Mind and Matters

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The following is fiction, intended to entertain. If it doesn't, by all means erase, exit or otherwise eliminate it from your life, as is your right. If I offend or disturb you in anyway, I am sorry, for that is not my intention. If by chance, I make you smile, or maybe wiggle in your seat, well, you'll be getting a touch of what I felt while writing this story. And that's exactly why I wrote it. Thank you sincerely, for your precious time.

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Prologue

A luckier guy never lived. There stands before me a statuesque woman in her underwear. Her long, silky, dark blonde hair is arrayed down her back, her shoulders, even forward over the upper swell of her bulging breasts. She's wearing five inch spike heels, and thigh high stockings held in place by her modestly muscular, contoured thighs. Her eyes are a blue-green mix that rivals that of reef waters in the Caribbean. She's not a small woman, more a woman of substance, of sinew and shape that invites lookers to touch and squeeze and play until they pass out in bliss. Even the perfectly round areole on her large and firm breasts point straight through the stretchy material of her bra, as if to say, "I want you!" Or maybe, it's "I dare you."

She stands before me ready, straight, proud and defiant. As I walk around her my eyes are entertained with a show they can scarcely grasp. Her hips are wide yet perfectly shaped to dare anyone to find a flaw. Her midriff is molded, not flat, so deliciously curved as to define new standards in this skin and bones world. Her breasts are the size of cantaloupes, yet firm and malleable while straining to be free of the non-wired, lacey bra. Her lingerie was coordinated, a matched set of tan, delicately stretched, slippery smooth material, partially transparent, and all edged with an appropriate amount of similar patterned lace. Around the bra, the lace was no more than half an inch wide, while around her garter belt, the lace was three times that, and at the top of her stockings, a full six inches of sexy, see-thru pattern begged the eye to look long and hard. Her panties were French cut and featured the lacey touch riding provocatively on her high and accentuated hips. Long strong legs were highlighted by her carefully molded thighs and muscled calves, culminating in slender ankles flowing into diminutive feet. Finally, at the tips of her toes, visible reaching out from the front of her stilettos, was an ultra transparent stocking pattern that let me see her bright red nails. A goddess, she was, right there in front of me, and not the least bit uncomfortable about me checking her out.

I stepped around her, simply looking on the first circuit, maybe six feet away. I dropped my clothes as I walked, stripping down to my near bikini briefs. I watched her eyes and she did check out my bulge as I passed. The circle closed as I made my second revolution, down to three feet, and close enough now to smell her perfume, a musky scent made that much more so by the natural aroma beginning to spread from between her legs. Her thighs were together, but unable to hide what I knew was going on inside her. The woman was hot, horny as could be, perhaps more than I was prepared to handle. Yet she was unable to do anything about it, but hope. She was enslaved, subjugated to my will, with no hope of escape.

Chapter One

I had to quit smoking. It was interfering with everything I did. I felt like a fool going down in the elevator to take a smoke break outside the office, a task made even worse in the winter. I hated not being able to enjoy a good smoke after dining out, or worse, after sex. Trying to find a woman with no smoking inhibitions was far more difficult than finding one who'd fuck on the first date. And I could no longer ignore the cacophony of claims throughout my world from media to doctors to those rat bastard refined smokers that my health was deteriorating with every drag. I simply had to quit, and yet nothing I had tried had worked.

The sign on the door a block and a half from my office read, "Hypnosis - painless control over bad habits." It was different. That's what I first thought, and did again every single day I past that door on my way to work. It was different. In the advertising business, we looked for "different," to catch the eye, but different still had to convey the message. This sign did, and yet I went through three years of passing it by without acting. Did that mean the message wasn't clear to me? Or did it mean I just wasn't ready to admit defeat and accept help?

That morning, I gave in. I pushed and the door opened against a heavy spring and led to a rather steep, narrow stairway. There was light enough to see but not enough to relieve concern. People died every month in dark hallways in New York City. I took the steps quickly and loudly as if that might scare any errant ghosts or ambushers away. At the top, the way was blocked by a metal door, with no handle and dead bolted from inside. It bore a sign that read, "Please Knock." I did.

