2) Doll Time
So my doll may or may not have been at this event. As a result, this scene may, or may not, have happened at the event or may have happened some time else.
When they’re not in dollspace, the Doll is an amazingly intelligent and crafty person (and no, I am not telling you who they are).
We talked for a few minutes in the twilight.
Then I told them to drop. I told them to sink. I told them to sink into the pink.
There is something truly intoxicating about a face filled with intelligence being softened by your words. Seeing the triggers take hold and drag the consciousness down. Down. Down.
We may have been working on a cock trigger. So that when I unzipped and showed them my hardening cock, the rest of their mind slid out of sight.
They got on their knees on the bed and began to worship my cock. Sometimes when you’re working with someone you can tell that the trance has started to stick its claws into their mind but hasn’t entirely taken control yet. This is what I was seeing as they struggled to concentrate on the cock on their mouth. But as they worshiped…. And as I made some moderately appreciative sounds… I could see the rest of their mind slip away.
At one point they paused over the head of my dick and stared at me. A beautiful, vulnerable drop of drool hung down their mouth and slowly slipped down on to my cock. They were gone. Worshipfully and completely gone.
I let them trance themselves as the moved up and down over and over again. Finally, after close to a half hour, I brought them out of a trance by making them emerge into an endorphin dump; about as close to an orgasm as some people get.
I then marveled as the lights came on in their eyes and a sheepish and sly smile returned to their face.
I went into Glitter-Spiral’s room which was, magically, right across from ours. We had talked before the con about doing something, possibly involving hypnosis, definitely involving sexual activity. I told her I was looking forward to the sex, obviously, but that Paige had agreed to be the room slave for the weekend, so I had decided to have Paige be the first person I fucked at the con. Glitter-Spiral nodded, replying “that’s not to say we can’t do other things, right?”
I agreed. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her in for a kiss. She joshed me a little, teasing me about how she wasn’t feeling very bottomy (Glitter-Spiral is a self-described brat.)
“Oh really?” I said. “You really want to get fucked up this weekend, don’t you?”
She nodded. I stared directly into her eyes.
“So if you’re a brat, you’re going to stop yourself from doing what I tell you to right?”
She nodded again, her eyes getting a little wider.
“Then whatever you do, don’t drop into trance. Because I’m telling you to go into trance and you want to stop yourself from falling. So don’t fall. Even though you know how good the first trance of a convention is. You’ve been thinking about hypnotic trance so much for so long and that busy little bratty little brain wants to be shut down, wants to be silenced, but it better not fall into trance. Don’t fall into trance!”
As I was talking, her eyes veered from wakefulness to unfocused and then back to wakefulness as the struggle played out on her face. As I used my patter against her, I slowly backed her into the room and in front of her bed.
“I said don’t fall!” and here I gently slapped her face and snapped in her ears. (All of which I had negotiated pre-conference.) “You don’t want to give in that easily, right? You don’t want to drop into a delicious all-encompassing trance, because you’re trying to stop yourself from doing the things I tell you, right?”
The look of confusion spread deliciously across her face even as she found her head nodding in agreement with the things I was saying.
“But resistance makes you so tired, and being tired makes you want to sleep, and, after all, you need to do the opposite of what I’ve been telling you to do and I’ve been telling you to stay awake, and so the thing you really should do is DROP!”
And here I pushed her on to the bed and onto her back. I could see her face lose all sense of self as the tell-tale signs of a trance settled into her face.
I deepened her trance and then told her I she would feel better and better with each rise out of and subsequent fall into trance. I went up and began talking to her face as I reached down and began running my fingers between her legs.
“So,” I said as I brought her up, “are you still feeling like a brat?”
“You sound uncertain.”
“I-I’m not…I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe a couple of orgasms will help.”
I proceeded to fractionate her into and out of trance as I ran my fingers over her very wet clit. In seconds she was cumming as she came out of trance, and then cumming again as I sent her back into trance. Pretty much, she came a lot.
At some point she recovered just enough composure to make one final bratty comment. “You know you’re just encouraging me to be more of a brat?”
I paused and said, right before sending her into another trancey orgasm, “I know. It’ll be more fun to break you that way.”
That time she came hard.
After some making out time, I left, with the promise to come back and, as she put it, “Fuck her up some more.”
It was my first “big” conference since the Covid Pandemic started in 2020. A lot had changed and a lot had shifted since the last time I had dipped my toes in Kinkland for an extended period of time. Primarily, and internally, I had been wrestling with a part of my personality. I’d always considered myself a bit of a service switch and have always tended to consider the needs of people around me whenever I made any decision, big or small. In short, much of my life I’ve been a bit of a service switch (in both the kinky and non-kinky senses). I’ve had absolutely amazing experiences, the likes of which would make a Penthouse Forum editor blush. However, I haven’t felt necessarily proactive in putting together scenes, but reactive. My focus was generally on “what kind of scene would make this person or group of people happiest.” I very rarely asked “what kind of scene would make me happiest?” This is in no way to say that anyone I’ve ever played with would not have been responsive to my requests, it’s just that I never really gave them the chance.
My general goal for the weekend, therefore, was to be a bit more proactive in shaping my experiences. I began with a chart of possible scenes and shared them with some prospective partners (as well as some other people who I trusted to give me good ideas). I also had a few video chats with people who were going to be there to have general negotiations ahead of the con in order to save time and set expectations.
What follows are scenes – or parts of scenes – I did with various people at the con. Some asked not to be identified. Some were fine with being identified. Anyone who was mentioned (by name or by proxy) has reviewed this before I published. As I’ve been writing these, they’ve turned out to be the most explicit stories I think I’ve ever written. So, if me describing sexual things I did to other people (or had done to me) doesn’t suit you, please pass these stories by. Thank you for reading.
CW: Blood, gore, non-con, demonic possession, murder, human sacrifice, orgy, self-harm.
She shivered in the dimly-lit church. The last thing she remembered was meeting her old friend from high school, Robbie the Nerd, for dinner. That was a little unfair; they had been more like study-buddies, and he described himself as a “geek,” more than as a “nerd.” They helped each other in class: she helped him pass History and Physics, he helped her pass Chemistry and that over-the-top Robotics class she signed up for on a dare. She called him “Robbie the Nerd” because he was always reading these incredibly vapid astrology books. “There’s something to these,” he’d say, “I’ll figure out the actual science behind it one day.” He was good-looking and had played cornerback on their football team. He got recruited to Stanford but buried himself in their chemistry program instead.
He called her “Mara the Geek,” largely because she was into cosplay- she made him dress up as Dez and Rez from the anime “Is it Wrong to Pick Up Cute Demons at High School?” and would run around with their stuffed snake, zapping people with their Hypno-Rays. She went on to Harvard, and then to law school. She had been a little lonely throughout her life- she was married to whatever job she had- but Robbie was a friend she could never shake off. Not that she tried, really.
She had clerked for an appellate court judge and just missed out on clerking for a Supreme Court justice. She was settling in at a white shoe firm in DC when she got the email from Robbie.
Robbie was in town on some typical “hush hush” pharmaceutical business and wanted to go out for dinner and maybe some dancing. She had always found him somewhat attractive, but for whatever reason they never hooked up, aside from that drunken grad night that neither of them really remembered and neither of them ever wanted to talk about.
She got dressed up- she looked good, but not devastating, and he looked well-put together (as he usually did) and a little nervous. He blamed the nerves on a presentation he had to do later that week. She offered to help him-she even offered to sign an NDA-but he said that the less she knew the better it’d be.
She insisted, however, since they had plenty of time before dinner.
He set up his laptop, gave her a glass of red wine, and started talking… and then…
The next thing she knew she was in what appeared to be a church. She realized that only a certain kind of church had that color of wood. For some reason, she was staring straight ahead and couldn’t move her neck or eyes. Out of the corner of her vision, she could see some candlelight reflecting off of some kind of stained glass which separated this room from the next. She could also sense one… maybe more… people behind her. She strained to talk, to moan, to move her head, her neck, her eyes.., to swallow, even. But she couldn’t do any of these. She couldn’t even hold her breath. She suddenly felt like a passenger in her own body.
She could tell she wasn’t wearing the outfit she remembered wearing to Robbie’s house. She felt naked under some kind of tight robe that clung to her.
Her mouth let out the slightest of noises before that same feeling of powerlessness and lack of control settled over her.
Her cry echoed in the room and she felt a jolt of tension electrify the air. It felt as if the people behind her collectively inhaled.
Mara internally winced and waited for something to happen. She had a palpable sense of foreboding descend on to her body, and she couldn’t shake it.
There was a slight, tense, pause.
All of a sudden, from the next room, there was an explosion of sound.
Mara heard the sound of organ music. Internally, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The tune sounded straight out of one of those Italian horror films Robbie would have her watch, in exchange for making him watch that old British time travel show. What was the one he liked? “Red is My Blood; Black is My Heart!”?
That was the one involving a virginal sacrifice in order to summon….
A figure dressed in a cloak came from the side. It was holding what looked like a giant staff. At the top of it was some kind of red crystal that seemed to be glowing from the inside. It seemed familiar… and not just from the movie.
She felt her head move up, unbidden, to stare at the crystal.
The figure threw open what Mara realized were doors that had been right in front of her.
The organ music, suddenly louder in her head, changed from a fanfare to some regal, slow, minor-key march. With the doors opened she could see some of the room ahead.
As she suspected, it was….almost a church. The dark wood extended all around. Although there was stained glass between the vestibule and the nave, there did not appear to be any other windows anywhere in sight.
Mara’s eyes followed the red crystal up and down as the figure with the staff solemnly struck the floor three times. Then the staff, capturing her attention, advanced into the nave.
As soon as the figure went three steps Mara felt her body move forward, walking in time with the figure’s steps. Mara could feel there was another body alongside her, matching her stride for stride. She tried to get a look, but, again, her head refused to shift.
After they took three steps, she could hear footsteps behind her walking in time with her, the figure ahead and, of course, the music.
Soon she heard more feet and then even more feet; Mara quickly lost track of how many people were behind her.
As her body glided down the center aisle, she came to realize just how *not* like a church this place was. Instead of pews, there seemed to be pillows and carpets cast about. She thought she caught sight of some bondage equipment in the shadows, and maybe some things that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Inquisition.
The stained-red wood motif continued throughout the room- everything was dim, smoky, and dark red. Almost- she shuddered- blood red.
There was no altar where there should have been. There was, however, a crucifix. It was, of course, upside down. There were candles lining the center aisle leading to the dais in front. Even the candle light seemed impossibly red. The smoke had a bitter taste to it. She thought she could make out a little pot, maybe, and a lot of very exotic fragrances foreign to her.
