Halloween in college was different, it turned out. No help from her parents, difficult to go anywhere but a thrift store, no money or desire to buy anything complicated.
Her best friend, Kelsey, was a sophomore, and had done the whole process before. Kelsey had introduced her to drinking, too... and fraternity parties, and weed... Kelsey knew her way around a lot of things and seemed to love sharing everything with her.
So it should not have been much of a surprise when she approached Miranda one night in her dorm.
"What are you gonna be for Halloween?"
"Oh, I dunno. Haven't gotten there yet. Do you already have plans?"
"Yeah, I wanted to hit up Jimmy and his friends. Also, he's making a booze run that night so we'll have our vodka." She winked, and Miranda gave a small smile. Miranda liked her quite a bit but the two were really opposites; Kelsey was fun and adventurous and energetic, and like a perfect cliche Miranda was boring and embarrassingly inexperienced. With a lot of things.
Not the least of which being Jimmy, but that's an entirely separate story.
The two of them worked surprisingly well together as friends, enjoying each other's company and banter. And Kelsey took pride in being a "mentor", as she liked to refer to it. Miranda usually preferred the term "bad influence".
Miranda was curious about Halloween; Kelsey clearly already had everything planned out.
"Well, what were you thinking of being?"
Kelsey giggled and looked at her without skipping a beat.
"Brainwashed."
Something felt like it took the air right from her chest and held her by the pussy.
What the fucking... Nope, no time to even begin to analyze why that statement from her best friend -- a girl --
She swallowed everything.
"O-oh?" Her tongue felt thick.
Kelsey nodded and played with part of her hair.
"Yeah, like a Manchurian Candidate type thing! Easy costume, you know?"
Kelsey tried to steady her voice for a joke.
"So when you wake up, you'll try to kill someone?"
"No, silly! I'm a girl." As though that explained it.
Miranda shrugged at her. Kelsey gave that warm, oh-you're-so-cute-when-you're-clueless smile.
"Haven't you seen Mean Girls? Halloween is an excuse for girls to be sexy," she explained. Miranda was starting to feel dread and arousal in the pit of her stomach.
"Uh huh..."
"Well I was thinking," Kelsey said, "we could do a sort of joint costume? Where you had the trigger for me -- I've got this queen of diamonds card, like the movie -- and some time during the party you'd show it to me!"
Oh god.
"And when you're... triggered?"
Kelsey winked. "I want to keep that to be a surprise! But it'll totally be hot."
Miranda wanted to hide, or curl up, or beg to ask what it would be. She stayed silent and nodded and forced a smile.
Before she could even think.
"Alright, sure."
Kelsey beamed, so upbeat, and reached into her pocket to fish out... a playing card, extending her hand to give it to her.
Miranda took it with trembling fingers.
Queen of diamonds.
Kelsey was talking and she sounded so excited, but Miranda wasn't hearing her. When she left for the night after a few minutes, Miranda... Miranda *masturbated*.
--
How could she be doing this? How could she want this? This sick, hot little fantasy she barely even knew was there was something she began to obsess over.
The internet told her there were a lot of people who shared her desires. Stories, pictures, even audio files with the intent to... brainwash... unwitting listeners into... mindless drones...
Her brain stuttered over the thoughts. It took every ounce of willpower not to try them out. Miranda wanted to leave fantasy as fantasy.
And yet it felt impossible with the looming thought of Kelsey going wide-eyed and blank at the sight of that card in just a couple days...
But it wasn't real. This wasn't real. This was just a Halloween costume.
...of a girl, losing her will and self at the sight of a card...
...she didn't even know what Kelsey was going to *do* when she was triggered...
She fumbled with her belt and pushed her hand down her pants for the second time that day.
--
She swore off masturbating after the crippling guilt that came from that last orgasm. This was her *friend*, not some porn. It was ridiculous to think about her like this.
She didn't even know if it was wanting to see Kelsey like that, or if she was jealous that it was Kelsey instead of her.
Regardless... she shoved those thoughts down inside of her, and the tingle that went with them.
Kelsey was her best friend. They'd go to this stupid party, get drunk, get it over with, and everything would go back to normal.
As long as she didn't think about this anymore, in that way, she would be absolved.
The two had decided to grab a late dinner at the dining room, so Miranda grabbed her bag and headed to Kelsey's room.
The door, usually open, was shut.
"Kelsey? You there?"
No answer. Was she taking a nap or something? Jeez, Miranda had told her how over sleeping would ruin her for class the next day --
When she knocked, the door pushed open, not having been fully closed.
"Hey, Kels--"
She stopped short. Kelsey's computer screen, facing her, was taken up by a whirl of color, spinning ever inwards, and Kelsey... was staring at it, headphones over her ears, wordless, not even noticing her.
Her heart almost fucking stopped.
Miranda bolted. Shut the door behind her. Walked briskly back to her dorm room. Closed her own door.
*-- sitting staring blankly dripping at the spiral --*
Her pussy throbbed helplessly at the image burned into her brain.
*-- brainwashing herself --*
No. No, there was no way. No way this was real. This was absurd. She felt like she was going to be sick, she was so fucking turned on.
A knock at the door allowed her no time to process, again.
She considered not answering it, but she had already gotten up to open it.
Kelsey.
Miranda almost moaned, or screamed.
Kelsey smiled triumphantly.
"Well, well, how the tables turn," she said, "usually you have to drag *me* out of bed!"
...She literally hadn't heard or seen her.
Miranda was dumbfounded. She didn't know if she was relieved, or terrified, or...
"I- I knocked but you didn't answer."
*because you were busy --*
Kelsey frowned, confused. "Well that's odd. I've been in all night. Oh well. Ready for dinner?"
Shaky, Miranda nodded, and tried to forget about the girl she saw in front of that computer screen.
The girl she had dinner with was the same old lively Kelsey, babbling on about her professors and homework and the party Miranda had missed last night.
She got back to her dorm.
The party was tomorrow.
Queen of diamonds sat innocently on her desk.
Miranda masturbated.
--
The next day was a shaky blur. She wondered if it was all some disturbing dream. But every memory was so vivid, each time she even approached them they consumed her with shame, fear, guilt, *craving*...
7 pm came. It was time to go.
Kelsey wasn't dressed in anything terribly revealing, just her usual party fare. A tight black tank, skin-hugging jeans, and heels. Miranda wore a nice sweater. She wondered suddenly if Kelsey was going to strip.
...In front of everyone, mindlessly revealing more and more skin, mouth hanging open as she --
*Please,* she begged her brain. *Please stop.*
"Ready to go?" Kelsey grinned wickedly at her.
She nodded.
This was it. They bundled up for the walk -- it was a chilly October -- and Miranda wanted desperately to forget to bring the playing card but ended up shoving it with clammy hands into her pocket.
They trekked across campus to Jimmy's dorm. Kelsey told him that most of Kappa whatever would be there too and that the party was definitely going to be lively.
When they arrived, the small room was packed and almost everyone was in costume. Some of the guys were dressed as members of the football team, others had animal head masks (an amusing, if odd fad on campus recently) and one was a toilet paper mummy, with material he had surely gotten from the dormitory bathroom.
Miranda watched her sidle up to Jimmy for a flirtatious hug. She smiled a little to herself. Kelsey never changed. Even brainwashed.
God.
If she was drunk this might be easier, so the two of them hit the bottle of vodka until the room was spinning.
"You need to show me the card." Whispered in her ear. Setting her on fire.
"I'm scared," she confessed quietly, drunkenly.
Kelsey grinned. "Why? It'll be soooooo fun..."
Did she really not know? Or did she know and... no... There was cluelessness in her words... but such a drive behind them...
*You're going to go away,* she wanted to say.
*I'm scared that I want to see that,* she wanted to say.
*I'm scared that I want...*
But Kelsey was up to something else.
"Hey guys," she announced, slurring a bit. Miranda wanted to slap a hand over her mouth but sat frozen.
"Guys. Can you guess my costume?!"
The room focused on them. Blood thundered in Miranda's ears. She wasn't listening to the shouts and guesses. No one knew but them.
Kelsey gleefully told them all that they were wrong and kept looking sideways at her. Expectant.
"Here's a hint," the girl said, and stared at Miranda.
Fuck. Goddamn it... There was no time left... she was so drunk...
She pleaded with her eyes, but Kelsey only flicked her gaze to her pocket.
*It'll be over soon...*
She pulled out the card, trembling, and flashed it in front of Kelsey's face.
The smile fell. The girl's eyes glazed. Time slowed down. Miranda's cunt screamed. Her heart pounded.
Kelsey looked her squarely in the eye, but her gaze was focused *behind her*.
That look was so, so fucking hot.
"That's this slut's trigger," she murmured, toneless.
Miranda wanted to die. This wasn't happening. The room around them was hushed and tense. She tried to ignore them. God she was going to explode...
