It was amazing, really. To think she’d worried about being addicted to the films... worried about being unable to stop watching them...
Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, Lisa had avoided... No. That wasn’t the right word.
Lisa hadn’t felt the need – or even, particularly, the desire – to watch those films. She figured, maybe, that she’d somehow fought her way through whatever strange effect the girls – and that hypnotist – evidently had had on her. Sure, maybe every time she went to bed she set aside a few minutes or so – maybe as much as half an hour – remembering those eyes... and Rebecca’s., well, not so much surrender as embrace of her servitude, her finger between her thighs, tracing that delicious spiral that the slaves in the films were so utterly bound by... pleasure and submission all rolled into one.
But she didn’t feel any need to watch them. That had to be a step forward, a show of defiance. Whatever the truth behind these movies – real enslavement or clever fakery – she could say to herself that all there was left was a slight fascination with the idea, no control wrapped around her, nothing she had to fight.
And to prove it, she told herself, she wouldn’t even cancel her subscription, however much that might seem like the safe thing to do.
That week, however, when the download link email arrived, the link looked different. She clicked through nonetheless – after all, as she thought (and even said aloud, just to be sure) “These are harmless. I’m totally in control.”
As the page loaded, her other hand idly traced a spiral down her breast, curving delicately, hypnotically, in toward the nipple, a thin cloth T-shirt the only thing between lightly-caressing fingernail and flesh – somehow, she’d gotten out of the habit of wearing bras when she was at home. What appeared on her browser was definitely different.
Rather than the standard password prompt and single button for download, neatly nestled between Jasmine’s bare breasts on the page, this time Lisa came face to face with three figures, torso upward. On the left side, the black beauty from ‘options’, Joanna, gazed topless out of the screen. Her lips bore a delicious, enticing smile, though her eyes were as blank as any Lisa had seen on screen; what was more, as Lisa couldn’t help but register, she’d obviously had implants. Those proud, artificially firm points were every bit the size of Jasmine’s appetising titties...
(Lisa’s thumb and forefinger pinched, teasingly, at her nipple, tugging gently through the cloth, as she thought the word ‘titties’, as she approved unconsciously of the slight shift in her vocabulary. The shudder of bliss provoked was far stronger than it had any right to be, and yet Lisa didn’t really register that it was happening.)
On the right side of the screen was wonderful Jasmine herself. Where her friend was topless, Jasmine instead sported a striking, dusky-purple corset faced with velvet, deliberately too small to contain her jugs (again the tug, again the shudder, but no sign of reaction above the neck) properly, letting them spill out, areolae just barely on perky display.
Her strawberry blonde hair had been tinted, as it so often was, a shade redder, and gathered into bunches; her eyes gleamed with raw sexual eagerness and a naivete she couldn’t have had, in her career, for years – not since before her own implants, prominently on display – a naivete Lisa found herself suddenly, dizzyingly, certain must be hypnotically induced.
Around her neck, a thin purple choker, the same sensuous velvet as the collar, was fastened at the front by a decorative clasp; a circle with a simple white and red spiral. One arm was curled upward, finger raised, beckoning as the hypnotised harlot radiated the promise of what was to come; the other strayed down to below the bottom edge of the screen, leading to the centre, obviously toward the crotch of the central figure.
Only now did – only now could – Lisa turn to contemplate that third model. If model was indeed the word...
At the centre of the picture was the hypnotist. He wore a plain black tee under a brown leather jacket, open, and a smirk. The tee was a little bundled at the base of shot, presumably from Jasmine’s ministrations beneath it with that eager hand. His head was slightly bowed, his hair – short enough not to be a bother – just gently slicked back, his chin showing just the first signs of stubble as he stared into the camera.
Lisa’s examination of the image finally led her to meet his eyes.
Nothing, so far as she could tell, had changed. Her chest was entirely bare save for the red-gemstone necklace she’d bought a couple of weeks prior. Her chair was three or four feet behind her, discarded when she slid to her knees before the hypnotist, her hands tracing spirals, delicately captivating things, across her breasts (no tug, no tweak, somehow an acceptance inside her that until she took Steps – steps she fully intended to take, hadn’t she always?—they would remain breasts no matter how desperately she wanted to sport a rack) as her webcam’s power LED glowed an eager, lustful red. And, of course, why wouldn’t she be wearing the headphone mic?
Nothing had changed.
Everything was as it should be.
Eyes still trained on the hypnotist’s wonderful, masterful gaze, Lisa let her thighs slide wider apart on the rug, still kneeling, into a stance that would show everything of her if she weren’t wearing the flannel pyjama shorts she’d decided were enough that Saturday evening. Her left hand, moving of its own accord, slipped from her nipple, trailing fingernail-light down her flat torso, tracing the outline of her bellybutton, before slipping down to the shorts’ waistband.
For an instant, as she tucked her thumb into the band, she felt as if she might pull the front down, exposing her shaved pussy – but then she remembered that, in fact, she didn’t shave there (why had she thought she did?) and she felt her hand decide against the display.
Instead, she simply let her hand disappear, slowly but surely, inside, fingers moving with certainty across the slick wetness of her crotch, kept wet by the somehow-sodden, slightly sticky flannel.