The figure with the Staff finally reached the dais and then stopped. She stopped. The figure walking next to her stopped. The music stopped. Everyone and everything was still. Her eyes remained transfixed on the red crystal.
She was suddenly aware of another hooded figure, with its arms raised, looming on the dais. In a penetrating, deep voice, she heard it say: “In the name of the Baal, in the name of Beelzebub, in the name of Glaxya, in the memory of Lilith, and for the blessings of the Unspeakable Name themself, present the Offerings.”
Internally, Mara rolled her eyes. Externally however, she found herself launched forward, and as she passed the figure with the staff, her hands reached up to untie something at her neck, then cast off the robe with something approaching a dramatic flourish. Mara was almost glad she wasn’t in control, as she was fairly sure she would have gotten a headache from rolling her eyes so much.
It only then occurred to her that she was naked. And the impulses from her body were unmistakable— her body was very, very turned on. She noted her body was standing more erect than she had managed in years. Her head straight, chest out, and her arms slightly behind her. She walked up to the front of the Dias, paused, and then began to follow the edge of a wide circle drawn on the red ochre floor. It looked disturbingly like dried blood. And salt.
As she completed her orbit, she saw another naked body mirroring her. It was another woman, and she had a dopey, serene expression on her face. Mara hoped against hope that she didn’t share that expression.
They stopped about four feet from each other, flanking the figure who had begun the invocation. Then turned in unison to stare towards the center of the blood-red circle. There was nothing in the middle beyond a garish center of chalk and salt and red markings. It was the culmination of spirals, symbols, and words that seemed to be burning into the lower part of her eyes. Her body, though, kept staring towards the middle of the circle, and a little bit towards the ceiling.
Two by two other figures drifted around the circle. Different genders, different races, different shapes. Each and every one with the same bearing and the same batshit crazy serene expression on their face.
There were about 16 in all. Each of them stared directly across the circle at, and slightly above, another figure. Through the dim smokey air she could see the figure across from her was some chiseled body-builder. She had a vague thought about licking her way up those abs, before she cursed herself.
It was her body that was turned on… not her.
There was another stretch of silence once the naked people took positions around the circle.
“Bring to me the Staff of Openings.”
The figure with the staff walked counter clockwise around the circle. Paused, faced the High Douchebag (as Mara had decided to think of them), bowed, and presented the Staff. (Internally, Mara frowned about how certain words had started to be capitalized in her own head.)
The High Douchebag bowed and accepted the Staff. The other figure then continued counterclockwise around the circle until he took up a position opposite the H.D.
“Now, let us once more sanctify and cleanse these offerings.” With that, Mara found herself turning and joining the rest of the “Offerings” in walking- perfectly in sync-around the circle. HD held the staff out and touched each person on the forehead with the crystal as they came by. Right after this, one by one, each “Offering” began chanting something indecipherable in a kind of half-Latin, half-vaguely-Farsi, half-Russian language. (Yes, that was three “halves,” but Mara had other things concerning her than proper mathematics.)
Mara was last in line to go around the circle. Right before it was her turn, she thought she could actually move her left hand on her own. But when the crystal reached her forehead, she heard a thousand whispers calling to her, and her vision and her hearing was filled with blood.
When the redness and the whispers finally faded out she could hear herself muttering some words. She wasn’t moving, but the room had gotten smokier. HD was saying something loud and obnoxious and it soon became evident that there was some kind of ceremony. Also, about 16 more people had joined the party.
Behind every naked body (each with their arms out wide and staring into the middle distance; each visibly, physically turned on (Mr. Chiseled Abs was *very* well-endowed)) was a figure dressed in a billowing ostentatious robe which was red with black trim. She could barely make out a face for the robed person behind Mr. Abs. That figure seemed somewhat feminine in appearance and was wearing a mask. The outside figures themselves formed a circle and were chanting responses to HD’s call. Between the lowkey whispers of the naked “Offerings,” the chanting of the new people, and HD’s lead, it very much sounded like an unholy church service… or a reenactment of Eyes Wide Shut. She idly wondered who might be behind her… she couldn’t quite distinguish between the voices yet… but she also had a pretty good fucking guess.
Finally, she was able to focus on the words being said.
“As the Unholy Books of Blood have foretold, to receive the blessings of the Unspeakable Name, you must first present the flower of your heart, that it might then be plucked and planted in the Unspeakable Name’s Garden.” HD proclaimed.
The hooded figure behind her and on her right began speaking.
“Her name is Courtney. She is my boss. I do everything for her, anticipate her every need. I love her and would do anything for her.” As this first figure said this, it walked around Courtney counterclockwise, casting off their robe leaving them naked. In their hands was a shiny, intricate silver knife. Mara could tell that the figure was nervous, as their hands were shaking as they drew a knife from their belt. But they were still obviously just as turned on as any of the other naked bodies, including her own. “To make this offering my own, I combine our essences.” The figure now stood behind Courtney and wrapped their arms awkwardly around her. The figure dragged the knife across their own wrist and held it just over Courtney’s lips.
Blood. It dribbled down the blade and dripped towards Courtney’s face. As soon as it touched Courtney, her mouth, still chanting the same mantra over and over again, began moaning. She still continued the chanting, but now through moans and the constant tasting of her own lips. At that moment, a small candle on the floor, just in front of Courtney, flared into light.
The figure then took a step back and held the knife between its hands, as if praying to a god of blades.
The next figure began on the left began, “This is Steven. We grew up next door to each other. We watched each other through our bedroom windows, but our parents would never understand. We finally moved away from each other after high school. He is the love of my life, the one I always wanted for my own.” Once again, this figure disrobed, this time stood in front of Steven, and cut his wrist, dribbling blood down his face and torso. Steven moaned and twitched. It almost looked like he was about to cum right there and then, while thrusting into the air. “To make this offering my own, I combine our essences.” The figure continued, before returning to his position, naked and bleeding.
Courtney and Steven continued to chant in unison with the other Offerings, though this time with their voices shaking, like they were participants in Hysterical Literature.
This continued, Offering by Offering, all around the circle. One offering, Claudia, was someone’s wife. Jeff was someone’s husband. Yasmine had been a person’s accounting professor. Amara had been this one’s first girlfriend, while Julio had been another’s adulterous lover.
Mr. Abs, it turned out, was named Jesse, and the figure behind him said he and her had lusted after each other for a decade, with him following her to the same college, to the same city, to the same neighborhood, but they were each always too shy to do anything about their great love for each other, even though she longed to make Jesse hers. “To make this offering my own, I combine our essences.” As her blood hit Jesse’s lip, his dick got even more impossibly larger, and a giant drop of pre-cum fell slowly to the floor. Mara felt suddenly thirsty inside her body, then cursed herself again for losing control.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the ceremony reached her. A row of candles had lit up all around the blood-red circle, making a path to her. The candlewax was already dripping and filling up the etches around the circle.
“Her name is Mara,” said Robbie’s voice… that fucker. She had already figured it out, but to hear his voice sound out and confirm it was him was still infuriating. Her body’s voice didn’t falter, but Mara wanted to yell and scream and curse.
“I’ve loved her from the first moment I saw her. I would do anything for her. Dress up in stupid costumes. Take up football because she liked the sport.” What the fuck was he talking about? Mara remembered mentioning in passing liking the Packers when she was a kid, but that was because she had a crush on Brett Favre. “We got together once. But the heat was so great we never could talk about it again.” She was so *drunk* and *stoned* she couldn’t remember!
He could hear him walking around her, counter-clockwise, and when he passed in front of her, he managed not to make eye contact. Her body wasn’t obeying her, but oh she wish she could have kicked him in his-admittedly large-but not as large as Jesse Abs’, ha ha- dick. “And so to make this offering my own, I combine our essences.”
His arms reached around her and she could feel him against her. “It *is* bigger than any of the other acolytes’” came a thought that was surely not her own. She tried to shake it off by being as sardonic as she could about this whole stupid thing. She couldn’t deny, though, that her own body would be only too eager to betray her.
He cut across his arm – across for sympathy down if you’re serious, she thought-and tried to follow the blood as it began its inevitable drip. Robbie had bad aim- which is why he always played defense- so some of it dripped on her chest. It felt like a thousand mouths sucking her skin where it fell and drooled down her body.
Finally a drop hit her lips and-
She felt, in her entire body, every single moment in her life when she was right before an orgasm. She felt the pressure in her ears, in her heart, in her cunt, all over her clit. Her g-spot throbbed. She felt one eternal inhalation as if she were getting ready to scream. The drop of pre-cum Robbie left on her ass made her body yearn for more of his touch.
Her mind was racing. She legit felt like she was on an out-of-control whitewater raft heading towards a giant waterfall but never reaching it. Mara struggle to drown out her own internal voice, which was filling her head- in some suddenly understandable ancient language- “I surrender to the Nameless One, My sex for the Nameless One, My heart for the Nameless One, My soul for the Nameless One. I summon the Nameless One with my sacrifice. I surrender to the Nameless One…” and so on. She could hear the voice inside her mind, now. Just her voice first, then making a continual repeating whisper in consort with the whispers of the other Offerings. All of them coming from outside and through the dark red smoke, and into her head, each syllable of which strummed relentlessly across her sex. She could feel now that the thrusts and twitches of the other Offerings were actually in time to the chant. Her body and mind were vibrating.
She almost missed it when HD started speaking again.
“Each of you has come here tonight, as the autumn takes hold of the world, as we celebrate the lifting of the veil between this world and the dark universe beyond. We are here at this time and in this place, to make manifest what was written in the infernal texts- ‘Upon the vernal equinox, four by four in number, attend a circle around a circle and bind your heart’s desire with your heart’s blood, then bear your love to sacrifice with the your blood-cleansed blade. Minds and bodies will be eternal, consecrated in a bloody orgy, touched by the Nameless One, and focused on service in the Nameless One’s desires, sharp as the blood-cleansed blade. Plant your love in the fertile air that thy will make it so.’ And so, as the moment of the equinox approaches, complete the ceremony by bestowing upon your Offering your blade.”
Mara felt herself turn around.
The circle’s chanting began to get louder. Robbie finally made eye contact. He seemed to be searching for some flash of recognition or any reaction. Mara did her best to give him the dirtiest look ever seen, especially after she noticed he was starting to cry, the bastard. He placed the Blood-Cleansed Blade in her hands. She turned back around, as all the Offerings did. For the first time, they all took one step into the blood-red circle and then knelt. Each Offering took the Blade and placed the point pressing against their heart. The Outer Circle now joined in the chant, which was quickly getting louder and louder and more and more frenzied. Mara struggled to try to stop herself, but her will was getting washed away in the internal rush of her body. Ever since she had tasted Robbie’s blood, her body felt on the very edge of the edge of the most life-changing orgasm. Mara was getting a very good idea of how this was all going to go down, but every ounce of her struggle to stop it was swept aside.