She rose almost mechanically and walked towards her. There was whooping and cheers in the room, a bunch of drunk frat boys wanting some lesbian action, and it looked like they were going to get it but god, they had no idea what was going on here, no clue why Kelsey was so fucking silent as she came in to touch -- her -- shoulder -- and -- lips --
Warm, feminine breath on her cheek, lips dragging towards her own, and Miranda was dead frozen too, terrified and turned on... Mourning the loss of her friend but so blazingly attracted to the automaton in her place... Wanting so desperately...
Her lips were so soft and so hot and she moaned and the room faded away even as the cheering reached a crescendo.
"K-Kelsey..." *You can stop this now, stop the act, PLEASE --*
"Kelsey is gone," the girl whispered, and kissed her again, and Miranda damn near came on the spot.
She had never wanted anything so badly in her life.
The moment seemed to last forever, and when Kelsey pulled away, she looked at Miranda with the most empty eyes, and *smiled*.
"I'll make you a drone too," she breathed.
Miranda choked, cheeks on fire, pussy throbbing.
"H-how..."
*Because...*
*Because I...*
"Kiss me and let go of your will..."
Her eyes nearly rolled up, the room forgotten, the cheering unheard.
All that mattered were those lips and that brainless, blank girl that they were attached to...
Miranda leaned in...
...and gave in...
...and forgot.
Monday, October 26, 2015
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Power (scene log feat. cckitten)
(This one... Is a true story. What did YOU do last night?)
--
Words have power. The simplest phrases can turn the tone of an experience in a moment.
As she is touching my breasts, caressing me as we lay in bed together, I find a very clear desire in my head, sharp and cutting through the late-night haze.
And in that moment, I am overcome with the sense of power to take what I want.
"I want you to be *obsessed* with my pleasure."
She is not expecting it; I feel her body twist and convulse against me and the thrill of it hummed in my belly like a drug. I can't stop. I don't want to. Ever.
"My pleasure is the single important thing to you right now. Giving me pleasure is so deeply ingrained as a part of you. Feeling my responses and reactions is what you were *made* for."
Her touch is becoming more and more desperate. I'm getting off on how much I can twist her will. So is she.
"Everything about this experience of giving me pleasure fulfills and satisfies the deepest parts of you. You were made to please me. You were always meant to please me."
She is shaking, a little. Her fingers are becoming more enthusiastic. She's struggling to keep it feeling good for me with so much intensity in her own mind. I know all of this without words.
"The best part is that this is a learning process, learning how to better bring me pleasure. A learning process with moments of extreme intensity, and moments of a more quiet, slow burn... That ebb and flow is just so perfect and embeds itself inside of you so you can better focus on pleasing me..."
This forces her to stay in the experience even when I stop talking to enjoy the pleasure she is bringing me.
...I am fucking close. I can't stop strings of words from coming out to bend her further.
But I know tonight I won't get there without her mouth.
I grab her head and shove her whole body down the bed and between my thighs. She is breathing heavy on my cunt, so excited.
Her tongue is so very sweet...
I'm going to cum from my favorite toy tonight
My favorite toy that wants nothing more than to give me pleasure
...That I will make to later BE NOTHING but giving me pleasure
"My orgasm is what you live for right now," I tell her, and that's it, she's slowing to my favorite tease with her tongue, "Because my orgasm is the most perfect way of giving me pleasure and that is the most important thing for you... And when it comes you will feel it in your whole being..."
I need to stop talking to cum... Starting to lose focus myself... Scratching her neck. Face. Head. Want to hurt her. Want to keep her as engaged as her brain can handle.
"You are keeping yourself in trance for me with your own tongue... Focusing on that rhythm... on the feeling that gives me... until you bring me to that point..."
So, so fucking good.
And eventually, she got her reward. The most important thing in her world for that moment.
My control, my pleasure, my training, my orgasm.
--
cc will have instructions to read this, and potentially other things I give her periodically to remind her of her place. She *will* be trained into my personal pleasure toy. And training never ends...
--
Words have power. The simplest phrases can turn the tone of an experience in a moment.
As she is touching my breasts, caressing me as we lay in bed together, I find a very clear desire in my head, sharp and cutting through the late-night haze.
And in that moment, I am overcome with the sense of power to take what I want.
"I want you to be *obsessed* with my pleasure."
She is not expecting it; I feel her body twist and convulse against me and the thrill of it hummed in my belly like a drug. I can't stop. I don't want to. Ever.
"My pleasure is the single important thing to you right now. Giving me pleasure is so deeply ingrained as a part of you. Feeling my responses and reactions is what you were *made* for."
Her touch is becoming more and more desperate. I'm getting off on how much I can twist her will. So is she.
"Everything about this experience of giving me pleasure fulfills and satisfies the deepest parts of you. You were made to please me. You were always meant to please me."
She is shaking, a little. Her fingers are becoming more enthusiastic. She's struggling to keep it feeling good for me with so much intensity in her own mind. I know all of this without words.
"The best part is that this is a learning process, learning how to better bring me pleasure. A learning process with moments of extreme intensity, and moments of a more quiet, slow burn... That ebb and flow is just so perfect and embeds itself inside of you so you can better focus on pleasing me..."
This forces her to stay in the experience even when I stop talking to enjoy the pleasure she is bringing me.
...I am fucking close. I can't stop strings of words from coming out to bend her further.
But I know tonight I won't get there without her mouth.
I grab her head and shove her whole body down the bed and between my thighs. She is breathing heavy on my cunt, so excited.
Her tongue is so very sweet...
I'm going to cum from my favorite toy tonight
My favorite toy that wants nothing more than to give me pleasure
...That I will make to later BE NOTHING but giving me pleasure
"My orgasm is what you live for right now," I tell her, and that's it, she's slowing to my favorite tease with her tongue, "Because my orgasm is the most perfect way of giving me pleasure and that is the most important thing for you... And when it comes you will feel it in your whole being..."
I need to stop talking to cum... Starting to lose focus myself... Scratching her neck. Face. Head. Want to hurt her. Want to keep her as engaged as her brain can handle.
"You are keeping yourself in trance for me with your own tongue... Focusing on that rhythm... on the feeling that gives me... until you bring me to that point..."
So, so fucking good.
And eventually, she got her reward. The most important thing in her world for that moment.
My control, my pleasure, my training, my orgasm.
--
cc will have instructions to read this, and potentially other things I give her periodically to remind her of her place. She *will* be trained into my personal pleasure toy. And training never ends...
Monday, October 5, 2015
...In the Window (short erotica)
"Excuse me, how much for your mind?"
Caroline jumped. The question came from a woman behind her; tall and curvy, in a loose sweater and tight jeans. Not the usual attire for a kink club, but Caroline was a little grateful for that, because she wasn't yet used to being in a place with so many people in so many various states of undress.
She gave a nervous giggle. The woman was still waiting with a patient smile.
"I, er. Well, I'm not sure it's for sale. I have to admit though, I've never been approached with that line..." She trailed off, and thankfully the music in the club thumped over her words to cover her stutter.
*Nor by another woman,* she finished in her head.
The woman laughed.
"That is a shame. To both," she added, pointedly making eye contact.
Caroline had to look down from it for a moment. Thankfully, the woman extended her hand for her to shake.
"I'm Hannah," she said. "Haven't seen you around here before."
Caroline shook it: it was a soft grip but she was surprised that there were calluses on her hand.
"It's my first time at... a place like... here." She was tripping all over herself like she was a teenager again. This was awful. She shouldn't have gotten dressed up in those garters she found in a novelty store last week... The revealing clothing was not helping her confidence.
Hannah never stopped smiling.
"Enjoying yourself?"
She tried to smile back.
"I think so. It's all a bit..."
"Overwhelming?"
Caroline finally made eye contact. The woman's face was difficult to read.
"Maybe."
The expression turned warm again.
"I hope not too much. You'll get used to it, but you should enjoy it while it's still nerve-wracking. You'll miss that feeling someday."
"Oh, maybe." Caroline thought on that for a moment. It did make quite a bit of sense. "Thank you."
The woman *winked*, and Caroline blushed, like it was a scripted scene from a movie. "Anytime."
*Didn't you want to ask...*
"Oh!" It jumped to her head -- the curious pick-up line. "Why did you ask if, um..."
"It's how I flirt," beamed Hannah, proudly. "Besides, you looked like you wanted someone to take it off your hands for a little while. Over thinking isn't great for nerves, you know."
"I- hah, well, maybe."
"Was I wrong?"
Caroline pondered. "How would I know?"
Hannah fixed her with a stare. "Good question."
This was getting a little too intense. There was heat in her cheeks. And between her legs. This was becoming very confusing, very quickly.
She cleared her throat and tried to lighten the mood.
"Besides, I think if I sold my mind to you, the payment would become moot if I was just..."
She flushed further with what was about to come out of her mouth.