I was about leave when a click sounded and the door opened inward. Strange, I thought, but I stepped through, less gingerly than the way I had climbed the stairs. When the threat of surprise rises, so does the level of caution, or cowardice.

"Come in, please." The voice was soft, un-hurried and warm. I walked in leaving a few of the butterflies in the stairway.

The woman, my soon-to-be hypnotist I assumed, was dressed in a printed floral patterned, long skirted dress with darker colors to match the gloom of the stairway. She rose to meet me with an open hand. I shook the cool slender fingers with mine, now stiff with concern. What the hell was I doing? She led me to a couch and guided me down into the plush cushions before sitting across from me in a matching arm chair.

I said, "Pardon me, but before we get carried away here..."

"Carried away?" She asked in genuine puzzlement.

Uh, oh... I thought, a littoral woman. You'd think I just asked her to suck my dick. We hate nit-pickers on the creative side of advertising. You tell them your product is the best, and they want proof. Don't they understand advertising is lies, all in their best interest? Would they listen to another word if we told them it was the third best product in its class? I said, "I mean, before we go any farther... What I mean is, I want to quit smoking."

She smiled and said calmly, "I know."

I was somewhat surprised by her response, but my New York cynicism overruled the surprise and I said quickly, "You know. I guess that's your job, the occult and all. Well, I noticed your sign downstairs, and it has kind of a direct marketing ring to it. Short but very to the point. Kind of like a brutal mouthwash, kills germs in thirty seconds, if you can take it that long. I suspect you have some salesmanship in your background, but what the hell? I thought I would see if there was a chance you might be able to help me." I can be pretty intense at times, and pretty cool at others. The cool times seem to become more and more scarce with experience. Sometimes I can be a real ass. I felt like one now and rested back into the comfortable couch.

She smiled again. Must be her defense, I thought.

"Only you can say if I can help you quit smoking." Matter of fact.

"Yes, well, I haven't been able to establish that yet, have I?" That came out a bit more direct than I had intended, but she started this oral sparring match. Actually, she seemed like a nice lady and didn't deserve to be considered guilty until proven innocent. "What I mean is, will you try to help me quit smoking?"

She smiled. I guess that pleased her, my capitulation. She pulled her armchair right up in front of me, so close that our knees were touching and I spread mine to let hers ride between. She leaned into me and stared directly into my eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt each of my eyes sending independent images to my brain. I could see different vein patterns in her eyes, flaws in the iris's even a slight difference in the timing of her blinks. My left eye was looking into her right, and my right into her left. It was all a bit unnerving in the sense of someone peering inside my head.

She said, "That's very good, Mr..."

"Demming," I said slowly and methodically without moving or disturbing our intensive contact. That was silly, I thought. I was acting like I was already hypnotized. "Charlie Demming."

"Yes, Charlie. You have a very sensitive, and yet very strong aura about you," She said.

I contemplated for a moment that she hadn't said those words, that I had said them through her. Had she just read through my carefully maintained mote of cynicism? Something weird was happening.

She said, "Charlie, are you aware of that?"

"Aware of what?" I asked robotically.

"That you have a gift. Your shell, that which you show to the world, is no match for the real you inside." She said, not breaking the contact.

"The real me?" I asked robotically again. I had to break out of this, but I could not close my eyes. I tried instead to look deeper into hers. "You mean that." The words surprised me as much as her.

"Why yes, I do. You have a gift, I sense, that you have refused to acknowledge all your life. You can see things, Charlie, things that maybe you don't want to see, because they complicate your life, or cause you to rethink your meaning. You don't need me to help you quit smoking, Charlie. You need me to help you find the real you, to let yourself out."

She wasn't kidding, she meant every word. More surprising, I could not disagree with her!

"You are truly fascinated, aren't you?" I asked, still not breaking the eye to eye meld.

"I am, Charlie." She said.

"I am too..." I didn't know her name.

"Victoria," She said.

"Victoria," I said.

"Be careful, Charlie, please." She said in a soft and erotic voice.