The voices became even louder and more desperate. Her voice got even louder and more desperate. She felt rather than heard some kind of countdown begin.
Her body needed release.
Her head and sex were throbbing.
In some recess of her mind, Mara almost invited oblivion, if only to end the torture of being right *there*— always rushing but never moving.
As they felt the countdown reach zero, Mara inhaled.
The Blade pushed slightly into her skin, drew blood, and…..
And then a bright, hellish, red light bore down on the Offerings in the circle.
The world suddenly seemed infinitely more liminal. Mara felt the same desperation, but much less of a connection to her own body or to the ritual or whatever was happening.
She heard shouts and screams from outside the circle. As one, the Offerings lowered their blade to their side, stood up, and turned around. The red light stopped at the edge of the circle.
Mara felt suddenly very different. Grounded. Connected.
She felt a Presence behind her. She could feel the Presence’s mind reach out to hers.
She felt something like a tentacle lay itself around the back of her mind.
She had been a passenger in her own body all night. Now, she felt present and one with her body, and her mind… her mind felt sharpened. She felt like she was seeing the world with new eyes. She felt a different kind of smile take over her face, as if she were a lioness about to take down her prey.
The shouts and screams outside the circle got louder. Mr. HD and his high priest grabbed the Staff with the crystal and ran into the circle. The moment they crossed the threshold, their bodies levitated, then quickly were rotated around the center of the circle. As one, each of the Offerings raised their blade towards the sky. HD and his assistant each started screaming and begging this to stop. Mara felt the bodies drag across her blade, one after the other, over and over. The shouts quickly stopped. There was blood everywhere. She knew she should have been disgusted by this, but the blood pouring everywhere felt merely refreshing to her, like a shower after a day at the beach.
The chanting, needless to say, had stopped. The staff fell on the floor somewhere behind her.
She felt the Presence speak. She could sense its voice behind her, speaking in many voices, deep and light and big and small, all at the same time. The voices of the Offerings, including her own voice, spoke as one with the Presence.
“Who hath summoned me only to try to attack me? What is it that you frightened mortals seek?”
There was general consternation, and then, finally one of them spoke. It was Robbie, of course.
“We have summoned Thee, Oh Great Nameless One, that we may be in your service forever, as Your Book foretold.”
There was a pause.
“What book is this?” The legion of voices queried. Mara hoped her contempt broke through.
“The Unspoken Infernium…um…Oh Great Nameless One.” Then, reading, “then bear your love to sacrifice with the your blood-cleansed blade. Minds and bodies will be eternal, consecrated in a bloody orgy, and focused on service in the Nameless One’s desires.”
“And so you have brought these individuals who each of you loved and put them in the circle to be sacrificed so that you…you would embody My Gifts?”
“Yes, oh Great Nameless One!”
Another pause, then laughter. Mara had to admit, even though she was part of it, having 16 of more people laughing in unison was creepy as fuck. “That’s not how that works. That’s not how that works at all. If you are to be consecrated into my service…why aren’t you in the central circle offering yourselves up to me??”
Robbie audibly gulped. He and all the other acolytes took a step back. “Well… oh great Nameless One…we were sacrificing our greatest loves to you!!”
“…you thought such denial of your heart’s desire would endear yourself to the very embodiment of infernal eternal hunger??”
There was muttering. She heard Robbie talk to someone else, she thought it was Mr Abs’ sponsor, “It’s ok- the Magic Circle binds them in.”
Mara glanced down to where the blood-red circle stood out like lava through a cut in the earth. It seemed like the candle flames spread all around the edge of the circle. It was beautiful.
“You were to bring your hearts’ one true love so that they could watch as you fed on that love to become one of my Eternal Arms. Not to deny your own pleasure in some sick bid for eternal life. But since you brought such beautiful souls, let’s see if they’re willing instead to become my Voice on this Plane… I believe, Robert the Nerd, you’ll find that ritual on page 217.”
Robbie was flustered and was frantically flipping through pages. “But it doesn’t matter, you’re all inside the magice circle!!!”
Mara felt the laughter roll through all of them. She felt her voice lead this next line- “but Robbie the Nerd, all of you” and here each Offering pointed directly at their sponsor, “are the circle…a circle around another circle. Just like the ritual said.”
And with that, the liminal bright light flooded the church. The sponsors froze in their tracks, each adopting the same serene smile she had seen on the other Offerings’ faces.
This time, the Presence spoke alone. “Go, my Arms, and take their essence into you and share it, that you might be my Voice.”
Each of them walked to the person who had, just a few minutes before, professed their love. Each “Offering” still held their Blade in their hand.
Mara could still feel her body throbbing. There was a heartbeat booming in her ears. It wasn’t her heart. She saw the Other Offerings had an opaque, tentacle-like appendage running from them back to the center of the Circle, where the Presence was. She knew this should concern her, but those concerns were being actively wiped away. If anything, she felt light and liberated.
She walked to Robbie and pulled the book from his hand and dropped it to the floor. She rudely pushed him to the floor right next to it. He gasped, and without another thought, she knelt and impaled herself on his cock. She had a flash of doing something similar when they were drunk.
She started riding him. Slowly at first. She looked at him in the eyes. Instead of seeing nothing, she saw him and his eyes. He was frightened. He was scared. He was in shock. He was in love. He was filled with lust. She could see him struggle, but felt him twitch within her.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, Robbie? Aren’t I the love of your life? Your big…fucking…dick…thinks so.” That got a grunt out of him.
She could hear the grunts and moans of coupling happen all around them. As they all found a rhythm, the Presence started chanting from the center. The bright red light was itself throbbing and oscillating. The Nameless One began moaning too, as it started receiving and feeding on the sensations.
“It’s a shame, Robbie,” she spoke in a voice that was and wasn’t her own, “you didn’t have the…spine to tell me what you…wanted. I could have had…so much fun…with this body…fucking it…being your love…being your slut….being your whore…I know what it was…though…why you didn’t… I always kind of knew… you see…you’d have to…start thinking of me…as a person…and not…an object.” She had remained right on the edge of the orgasm to end all orgasms since before she started. “Who’s…the object…now??”
His eyes widened. She could tell he was trying not to cum. She could almost hear his thoughts frantically thinking of anything to distract him from cumming. But her dirty talk…and feeling the truth and her sex envelope him, was breaking down all the barriers.
She felt him pulsing within her, ready to explode. She placed the knife right over his heart. “Come on Robbie. Give me your essence. Cum for me, asshole!”
She felt him begin to cum. She shouted as she felt her own orgasm avalanche through her body “And so to make this offering my own, I combine our essences!!” And she plunged the knife deep within his heart.
She could feel the Presence in her mind cumming with her. And then, as if hers was the first domino to fall, she heard the same ritualistic line moaned and shouted over and over from different parts of the room, and each time there was a shout, the orgasm got exponentially stronger and stronger, as each of the lives was sacrificed. The light burned brighter. She felt blood squirt and splatter as Robbie stayed hard, letting her ride him to orgasm after exponential orgasm.
She could feel the energy of his soul get absorbed into her, and through her, to the Nameless One. Robbie’s whole body just began to dissolve, ending with his cock.
Mara began to laugh with joy. She felt so much power coursing through her. She felt free. She knew her mind was no longer just her own, but she knew the world would be hers. Soon, the sixteen Offerings were collapsed in chaotic laughter. They crawled to each other and continued the orgy, thrusting and fucking indiscriminately on the blood red floor of the unholy dais.
After some hours, the Presence halted proceedings.
“The veil grows thick and I must leave. You are now my Voice and my Arms on this Plane of Existence. Make it scream in ecstasy and need so that I may one day take it for my own.”
There was a groan as if a door was closed, and then a flash. All of them stood up, clean, and and now in designer versions of their favorite clothes.
The doors swung open. There were pews, and updated furnishings throughout their church. Instead of an upside-down cross, there was a statue of a giant sun, eclipsed by the moon, with rays and flares stretching out into the rafters and then around the church, looking vaguely like tentacles.
Mara found Jesse, and grabbed his hand. They had a lot to do, and Mara was looking forward to never being alone again.
From a prompt by Lizzidoll. Bonus points if you can figure out the four songs whose lyrics I was supposed to work into the story.
(Keyboard, strapped, hungry)
It truly is incredible how tempting you are. I simply adore the way I can imagine you trembling as you sit there vacantly in front of your computer. It would happen; it would happen soon.
You had come to my website seeking a respite from the terrible world, and you clicked on the introductory spirals. And like so many others, you seemed to lose yourself in the spirals on my website. I could chart it by your username, following you from spiral to spiral to spiral. I imagined how the kink might be filling your life, like the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream.
I think I could have let that go. But there was something about the way your email sounded…. So yearning. You had found my email at the bottom of my website. Talked about how enchanting everything I did was. You were like a test. A test I failed.
I would toss and turn over whether I could do it, of course. I spent nights telling myself I wouldn’t. And some nights I’d lose the feeling. And some nights I’d lose control; I’d just see the vision of you dancing and the sound of my heartbeat in my ears like thunder.
By then, after a few emails back and forth, sharing more and more personal information, you sent the video of you with the introductory spiral I had made projected on your skin. You knew how to dance, and your swaying body made my ownwords dance in front of my eyes. I swear I lost myself for a second. Lost myself in the need to take you. Possess you. Control you.
I thought about all the rules I had made for myself. The need to be upstanding and good. I could feel myself changing since I first met you. Was there something in the words you used to lure me on this path? I dismissed the thought immediately. No. I wasn’t phased, only here to sin, now. I had tasted the apple, and it was too late to turn back.
I needed to lay the perfect trap for you. I needed to make the subliminals and the spirals so entrancing you would have no choice but to obey.
I programmed spiral after spiral after spiral to entrap you. My job thinks I’m on sabbatical. My friends think I’m in another country. From time to time, I think I must be some kind of fool.
I have bought the most cutting-edge software and the best computers to make it all run smoothly. I read the latest books and articles on brainwashing and mind control.
Even so, all I can see when I close my eyes is the way you danced in that video and it’s all I can do to stop working. Spiral after spiral after spiral. I program and stare at them all, trying to find the slightest imperfection. It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do, and I seem to have done it all.
Even so, I feel like I’m strapped to my chair in my office.
I lose days and nights staring at the trap I’ve made. I can see your face now, your body. All the time in the spirals. It’s like you’re saying my name. It’s like you’re talking to me.
I can feel myself drifting away. Every so often I have a stray thought…. Every so often I hear your voice whispering in my ear. Every so often I swear I can feel your hand on my neck and your breath on my cheek. “I’ve programmed myself my own perfect top.”