Hannah prompted, emphasizing the word: "*Brainless?*"
Caroline moaned softly; she didn't mean to, but this woman's voice had just suddenly stroked her cunt so perfectly...
She was still staring. She looked *predatory*. Caroline wanted to moan at that too. She couldn't look away. She wanted to apologize, and excuse herself (*to fucking rub herself off at home for a week*) but she couldn't make her voice say it.
Silence. Her throat was dry. Finally...
"...Why..."
Hannah was quick.
"Because I intrigue you. Because when you think of me, you *wonder*. Because your pussy is starting to think for you."
*What did I do...*
"But..." The woman's expression softened, "if it's not for sale, then I suppose it's not something you have to worry about."
Caroline felt like she was standing in a daze. Her cunt was throbbing. Head was reeling. Did she miss her chance?
"I..."
Hannah checked her watch and cut her off.
"It is a shame, Caroline. And I hate to cut our chat short, as I have enjoyed it *very* much..." -- Caroline swallowed hard at that -- "But I must attend to a previous purchase of mine -- oh, here it is."
A girl, fully nude, was crawling towards her on hands and knees, and wrapped herself around Hannah's legs. Hannah ran fingers through the girl's hair, and tilted her chin up to look at her: Caroline saw utter bliss in those eyes, purest happiness and pleasure, with wet lines from her mouth -- ...drool...
"It was really nice to meet you, Caroline. If you change your mind..." Hannah grinned wickedly, and untangled herself from the girl to walk off. "You know where to find me."
Caroline knew.
Caroline jumped. The question came from a woman behind her; tall and curvy, in a loose sweater and tight jeans. Not the usual attire for a kink club, but Caroline was a little grateful for that, because she wasn't yet used to being in a place with so many people in so many various states of undress.
She gave a nervous giggle. The woman was still waiting with a patient smile.
"I, er. Well, I'm not sure it's for sale. I have to admit though, I've never been approached with that line..." She trailed off, and thankfully the music in the club thumped over her words to cover her stutter.
*Nor by another woman,* she finished in her head.
The woman laughed.
"That is a shame. To both," she added, pointedly making eye contact.
Caroline had to look down from it for a moment. Thankfully, the woman extended her hand for her to shake.
"I'm Hannah," she said. "Haven't seen you around here before."
Caroline shook it: it was a soft grip but she was surprised that there were calluses on her hand.
"It's my first time at... a place like... here." She was tripping all over herself like she was a teenager again. This was awful. She shouldn't have gotten dressed up in those garters she found in a novelty store last week... The revealing clothing was not helping her confidence.
Hannah never stopped smiling.
"Enjoying yourself?"
She tried to smile back.
"I think so. It's all a bit..."
"Overwhelming?"
Caroline finally made eye contact. The woman's face was difficult to read.
"Maybe."
The expression turned warm again.
"I hope not too much. You'll get used to it, but you should enjoy it while it's still nerve-wracking. You'll miss that feeling someday."
"Oh, maybe." Caroline thought on that for a moment. It did make quite a bit of sense. "Thank you."
The woman *winked*, and Caroline blushed, like it was a scripted scene from a movie. "Anytime."
*Didn't you want to ask...*
"Oh!" It jumped to her head -- the curious pick-up line. "Why did you ask if, um..."
"It's how I flirt," beamed Hannah, proudly. "Besides, you looked like you wanted someone to take it off your hands for a little while. Over thinking isn't great for nerves, you know."
"I- hah, well, maybe."
"Was I wrong?"
Caroline pondered. "How would I know?"
Hannah fixed her with a stare. "Good question."
This was getting a little too intense. There was heat in her cheeks. And between her legs. This was becoming very confusing, very quickly.
She cleared her throat and tried to lighten the mood.
"Besides, I think if I sold my mind to you, the payment would become moot if I was just..."
She flushed further with what was about to come out of her mouth.
Hannah prompted, emphasizing the word: "*Brainless?*"
Caroline moaned softly; she didn't mean to, but this woman's voice had just suddenly stroked her cunt so perfectly...
She was still staring. She looked *predatory*. Caroline wanted to moan at that too. She couldn't look away. She wanted to apologize, and excuse herself (*to fucking rub herself off at home for a week*) but she couldn't make her voice say it.
Silence. Her throat was dry. Finally...
"...Why..."
Hannah was quick.
"Because I intrigue you. Because when you think of me, you *wonder*. Because your pussy is starting to think for you."
*What did I do...*
"But..." The woman's expression softened, "if it's not for sale, then I suppose it's not something you have to worry about."
Caroline felt like she was standing in a daze. Her cunt was throbbing. Head was reeling. Did she miss her chance?
"I..."
Hannah checked her watch and cut her off.
"It is a shame, Caroline. And I hate to cut our chat short, as I have enjoyed it *very* much..." -- Caroline swallowed hard at that -- "But I must attend to a previous purchase of mine -- oh, here it is."
A girl, fully nude, was crawling towards her on hands and knees, and wrapped herself around Hannah's legs. Hannah ran fingers through the girl's hair, and tilted her chin up to look at her: Caroline saw utter bliss in those eyes, purest happiness and pleasure, with wet lines from her mouth -- ...drool...
"It was really nice to meet you, Caroline. If you change your mind..." Hannah grinned wickedly, and untangled herself from the girl to walk off. "You know where to find me."
Caroline knew.
A Watched Pot (short erotica)
Drooling mess of a body, throbbing pussy, muscles in her ass trying desperately to hump her against something. But there was only the hard chair under her, and while it created a deliciously wanton and self-degrading image, her pussy found no relief as it tried to seemingly seek the screen in front of her.
Not that it appeared to matter to the girl; muscles tensing and body churning without end.
He was fucking hard up watching her. His balls tingled at the thought of finally ripping those clothes off of her, satisfying his dick in that burning cunt, but she wasn't done yet.
No use in ruining the whole meal when there's only ten minutes left on the oven.
This was his favorite part. He loved the thrill of the chase; which pick-up line to use, which bar to hit, where to park the van and equipment. He loved knowing that some of the girls he took would sleep with him willingly, and yet he still broke them before he used them. He loved the ones that struggled, too; overpowering a creature weaker than him, because in the end, he was a catch and release kind of guy, and after they were free, his girls had the memory span to match the metaphor.
But this... He gave his cock a few hard tugs to ease off the ache. Oh, this was his favorite. Alone with his thoughts while he watched another dumb bitch be stripped to the essence of the animal that she truly was. Anticipating the end of the stimulating brainwave pulses and tape on the screen, where she would be so weak and stupid that all she can do will be to crawl to him, leaking fluids all over the floor, not even smart enough to speak anymore, just offering her holes.
Shamelessly. Unaware of her own humiliation. As any dumb animal is. As they all were before and all will be after.
His dick throbbed, seeking gratification, and he played with the head, lost in the paradise of his own thoughts. Eyes half lidded, watching the girl before him, who was becoming less and less of a girl by the second, and more and more of a masturbatory aid. Visual and auditory porn now, fleshlight soon...
The last thirty seconds on the tape was always the longest for him, and he knew that if she was even remotely aware of what was to come, it would be for her, too.
Not that it appeared to matter to the girl; muscles tensing and body churning without end.
He was fucking hard up watching her. His balls tingled at the thought of finally ripping those clothes off of her, satisfying his dick in that burning cunt, but she wasn't done yet.
No use in ruining the whole meal when there's only ten minutes left on the oven.
This was his favorite part. He loved the thrill of the chase; which pick-up line to use, which bar to hit, where to park the van and equipment. He loved knowing that some of the girls he took would sleep with him willingly, and yet he still broke them before he used them. He loved the ones that struggled, too; overpowering a creature weaker than him, because in the end, he was a catch and release kind of guy, and after they were free, his girls had the memory span to match the metaphor.
But this... He gave his cock a few hard tugs to ease off the ache. Oh, this was his favorite. Alone with his thoughts while he watched another dumb bitch be stripped to the essence of the animal that she truly was. Anticipating the end of the stimulating brainwave pulses and tape on the screen, where she would be so weak and stupid that all she can do will be to crawl to him, leaking fluids all over the floor, not even smart enough to speak anymore, just offering her holes.
Shamelessly. Unaware of her own humiliation. As any dumb animal is. As they all were before and all will be after.
His dick throbbed, seeking gratification, and he played with the head, lost in the paradise of his own thoughts. Eyes half lidded, watching the girl before him, who was becoming less and less of a girl by the second, and more and more of a masturbatory aid. Visual and auditory porn now, fleshlight soon...
The last thirty seconds on the tape was always the longest for him, and he knew that if she was even remotely aware of what was to come, it would be for her, too.
Jealousy Essay (4/15)
I am not poly.
This may seem odd, since I am in a relationship with two people, but I firmly believe it is true.
I am monogamous, I just happen to be in a triad.
