Hypnovember 2022
Privileges
by sentientscribble
Tags:
#cw:ageplay
#cw:sexual_assault
#short_story_collection
#ace
#amnesia
#body_control
#cw:death
#cw:pandemic
#dom:car_code_reader
#dom:f
#dom:god
#fae
#fairy_tale
#fantasy
#forced_toppification
#fungus
#horror
#hypnosis
#intelligence_loss
#magic
#masturbation
#mind_control
#mind_reading
#petplay
#pov:bottom
#public_play
#real_world_kink
#sub:f
#sub:m
#switching
#training
#transformation
#werefox?
#werewolf
#wet_dreams
#wishes
#zombies
What goes down must come up.
#top:f #sub:m #face_slapping #fractionation #real_life_kink
“And do you know what I’m going to do after that?”
“Mmm?”
She slaps his face, first affectionately, then very hard.
“That was a question, bitch.”
“Sorry!” He says it frantically, not politely. It’s a yelp, but there’s joy behind it. He is hers and she can…
The next slap is even harder.
“Where are your fucking manners?”
“Sorry sir! I’m sorry, sir! Sorry s——" Of course he should have called her "sir." Should have known. It's been months of playing together, and...
“Wait, shit,” she interrupts. Suddenly she’s not using her domme voice. She looks uncertain. “What are we doing tomorrow afternoon?”
“What?”
He flinches, realizing he skipped the “sir” again, thinking another slap must be coming. But this time none does. Its absence feels lonely.
“Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Are you still going to be at band practice?”
He has to scramble, to claw his way suddenly back into his everyday headspace.
“…I don’t think I have band pract——”
“It’s the thirty-first, right?”
He shakes his head to clear it.
“Tomorrow’s the twenty-eighth. Right? What’s——?”
He stops mid-sentence, too confused to continue.
She lets the pause stretch. It becomes awkward, then annoying. The ropes around his wrists, so pleasant before, are irritating now. He’s sweaty and itchy and bored, and he feels cold and so, so lonely, and——
“Now, toy.” Back to domme voice again. He feels a strange sense of dread. “What’s the lesson you just learned?”
“I don’t know.” Then, “…sir.” The last word gets in just ahead of her hand. He’s dropping fucking fast now, not just into the vague happy floating feeling he had before the interruption — correction always does that to him — but down through it, farther than before. It’s giving him some kind of emotional whiplash. He’s seasick.
“The fucking lesson you just learned is, subspace is a privilege. Do you understand the concept of privilege, cunt?”
“Yes, sir.” Getting the words out is hard.
“Prove it.”
“…excuse me, sir?”
“Prove to me that you understand it. What are some other privileges I give you?”
“…cumming, sir?”
“That’s right, you fucking slut — of course you think of that one first. You don’t cum without permission. What else?”
He hesitates. She taps the rope.
“Uh, moving, sir?”
“That’s right.”
He thinks back to last night — their second breath-play scene.
“Breathing, sir?”
“Good toy, that’s right. Now, subspace is a fucking privilege” — at the word “fucking,” she grabs his hair, turns his face right towards hers. “If you forget your fucking manners like that again, I will drag you all the way back up to the real world and leave you there. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now. Try to keep up. Do you know what I’m going to do after I fuck you?”
“No, sir.” He’s nodding, not shaking his head, like a student desperate to look attentive.
“That’s right. You don’t.”
She turns him to face the wall and picks up the lube.