And then darkness falls, and my world slides away…again.
(Fem-dom, male-sub, CBT, CEI-ish, bondage, food, forced orgasm(?), off-screen negotiation, NSFW)
So I think I’m going to fire up this blog again and begin importing my written stuff over from Tumblr.
If there’s anything particular you want to see or might have missed, please let me know.
Twenty-Two Short Stories About Deep Mind-Dark Wood.
By DJ Pynchon
Some of these stories happened as I described them.
Some of these stories are exaggerated.
Some of them are complete fabrications.
It would be unfair to say that I had never cooked before. It would be perfectly fair, however, to say that I had never cooked so much so quickly for so many people. My plane was a few minutes late, and I was thrust out into the pleasant New England night. For Lee and Jim, it was 11 pm. For me, it was still relatively early, being from a time zone significantly west of here. The trip to Lee’s house was short, and windy. There was precious little time for pleasantries. But I was cooking, and stressing about it.
Then I remembered that I was at a hypnotist’s house. I stood there in front of the stove and listened to Lee and Jim talk, and decided to push myself into a little trance.
Then Lee said something to me and I looked at the time. It was 1 am. All the chicken had been cooked and put away.
I had wondered flying across the country if I’d be ready for this weekend.
I was trying to figure out what I was.
Not who I was. That I had pretty much well in hand: nice enough, good looking enough for those I cared enough of to dwell on whether they thought I was attractive; smart, clever, polite, diplomatic. Those are all words that describe who I was. Or who I am.
But what was I?
Hopping into the hypno-scene as I had, I found myself drawn mostly to dominants. It made sense; all my fantasies prior to that had involved some kind of female hypnotist slowly taking over my will and giving me intense pleasure, inducing some level of amnesia and taking advantage of me without choice. You know, typical Catholic stuff.
And yet. And yet. Consider that a fair portion of the actual play I had concocted and put in motion involved me as the “top.” It involved me as the mover, the hypnotist, the one holding the whip (or, in my case, the sonic screwdriver).
Maybe… maybe I’m not, strictly speaking, a bottom after all.
And would that make a difference?
These were the questions going through my head in the lead up to Deep Mind Dark Wood. I thought it’d be a chance to explore aspects of myself that I hadn’t really had the chance to… at any point in my life, really.
And so I prepared myself to have the courage of my convictions. Wait. No, that’s not quite right. Because I wasn’t sure of my convictions. Not yet. Rather, I was going to gird myself to try on a new me. To one extent or another, I was hoping to break through and find out what I was. What I am.
And although I was trying to prepare myself, what preparation can one do right before you take that leap?
3. The Scene
The prevailing color is green. Not the newborn Springtime green of the urgent growth, but the last gasp green of late summer, when Autumn has barely thought about licking the leaves of the trees in the valley.
Helter-skelter in the middle of the woods are scattered clearings and chock-a-block buildings. One such building rises towards the middle of the camp– a massive modest mansion. It has multiple personalities: come at it from any new angle, and you’d think you were approaching a new structure. It also has multiple stories: one in one part; two in another; and three or even four, depending on which staircase one ascends (or descends… or ascends, then descends, then ascends).
The interior of the dormitory is a maze of rooms and hallways. One imagines Escher would get dizzy navigating its entrails.
There is one large gathering and dining room, a well-appointed kitchen, and all the bedrooms one would want.
There are private cabins here and there and several fields for lazing about.
Across a path and hidden from sight is a disused religious maze, and if one weren’t careful, one could even get lost between the maze of the house and the maze of the maze, such is the disorienting effect of the place.
This weekend, though, the lasting memory will, no doubt, be the hazy sticky heat that lay about the place and made every movement seem like swimming through a dream.
In short, for all one’s hypnotic needs, the place was perfect.
People from many different corners of the world gathered together to invoke whatever good spirits (or bad, I suppose) to lift them to whatever goals they felt confident enough to inflict upon this weekend.
We held hands. ZanyM led us through the ceremony.
One by one we sipped water from a bowl and spoke of our hopes and dreams for the weekend.
The cadence of voices from other climes and other countries.
The whisper of what might be.
The far off sound of thunder.
Ray Bradbury may have been tempted to call it “delicate.”
Far off I swore I heard a raven call, symbol of change and the oaths you’re glad were broken.
And then another rumble.
And then the words of us, one by one, detailing the signs and symbols we’d adopted.
Ripples in the air spreading out in all directions.
The wave of vibrations hitting the ears and then to the minds.
The oscillator could chart the slide up and down as those words flitted around the gathering.
Already the minds receding and acceding.
I could feel the comfort of trance just from following the bowl from person to person, round and round.
Each word and hope feeding my sense of anticipation.
And the hinted, unspoken promise of any opening circle, that there will be a closing circle. That who you are right there, in that moment, will be deposited at the close, unchanged in any appreciable way. However far one strays from the origin, the circle promises the return, and therefore returns a perfect promise.
Morgan closed the loop with the last drops from the cup and bid us all strap in for the bumpy ride of the weekend to come.
And with that, the circle broke.
5. Hypno-scenes from a hat.
They had put their nametags in a hat. DJ sat nervously. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the weekend. Frankly the promotional materials were rather circumspect on the question of what everyone would be doing to fill their time. But Mr. Dream, together with LeeAllure, as ringleaders of the event, had gathered everyone onto the side porch. Dream took the name-tags from everyone and threw them into a hat. He and Lee began by trading trances.
They described how, for the duration of the weekend, any filters that were preventing us from achieving our goals would be lifted, but only in such a way as to keep us safe and secure. But that, again, for the duration of the weekend, those filters would be placed somewhere else so that we would be open to the new experiences and to the experiences that we wanted. They spoke these words to each other.
Then, they picked names out of a hat, and each took that person to the side, and performed a hypnotic induction on them.
DJ was still a little nervous. He had met most of these people before, but he really only knew Lee. And, with some minor exceptions here and there, he had only worked with Lee.
One man with a slight accent picked DJ’s name. They wandered to the side.
They chatted nervously a little, in a way not entirely unlike a first date. The accented man asked for permission and began.
DJ dropped like a brick through water.
His mind had been ready, and he opened like a flower greeting the first rain of spring after the frost had faded away. As filters began being removed, DJ found himself nodding to the friendly suggestions.
DJ enjoyed the drifting.
Too soon, the accented voice woke him up.
DJ looked around, seeing various people in various states of trance.
The colors and lights looked brighter and, yet, gauzier.
He thanked the accented man.
Then DJ took a name out of the hat, and continued.
6. Where the weather goes.
I have often thought that climate makes the culture. New Englanders are hardy folk, because they bear the brunt of fierce Nor-easters then harsh and humid horrid summers.
Southerners are lazily lackadaisical because, perhaps, their progress is forever slowed by half-backed molasses in the air.
Northwesterners are quirky and fond of the weird- months in the rain leads to inventing new ways to entertain and distract.
I hail from near the Pacific, where dry desert sun kisses the skin every day and no air or weather is anything other than a friend. The Western sun loves us so much it will not let a drop of water fall, nor fill the air, lest water distract from the sun’s love of us.
So when I walk outside into the New England summer I wonder what sins I have committed to earn so great a betrayal of what I rely on. In New England late summers, the sun is not your friend. It and its humid allies seek to stifle the very sense of thought. In many ways the slow burn squeeze of thought and brain power is perfect for an enclave such as this.
John Adams’ children from the area open their arms and tell me it’s beautiful. Polite and suggestible, I tell them it is. They look at me insistently, for I have not the fervor of an acolyte.
“It IS beautiful here!” they say again. And look! So it is!
Thus does culture make the climate.
7. Air Superiority
The remit was simple and from the Wiccan-inspired people in our group: divide ourselves according to the ancient four elements of “Water, Fire, Earth and Air” and develop (within those groups) a group trance related to that element.
I found myself in the “Air” group. We tied some ropes onto a ring and each of us began to dance with each other through the ring, like a giant Ouija fetish, only with the ring holding air… as much as air can be held.
The other “elements” were doing it wrong, clearly.
Fire went down to the fire-pit and talked about themselves among the ashes, before flaming out with little trance accomplished.
Earth lay down sedentarily, contemplating the grass. In my field of vision, they never moved.
Water took forever to decide what state they were in- halfway through our dance, I don’t think they had even figured out a way to begin, or where that beginning would be. Finally Water decided that they wanted more of itself, and begged the sky for rain.
But we- we let the wind move us into whatever many positions we/it desired. Spinning ourselves around the ring. Tying us up in bunches. And when the wind was done with us, and we were done with the wind, the trance and the dance, we stopped.
8. Clean hands, clean heart, clean dishes, clean mind.
I stumbled out of the kitchen, blinking.
My hands were wet and the entire front of my clothes was damp.
I blinked some more and checked the time.
An hour had gone. I leaned back into the kitchen and saw a pile of clean dishes.
I think I had done them.
I fuzzy memory came back to me.
An hour ago, Lee had led me to the kitchen. “It’s your turn in the kitchen to clean. As you clean each dish, you will find yourself falling deeper and deeper into a trance. Each dish you wash will make you happier and more open. Each dish you wash will clean your mind and make you more open. The cleaner the dishes are, the cleaner your mind will be.”
The image came back in a flood.
My mind was clean.
Looking back now, I realize…. I was in that kitchen a lot.
9. Molecular Trance.
We are given a length of rope. Well… not really a rope. More like those thick sturdy lengths used to tie furniture. Everyone gets a choice of a color. Mine is blue.
We start with one volunteer in the middle. She stands there, with us surrounding her in a circle, in anticipation.
Three of us approach her, each placing our “rope” around her. Together we can stop her from falling over.
Together, however, we seek to induce her into trance.
We take her off balance, yet still connected to the ground.
I find myself whispering trancey words. The three of us with the fourth in the middle guide her into a glide into hypnosis.
In many ways this is a trust exercise; she trusts us to hold her to the ground. We trust her to fall and drift.
After a few minutes I feel the ropes around me. The same thing happens to the other two. Now we are floating on the ground, as people tug and shape us off balance. I feel like I am floating as I hold and guide the woman in the center. I can barely keep track of what I am saying, though I’m sure my whispers mean something.
I feel like I am floating up into the air and looking down, as ropes interlace between and among us spreading out in all directions. We are a molecule of 24, 25 people spreading hypnosis out from the center and then having it reverberate back in.
I feel it course around and through me. I feel like I am catalyzed and a catalyst. I feel full of words, ponderous and pretentious. Maybe that is who I am. And for once, I do not care.