It is a closed triad, which helps. I certainly couldn't handle an open relationship. I even have struggles dealing with play outside of my relationship, including feeling guilty when I play with others.
I am very prone to jealousy.
This is hard to admit and harder to deal with. I love both of my partners dearly. I want them to be happy. Logically, I want them to be happy with each other, because wouldn't that make them the most happy?
Emotionally, it is a different story.
I have "jealousy moments" everywhere. If they don't exist, I conveniently make them up. Oh, is that rope out of place? Did I wake up and hear them having sex? Please don't let me walk in on them as I get home from work...
Why should I react negatively to something that makes the people I care about happy?
Almost everywhere I look, people say that jealousy stems from insecurity. Personally I do not understand that or identify with it. I feel incredibly secure. I am not going anywhere. They are never going to get tired of me. They love me very very much. These are firm beliefs I hold true. I am lucky, because these "securities" do not waver or falter, ever.
So what is the fear? I will admit that I have a "thing" with feeling special, unique, and important. Is the fear about losing that? Maybe. A lot of jealousy moments have stemmed from that thought process. "But I thought xyz was unique to our relationship." "We just went to Friendly's, why did you go on your date there?" "But you and I *just* did a rope scene..."
The funny thing is that it is both a blessing and a curse to love a couple. On the one hand, they are both there for you if you need support. On the other, jealousy is almost always hitting from both directions.
They did needles = "why did he want to put needles in her instead of me?" and "why did she want his needles instead of mine?"
These are not thought processes I am proud of. They are also not logical. But they do hurt, even as I work through them and process them every single time.
Most embarrassingly, and this is a big one that may explain a few things: I stopped writing a lot because I wanted to keep my fantasies, stories, and experiences all to myself. In my head, if cc read my stories, she would either be jealous herself, or worse, she would find it hot and then she and DaSade would go off and play based on my fantasies.
Isn't that kind of horrible?
I don't know the purpose of this writing. Maybe admitting and putting it on paper will help in some way. Maybe I see this as confessional. The public exposure can allow me to atone.
Mostly I think the world should know that yes, we have an amazing, beautiful, healthy, and communicative relationship... but we have our problems. We do not belong on a pedestal. It terrifies me to think people might see us like that.
We are very happy. We are always growing. But we are not perfect.
(I would love to hear from other mono- or -ish people in nonmono relationships, or even how others deal with jealousy in any sense of the concept.)
This may seem odd, since I am in a relationship with two people, but I firmly believe it is true.
I am monogamous, I just happen to be in a triad.
It is a closed triad, which helps. I certainly couldn't handle an open relationship. I even have struggles dealing with play outside of my relationship, including feeling guilty when I play with others.
I am very prone to jealousy.
This is hard to admit and harder to deal with. I love both of my partners dearly. I want them to be happy. Logically, I want them to be happy with each other, because wouldn't that make them the most happy?
Emotionally, it is a different story.
I have "jealousy moments" everywhere. If they don't exist, I conveniently make them up. Oh, is that rope out of place? Did I wake up and hear them having sex? Please don't let me walk in on them as I get home from work...
Why should I react negatively to something that makes the people I care about happy?
Almost everywhere I look, people say that jealousy stems from insecurity. Personally I do not understand that or identify with it. I feel incredibly secure. I am not going anywhere. They are never going to get tired of me. They love me very very much. These are firm beliefs I hold true. I am lucky, because these "securities" do not waver or falter, ever.
So what is the fear? I will admit that I have a "thing" with feeling special, unique, and important. Is the fear about losing that? Maybe. A lot of jealousy moments have stemmed from that thought process. "But I thought xyz was unique to our relationship." "We just went to Friendly's, why did you go on your date there?" "But you and I *just* did a rope scene..."
The funny thing is that it is both a blessing and a curse to love a couple. On the one hand, they are both there for you if you need support. On the other, jealousy is almost always hitting from both directions.
They did needles = "why did he want to put needles in her instead of me?" and "why did she want his needles instead of mine?"
These are not thought processes I am proud of. They are also not logical. But they do hurt, even as I work through them and process them every single time.
Most embarrassingly, and this is a big one that may explain a few things: I stopped writing a lot because I wanted to keep my fantasies, stories, and experiences all to myself. In my head, if cc read my stories, she would either be jealous herself, or worse, she would find it hot and then she and DaSade would go off and play based on my fantasies.
Isn't that kind of horrible?
I don't know the purpose of this writing. Maybe admitting and putting it on paper will help in some way. Maybe I see this as confessional. The public exposure can allow me to atone.
Mostly I think the world should know that yes, we have an amazing, beautiful, healthy, and communicative relationship... but we have our problems. We do not belong on a pedestal. It terrifies me to think people might see us like that.
We are very happy. We are always growing. But we are not perfect.
(I would love to hear from other mono- or -ish people in nonmono relationships, or even how others deal with jealousy in any sense of the concept.)
Seeking (short erotica) (4/15)
(Woke up, needed to write this.)
--
**'Seeking: girl who wants to be controlled from the inside out. M4F'**
Hello. I will keep this short. You've read the title already. We both know why you are here.
We want the same thing for different reasons. You want someone to fuck the brains out of your pretty little girly head. I want someone I can use with the intelligence of a sex doll.
I want a girl who is smart enough to know that this is a bad idea but dumb enough to show up anyways.
Let's talk.
--
Michelle trembled and let her palm sweat on the mouse for a few moments longer before she closed the tab and took some very deep breaths. Her stomach turned with how she needed that. Her brain played over and over in flashes of moments of meeting this man, how that would go...
She sits down, he pulls out a pocketwatch...
He brings her a cup of coffee with that smile of a predator, that smile that says she should have gotten her own cup...
Her head lolls in the passenger seat of his car as her cheek rolls into a puddle of her own drool...
His cock is out
She can barely keep her eyes open but she needs to
Back at his apartment
Ragdoll thrown on the bed
Legs strewn apart
What good is being a girl if a man with a big strong cock can't use her
Too dumb to say no
Too dumb to say yes
Smile plastered on her face as he gets what he wants
Cumming cumming cumming cumming.......
--
Michelle opened her eyes. Her fingers were soaked and there was a wet spot on the chair. She suppressed the wave of shame and finally shut down her computer for the night.
Maybe tomorrow, she would contact him.
--
**'Seeking: girl who wants to be controlled from the inside out. M4F'**
Hello. I will keep this short. You've read the title already. We both know why you are here.
We want the same thing for different reasons. You want someone to fuck the brains out of your pretty little girly head. I want someone I can use with the intelligence of a sex doll.
I want a girl who is smart enough to know that this is a bad idea but dumb enough to show up anyways.
Let's talk.
--
Michelle trembled and let her palm sweat on the mouse for a few moments longer before she closed the tab and took some very deep breaths. Her stomach turned with how she needed that. Her brain played over and over in flashes of moments of meeting this man, how that would go...
She sits down, he pulls out a pocketwatch...
He brings her a cup of coffee with that smile of a predator, that smile that says she should have gotten her own cup...
Her head lolls in the passenger seat of his car as her cheek rolls into a puddle of her own drool...
His cock is out
She can barely keep her eyes open but she needs to
Back at his apartment
Ragdoll thrown on the bed
Legs strewn apart
What good is being a girl if a man with a big strong cock can't use her
Too dumb to say no
Too dumb to say yes
Smile plastered on her face as he gets what he wants
Cumming cumming cumming cumming.......
--
Michelle opened her eyes. Her fingers were soaked and there was a wet spot on the chair. She suppressed the wave of shame and finally shut down her computer for the night.
Maybe tomorrow, she would contact him.
Happy (short erotica) (2014)
*[author’s comments: wanted something short, hot, and slightly lighter than what I’ve been writing recently. based loosely off of a few experiences in my life, but has no real analogue. this one wrote itself.]*
--
Probably shouldn’t have introduced him to hypnosis.
Really truly probably shouldn’t have.
The problem with fetishes, innate and learned, are how addictive they can become, how it nags at your brain and screams for more and makes your chest pound with want. All the time.
Struggling under him as he pins my wrists and puts the weight of his knees on my hips and thighs to keep me still, thrashing against him.
We’re playing again; he likes to subdue me and I like to be subdued. It was one of his first admissions to me in our early sexual explorations. He was almost nervous to bring it up, but as soon as he saw my eyes light up, I saw his glint in turn with cautious excitement, and it’s been one of our favorite staples ever since the night he first forced my arms to my sides.
“Shhh,” he croons, his soft tones in contrast to how hard his hands are gripping. “Hush now, little one, it’ll all be over soon enough…”
He’s holding a glass of water over me, trying to pour it into my mouth, but deep down I know it’s not water --
“I won’t let you -- not this time!” I give a hard kick and it jostles him such that the liquid sloshes out of its container to dribble down his arm. He growls at it and then me, the playfulness ebbing away to show the seriousness underneath it. I feel a flicker of fear, addicting in and of itself.
