Soft and Wet

Consciousness returns slowly, and with the greatest of reluctance. His eyes open...or perhaps they were already open, and he's just now realizing it. He's not sure. He's not sure of much, really. He feels drowsy, as though he's taken a little too much cold medication. He feels the softness of the pillow beneath his head, the blankets against his naked skin, and it's a continual effort not to just sink back down into sleep all over again. He feels a faint, delicious thrill as he realizes just how enjoyable that constant undertow is against his mind and body.

He becomes aware of a voice, and he slowly turns his head to look at the bedside table. There's a pair of speakers there, broadcasting the voice over the faint hum of the air conditioner. "And you realize that everything the voice says seems so right to you...so natural...and it feels so easy to listen to the voice, so effortless..." The woman speaking seems faintly familiar to him, but he can't quite put a name to her. In fact, he realizes, he can't quite put a name to anything, even to himself.

The thought feels like it should frighten him, but instead it feels soothing. He doesn't need a name, he thinks loosely to himself. It's not important. The voice is tranquil, peaceful, and warm, and he finds himself feeling passive and dreamy as he continues to listen. "And you're so peaceful now, and you can remember to forget every bit of this..." The words seem familiar, but at the same time, he can't remember hearing them before. He can't even remember the words he heard a moment ago. It's as though they're sliding past his memory, out of sight into the recesses of his mind. He wonders how many times he's heard them, but the gentle tide of the voice washes away the wonderings and leaves him docile, placid, and content.

He lets his eyes drift over his surroundings as he realizes he has no memory of how he wound up in this room. It's a hotel room, generic enough that he could be nearly anywhere in the world, but again, the idea of being worried or afraid that his memory is a total blank and he's in a strange location just doesn't seem to gain any traction in his mind. It's as though the rules of the normal world have been suspended, leaving him in a strange, dreamy twilight where he doesn't have to do anything but lie there and listen and relax. Even as he fights the drowsiness, he understands that he's only fighting it because the struggle feels pleasant, not because he has any need to be truly awake.

He hears a knock on the door, and his body moves with relaxed grace to get up and answer it. He feels like a passenger in his own flesh, like a sleepwalker. As he walks over to the door, he notices idly that his cock is just a little bit swollen--not stiff, but definitely aroused.

He looks through the peephole and sees a short woman with long brown hair and blue-gray eyes waiting in the hallway. He doesn't recognize her, but his cock instantly twitches--she's gorgeous, absolutely beautiful. Not in the skinny, scrawny supermodel way, but in the way that a real woman is beautiful--her body is voluptuous, curvy, with lush breasts and a full, round belly, and wide, swelling hips that make his hands ache to embrace her. Her beauty is primal, sexual; it touches him on some primordial level, like the Venus of Willendorf brought to life. Before he can even think of putting on clothes, his hand reaches out to open the door for her. As it does, he notices the small bracelet around his wrist, but somehow it seems too familiar to really register in his sleepy mind.

She steps into the room and closes the door, smiling at him. Without even saying a word, she slips her t-shirt off, then wriggles her shorts onto the floor and steps out of them. He finds himself sinking to his knees as she kicks her shoes off, and it somehow seems perfectly natural to lean down and plant a gentle kiss on her feet. "Good boy," she whispers, and the words send a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He realizes that her voice is the voice in the recording, and somehow that just seems so right.

"Time for a shower, pet," she says, turning and heading towards the small en suite bathroom. He's absolutely transfixed by the motion of her ample, heart-shaped buttocks for a moment before some part of his subconscious realizes his role in all this, and he stands up and follows her. He doesn't need to undress, he's already naked, but he absently unclips the bracelet and sets it on the counter before stepping into the shower with her.

She starts the water flowing, but the water pressure isn't good and very little of the spray gets to him. He isn't sure whether he's shivering from the chill of evaporating water or the intoxicating nearness of her; watching the water run over her body in rivulets is a mesmerizing experience.

"Hold out your hand, pet," she says, and he obeys instinctively as she pours out a dollop of shampoo into it. He moves without being told, without any conscious thought at all to massage the liquid into her long hair, feeling the warmth of her scalp as he lathers up the suds. He's standing close enough to her that he knows she can feel his stiffening cock press into her flesh, but there's no shame to his arousal, only a delicious heat that suffuses his whole body.

"Good boy," she whispers again, her voice stroking and caressing his mind as she hands him the soap. He takes it and lathers her back and body with more soapy suds, the feel of her soft, silky skin only enhanced by the way the soapy water makes his fingers glide over it. His hands embrace her wide, lush hips just like he'd wanted to moments ago, and it feels just as good as he'd hoped it would to lean into her and hold her for a brief instant before continuing with his task.