We are a unit, and a molecule, and every molecule contains atoms, each of which contains positive and negative charge. Whatever charge I have in this molecule is important, and contributes to the sway. For what I am is who I am. Down the road Walt Whitman said that every part of you as sure’s a part of me.
For once, I understand what he meant (and all without benefit of drugs).
A breeze picks up, and, when we are done, we separate into our constituent parts.
10. What the Butler Became
Towards the beginning of the weekend we were randomly assigned groups and asked to come up with suggestions for “classes” or experiences we’d like to have. Someone suggested we experiment with “transformation” play. Transformation play involves a hypnotic suggestion that the subject have all the characteristics of….someone or something else.
A traditional motif in “mcstories” is when the subject is transformed into a doll or a robot. For the subject, being in a “doll space” means taking a break from thought and responsibility. For the hypnotist, having someone you can order around and who will obey without thought or delay can be quite the fantasy come true.
There are other types of transformation play, however. Some people will enjoy having their intelligence taken away, and this can be done through “bimbo” or “himbo” play. Others may like to experience being an animal, or a specific pet. For others it’s as simple as changing or augmenting a specific personality trait.
So a lot of people wanted to experience different aspects of it at DMDW. As a group, we discussed different aspects of it, and those with experience discussed how best to elicit it from the unconscious.
For the hypnotist, it can be quite a charge to see someone you’re working with adopt a whole new persona, to your specifications and commands.
We then split off into volunteers and hypnotists to run through some possible transformations.
Jim was really interested in exploring service, so had a hypnotist instill a “butler” trigger on him. The butler had his own personality, both supercilious and punctilious. We came to call him “Sebastian.”
Cynthia wanted to experience animal play, and so was hypnotized into believing she was a cat… well, that is to say, a kitten. She crawled around on all fours.
Roger was an effervescent sort. He had kind of a bubbly personality and a certain joie de vivre. He wanted to experience having his intelligence drained away a little.
And me. Well, Lee and I had been discussing how I needed some experience being “not nice.” I’ve always been a little leery about opening up the dark side of my personality to others’ gaze. Lee, for some reason, thought it’d be fun to do. So she turned to me and started whispering in my ear.
“In your mind is a control panel. And on that control panel is a section marked ‘filters.’ And on one of those filters is a dial marked ‘Snarkiness.’ It’s probably set to about a ‘6’ right now. For the next hour, I want to change it, just a little, to ‘8.’ Nod your head if this is ok.”
I, of course, nodded my head.
“Good. Now wake up! <snap!>”
I opened my eyes and I felt, frankly, lighter than I had before. I also felt slightly more predatory. For a while I saw most of the people there as some kind of prey.
I remember going up to “Sebastian,” and engaging him in conversation about how awful butlers were- that they are backstabbing, gossiping two-faced creatures—just to see how polite he could stand to be as I was crapping all over his chosen profession.
I noted with wry amusement how flustered he was becoming. I stopped just before he was about to blow his top. As I left I noted how his shoelaces were not equally well tied. Which flustered the poor bastard even more.
We interacted like this for a while as the group broke up into social discussions. I found my way next to Lee and whispered some of my observations into her ear. I was mimicking this person, or making fun of the ostentatious way one of them was conducting a trance.
At some point I was told that Roger was brought out of his “Himbo” trance, and I immediately responded, “How can anyone tell the difference?”
Before we went inside, Lee reset the dial; dinner was approaching, and I still had three full days with everyone.
11. Bang a Gong
I’m not sure why the gong was there.
It was large and looked like it came straight from the set of some Asian movie where monks at a Buddhist temple gather. It was slung from a stand at the side of the room.
Brigit and Sonia were there. Sonia was underneath the gong, lying still but looking around furtively as if something were sure to happen. I walked up and Brigit greeted me.
“Sonia’s a gong.”
“I said, Sonia’s a gong. Watch!”
And with that, Brigit took the gong’s mallet and drummed it on the gong. The effect on Sonia was immediate. Her whole body shook with each reverberation of the gong. As the sounds quieted down, Sonia’s own palpitations and shivers declined. Just as Sonia came to a rest, Brigit hit the gong again, sending Sonia into more and even greater convulsions.
“Oh, no. She’s completely mindless right now. All she is is a gong. Gong, gong, gong. She’s gone gong….” Brigit hit the gong in time with every time she said “gong” or “gone.”
She handed me the mallet.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. She said you could earlier.”
I slowly rapped the mallet against the gong, marveling at how responsive Sonia was.
After a while, I couldn’t help myself. I choked the mallet up and swung it hard and strong at the gong, sending a crashing, booming sound through the room unmatched by anything save for the shriek of ecstasy as Sonia spasmed underneath.
I was about to laugh, when I looked down the room and saw some people look at me sharply, as though I was disturbing something they were doing. Which we probably were.
I held my hand out to silence the gong, and Sonia stopped her thrashing immediately.
Brigit and I looked at each other for a moment
“Do you think…” I started.
“Yes?” she asked.
“What would happen if we hit her with the mallet?”
Brigit and I held each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Let’s find out” she said, eagerly.
Brigit took the mallet from me and started bouncing it off of Sonia’s prone body. Sonia re-started her convulsions. Like the gong, the quivers and quavers kept going even after each mallet’s strike was over.
Sonia looked like a woman in the throes of unseen passion as we took turns hitting her with various degrees of force.
At some point, I saw someone I had to talk to, so I left Brigit to continue poking and prodding.
As I hit the other side of the room, I heard another shriek as Brigit doubtless smacked Sonia as hard as she could. The same people who had been disturbed before glared at me again.
I looked at them and showed my bare, empty hands.
“Not my orchestra this time.”
They grimaced, and went back to their scene.
12. Mosquitos, a haiku.
Trance is hard enough
Blood sucking insects all ‘round
13. Rapport, Part 1: The Staring Contest
Breakfast at Camp Mindfuck is dangerous.
Mark was talking with Lee about plans for later that day.
Mary was over on the other side of the table, discussing some arcane
Mark absent-mindedly asked Mary to pass the water. Neither looked at the
other as Mary reached over to grab the pitcher. Neither really considered their actions as Mark reached across for the pitcher.
But each glanced up to make sure there would be no spill.
They made eye contact.
Each considered how funny it was to make eye contact at a hypnosis event.
Each decided to let the other look away first.
You know, for science.
Each saw the smirk in the other’s face.
Each knew this meant there was a double down.
Each knew that this was dangerous.
The other person’s eyes became the most important thing in the world.
Would they shift away from the other’s?
Would they lose focus first?
Would they trance out or keep focus?
Would they, could they, should they resist?
Each could barely hear the conversation fade away.
Each could barely hear as their hypnotists started whispering in their ears.
Each could barely imagine it, because maybe that wasn’t actually happening.
Each could barely contain themselves as they drifted away from the
breakfast table into a sweet sleepy space.
Each could barely stop themselves from imagining a million different ways to
Each could not contain their drop into that yawning sleepy open space
A shadow passed as someone else asked for some water.
And the spell was broken, and each was returned to the present tense.
Shaky, Mark managed to pour himself some water, and pass the pitcher on.
Each returned to their conversations.
Breakfast at Camp Mindfuck is so much dangerous.
But it is also dangerously fun.
14. Maze (a poem)
I am lost
I am following a person I barely know around a maze
Drawn and charted on a former church floor
I am following them, and then I’m not
I am following the lines on the floor
I am lost
I am drawn to the center like the maze
I am drawn to follow
I am meant to follow between the lines that draw me to the center
I follow between the lines
I chart the lines between trance and meditation
I place myself on one foot after another
I am lost
I am steps in a maze which have retraced themselves
I am lost in a loop in a maze which has turned upon itself
I was following and now I am lost and by myself
The line between trance and meditation is a line I cross
And so I cross myself and my path
I am meant to draw myself to the center, and so
I find myself crossing all kinds of lines
I am no longer drawn to another maze’s center.
Amazingly, I have found myself my own center.
I am found
I am no longer lost.
15. Rapport, Part 2—The Hypno-Egg Contest
He handed the egg to Mary. Mary held it carefully and protectively in her hands. She handed it back to Mark.
Likewise, Mark cradled it in his hands before handing it back.
Mary held it, slightly heavier than last time, before send it the other way.
“I wonder,” Mark said, “which color brings you into trance more? Is it the blue color or is it the red.”
“Wait,” Mary said, “isn’t that cheating?”
“You should answer my question before I answer yours.”
She handed the egg back. “No, seriously—can you do that?”
“Well,” he smirked, “I did help invent the game. So the rules are pretty much what I say they are.”
She smiled. “Well, then, Mark. Would you say that the colors are more effective when you inhale or when you exhale? But don’t answer.”
“W-what?” They continued handing the egg back and forth, but suddenly, Mark’s hands began to waver.
“Because I need you to think about that while you concentrate on handing this Hypno-Egg back and forth so very carefully. And while you worry about that, think about how much you want to win this game and how that desire keeps you going and then think about the feel of the egg in your hand and the weight that you must bear to keep going, and think about all the colors you’re ignoring because the changing rainbow of colors would be captivating if you thought of them too much and then…”
She might have kept talking; Mark wasn’t entirely sure, because he felt himself sinking. But then he realized, she had stopped speaking. She was staring at the egg in his hands.
All he had to do…
All he had to do was shift the egg from his hands to hers and he’d win.
He could feel his thumb twitch as he tried to make that move.
He could feel Mary’s eyes staring.
He could sense her outstretched hands waiting.
And yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t do it.
And so he “lost.”
Mary, of course, remembered it the other way around.
16. The Tough Nut (a haiku)
Repeating “I can’t”
Is its own kind of trance state
A sad, lonely one.
17. Rapport, Part 3 – Mirror Trance
Mark was walking down the hall when he heard Lee talking with Mort.
“Oh sure,” she said, “mutual trances are a lot of fun. I did one with Mark over at NEEHU last year.”
Mark’s ears perked up. It was a fantastic memory for him. NEEHU was the first hypnosis event he had ever been to and he recalled how nervous he was getting off the plane, driving to the hotel, and meeting the first few people at the event. He had met Lee at the pool and she had both assuaged his nerves and introduced him to his first live trance. The next day, she had somehow convinced him to do a live demo in front of the unconference. He remembered thinking to himself “zero to 60 in no time at all.”
At some point during the demo, Lee had Mark face Sarah, one of the other volunteers. Lee started whispering at them, telling them that they were going to go into a trance.
“I don’t know which of you is going to go into a trance first, you,” touching him on his shoulder, “or you,” now touching Sarah. “But you find you can’t take your eyes off of each other’s eyes, and, Mark, you’ll find that as you watch Sarah go deep, you’ll go just as deep as she looks, and then a little deeper. And Sarah, you’ll find that as you watch Mark go a little deeper, you’ll go just as deep as he looks, and then go a little deeper. And you’ll see the trance in each other’s eyes, and….”