“Cunt.” Spat. I’ve frozen, nervous that I messed up, and he takes the opportunity to quickly transfer the glass to the dry hand and take the wet hand and smear it onto my face.
I panic, but I can already feel it soaking in through my pores -- not the most efficient method for it to get in my bloodstream, this I know, but enough to slow my reaction time…
“Gonna get you all drugged up and horny for my cock,” he murmurs, for suddenly his lips are next to my ear and I’m not sure how they got there.
Strength is mustered, digging deep for the utterance of “no!” and I give one last thrash as my tongue starts to feel thick and I purse my lips against the upcoming attempt…
Water -- liquid -- whatever, tips out of the cup and is poured onto my face, shocking in temperature, such that my mouth opens in surprise, and immediately the mistake is noticed.
It drips down my face and onto my tongue and into my throat and I cough and sputter and *swallow*.
“Drink it up… drink it up, little bitch, and get ready for the ride of your life…”
My lips and mouth and face begin to burn with a slow heat, and I can *feel* it rushing down into my belly and up into my brain. That desire, so latent before, becomes a mad urgency to be filled. I know I’m moaning and I know he’s laughing but it all feels so far away; the craving is the only immediacy I know.
“*Now!*” my lips shriek. “*Now now now now now* --”
My legs are spread so wide that they hurt, thrusting my hips up, and everything is blurred except for the sight and knowledge that I am about to get exactly what I need.
“This is your fault,” he grunts, and I don’t care. “You wouldn’t be a fucking mess of a drugged out, hypnotized slut if it wasn’t for you in the first place --”
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. Spread my legs further.
“Are you happy now? *Answer* me!” Punctuated by a hard slap on the face that I can barely even feel. Mouth opens. Sound comes out. I am so, *so* fucking close...
--
He asked me the same question without the harshness later, as we lay in bed.
“Is that even a question?” I was dumbfounded. He withdrew for a moment back to the nervous teen I once knew.
“Maybe you think it’s silly, but it’s important to me.” Purpose and determination that I couldn’t place was in those eyes, the ones I fell in love with. I curled my leg around his and squeezed his chest.
“I’m pretty sure I get more out of it than you do, most of the time.”
He snorted, but it was relieved.
“Glad you think so.”
I smiled, and paused. “Are you?”
He looked down at me, chin resting on his chest, and I felt the flutter inside me again.
I don’t remember if he answered; I didn’t really need him to anyways.
--
Probably shouldn’t have introduced him to hypnosis.
Really truly probably shouldn’t have.
The problem with fetishes, innate and learned, are how addictive they can become, how it nags at your brain and screams for more and makes your chest pound with want. All the time.
Struggling under him as he pins my wrists and puts the weight of his knees on my hips and thighs to keep me still, thrashing against him.
We’re playing again; he likes to subdue me and I like to be subdued. It was one of his first admissions to me in our early sexual explorations. He was almost nervous to bring it up, but as soon as he saw my eyes light up, I saw his glint in turn with cautious excitement, and it’s been one of our favorite staples ever since the night he first forced my arms to my sides.
“Shhh,” he croons, his soft tones in contrast to how hard his hands are gripping. “Hush now, little one, it’ll all be over soon enough…”
He’s holding a glass of water over me, trying to pour it into my mouth, but deep down I know it’s not water --
“I won’t let you -- not this time!” I give a hard kick and it jostles him such that the liquid sloshes out of its container to dribble down his arm. He growls at it and then me, the playfulness ebbing away to show the seriousness underneath it. I feel a flicker of fear, addicting in and of itself.
“Cunt.” Spat. I’ve frozen, nervous that I messed up, and he takes the opportunity to quickly transfer the glass to the dry hand and take the wet hand and smear it onto my face.
I panic, but I can already feel it soaking in through my pores -- not the most efficient method for it to get in my bloodstream, this I know, but enough to slow my reaction time…
“Gonna get you all drugged up and horny for my cock,” he murmurs, for suddenly his lips are next to my ear and I’m not sure how they got there.
Strength is mustered, digging deep for the utterance of “no!” and I give one last thrash as my tongue starts to feel thick and I purse my lips against the upcoming attempt…
Water -- liquid -- whatever, tips out of the cup and is poured onto my face, shocking in temperature, such that my mouth opens in surprise, and immediately the mistake is noticed.
It drips down my face and onto my tongue and into my throat and I cough and sputter and *swallow*.
“Drink it up… drink it up, little bitch, and get ready for the ride of your life…”
My lips and mouth and face begin to burn with a slow heat, and I can *feel* it rushing down into my belly and up into my brain. That desire, so latent before, becomes a mad urgency to be filled. I know I’m moaning and I know he’s laughing but it all feels so far away; the craving is the only immediacy I know.
“*Now!*” my lips shriek. “*Now now now now now* --”
My legs are spread so wide that they hurt, thrusting my hips up, and everything is blurred except for the sight and knowledge that I am about to get exactly what I need.
“This is your fault,” he grunts, and I don’t care. “You wouldn’t be a fucking mess of a drugged out, hypnotized slut if it wasn’t for you in the first place --”
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. Spread my legs further.
“Are you happy now? *Answer* me!” Punctuated by a hard slap on the face that I can barely even feel. Mouth opens. Sound comes out. I am so, *so* fucking close...
--
He asked me the same question without the harshness later, as we lay in bed.
“Is that even a question?” I was dumbfounded. He withdrew for a moment back to the nervous teen I once knew.
“Maybe you think it’s silly, but it’s important to me.” Purpose and determination that I couldn’t place was in those eyes, the ones I fell in love with. I curled my leg around his and squeezed his chest.
“I’m pretty sure I get more out of it than you do, most of the time.”
He snorted, but it was relieved.
“Glad you think so.”
I smiled, and paused. “Are you?”
He looked down at me, chin resting on his chest, and I felt the flutter inside me again.
I don’t remember if he answered; I didn’t really need him to anyways.
The Hotel (a dream I had last night) (2014)
*I woke up this morning and realized immediately that I needed to tell DaSade about the dream I just had. While hurriedly firing off texts with uncaffeinated fingers, I knew cckitten needed to hear it too. And you know what, so does the internet, because it is rare that dreams are this coherent in storyline and filled with subtle details. ...And this hot. I won’t be embellishing because I don’t need to. I hope it is enjoyed as much as I enjoyed it.*
--
I’m back walking downtown. I don’t drive in anymore unless I absolutely have to; driving (and parking, oh god) is just a nightmare. No, I’m walking the few blocks, past the shops and restaurants, checking my phone every few minutes for the time, and to see if he’s contacted me.
It’s been barely two minutes since I last checked, and no, he hasn’t texted since last night.
It’s expected, of course; he’s not one for chit-chat. Nowadays, the most I’ll get is usually a text the day before with a time. Sometimes a question mark. Never the place, not anymore. The place is always the same.
The hotel comes up on me, lit arches with the name nestled tightly between two high-rise corporate buildings. I push the glass doors in and get a room from the woman at the desk. Her eyes are on me but she is looking past me, even as I'm handed the keys.
I'm numb to the process at this point. The first time, I was a new customer, unsure of the procedure of purchasing a room. The next time, it was a different girl at the front. A few times later I began to dread walking in, because they recognized me, and recognized my patterns of coming and going. There was a distinct shift when they went from being familial back to sterile customer service.
They saw shame, and I knew they assumed I was a prostitute.
Of course I tried to rationalize it, because I'm not... But my brain was quick to remind me of what plays in my mind even now as I walk the stairs to the second floor:
*"You're not. You're just doing this for free."*
I open the door to my room and toss my bag in the corner. Each layout is the same, despite having a different room each time. Dulled, flowery bedspread; tan carpet; sore-thumb white radiator under the window. I take out my change of clothes and lay them on the bed -- lacy thigh highs, a bra, and a skirt -- and then I start to strip, detached.
No, I'm not a whore. I'm not a slut either, despite the adage. I don't entirely know what I am. I don't entirely know if I'm *willing*. There is something to be said for the fact that I keep coming when he contacts me, but I rarely even get physical pleasure out of what we do.
Fully changed, I sit on the bed, and check my phone one last time before it is set on the bedstand, and I wait.
Always I am here first, always I wait for him to come, and to...
"Fuck me" isn't even the right turn of phrase. Maybe "use me" is.
--
I leave after he does, as per our arrangement.
The walk out of the building is much worse, but often I can hold onto that dissociation long enough to ignore the judgment of the staff and make it to the street where I am just another face in the crowd once more. The anonymity under the sun is welcome, and so is the walk back to my house. It's cleansing to see the buildings in reverse order from when I come in. I have the memory of the hotel room but it is just a memory now. Less threatening. I can get back to my life.