Be careful? What was I about to do? I know I wanted this woman wrapped around my cock for some reason, maybe just the intimate contact we'd made, but I hadn't told her anything about that. Or was she telling me to be careful with this new found power she thinks I have?

"Both," She said, as if reading my mind, word for word.

There was a completely unexplainable stirring in my pants. I hadn't seen enough of this woman's body to know if I was the least bit interested. And if anything, I was wary of her confidence. She had a sharp featured face, eyes deep in their sockets, rather angular nose, high cheek bones and a somewhat pointed chin, accented by her well defined jaw line. Not my type, normally, probably echoed by a thin body, but I could not tell that through her dress when I had arrived. Still, I felt the desire building.

"You are thinking about it, I know. There's a lot to think about. You have a whole new side of you laying itself out in your mind, a power you never knew you had. I can tell you it's far greater than you even suspect right now." She paused, then went on. "You want me, I know as well, and I you. When minds meet like this, the body follows – it's impossible to resist. Desires build up here first," She put her hands to the sides of my head, still not breaking our intense stare, "Not down here" She placed her hand on my heart and then added, "Or here." I nearly jumped when I felt her hand on my groin. It was like a branding iron, but it remained there without searing my skin.

I lifted a hand to her breast and was surprised to find a rather substantial, yet pliable mound of flesh. I moved my other hand to the side of her face and let it roam over her ear, to her forehead, down to her nose and stopping on her mouth. I pried her lips apart and let one finger enter.

She moved her hand on my cock, pressing it into me and flexing it back out, as if to masturbate me through my pants. She then sucked the finger I had pried into her mouth, gently at first, but quickly graduating to an all out, fantasy driven suck. She had my entire finger inside in no time, up to my palm, and my cock felt her pulsing fingers working on my meat.

As I remembered her, before our eyes locked in some kind of unbreakable embrace (was this hypnosis?), she appeared a bit gothic for my tastes. She had long straight black hair, very red, shiny-wet lipstick, and very black eyebrows that as close as they were at the moment, I could not break away from her iris's and pupils to see. But I did not see slut, or cheap. She was just hot in an exotic way.

Gothic or not, with my hands making such intimate contact with her mouth and breast, my eyes were delving deep into her psyche. I thought I was going to meld with her completely. Faster and faster I was falling into her mind, body and soul. I pulled my fingers from around her mouth and slipped them down to the bottom of her knees, then the hem of her dark, print dress.

Before I could raise the dress, her hands slipped by mine and pulled it up for me. Instantly the musky aroma of aroused sex wafted up to charge our nostrils. It didn't take her thirty seconds more to have my belt undone. We were quickly building a pace of attack.

I ran my hands up her thighs and was pleased to find she was wearing no panties at all. In fact, my first finger to arrive at her pussy lips was bathed in wetness that was both hot and clingy. What happened next, blew my mind.

Starring still into her eyes, I wished, no, envisioned her rising up, our eyes still locked, and pushing me back on the couch. In my vision, she pulled me free from my pants, and mounted me with her knees plante on either side of my hips. The vision felt so real I was wild with lust to have it happen. And then it did.

Just as I dreamed, she rose up, pushing me back with her face in mine, eyes still locked, and pulled me free of my pants. Then she crawled over my lap and set down on my stiff member as if she were meant to be there, my cock slipping up inside her wet vaginal canal as if it were greased and readied all the way to the hilt. Our hips melded together just like our eyes. She made such deep and direct contact with my organ I was ready to cum from the shear excitement of her. We said nothing, nor did we have to. I willed her to withdraw, very slowly, and she did. She was so slow in fact, I wondered if she were superhuman, or just so damned hot as to be able to ask the unbelievable of her body. I knew the strain on her hips and leg muscles, taking minutes to pull up and off my cock had to be felt, had to be painful.

She reached a point where only my head was buried, and I willed once again through our eye to eye contact, which had obviously become something far more intensely connected than mere sight, for her to stop, then retrace her movement back down my shaft to bury me once again.