And that’s where his memories got a little hazy.
Mark shook his head and looked around. He was here, at Deep Mind Dark Wood, and Lee was talking about mutual trances, again. It was just Lee and Mort lounging in the room. He stepped into the sitting room, and looked up to see Mary walk in from the other hallway at the same time. They made eye contact with each other, and stopped.
Lee laughed. “I was going to go get some volunteers, but I think we have some already. Mary… Mark… would you please come here and demonstrate something for Mort for me?”
Mark briefly considered saying “no,” just to be difficult. But he walked over and took up a position just opposite Mary, who, likewise, found herself standing across from Mark.
Lee kept talking to Mort, explaining what was about to happen. “So it’s really about establishing rapport between the two people. And I know this will be a little bit easier than usual because of how they had been working together earlier today. So I’ll just ask them to look at each other.”
At this point, Lee directed her voice at the pair staring at each other in the room.
“Look at each other’s faces and take a deep breath in and let it go.”
Mark and Mary did this in unison.
“Now just begin to breathe normally. And as you do that, just look at each other and see how relaxed and happy the other person is.” Mark nodded, noticed that Mary nodded at the same time, and both grinned.
“And as you see how relaxed the other person is, see if you can get as relaxed as they are. Notice how their eyes soften, even as they stay focused on you. Notice how their breathing slows, even as yours slows.”
Mark was noticing all these things. He noticed how her eyes softened but kept focus. He noticed how his breathing was suddenly matching her breathing. He noticed all these things and less. And less.
He had dim flashes of how beautiful Mary looked as she was obviously slipping into a trance, with Lee’s words sliding by his ears. Lee’s voice, however, was a music he could hear and even follow, but whose melody slipped by him.
And he thought that if Mary looked like that falling into trance, he must look the same. And- just as Lee was saying at that exact moment, though somehow he didn’t exactly hear her- that same thought made them both fall even deeper.
The whole world swallowed them up as consciousness fell around them both.
“And 1…2…3…4… wide awake on 5.”
His eyes blinked into consciousness staring directly at Mary. He watched her blink into wakefulness as well. They both giggled shyly. They stole a glance at each other.
“-and drop right back down twice as deep, Now!” as Lee snapped her fingers.
And the trance swallowed them both again.
There was nothing but darkness for a while, and then….
“And 1…2…3…4, wide awake again on 5.”
This time, waking up was even more of a chore.
They stole a shy glance around the room again, only to find that it had filled up with ten people watching them intensely.
They both looked down, bashfully.
“And that’s how you do it. They’ll feel like they’re in quite the state of rapport for a while-and they are-but it’s really easy, especially if you have such good subjects like this.”
Mary and Mark both sheepishly thanked Lee for the compliment. They were furtively trying not to make eye contact. Eye contact seemed… dangerous.
Lee kept talking to the newly arrived crowd as Mary and Mark pretended to pay attention. They were slowly and imperceptibly (to themselves anyway, though Lee noticed) moving closer to each other.
Finally, they “accidentally” touched, and made that eye contact…
They fell past the room’s laughter on their way down.
They fell past all sense of propriety, too. (Morgan, who arrived in the room halfway through, would say that the little bit of drool dripping from Mark’s mouth was the sexiest thing she had seen that weekend, to that point.)
At some point they never hit bottom. But they never broke eye contact, either. And at some point, somewhere in there, they knew they needed to come back up, or else they would drift in trancey blackness forever.
And so they led each other back to the waking world and to the applause of their friends.
18. Rapport, Part 4 – That Scene
They would refer to it ever after as that scene.
Periodically, someone would poke their head in to see what was occurring, but only the five people in the room could tell you.
I wouldn’t dare to tell you that I knew what exactly occurred; I was in another part of the complex entirely, staring at the sky and counting shooting stars. But this is what I’ve been able to piece together, after talking to each of them.
Vince had asked Lee and Morgan to do a scene with him. Vince and Morgan had been working on some transformation play involving turning Vince into a butler type named “Bartlesby” earlier in the day. But tonight, he wanted a different kind of vacation. Tonight he wanted some doll play. He wanted to be doll-like servant for Morgan and, by extension, Lee. Vince also wanted to experience what needles felt like, and Lee had brought a batch. Mark had listened to some of the negotiations during dinner and asked if he could watch. Lee, Morgan and Vince all agreed.
Mark ran into Mary on the way to the room where “that scene” was about to occur. The three had already begun, so Mark and Mary sat on a bed in the medium size bedroom. Vince was standing in the middle of the room, already with his shirt off. Lee and Morgan had begun with a dual induction, sending him so very, very, deep.
While down, the two hypnotists constructed a doll persona, filled with nothing but thoughtlessness and obedience. But periodically, one or the other would give the doll an imaginary treat. When the doll ate the treat, the doll would say a new mantra that would both express Vince’s deepest thoughts at that moment, and reinforce the obedience and subservience he was feeling.
As Mark and Mary came in, Morgan had just given Vince a treat. He placed it in his own mouth, and said, “An obedient doll is a happy doll.”
Mark and Mary sat on the bed facing the scene. That line had entirely captured their attention. It was one thing to read that line in a smutty and hot mind control story, but to see it playing out right in front of them? That was something else entirely. This, as they told me later, just didn’t happen.
Morgan and Lee stalked around Vince, like two very sexy sharks taunting their prey. Occasionally smacking his chest or running their nails lightly across his back.
Vince was so far gone into “doll-space” it was hard to tell if any of those feelings even registered in his brain.
Lee placed a treat in his hand. This time, he said, “I am a happy doll.”
Mark and Mary inhaled at the same time. Somehow, they wound up sitting even closer to each other. By the time the next treat was given, “I live to serve,” Mark and Mary found themselves clutching each other. Apparently this whole scene was turning them on. Because of the rapport they had been feeling throughout the whole day, however, this quickly became a closed circuit.
By which I mean, every time Lee or Morgan did something to Vince– the first needle; the second needle; “I live to obey”; “happy dolls obey”; Lee slapping the skin where the needles found themselves impaled in Vince’s skin; the moment Morgan let Vince feel the pleasure coursing through his body for 20 seconds of blissful moans and then silence; when Lee and Morgan took turns with the breath play; “I am yours to command”; etc., etc., etc.—Mark and Mary would find themselves turned on, and turning each other on.
First they were clutching each other’s arms. Then they had their arms around each other. Then they were sitting in each other’s laps. Then they were grabbing each other’s hair and forcing each other to watch. At some point, Mary told me, staring down at the ground, she was pretty sure they were dry humping.
Morgan said she wasn’t sure which was hotter, the scene she and Lee were running, or the heavy petting on the couch.
No one was sure how long the scene lasted. Mark said it felt like 20 minutes. Lee thought it was about two hours. Vince lost all track of time and didn’t even know what day this happened. All I know is that I didn’t see them for at least three hours. I saw that door closed and didn’t bother to poke my head in.
No one was sure how or why it ended. Maybe the sun came up. Maybe there’s only so long a doll can be played with.
No one was sure how Mark and Mary managed not to tear off each other’s clothes, given how much they were apparently pawing at each other.
But really, everyone was certain, that the heat from that room peeled the paint off the walls and seared certain moments into their brains.
As Mark Twain once observed about stars, sometimes, when you least expect it…. Moments just happen.
19. The Voices and the Bodies.
In the field in the afternoon, they gathered. They divided amongst themselves, an equal number of hypnotists and subjects. The subjects lay on the grass, soaking in the warm late summer sun. The hypnotists moved among them and around them. Their voices starting out as whispers.
They cajoled and urged the subjects to let their bodies stay behind in the warm ground and let loose their unconscious selves to dance around the tree.
Their voices collided and roamed the bodies supine before them.
On some unspoken signal, the voices, as one, raised in volume and intent.
This was not just going to be some simple sleepy trance.
As one, the several hypnotists wanted to hear their chorus sing.
Once cajoling voices became commanding voices, controlling voices, demanding voices. Voices that seeped into sleepy minds and pushed through whatever inhibitions still remained after a weekend of fractionation.
Together, the ten or so hypnotists acted as a conductor, pushing their words into the soon writhing bodies in front of them. The hypnotists had started in a circle, clockwise, but now were going every which way.
The bodies in the middle, some began to clutch each other thoughtlessly. Others had their eyes roll up into the backs of their heads as if possessed.
Which, of course, they were.
The words flooded over them like a flood across a desert of rocks, leaving no resistance in their wake. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. The voices were insistent, were they not? The voices only asked for obedience for just as long as they kept talking.
And the obedience was for just one purpose, after all.
And these voices, without their own decision or thought, demanded that pleasure. They wanted to lure it out into the open. To magnify it. To have each body’s pleasure reverberate off the next. To multiply and focus it. Up into the air. And back onto their waiting, quivering, deliciously strewn bodies.
Together, these voices squeezed in on what remained of the bodies’ minds. As every thought squeezed out let more pleasure in.
Together, as one, the throng of bodies on the ground outside under the warm late-summer sun, moaned and shouted and groaned and pleaded and cast their yesses out into the canyon.
And as the echo flowed back upon them….
The voices grew silent.
For they were sated and proud of what they had done.
Each hash-mark is an orgasm.
One that I will forget.
The reverse of Doctor Who’s silence.
There each instance of terror is a mark to remind yourself of what you didn’t
want to see.
Here, each mark is a trigger for an orgasm you don’t want to forget.
Because each time you see it
You remember each time before.
And then you come.
They shared the game this time
And we got revenge on the other
Once we were allowed to remember
What’s this on my arm?
What’s that on yours?
Dozens of hash-marks
Dozens of orgasms
And shared alike
Until it was time to say good-bye.
Rolling up my sleeves
A friendly predatory glint in my eyes
“Give me a hug.”
Whenever you have been among your tribe
And you are returning to the grey, structured wilderness
Take a moment of quiet
To consider the questions unanswered
To reflect on who you are
And what you must take with you when you go.
22. Warping and Wrapping Up
We cleaned the place up, as good tenants do. Every bit of trash was retrieved. Every bit of unused food collected. We had all pitched in, every one. When someone wanted to feel a trance, or go for a walk, or just to talk about what they had experienced, there was always someone there to talk to. Each and every person there had something to share.
And they shared it.
You may well ask what I get out of writing these stories or blogs about my experiences (even when I fictionalize them or render them into tone poems).
It’s only when I reached this last one that I truly realized.
As I’ve said before, I am trying to pay this forward. I am trying to repay those whose stories led me to this point, whose words cast out into the fiery confines of the internet, found my mind and encouraged me to take that first step blinking into the sun and solar systems of the various hypnosis events.
