*[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.
Monday, October 5, 2015
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.
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