I tried to pry my thoughts of lust from my thoughts of logic and explanation. I had willed her to jump my bones without further foreplay. Okay, she may have been preparing to do that on her own anyway. She was obviously skilled at handling people in the confines of her "office." But then she followed my next will, settled back down on my lap and dick until I was buried once again. She was now totally wrapped around my horny cock, her juices slipping around the seem between me and her, and floating down on my balls.

Unless this was a case of compounding coincidences, something was going on here that was more science than fiction, or fantasy. My heart beat with the anticipation, and the hot wet mass on my shaft.

I thought of a test. I willed the woman to shift her position to turn around and sit back down on my cock, this time up her ass. To my amazement, and shocked excitement and joy at the growing possibility that I had some super power to command her, she pushed me back, leaned back herself so we lost that eye to eye contact, and twirled on my cock. She whispered as she did, "We need to keep it wet until the last second."

When her heels were planted either side of my hips, her hands on my knees for stability, she lifted up off my cock and said, "Guide me."

I wasted no time in doing just that. I pulled up the dress bunched up around my lap, and flung it up over her shoulders. For the first time I had sight of her skin, and her body. She was thinner than I usually liked, but muscular. Perhaps that is why she was able to do the slow lifts off my cock. She pulled up completely and counted on my hand to guide my shaft to her other hole. I prepared myself for a battering for if she was as tight in the ass as she was wet in the pussy, and muscular women were usually tight in the ass, I could get hurt!

She settled down on the head of my cock and began to make small movements up and down, each one pushing her sphincter muscle in an ever widening ring. Eventually, my cock still straight as an arrow, she broke through and immediately slipped down upon me as if she had a vacuum inside her, sucking me up. She groaned.

"Are you okay?" I asked, wondering if I'd over-extended my new found control.

"Oh, God yes," She moaned, slow and gutturally. She was fine.

I tried the will power again. I willed her not to move. She didn't. I reached around and pulled on the nipple of one of her tits – no bra, which was why I hadn't been able to tell she had as much meat there as she has. She groaned again, but did not move. I was sure it was a groan of lust and demand for more, but I stopped and removed my hand just to see.

She moaned, "Ohhhhh... don't stop. I'll stay still, I promise."

That clinched it. She even used my words. I reached and pinched both nipples with both hands. She groaned louder and more wantonly than I'd have thought she could. Could she be into BDSM? Had I mistook bondage for gothic? I grabbed both her tits and squeezed them harshly. She stiffened and groaned her most wanton burst of demand yet. I mashed them around. I pulled on them, pushed them back in, pulled them to the sides and squeezed them together. Every move I made brought a groan of pleasure. I willed, "You may react now, naturally."

No sooner were the words in my mind than she was gyrating on my cock. She moved in circles, massaging my loins with hers, then she lifted her ass up, and pushed right back down to rub my cock to its eruption point with her sphincter muscle and the walls of her ass. I began pumping upward, but not before moving my hands from her tits to between her legs.

She squealed at my touch on her clit. She practically enveloped my fingers in her pussy lips and sucked my whole hand inside her. Wildly she moved on my lap and sucked me into her in every hole she could control. I thought of one more thing to try and pulled the fingers of my left hand from her sopping cunt. I raised my hand and brought it to her mouth, where she immediately feasted on her own juices. This brought me over the top.

At the first spurt of jiz into her ass, she bucked against my cock, and my hand in her pussy. She wanted more! She began to squeal louder, make demands to fuck her everywhere. She then sucked my fingers into her mouth and gorged on them as I felt the first flow of juices from her labia running down my thighs. Sperm began to fill her ass to the point where some of that was coming back out too, wetting me beyond any salvation short of a shower before I could leave this place. We bucked and brawled until we were spent, my cock drained and her pussy soaked, and her mouth releasing my hand.

She folded down and forward, still impaled on my shaft, but free of any contact with my hands. I heard a whimper and thought I might have hurt her.

"Are you all right, Victoria?" It sounded stupid, but I didn't know what else to ask.

She turned her head in an attempt to look at me under her shoulder. "All right?" She asked, then looked at the floor again, apparently physically drained. "'All right?' He asks?" She tried to look at me and smiled with her eyes, "I am so all right! Let me catch my breath, and let you have whatever you like all over again!" Her head went limply down again.