And I hope that I may one day be a good enough writer to lead others to make that same first step.
But I also write because when I took that first step I found myself a home. And so I write to go back to that home, and relive it once again.
We take care of each other and ourselves.
We clean up after each other and ourselves.
It’s what you’re supposed to do, after all.
After all, we are a community.
And this is what communities do.
This is what happens when you start talking about human click-training fantasies around enscenic and I, someone suggests that we try our hands at stories based on the same titles, and then she and I feel compelled to write those stories. (Funny, there may have been some “clicking” sounds as people were telling us to do this. <shrug>.) Anyhow, people can find out about “click training” here. And I’ll post a link to enscenic‘s version here.
(WARNING-contains scenes of a suggestive nature, intended for mature audiences, viewer discretion advised. One or both of the stories may contain mind control, non-consentual situations, same gender sex, masturbation, graphic nudity, non-graphic nudity, mindfuckery, and jingles. Please do not operate heavy machinery after reading it.)
Also, please enjoy! <click>
I’d say that Michelle was a little out of my league. In fact, I’d say she was a lot out of my league. But when you’re a junior in college, life is short, the hormones are strong, and you just don’t second-guess it when a smoking hot girl lands in your lap at a party and tells you to take her home.
I would have figured it for a one-night stand, but she kept calling me and asking me to take her places. Again-who was I to second-guess my luck?
Now, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t say I was a social outcast, but I wasn’t in a frat, I hated College Football, and was barely a back-up defensive midfielder for our Division II team. Michelle was a sophomore and well on her way to being a head cheerleader; she was peroxide blonde, tan, built like a teenage boy’s wet dream, and smart. She was going to be a doctor, she would say. And I believed her. She was bossy, and… I guess I kind of liked it.
My best friend didn’t.
“So that’s all it takes, huh?” Jennifer asked me right after Michelle had asked me… all right, she had really told me where and when I was meeting her… all right, taking her to dinner. “That’s all it takes for what?”
“To grab and tag you.” She replied.
“Oh… shut up, Jailbait.”
She shoved me good-naturedly. “Shut up, yourself, Beanpole.”
Jennifer (always “Jennifer” to everyone else and never “Jenni” or “Jen”) and I had met on the first day of college and became close friends, navigating our new experiences together. We helped each other in the classes we had deficits in; Jennifer was a psychology major, and helped me through all the Humanities. I was in engineering and helped her though the core math classes. Fresh out of high school I was tall-much taller than Jennifer—and skinny. She immediately started calling me “Beanpole.”
Jennifer, on the other hand, was super tiny, with dark hair and features and, when I met her, still with braces. She was in college a year early, having skipped her senior year. Even though she was just 17 when she started college, she looked 14. So, of course, I called her “Jailbait.” Nothing romantic ever happened between us… I don’t know… I just didn’t think there was any chemistry–any “click” between us–you know? I just didn’t think I was her type.
Other than a couple of times when she would go home to see her high school sweetheart and when I had a couple of weekends home, we were inseparable. So Michelle’s appearance on the scene caused some slight tension. Oddly, Michelle wasn’t actually jealous of Jailbait…. I mean, Jennifer. I think she didn’t consider her a threat.
For the most part, Jennifer seemed happy I was getting some, but there was always a little snarkiness after Jennifer would see me with Michelle. Early on I swore I heard her say something like “even with her resting bitchface.” But I let it go, since it seemed they eventually settled into a mutual acceptance of each other’s existence.
We walked to our next classes in silence.
Finally, after a thoughtful minute, she turned to me and asked, “You’ll still help me with that psychology experiment, right?”
“What? Oh sure. What do I have to do?”
“Well… I can’t tell you. Just know that I’ll be doing some strange things around you for the next week or so, and seeing how you react. But I promise I’ll tell you all about it when it’s all done.”
“Oh. OK. I trust you. As long as it isn’t like when you tried hypnosis on me and I slept through the fire alarm.”
She laughed. “No. This’ll be different. Much different.” She got another dreamy look on her face for a second.
“Sure. It’ll be fine.” I responded, and turned to leave.
She grabbed my arm suddenly and almost whispered, “No. I need you to say it very affirmatively. Do you, Jean-Paul, consent to me experimenting on you for the next two weeks? And that you’ll be open to whatever happens and won’t ask any questions until the experiment is over.”
I paused and looked down at her into her suddenly serious grey eyes. “Yes. I, Jean-Paul, consent to you, Jennifer Anderson, experimenting on me for the next two weeks. And I’ll be open to whatever happens and I won’t ask any questions until the experiment is over.”
As I was talking, she reached into her jeans pocket, and, right when I finished, I heard this weird clicking sound, just as she smiled. “Good. Thank you! I knew I could count on you. All right, I’ll see you later.”
I watched as she walked off, then shook my head as I ran to class.
The next couple days, I would hear that clicking noise over and over again whenever Jennifer was around. She had something in her pocket that she was constantly fiddling with and making those noises. I assumed it was part of the experiment.
On Monday, I was rummaging around in my bag on the ground, looking for a pen. It meant I had to take all of my things out and strew them around. Just as I got to my knees, and said I found it, she clicked.
Later that day, I was trying to decide which donut to have at the donut shop. I mentioned I was practically drooling, and she clicked.
On that first Tuesday she sat me down in a study room in the library and asked me about 50 or 60 questions all in a row, some of them personal. She didn’t click on all of them, but I think there were clicks any time I admitted I liked it when Michelle… well, actually, Jailbait never used her name. I guess it was whenever any woman took charge. Anyway, she seemed to click every time I answered in the affirmative. I kind of lost track of all the questions and it was like I was answering them on auto-pilot giving me the same floaty sensation I had from the time she hypnotized me. When we were done, she said, “good job,” and, as I smiled, she clicked.
Wednesday, she showed up to training, and stood on the touchline. I could barely hear the clicker throughout the game. I don’t think it made a difference, but still, I actually scored two goals.
The only time it was ever really annoying was when I was on the phone with Michelle planning a date for the weekend. Every time I said “yes” to one of Michelle’s suggestions, Jailbait would click. It was so annoying hearing that incessant click. I actually got on my knees to beg her to stop. Somehow this made her whole face light up, and she clicked even more.
Thursday night, I was getting ready to go to bed when she knocked on the door. She came in with her laptop, and sat it down in front of me.
“Don’t ask questions, remember?” was the first thing she said.
I nodded as she clicked.
She pressed a button on the laptop and a video started playing. It was porn.
“Really?” I glanced at her. But her eyes were glued to the screen.
“Shut up, Beanpole, and watch.”
As I turned back, she clicked again. It was a montage of many different scenes. I remembered it from an earlier psych class experiment she had had me sit in on. It was supposed to be a wide array of porn to test people’s subconscious reactions through an EKG. I didn’t have one connected; we just thought it’d be a hoot to watch one drunken night.
I couldn’t figure out the pattern to her clicks, but after a while, I didn’t care. In fact, I thought the video was about 30 minutes long, but it seemed to only take a couple of minutes.
When the video ended, she closed the laptop and walked out of the room without another word.
The weekend date night with Michelle didn’t seem particularly memorable. Jennifer met us at the pub. I couldn’t believe she brought the clicker there. I was sure Michelle would say something, but she somehow ignored it. When Michelle was out of earshot, I gave Jennifer a quizzical look. Without me saying a word, Jennifer whispered in my ear, “I told her about the experiment.” That pretty much satisfied me.
The next week went by in a blur. Periodically, she’d come over to my room, or I’d go over to her room, and she’d have me read a book out loud, or watch some terrible French movie, and all the time-at random intervals- she’d click her weird little clicker.
The next Friday, I had a really hot date with Michelle planned. She had told me she had something special cooked up for me, and asked me to wear the special silk boxers I had bought at the lingerie store the same day I had bought her this amazing corset and stocking set.
I eagerly knocked on the door to her dorm apartment, and Jennifer answered. I was shocked.
First, because she wasn’t supposed to be here.
Second, because of what she was wearing. The first thing I noticed was the heels. She never wore heels. Second, as I moved up, was the stockings and the leather pencil skirt. A pressed white shirt followed that, and then, above that, there was a face full of serious intent and covered in tasteful make up. Jailbai- I mean- Jennifer–never wore make up. I could have died right there.
“Wha-“ I almost said.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“John-Paul. Come in.”
I walked in in a daze.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
“What?” I finally said.
“Shhh. Don’t worry. I knew I could count on you.”
When she said those words, something clicked inside my head.
I started taking off my clothes.
When I was done, she said, “good job.”
I blinked, and found myself on my knees. I was also, suddenly, incredibly hard.
I started to ask something.
“Shhh. Don’t ask questions.” Again, something clicked inside of me and I stayed on my knees in front of her.
“Thank you…” and she looked at my crotch, “Beanpole. I’m sure I’ll find a use for that. But that wasn’t what I was after exactly. Oh, Bitchface!”
I glanced past Jennifer and saw… Michelle! She was naked except for a collar around her neck. Her eyes looked at me pleadingly.
“You see, Michelle just had to ask about the clicking she kept hearing on the phone. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Michelle crawled right up to Jennifer, and Jennifer lightly patted Michelle’s head. “So I showed her.” Jennifer bent over, pulling my girlfriend’s chin up to look her in the eyes. “Just like I planned.”
“Bitchface.” Michelle stared back with a ton of fury and anger. Somehow I could tell she wanted to say something but, like me, couldn’t. From my vantage point, I could also see how amazingly wet she was. “Bitchface… ‘Prove how much you care for him.’” I could tell it was some kind of trigger phrase, because a glassy look passed over her face and Michelle… just wasn’t there any more.
Michelle quickly, yet deliberately, crawled in front of Jennifer and slowly puled up Jennifer’s skirt.
“I am so glad I took that class.”
As Michelle went to work, Jennifer kept eye contact with me, and I could read every second of mounting pleasure written in her suddenly captivating grey eyes.
“Thanks for being bait, Beanpole…. Oh. Good. You’re getting so good at that, Bitchface.” She closed her eyes briefly. I think I let out a moan. “Shut up, Beanpole, and watch.” Once again, something inside of me shifted, and I found myself on the brink of an unexpected orgasm.
I could tell when she came–the whole complex probably could—but I knew because I could hear that sound.
She clicked her device.
And the next- and last– thing I remembered was the sound of my voice and Bitchface’s voice, coming together.