There was a roaring, an encouraging if indecipherable sound, in her ears – blood rushing from adrenaline and excitement, nothing more, of course – but it seemed to speak to her. While she couldn’t make out words, nonetheless her fingers clearly knew what was expected of them.
As if held in place despite the high emotion, her whole body trembled as she slipped the first finger inside herself. The second entered her to a moan that seemed somehow an echo of the ecstatic chorus in her ears, a thrill, a promise of euphoria to come.
Her fingertips coaxed out a spiral spell upon her clit, the pace faster and faster. As her breathing became more and more ragged, Lisa felt suddenly aware of how little what her body was doing seemed to be her idea, how much less even than that what she was doing seemed to be something she could control.
The roar in her ears sounded, for a heartbeat, like the hypnotist’s voice saying... something, something on the edge of hearing, easily understood by something inside her but tantalisingly imperceptible. Her eyes rolled back in her head at the word and a second later the word, as much as – no; more than – her own attentions flung her across the edge, hurtling into orgasm. She felt her body want to scream with joy, but was vaguely aware that her throat was more disciplined, staying quiet as her lips shaped words rather than incoherent joy; words that, once again, escaped her understanding.
Nothing, so far as she could tell, had changed; there she sat, comfortable on her computer chair, dressed for a night out on the town, hair still smelling faintly of the shampoo she’d used in a shower – when? Before she sat down to download the movie? Had to be; she certainly hadn’t moved from this chair.
Nothing had changed.
Everything was as it should be. She finished filling out the form on the site, nestled in the hypnotist’s torso, with her full home address – something about a special promotional deal, she thought, but really she hadn’t paid much attention—and clicked through to the next page.
This wasn’t what she’d anticipated. Where was the download link? Where was the chance to save a file?
Ahead, on the screen, was a simple question; below the question, four white circles next to four possible answers.
Lisa stared at the question for a good minute, apprehension flooding her body, a sudden chill running through her. A question like that... what could it be about, if not submission in the real world?
She hovered the cursor over the top right X, vacillating over whether or not to close the window without an answer. But...
There was the chance, the barest possibility, that there was another explanation. That beyond that answer lay the videos she wanted, nothing more... or at least, nothing more sinister.
Abruptly, Lisa rose to her feet, leaving the computer on and waiting behind her. Tonight was a Saturday night; it was a perfect time to head out, to hit the bars, and to engage with real people, find real lovers/
Perhaps that would give her a real perspective on whether or not this question meant anything.
Lisa pushed open the door and stepped through into a space she’d never before been in, Not so much a lesbian bar as lesbian-friendly, the Ladies’ Choice had nonetheless evolved to boast almost entirely a clientele of lesbians, bisexuals, and occasional friends who followed where the leaders of their social circles went.
Hardly where Lisa liked to spend her time. But... well. Spend so long staring at and fantasising about Jasmine, so much time empathising with her as, at her Master of the moment’s command, she gave herself over to the pleasure of a beautiful, curvaceous slave, and...
No, that was surely wrong. To lay all of this at the feet of Jasmine within a hypnotic spell was to admit and accept that she had fallen under a hypnotic spell herself, and that was something Lisa simply wasn’t willing – couldn’t be willing – to do. Say rather that the videos had allowed her to warm up to and accept her own bisexuality... well, perhaps accept, but in either case, to want to experiment. And, some five years out of college, that didn’t leave many places to experiment with.
But here... yes. She ordered a drink through ruby lips and a nervously dry throat, looking around the place, looking for something... someone... some archetype.
And at first she was disappointed; a little later, however, a flicker of motion in the mirror behind the bar caught her eye, her head snapping up almost reflexively to bring her attention fully to this newcomer.
That figure... not hourglass, but not far from it. That hair, straight, shoulder-length, carefully groomed. That wonderful chocolate skin... Lisa was looking at a beauty, and a beauty who strongly resembled Joanna.
She downed her drink, catching the barmaid’s eye for a second, and glanced at her reflection in the bar mirror, checking she was as she wanted to be. A satisfied nod with perhaps a hint of pride in the set of her smile showed her approval of what she saw; not quite Jasmine, she had nonetheless made herself as close as she could with the resources available. Drink in hand, she stepped away from the bar, moving to meet her quarry, to make introductions... to set things in motion.
Her name was Diana, and she was single, a year younger than Lisa, bisexual. It seemed, in hindsight, like Lisa had somehow rushed the questions that drew out those answers, as if she’d been... hmm... risking suspicion, perhaps, though Lisa was damned if she could tell you what Diana might be so suspicious of.
Her eyes glittered with a shrewd, amused intelligence. Her kisses tasted of Kahlua and cherry Coke, Lisa’s lips tingling with the... with the rightness of the kiss for minutes after each one. Diana nestled, now, under Lisa’s arm, her warmth close and perfect against her.
For the longest time, Lisa wouldn’t be able to explain what she did next. She slipped a hand under her red gemstone necklace, drawing Diana’s attention, letting the stone shimmy and shake, glittering under the lights. Lisa was already talking to her, complimentary, coaxing, whispering, well... whatever came to mind, living in the moment, her eyes on Diana’s, watching that shrewdness dwindle away, amusement and intelligence melting into a blissful, mesmerised puddle.
