feelings and beliefs behind a mask, where everyone spoke in code. And they didn’t see anything wrong with being the ones who were open and clear.

“I remember,” she said quietly.

“I wanted to do that again,” he said.

She blinked. He’d hypnotised her to help her cope with an in-joke the study group had. And while there were a few other things like that which bugged her, she hadn’t mentioned any of them - at least she was pretty sure she hadn’t.

“What for?” she asked, and the room behind Sammy, its pastel greens, blinked away. Superimposed behind him was a pink and purple swirl, his head perfectly placed in its centre, that seemed to whirl and twist around him.

“Trust me,” he told her, so gently. “Just focus, and see, and sink. Like you did before. You remember your focus, don’t you?”

She nodded, excitement rendering her unwilling to speak in answer. She remembered how easily the swirling spoon had drawn her in, how she’d really had no idea what was happening until she had been pulled along beyond her capacity to think rationally. She remembered how it had felt, how steadily a strange, peaceful slowness had set in around her.

“Focus. Stare. Sink,” he said. “Feel the spiral churn and twist up your thoughts until all of them are gone.”

He was telling her what to do. A big strong man was taking control. Only half-aware of why she was doing so, she let out a low moan of arousal. She could feel that same blank, spacey trance state filling her, warming her, caressing her.

Was she being hypnotised by her own fantasies, she wondered?

“You’re doing so well,” Sammy told her, and she squirmed in place, her eyes unfocusing. Once she could see clearly again, her vision had been filled by his face and the spiral behind it, the spiral that was churning and twisting up her thoughts until they felt like cotton candy in her head. His praise felt so good.

“You’re doing very well indeed. A good girl. A good girl who wants a big strong man to take control. What are you?”

Her thoughts were far from clear enough to give an answer of her own, but she had no need to; he had handed her the relevant words. “I am a good girl who wants a big strong man to take control.”

“That’s right. And I want to take control,” he said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying “You will accept my control.”

She felt a shiver down her spine. It was presented to her as a fact of life. It was something she accepted. It did not occur to her that this needed a response.

Sammy was smiling. “You need this,” he said. “Right?”

“Yes,” she answered dreamily. “I need this. I will accept your control.”

“Show me,” he said after a moment. “Salute.”

She wondered what Sammy intended from her, but her body didn’t. Her back straightened and she raised the arm not holding her phone, bending it crisply at the elbow, touching her fingertips against her temple and holding that pose crisply.

She waited to be told to ease again, and she found herself privately delighted by the light which had appeared in Sammy’s eyes.

"Good girl,” Sammy told her. “Arm down now.”

Her arm went instantly limp, dropping to her side, her unmoving hand landing with a soft slap on her thigh, where it rested palm side up.

Cynthia wasn’t aware of it but she was smiling now, a broad, open smile that spoke purely of contentment. She felt so completely controlled.

“You need me to control you,” Sammy told her. “You need the room to be a submissive little sexpot. Did you know that?”

“No,” she said slowly. It didn’t sound like her, but she felt so helpless, so controlled, that whether or not it was something she thought felt unimportant.

“You do now,” he forged on. “What do you need to be?”

“I need to be… submissive… little… sexpot…” she intoned. Her voice sounded strange to her now. She was, she thought, more deeply hypnotised than before, and as she believed more and more deeply that she was hypnotised, she let go of control more fundamentally.

The big strong man had taken control. “Good girl,” Sammy said. “You’re not the only one. Don’t worry.”

She hadn’t been worried, but this was still reassuring. Her smile grew.

“You’re my submissive little sexpot,” he told her. “Prop your phone up against a tree root or something.”

She did so silently, her hands taking just enough care to ensure she was still in her camera’s pickup mostly because it meant she could also still see the pretty swirl, the spiral as he’d called it.

“Good girl,” Sammy said again. “It’s good to obey, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“You need to obey the big strong man who’s taken control, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said again.

“Take off your top,” he said.

Cynthia knew her eyes had widened. Yes, he’d hypnotised her, she thought, and yes, he controlled her, and yes, she was his submissive little sexpot. But she wouldn’t do that.

She undid the button-down shirt she wore and shrugged it off her shoulders. The evening summer sun was warm on her revealed skin, or perhaps it was just her excitement at what was happening. Submissive little sexpots should be excited, she thought, so she decided feeling like this was okay.

“I feel like you should be saying something when you obey,” Sammy said. “Show me the deference you owe.”

She smiled. “If you want, sir.”

“Yes.” He grinned back at her. “I like that.”

She wondered if he would tell her to take off her bra, and was surprised when he instead said “Take off your jeans.”

Surprised she might be, but not enough to disobey. As she wriggled out of them, still seated, she said “I obey, sir,” and decided based on the way his eyes widened and the smirk he developed that she’d take every opportunity to do that again.

“Good… good girl,” he said with a swallow. “Now spread your legs.”

“I obey, sir,” she echoed, doing just that, her jeans still caught on her left boot and not quite discarded.

She sat back slightly, her hands going behind her back to support her, except that then Sammy said “Now show me how you play with yourself.”

“I obey, sir,” she said, and shifted again, thighs still parted widely. Her right hand braced herself upright while her left hand came around to her front, groping her breast through her bra before fingertips trailed down her torso to her waist, then found their way inside her panties.

By dint of careful movement and determination she moved her panties so they no longer covered her pussy using only her knuckles beneath the fabric, and her fingers entered what was already a slickly wet slit.

Her eyes unfocused and she moaned softly, feeling just how helpless she was to disobey and knowing how right this was, how much she had needed a big strong man to take control.

Her big strong man was, she was pretty sure, stroking himself as she watched. If she had been more forward, she might have said something provocative, but she was too caught up in her service and her role to do any such thing.

It was the first time anyone had seen her cum. It was the first time she had cum for someone. And when he woke her up afterwards, she still felt languidly, pleasurably submissive.

“Don’t mention this to anyone else until I tell you to,” Sammy said. “I have to figure out how to sell this.”

There was only one thing Cynthia could say to that.

“I obey, sir.”