* * * * * * *
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Sabrina sat on her couch in her living room with the device in her hands, and the brochure she had just read on the table in front of her. It was silver with a black display “face.” Her friend Sarah wouldn’t stop nattering on about the Wrist500, and how it had “changed her life.” Sabrina was usually extremely skeptical about such claims, but even she was impressed with how disciplined Sarah had been about her workouts and eating habits since she purchased it. Sabrina had gotten a nice bonus from her job at the accountancy firm, and had put on a few pounds in ice-cream and Netflix binging since Paul and Drake had dumped her to go off on their own. (She still couldn’t believe the bastards had the nerve to invite her to their wedding.)
It was after the New Year and it was time for a change. She had ordered the Wrist1000™ (“Enhancing You for the Holidays™”) after hearing their stupid radio commercial one too many times. The commercial had this ostentatious voice that suddenly broke into song and promised that “Enhancement is only a click…a….waaaayyyyy,” followed by a stupid sounding chime and then a clicking sound.
Whatever, Sabrina now sat there wondering whether to put it on. She didn’t like that there was a penalty for early withdrawal (so to speak), but, again, Sarah’s results were undeniable.
After a bit longer than she realized, she thought, “what the hell” and put it over her wrist and latched it shut. The state-of-the-art ClickFitSilver™ didn’t even show a seam. She picked up the brochure to see how it was supposed to work.
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She put the brochure down and grabbed her laptop, opening it up and placing it on the table next to the brochure. She hit “OK” on the Wrist1000™ and waited. She minimized the window, and saw what she was looking at last night. Sabrina blushed. It was a “PornView” page opened to one of her favorite porn scenes. In it, a woman was commanding two men to…. Service her. What she liked most about the scene was that the woman wasn’t actually dressed in any dominatrix outfit; rather, the woman was in a business suit and was ordering her personal assistant and secretary—the two men—to do… things to her.
She checked the time on the Wizard and saw that it had about 15 more minutes to go. She grabbed her vibrator from her purse and decided to blow of some steam.
“Your performance review hasn’t been up to snuff, Malcolm. You know what that means?”
“You’re going to need a thorough, personal, oral evaluation.” The woman reached over to the intercom button. “James, please come in.”
A taller, darker man with impossibly broad shoulders came into the room.
“Malcolm, your review says that your ‘Team Player’ scores were far below a 69. That’s practically a fail rating. Please show James how you can improve this.”
Oh, yes. This was the best part. Sabrina’s hands were moving much more quickly now and she was nearing orgasm. She came for the first time just as Malcolm’s succulent lips touched James’ impossibly huge cock. She came for the second as the executive ordered Malcolm to lick her greedy pussy as James took poor Malcolm’s really tight ass. The third time she came was when the men made out with each other in between taking turns going down on the executive. The scene closed with a single shot of the executive catching her breath as the two men, tired from their exertions, fell asleep.
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As she finished reading this, a bell chimed from the device. Sabrina smirked. That didn’t even make sense.
Anyhow, the set up for the Wrist1000™ must have been streamlined, Sarah had told her about having to be at the gym for an hour before the Wrist500™ was ready, and then it had to have all sorts of weird diagnostics run. She examined it closely. She liked how smooth and refined looking it was.
She downed the rest of her wine and headed to bed. The moment her head hit her pillow, a tiny bell sound went off from the Wrist1000™. She barely had any time to register it before she felt really, really, tired, and went straight to sleep.
The Wrist1000™ woke her up with a series of bells, clicks and noises that sounded like some strange dolphin and whale duet. She went to press anything on the Wrist1000™ that looked like a snooze button, but the device just kept making all the weird sounds. She decided she’d have to look at the brochure, so she got up out of bed, and… just like that, the sounds stopped. She looked at the Wrist1000™ and saw a counter counting down the 24 minutes left to when she was “supposed” to be working out.
“Jeez. I slept hard.” She yawned and found herself going to her dresser to put on clothes, grab her iPhone and head down to her gym, located just next door. Every time she completed one of these tasks, the Wrist1000™ would click. This was fine, and in keeping with what she had read about it, but she kept on getting distracted by how turned on she was suddenly feeling. She made her way to the gym anyway, but suddenly saw how good looking all the boys were in the place. She had never appreciated spandex until she saw Todd, one of the trainers, bend over in front of her. She nearly ran into a water cooler.
“What is wrong with me?” Sabrina shook her head.
She reached her elliptical just as the Wrist1000™’s countdown ended. The device chimed and then “clicked” and…. “Dear god.” She said out loud.
A wave of tension suddenly coursed through her body. She took some tentative steps on the elliptical, but the only thing she was accomplishing was feeling how good it felt when her panties rubbed against her clit. And normally, that wasn’t that great, thank you very much. She shuddered.
Todd looked up from where he was helping Mike. Todd was bent over behind Mike, showing him the proper way to do a squat. The fantasy from last night went right through her mind. She had to have an orgasm. Now. She found herself running to the bathroom, closing the door, and, with great haste and no dignity, plunging her fingers down her sweatpants. She came quickly, but… there was absolutely no relief. It was like some weird fever was overtaking her, and she had to have another one. Now. Her brain sent her fantasies of being in the gym office, ordering Todd and Mike to work their way through the Gay Karma Sutra Manuel she kept in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She came again. Still, no relief. Now she was riding Todd, while Todd, in turn, was impaled on Mike’s cock. Yes! That! There! She came, hard, and couldn’t quite keep silent. As she came, the Wrist1000™ “clicked,” and she felt the orgasm tear away her terrible, visceral need. She tried to catch her breath as the sweat poured down her face.
“What the fuck just happened?” She said out loud.
“I don’t know, but I think you just had the best workout ever.” Came a voice from the next stall. Sabrina started. She felt her already red face flush even harder—this time from embarrassment. She got up quickly and ran out of the bathroom, not daring to turn when she heard the other stall door open. As she left the bathroom, she nearly ran over Todd coming out of the bathroom.
“Oh. Hey, Sabrina! Are you ok?”
She was about to say something, when she saw Mike right next to him doing push-ups. “F-fine. I’m not feeling well. I’ll see you later.” She ran back to her building and into her apartment.
She thought about screaming when she looked down at the Wrist1000™ and saw a 12-hour countdown “until your next workout.”
She called in sick.
She read the brochure cover to cover and realized what had gone horribly wrong. The set-up wizard had obviously taken much less time than it had indicated and had automatically started the initial set up. While she was supposed to be going through a standard workout she, instead, had been masturbating to some really hot porn. So instead of the default being set to a brisk run in the woods, the default was set to a hot and horny Sabrina.
She stared off into space for hours, wondering what to do, but exhausted from so many orgasms that morning. She fell into a fitful sleep, the brochure in her hands.
She was woken by the same weird dolphin-whale music that had woken her up that morning. She looked at the clock-only 6 hours had passed. She looked down at the Wrist1000™. The Legend “Delta Schedule 42” flashed on the screen. What did that mean?
She looked at the brochure, “Delta Schedule 42” meant “Based on your metabolic processes, the Panopt-U-Can™ has determined that you are not at work, and, moreover, you are not sick, nor does your online diary indicate that you have a travel day scheduled. Therefore, the work-out schedule has been brought forward a number of hours, to keep your regime on course.” No! She started to reach for the phone, when the chime, and then a “click” went off.
Once again, Sabrina went off like a firework. She clasped her legs together as she fell to the floor. She had never felt this horny in all of her life. She felt like she could just die. She crawled, quivering, over to her vibrator. She reached for it like a thirsty woman in the desert, and placed it between her legs.
“Three orgasms,” she told herself. “I just need three orgasms.” But nothing happened for a very long time. Sure, it felt good, but she wasn’t getting anywhere.
“Fuuuuuck,” she whined.
She thought, while keeping the vibe between her legs, and, out of desperation, she flipped open her lap top and raced for the PornView scene. She stabbed with at her pad and started playing a video on the front page. A scene with a man fucking a “cheerleader” started playing. Still, no progress. She started a different one, an amateur scene where two women were giving a guy a blowjob. Still nothing. Finally, she hit one with a woman ordering a man around a dungeon. Her clit throbbed and she felt the orgasm start to build. Ten minutes later, though, she was still nowhere close. Finally, she went to her playlist, and played the next scene in the “Executive Dominatrix” series. Now the exec (the name in the show was “Carli”) was ordering a man and a woman to fuck each other for her enjoyment.
Figurative fireworks started shooting from Sabrina’s pussy. God, yes! The first orgasm rolled though quickly. It was great, and Sabrina was ready for the need to still be there. The second took a little bit longer, but it rolled through Sabrina like a wave onto a beach. The third one took longer still, and Sabrina made it all the way to the scene where Carli is taking turns fucking each person in the couple with her enormous strap-on before Sabrina felt it.
But this time, there was no relief, no “click.”
“Fuuuuck!” She yelled. “What the actual fuck!?” And then some part of her dimly remembered something about a progression, and the “workouts” getting increasingly more difficult.
She watched Carli fuck the man in the couple while he fucked the other woman. Then forced him to watch while his girlfriend ate Carli out, telling the boy how she was going to steal her from him because he couldn’t satisfy her. Finally, as Carli was getting out the paddle and the needles, she came.
As she came, she heard, very loudly, the “click” from the Wrist1000™
She screamed for thirty seconds as her voice went incredibly, deliciously hoarse. She hadn’t even realized the vibrator’s batteries had run out. The only sound in the room was her own panting and sobbing.
After 20 minutes of recovering, Sabrina dropped the vibrator next to her. She had knocked the laptop over, along with a glass of water and most of the books on her coffee table. The laptop was a smoking wreck- the water from the glass had spilled and shorted it out. Sabrina barely registered this. She crawled to the phone and dialed.
She waited and counted the rings. Four rings.
“ClickFit™, Inc., how may we Enhance Your Life, Today™?”
“I…. I need to pay the Farewell Fee™.”
“I’m sorry, Ms….. Cantwell. But you’ll have to talk to our Customer Retention Department.”
“OK…. Patch me through to them… Now!”
“I’m sorry Ms. Cantwell, but Customer Retention has left for the day.”
Sabrina started to cry.
“You can pay online however.”
“My c-computer is gone.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help-“
“P-please. I need to talk to someone in charge.”
There was a pause. “Very well, I will transfer you to my manager. This may take a minute. You’ll have to listen to a little looped advertising while you wait, for which I apologize in advance.”
“OK. Just…. Hurry!”
She heard the line change, and then a voice: “Thank you for choosing ClickFit™. Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line, and one of our Customer Enhancers™ will return to show you-“
And then there was that stupid jaunty little jingle as the overly ostentatious voice began to sing, “-how Enhancement is only a cliiiick…. Aaaaaa……waaaay!”
And then she heard it.
And then the “click.”
Sabrina closed her eyes, covered her forehead, and said the only thing she could, before she lost control again.