--
A few days pass before I get another text. It is an earlier time than usual; 11:15 am as opposed to the afternoon liaisons. I check my schedule to make sure it is OK, and decide to take the car so that I can run a few errands in town for the rest of the day.
I leave early to ensure I am on time with the traffic. Getting into the city is backed up at the tolls, but after a while I make it and have time to grab a bite to eat before I head to the hotel.
My phone buzzes, my heart jumps to my throat.
But it's a text from my father instead.
"saw ur car downtown, wanna grab brunch at the mexican place?"
*Shit.* I've been caught. He can't know what I'm doing here. I told him I was just doing some shopping.
I check the clock. 10:45. If I swing it right, I can do this, but it will be tight. I text him back that yes, I will be there shortly.
...And I have to text someone *else* that I might be a little late, and explain the situation.
It's long, and it's sent, and I hope that he understands. The phone goes off almost immediately.
"Ok. let's try to avoid this in the future."
But I can hear his tone. There is no "we" in this. I got a free pass this time, but next time I may not be so lucky.
And I still don't understand why the idea of losing our arrangement makes my stomach sink with dread. Trapped, but not by him.
--
Brunch is pleasant, the restaurant is new and all of the food is fresh and housemade. My father is happy to see me but I get the distinct sense that he knows I am hiding something from him. Like getting lunch with him was a test. I know I made the right choice by coming.
I fend off his queries with the classical nonchalant answers and it seems to appease him, but when I hug him goodbye he holds me longer than usual, like he doesn't want me to go.
I push it out of mind and get to my car, passenger seat holding my bag with another outfit. The car stays in the lot, the bag will come with me as I walk. But I have to wait to make sure my Dad is gone back to work. I pretend to text while watching him drive off, with a careful eye on the clock.
11:30, not too bad. It's time to go.
My walk is rushed and halfway there I realize I've forgotten the shoes for the outfit, but it can't matter now. I am already keeping him. Who knows if he will be there already. Maybe he's waiting outside to watch me go in. Maybe he's already upstairs. Maybe he's just going to make me wait longer for my transgression. Maybe he won't show up at all.
Keys in my hand, blurring my eyes and mind to the people around me, I ascend the stairs once more, and resign myself to whatever this time will bring.
--
I’m back walking downtown. I don’t drive in anymore unless I absolutely have to; driving (and parking, oh god) is just a nightmare. No, I’m walking the few blocks, past the shops and restaurants, checking my phone every few minutes for the time, and to see if he’s contacted me.
It’s been barely two minutes since I last checked, and no, he hasn’t texted since last night.
It’s expected, of course; he’s not one for chit-chat. Nowadays, the most I’ll get is usually a text the day before with a time. Sometimes a question mark. Never the place, not anymore. The place is always the same.
The hotel comes up on me, lit arches with the name nestled tightly between two high-rise corporate buildings. I push the glass doors in and get a room from the woman at the desk. Her eyes are on me but she is looking past me, even as I'm handed the keys.
I'm numb to the process at this point. The first time, I was a new customer, unsure of the procedure of purchasing a room. The next time, it was a different girl at the front. A few times later I began to dread walking in, because they recognized me, and recognized my patterns of coming and going. There was a distinct shift when they went from being familial back to sterile customer service.
They saw shame, and I knew they assumed I was a prostitute.
Of course I tried to rationalize it, because I'm not... But my brain was quick to remind me of what plays in my mind even now as I walk the stairs to the second floor:
*"You're not. You're just doing this for free."*
I open the door to my room and toss my bag in the corner. Each layout is the same, despite having a different room each time. Dulled, flowery bedspread; tan carpet; sore-thumb white radiator under the window. I take out my change of clothes and lay them on the bed -- lacy thigh highs, a bra, and a skirt -- and then I start to strip, detached.
No, I'm not a whore. I'm not a slut either, despite the adage. I don't entirely know what I am. I don't entirely know if I'm *willing*. There is something to be said for the fact that I keep coming when he contacts me, but I rarely even get physical pleasure out of what we do.
Fully changed, I sit on the bed, and check my phone one last time before it is set on the bedstand, and I wait.
Always I am here first, always I wait for him to come, and to...
"Fuck me" isn't even the right turn of phrase. Maybe "use me" is.
--
I leave after he does, as per our arrangement.
The walk out of the building is much worse, but often I can hold onto that dissociation long enough to ignore the judgment of the staff and make it to the street where I am just another face in the crowd once more. The anonymity under the sun is welcome, and so is the walk back to my house. It's cleansing to see the buildings in reverse order from when I come in. I have the memory of the hotel room but it is just a memory now. Less threatening. I can get back to my life.
--
A few days pass before I get another text. It is an earlier time than usual; 11:15 am as opposed to the afternoon liaisons. I check my schedule to make sure it is OK, and decide to take the car so that I can run a few errands in town for the rest of the day.
I leave early to ensure I am on time with the traffic. Getting into the city is backed up at the tolls, but after a while I make it and have time to grab a bite to eat before I head to the hotel.
My phone buzzes, my heart jumps to my throat.
But it's a text from my father instead.
"saw ur car downtown, wanna grab brunch at the mexican place?"
*Shit.* I've been caught. He can't know what I'm doing here. I told him I was just doing some shopping.
I check the clock. 10:45. If I swing it right, I can do this, but it will be tight. I text him back that yes, I will be there shortly.
...And I have to text someone *else* that I might be a little late, and explain the situation.
It's long, and it's sent, and I hope that he understands. The phone goes off almost immediately.
"Ok. let's try to avoid this in the future."
But I can hear his tone. There is no "we" in this. I got a free pass this time, but next time I may not be so lucky.
And I still don't understand why the idea of losing our arrangement makes my stomach sink with dread. Trapped, but not by him.
--
Brunch is pleasant, the restaurant is new and all of the food is fresh and housemade. My father is happy to see me but I get the distinct sense that he knows I am hiding something from him. Like getting lunch with him was a test. I know I made the right choice by coming.
I fend off his queries with the classical nonchalant answers and it seems to appease him, but when I hug him goodbye he holds me longer than usual, like he doesn't want me to go.
I push it out of mind and get to my car, passenger seat holding my bag with another outfit. The car stays in the lot, the bag will come with me as I walk. But I have to wait to make sure my Dad is gone back to work. I pretend to text while watching him drive off, with a careful eye on the clock.
11:30, not too bad. It's time to go.
My walk is rushed and halfway there I realize I've forgotten the shoes for the outfit, but it can't matter now. I am already keeping him. Who knows if he will be there already. Maybe he's waiting outside to watch me go in. Maybe he's already upstairs. Maybe he's just going to make me wait longer for my transgression. Maybe he won't show up at all.
Keys in my hand, blurring my eyes and mind to the people around me, I ascend the stairs once more, and resign myself to whatever this time will bring.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Clay
Asleep, in that very special way, in
that very special place. Quiet, withdrawn, listening with passive
excitement. Open, laying down in DaSade's arms, on the floor. The
discomfort, if there is any, is unnoticed at best and irrelevant at
worst.
As he speaks to me, I can feel the
shift of when he clicks with something; finds an idea and a metaphor
he wants to latch onto. It's subtle but thrilling every time;
exploring with him as he does so with me.
I feel his fingers run across my scalp,
and then feel them reach into my mind.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Coffee
DaSade and I get coffee on Sundays. It
is our tradition; it's our time out together, to chat and process and
just be in each others presence. Sometimes we have a lot to say,
sometimes there are many quiet moments while we sit and look across
the table at one another. Reading expressions, talking without saying
anything. Hearing so much in just our breaths.
This was one of those times. We would
have our bursts of conversation, but fall back into that appreciative
silence.
There is a back corner of the
coffeeshop we're in; usually we're sitting there at one of the tables
a little further from the ears of others, but today, the room is
being cleaned, so we are out front. My back is to that room,
currently closed off by a sliding door.
“Look at the door behind you.” I
give him an inquisitive eyebrow, not wanting to ogle something I
shouldn't, but he's waiting for me to complete the instruction. I
turn, and look for anything out of place, but it's just as it was
before.
My eyes return to his. I don't speak.
His voice is low, words meant just for
me, and he doesn't break eye contact:
“In your mind's eye...”
Magic words. Words that engage a
special part of me; not by post-hypnotic suggestion, but purely by
association, expectation, practice.
NEEHU5: Intro-ish
NEEHU5. My second year. A lot has changed... but my excitement remains. As the date approaches, it transforms once again from “that thing on the calendar that you had to pull teeth at work to get time off for” to a real, genuine, happening-oh-my-god thing. The internets are abuzz and it's easy to get intimidated and caught up in the undertow, simultaneously. So many familiar faces and usernames, all to be in one place. My pulse races when I check the group postings.
I miss all of you.
And all of this.