As she watched Diana’s sparkle slowly seal itself away behind glazing eyes, Lisa caught herself before the sentence she’d been about to say slipped out, before she exhorted her companion to help Lisa brainwash her. Looking for something to say instead, something to fill the silence, she blurted out a sentence almost as loaded.
“You should come home with me.”
The shudder of joy with which Lisa’s body met Diana’s slow, mumbled repetition of the suggestion should have given her pause to think, to question how the two of them had come to be in this situation. But excitement was gaining the upper hand already, and instead she slipped the necklace from her neck, keeping it in front of Diana’s dull, docile gaze as she led her conquest out of the bar.
She couldn’t wait to get home.
She was careful never to issue orders, refraining with difficulty – and not a little regret – from words like ‘slave’, ‘obey’, ‘command’, even Mistress. For Lisa, the night went from wonderful to perfect when, just as she was slipping an unprotesting Diana’s bra from her bare chest, a fantasy occurred to her and she came to picture herself, not as in control, but as Diana’s entranced equal, setting out to break in another’s new conquest, to titillate a watching voyeur of a Master.
Her suggestions stayed suggestions, mild exhortations, the occasional playful use of hypnotic imagery to keep Diana excited, committed, submissive – Lisa making Diana everything she fantasised she herself should be. With her guest now nude, coaxed into being entirely comfortable in her skin alone before the woman who’d hypnotised her, Lisa exhorted her conquest to undress her in turn, her instructions delivered in a seductive purr, slowing down the process, imagining Him watching them, smiling approval as more skin was revealed, as two puppets gloried in one another’s flesh for his delight.
(And then, and only then, did Lisa realise that the hypnotist had become Him, that the mythical Master of her fantasies how had a single face, a single – unknown – name.)
Leading Diana to the bed, Lisa eased herself back down, summoning up all her eagerness for what was coming, thighs parted as her lover was guided in, kneeling before her, hands, lips, and tongue all at Lisa’s disposal. Her legs wrapped around Diana, holding her close as she cajoled the hypnotised beauty to pleasure her, before beckoning her to crawl up the bed for Lisa to take her own turn.
“Tell me what to do,” she instructed, and as Diana’s voice softly echoed entranced wishes, Lisa followed them, revelling in the role of her plaything’s plaything, another servant putting on a show for their master, loving the fact she had orders to follow herself now, bringing her closer to the fantasy-self.
Orgasm came more swiftly pleasuring another, at their command, than it had at Diana’s loving touch.
Sunday morning brought a new perspective on the night before; Lisa woke cradled in the arms of a still-slumbering Diana, finding only a little success in understanding her memories of the night before. Why had she... I mean, why would she...
Diana shifted against her, smiling in her sleep, and made a contented sound of appreciation before opening her eyes, smiling at her captor.
Lisa smiled sheepishly. “Hey.”
“You know,” Diana offered lazily, “if you’d told me what you were planning, I’d have told you to get lost.”
Lisa’s face froze, panic flooding her, an awareness of her own terrified moments sat before the videos fuelling sudden guilt. Diana laughed, shifting position to pin Lisa to the bed, dipping her head down for a long kiss. When she broke contact, she grinned. “I’ll make you a deal, though... we’ll have a second date, so long as you make sure to tell me where you got those ideas from.”
Relief was a roar of thunder in Lisa’s ears. She grasped for words for a long moment, finally finding them with a “Sure.” A moment’s pause, then she continued. “But I’ll have to work that out myself, a little... I was trying things out, I guess.”
Diana nodded. “You plan on trying breakfast out any time soon? Or coffee?”
“Both.” Lisa slipped out of bed. “You take the shower first. I’ll have something ready when you come down.”
She watched Diana walk out of her home and away... for a while? Forever? Hard to be sure.
And she wondered why last night had happened... what had led her to visit Ladies’ Choice rather than her usual favourite bar, why she’d set her heart, if it had to be someone from the films, not on a Jasmine or a Rebecca, but on a Joanna.
The only answer she could see making sense... the only answer... well.
She didn’t really want it to be true. It occurred to her, for the first time in days, that she hadn’t read the results of her search for Joanna’s real life... for confirmation, one way or another, that this was real, or the very good fake she slept easier believing it to be.
She headed back inside, to her computer.
Lisa sat back, thinking about what she’d just read.
Joanna Lawford had worked as a reporter, had disappeared for a while...
It was true. It had to be.
Those videos were evidence of a brainwashing conspiracy. The man with the wonderful flashing eyes truly did have a way of wrapping an incredible hold around his women.
And he just might be influencing her behaviour.
How could she tell? How could she...
Impulsively, she clicked back to the window she’d left open the previous day. She read the choices again, and her mouse hovered over her slight favourite. Lisa bit her lip. Did she dare?
What kind of servitude seems hottest to you?
- Complete mindlessness
- Pleasure in obedience
- A change of attitude to suit your Master’s whim
- Being unaware of just how deep Master’s hold goes