Since last year, I've done very little hypnosis as compared to all the Other Stuff I've been up to. I haven't had the time, and quite frankly, Other Stuff has been quenching certain thirsts for the time being.
My play partnership with DaSade was going strong through NEEHU4 but blossomed into a capital-R Relationship (and spread to include his wife, cckitten) in November. We have been exploring and bonding for the past few months, and to my pleasant surprise, the two of them would be attending NEEHU5 (perhaps not entirely without my influence, if unintended).
DaSade is not into hypnosis. The play we do together is heavily psychological, which is part of why we work so well together, but hypnosis is not something he was interested in. His reasons for going to the conference were to learn, to be able to converse with me and others, and to see where that took him.
Cckitten was new to everything as well, but she and I had already talked about me hypnotizing her. I had spent the past couple months teasing her about just when that was going to happen, setting up her expectations and playing with her anticipation. And of course a healthy amount of conditioning.
The week prior, I set up a trigger with her as a mutual gift for DaSade's birthday, which just so happened to be the Thursday of NEEHU5.
But that was the extent of our experience with hypnosis as a triad. I was really looking forward to introducing them to my community. I take pride in my trancey people. I wanted to show this group of people off to my chosen family, and conversely, show off my relationship to my community.
A mixing of worlds, flavored by the thrill of new and old friends, and the one topic in this world for which my passion runs the deepest.
DaSade and cc, meet hypnosis. Hypnosis, meet my couple.
Let's do this.
I miss all of you.
And all of this.
Since last year, I've done very little hypnosis as compared to all the Other Stuff I've been up to. I haven't had the time, and quite frankly, Other Stuff has been quenching certain thirsts for the time being.
My play partnership with DaSade was going strong through NEEHU4 but blossomed into a capital-R Relationship (and spread to include his wife, cckitten) in November. We have been exploring and bonding for the past few months, and to my pleasant surprise, the two of them would be attending NEEHU5 (perhaps not entirely without my influence, if unintended).
DaSade is not into hypnosis. The play we do together is heavily psychological, which is part of why we work so well together, but hypnosis is not something he was interested in. His reasons for going to the conference were to learn, to be able to converse with me and others, and to see where that took him.
Cckitten was new to everything as well, but she and I had already talked about me hypnotizing her. I had spent the past couple months teasing her about just when that was going to happen, setting up her expectations and playing with her anticipation. And of course a healthy amount of conditioning.
The week prior, I set up a trigger with her as a mutual gift for DaSade's birthday, which just so happened to be the Thursday of NEEHU5.
But that was the extent of our experience with hypnosis as a triad. I was really looking forward to introducing them to my community. I take pride in my trancey people. I wanted to show this group of people off to my chosen family, and conversely, show off my relationship to my community.
A mixing of worlds, flavored by the thrill of new and old friends, and the one topic in this world for which my passion runs the deepest.
DaSade and cc, meet hypnosis. Hypnosis, meet my couple.
Let's do this.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
The Little Things (short moment)
cckitten (of DaSade) and I have been more involved as of late. Our play is hot and clicks well; she is a great bottom to my sadistic top. Recently, she expressed an interest in hypnosis and trance with me, and while we have not had that full scene yet (I am a big fan of the Long Game and Opportune Moments), there have been a few moments along the way that push my happy psychology buttons.
I would like to share one of those.
–
She and I (DaSade in the background) are chatting on Skype between visits. We're talking a bit about her mannerisms and attributes and how that relates to play.
She may seem compliant, she says, but that's not entirely accurate. I know she's right; she doesn't have an attitude, persay; just a robust personality.
“I'm really independent,” she explains, “I don't really, like... smile and nod.”
I grin.
“You might if I asked you to.”
She laughs, then bows her head down for a moment; she does that when she's embarrassed or caught off guard. I get that lovely little thrill when I see it.
And then she looks up, grinning too, and nods.
I would like to share one of those.
–
She and I (DaSade in the background) are chatting on Skype between visits. We're talking a bit about her mannerisms and attributes and how that relates to play.
She may seem compliant, she says, but that's not entirely accurate. I know she's right; she doesn't have an attitude, persay; just a robust personality.
“I'm really independent,” she explains, “I don't really, like... smile and nod.”
I grin.
“You might if I asked you to.”
She laughs, then bows her head down for a moment; she does that when she's embarrassed or caught off guard. I get that lovely little thrill when I see it.
And then she looks up, grinning too, and nods.
Monday, November 4, 2013
I Left My Nips In San Francisco
Onto the post-con bandwagon :)
Thank you. Two words that get said way too much but never, ever enough at these things. There is so much we (and I) have to be grateful for in this lovely, magical land so very far from my home.
Those of you that put WEEHU together, I've decided, must be miracle workers, because I swear it was just a month or two ago that this was being announced at NEEHU. And it is my understanding that this was a pretty big challenge for the organizers, so when I think about all of the love and care and hard work that was put into this, my chest feels full of joy. This community never fails to astound me. I am beyond blessed and lucky to have shared this with you.
You are all my family away from home; the time we get to spend together bettering our minds and learning and teaching is where I feel most comfortable, most in that place Where Everybody Knows Your Name. And I hope everyone gets to feel that the way I do. There is nothing that makes me happier to see these -EEHUs popping up all over and feeling our community expand.
I'm sitting in the airport and waving SF goodbye. The city was a beautiful hostess and I am envious of those of you who get to see her more often than I.
Thank you all. I miss you all.
And to a very Wonderful Friend who may have hypnotically taken a spare pair of something intimate last night at the hotel, take care of my nipples for me.
Thank you. Two words that get said way too much but never, ever enough at these things. There is so much we (and I) have to be grateful for in this lovely, magical land so very far from my home.
Those of you that put WEEHU together, I've decided, must be miracle workers, because I swear it was just a month or two ago that this was being announced at NEEHU. And it is my understanding that this was a pretty big challenge for the organizers, so when I think about all of the love and care and hard work that was put into this, my chest feels full of joy. This community never fails to astound me. I am beyond blessed and lucky to have shared this with you.
You are all my family away from home; the time we get to spend together bettering our minds and learning and teaching is where I feel most comfortable, most in that place Where Everybody Knows Your Name. And I hope everyone gets to feel that the way I do. There is nothing that makes me happier to see these -EEHUs popping up all over and feeling our community expand.
I'm sitting in the airport and waving SF goodbye. The city was a beautiful hostess and I am envious of those of you who get to see her more often than I.
Thank you all. I miss you all.
And to a very Wonderful Friend who may have hypnotically taken a spare pair of something intimate last night at the hotel, take care of my nipples for me.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
"The Stanley Parable" and Why You Need to Play This Game RIGHT NOW
I'm sorry for spamming this EVERYWHERE but I'm goddamn out-of-my-mind excited that this game exists and is as good as it is.
I will start this by saying that The Stanley Parable and The Stanley Parable Demonstration (the free demo / prologue) is absolutely 100% the game I wanted to make to showcase psychological manipulation and trance in video games and storytelling.
Picked up the demo because I'd heard good things and immediately purchased the full game after I was through because it a) ran on my piece of shit laptop and b) was screaming NLP / Ericksonian storytelling the entire way through and I noticed myself going in and out of trance throughout the entire thing, marveling at the craftsmanship and all of the beautiful little psychological touches that make the thing so... enthralling? Compelling? Those can't be the right words... Hmm...
I don't want to give anything away, because the game seems quite clearly intended to be played from a blank slate, so to speak... And no wonder; a game I'm nerding out so hard for and posting on this specific blog... Hmm... Funny, that...
But the biggest reason I'm sharing this (and why you will most want to play the game) is revealed early on in the full version of the game, and I really really really recommend checking it out after playing the demo and not spoiling it for yourself.
I'm so excited because it totally feels like someone made this game just for us. Enjoy it, guys!
I will start this by saying that The Stanley Parable and The Stanley Parable Demonstration (the free demo / prologue) is absolutely 100% the game I wanted to make to showcase psychological manipulation and trance in video games and storytelling.
Picked up the demo because I'd heard good things and immediately purchased the full game after I was through because it a) ran on my piece of shit laptop and b) was screaming NLP / Ericksonian storytelling the entire way through and I noticed myself going in and out of trance throughout the entire thing, marveling at the craftsmanship and all of the beautiful little psychological touches that make the thing so... enthralling? Compelling? Those can't be the right words... Hmm...
I don't want to give anything away, because the game seems quite clearly intended to be played from a blank slate, so to speak... And no wonder; a game I'm nerding out so hard for and posting on this specific blog... Hmm... Funny, that...
But the biggest reason I'm sharing this (and why you will most want to play the game) is revealed early on in the full version of the game, and I really really really recommend checking it out after playing the demo and not spoiling it for yourself.
I'm so excited because it totally feels like someone made this game just for us. Enjoy it, guys!
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Distance Makes...
I am 100% aware that I should have been writing other things. But over the last few days this just quickly forced its way out of my brain and onto paper, more for me than anything else. But hey, I'm not one to argue when the MC-bug strikes. Porny-but-not-really-porny-fiction without any real purpose, woo!
(mc, mf, md)
--
Liz
figured it would be relaxing to get the house to herself for a few
days. No responsibilities, no housemates except for her beta fish;
just her, space, and all the free time in the world.
By the
end of the second day, she knew it wasn't
doing wonders for her sanity. Gerald
(the fish) had heard precisely
enough of how lonely she was and how the microwave wasn't behaving
and how kids on Xbox Live were douchebags.
And
Jack had been working way too much, due to pop in on her sometime
after dinner that night for the first time in almost a week.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
REVIEW: "Mind Play: A Guide to Erotic Hypnosis" by Mark Wiseman
So... Wiseguy wrote a book.
If for some strange reason you've been
living under a rock in the MCStories or hypnosis community circles,
Wiseguy writes... a lot. And does, in my opinion, quite, quite
well.
But Wiseguy also does his fair share of
demos and presentations for various BDSM and hypnosis groups. I had
the pleasure of meeting him at NEEHU4 this year (spoilers!)
and attending a demonstration as well as overhearing a
lecture/discussion, and I could see that he is a fantastic educator in the world of
hypnokink.
Under the name Mark Wiseman, he's just
published a book called “Mind Play: A Guide to Erotic Hypnosis”,
and, shortly after asking if I could review it, I found myself
engrossed in its 200+ pages. And, a bit after that, found myself here
with a reinvigorated excitement for our community as a whole.
There are decidedly few resources for
hypnosis instruction with an emphasis on Sexy Fun Times (to use a
technical term). (The two existing books which come to mind are Wendi
Friesen's “How to Hypnotize Your Lover” and Peter Master's “Look Into My Eyes”. Full disclosure is that I have only read excerpts of
both.) “Mind Play”, refreshingly, is about hypnokink, for
the hypnokinky, by a
hypnokinkster.
And
you know what? I'm really happy with that. Much of the instruction
I've read spends quite a bit of time rationalizing why someone might
want to incorporate
trancing into their sex lives. But here, it's presupposed
that because
you have your hands on this book you are interested in
and even turned on by erotic
hypnosis. What a concept! It was about time someone addressed our
little (big!) niche...
that is where I see most of the demand for education. As
a bonus, I didn't have to sit through 10 pages of “Ever
wanted to make your lover orgasm with the snap of your fingers???”
As far
as the content goes,
it almost goes
without saying that beginners will be learning a lot here;
it's aimed towards them!
Concepts
that I don't usually see in
“intro to hypnosis”
material (such as modalities,
indirect language, NLP-esque
phrasing, etc) are covered as
well, and
Wiseguy knows how to make the
journey down the rabbit-hole
accessible to
those with no prior background.
Readers
with previous experience will be familiar with most if not all of the
subject matter
he covers (namely the “101”
section), though
I found it quite beneficial to see exactly how he
presents the material and what else he has to say about it. There
is something to be said for
reviewing the basics... from someone with a very creative
mind.
I was
quite pleased as well with the fact that Wiseguy approaches most everything from the context
of BDSM, and terms and safety protocol known to much of the kink
community as a whole are explained for those unfamiliar with them.
It's used as a connecting
framework, no more and no less, so vanilla-identified individuals
won't be alienated by obtuse vocabulary or unrelatable situations.
But it does provide
some (already existing) necessary starting grounds for ethics and
practicality. (I was particularly satisfied with the “Safety When Looking For A
Partner” section; I never see enough of these.)
Aside
from the “101” stuff, the book is filled with some awesome
scene ideas and how to apply newfound knowledge in a practical
context. The variety is quite
novel – from BDSM-related (rope and bondage and floggers, oh my!) to
how-to-make-your-vanilla-sex-better to mind control
tropes and common fantasies (like dolls and freezeplay). The elements
therein are explored in such a way that the core concepts are
outlined (and sample scripts
are provided and analyzed),
but Wiseguy encourages the reader to do it the way they
want to and provides them with
the means and know-how
to do so.
Absolutely
nowhere is it written
to go out and read the script to one's significant other – very
much the opposite. That's a “win” in my book.
...His book. You
get the idea.
There
were a lot of fantastic ideas in there; some refreshingly
new to me! There is of course discussion on how exactly to make
your lover orgasm at the snap of your fingers,
but there's also a whole lot of creative and
original suggestions (beaten-to-death-pun intended).
Enough attention was given to
each scene and I was quite impressed with the breadth of knowledge
that was included (in general and especially in a book for beginners).
And, you know... a lot of it was pretty hot, too.
–
The
final verdict is that I walked away from the book with a sense of
enrichment, glee, and the fact that I had learned a few things and
gotten inspiration to stash in my brain for later. For beginners (and
even those with marginal experience), I can't recommend this book
nearly enough. More
seasoned hypnotists will probably pick up a thing or two as well. Get
it, read it; spread the goodwill, cheer and mind control.
Happy trancing!
Thursday, June 13, 2013
NEEHU 4: Thursday
NEEHU 4: Thursday
This series will be my magnum opus
of kink.
This post is preceded
chronologically by the prologue.
Only posted 3 months later, almost to the day... I'm looking at you, people that joked it would be a 6 month wait!
–
Thursday, March 14th, 9:30 pm
–
I pull into a spot at the hotel and
scramble for my phone, hastily, even as I put the car into park.
First, I text SpiralTurquoise (Spiral!
Who-was-the-first-person-I-ever-really-talked-to!)
to tell him that I'm there. He had texted me when he arrived.
And then I shuffle through my contacts,
press the “call” button, and Mephki (Mephki!
Who-runs-the-con-and-who-I-haven't-seen-in-a-year!)
says, “suite 611,” after we exchange hellos. So I drag my
luggage out of my backseat, fumbling with the keys when I go to lock
the door. The wheels of my suitcase bump merrily against the pavement
as I set off, and my pace threatens to throw it off course.
I'm here. The night air is chilly, but
the hotel looming above me promises warmth.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Waking Up With William
Original MC fiction, yay! I wanted more hypnosis writing in my life. (yes I'm working on NEEHU too) While these pieces can be read as
stand-alones, this features the same characters (and similar tone)
from “Cookie Break”.
(mc, mf, md)
--
Waking up with William was, a lot of
the time, a source of many fond memories for her. He had this habit
of latching onto her with his whole body to try to keep her in bed if
she was making to get up. And sometimes he would wake her up by
stroking her hair, letting her come back to the warm, tangled sheets
and the odd sock slowly, on her own time. Usually, they would have
segmented, murmuring pillowtalk before one or both of them had to get
out of bed. Waking up next to William meant that Nicole could go
through her day and smile when she thought back on it.
Of course, quite often he was also a
nuisance, as was expected. Nicole would sometimes startle awake and
curl away from him at the feeling of a tongue on her cheek for no
apparent reason. William also had a tendency to kick her gently at 5
am every once in a while; he always insisted he was asleep, but she
in turn didn't always believe him. But they would always share a
quiet laugh, or at the very least, a wry, playful, caffeine-deprived
smile.
But then, sometimes, he would wake her
up just to lead her back to sleep.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
On Pain, featuring a snippet from That Time He Broke Me
I know this isn't the NEEHU posts yet... but I have been writing! And I wanted to update. Might be worth noting here that I always have safewords.
--
It is
very, very easy to write about hypnosis. With hypnosis, I know how to
get the desired response out of my reader. It is the response I got
out of myself. I know how to put into words the mindset and the
sensations and the state of being. It is familiar; it is enjoyable.
It is
very, very hard to write about pain.
The
descriptors I use become meaningless words on a page, pixels on a
screen. “Pain” does no justice to the way I'm made to scream when
I'm hit, the way the impact burns and the way that sensation
overwhelms me. I am left unsatisfied when I read over the snippets of
my masochistic scenes. There is simply no written comparison to how
the
fear grips at me and holds me shaking in desperation.
I
fixate, in my mind, on those tiny moments when everything is too
real, when those countless blows that have come before have left me
an absolute mess, twisting away in terror, aching and sore.
There
is no way I can express how utterly
sincerely I beg for it to stop; there is no way I can express how it
feels when my pleas are ignored.
I do
not yet know how to write about the tears, how to explain what it
feels like when I am so helpless and abused out of my control that
there is nothing left for me to do but cry. Nothing can compare to
that moment of realization; panicked, desperate, defeated.
Broken.
It is
hard to accept that I can't make my words on pain as accessible as my
words on pleasure. I'm left to close my eyes and dig my nails into my
palm and replay the scene in my mind. Intensity
is lost when I put those thoughts down. The ability to relate is lost
when I put those thoughts down.
It is
very, very hard to show why I like to be hurt.
But I
will keep trying.
--
Snippet follows.
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