He feels a wonderful, intimate heat as he slides his hand into the valley between her ass-cheeks to soap up the warm skin hidden from view; he feels her shudder in delight as he touches the sensitive flesh, and she whispers, "Good boy," yet again as she rinses her hair.

"Thank You, my Lady," he responds, without even thinking. He doesn't know why he says it; he doesn't know how he knows that in his mind, the words are capitalized as a mark of respect. It's just one more thing that seems to come from a deeper part of his mind, a part that understands the things he doesn't need to remember, and that feels so wonderful.

He slides down to his knees now, soaping up her legs and feet, and as the water washes the soap off of her body, he gently places a kiss on her ass. He can't help himself, it just feels right to show his devotion to her wonderful body, her powerful, sensual form. She turns, and the swell of her belly presents itself to him. He places another kiss there, but his eyes are drawn lower, to the sweet delta between her thighs. His head swims a little at the sight.

He stands again and carefully soaps her front, making sure not to lather too much of the astringent hotel soap onto her tender nipples, and then watches as she rinses herself clean. "I'll have to take another shower when we're done," she says, and the implications of the words almost make him swoon with arousal.

She turns off the water. "Towel, pet," she says, and he pulls back the curtain to grab one for her. He gently pats it against her, soaking up the water, and again he drops to his knees to ensure that she's dry all over. "Warm," she says as he finishes, and suddenly his whole body feels like it's been wrapped in a soft blanket for a moment. He wonders briefly how just a single word could have such a powerful effect, but the harder he thinks about it, the harder it becomes to think about it, until eventually he's forced to simply let the thought go and sink back into his peaceful, empty state.

She smiles at him, and he knows she knows everything that went on in his head in the last few moments. She enjoyed watching him try to think, and she enjoyed watching him fail, he realizes. He realizes that he enjoyed it too. "Can't think," she purrs at him.

"Can't think," he responds. He hears it in his voice, the difference between repeating and responding. He's not just echoing her words, he's accepting them, like they're filling in a hole in his being that he wasn't even aware of until she spoke.

"Don't want to think," she sighs out, stepping out of the shower.

"Don't want to think," he says, and he briefly wonders if she's making him believe that by saying it, or if it was always true and she's just acknowledging that truth. But then it becomes too hard to wonder, and he lets his mind go smooth and still again as he steps onto the mat next to her and begins to use the other towel to dry off the spray that hit him.

She picks up the bracelet from the counter and clips it onto his wrist. "Mine," she says.

"Yours," he whispers. The tones of absolute reverence in his own voice astonish him. It's not that it feels wrong--nothing has ever felt so right in his life, he knows it even if he can't consciously remember any of the things he's comparing it to--it's just that he'd never thought a person could sound so happy. Could feel so happy. The single, simple word completes him in a way that nothing else could.

She heads out to the bedroom and climbs up onto the bed, switching off the recording as she does so. For a moment, he hesitates, but she knows without being told what he's waiting for. "Onto the bed, pet," she says, and it feels so good to be commanded and so good to obey. He climbs up eagerly.

"Good boy," she whispers again. "I think it's time for you to pamper me now." She rolls onto her side, and his hands reach out almost before he can make them do so, stroking and caressing her smooth, silky skin. He rubs gently, just barely touching her, and he once again presses his lips to her ass. This time, he doesn't stop. He kisses again and again, interspersing the kisses with tiny licks, each one a sign of sacred devotion to her beauty.

"You love to obey," she whispers, and he wants to respond but he can't take his lips away from her flesh. She seems to understand, though, continuing without waiting for a response. "Obedience is pleasure, you must obey." He kisses the tiny hollow right where her back meets the valley of her ass, savoring the sweet scent of her fresh, clean body. "You were born to obey. It's who you are. It's who you've always been."

He can't deny it. He can't deny anything she says, it's all so right, so natural. It all makes so much sense to him. Something about that faintly stirs the ghost of a memory, something to do with the recording he was listening to, but he just remembers to forget as he kisses his way slowly down her thighs to her feet.

He knows he's never shown much of an interest in a woman's feet before--even if his memory is little more than a white fog through which he can glimpse a shape or two--but he wants nothing more than to worship every part of her body, and it just seems natural to slowly bathe the soles of her feet with his tongue. He tastes salt on her skin as he licks, utterly content to continue as she continues to program him with her words.

"Your mind is my toy," she whispers. His eyes are closed now. He doesn't remember when he closed them, but he doesn't need to see. Sight is just a distraction; he just needs to focus on her voice and on pleasing her. He's relaxed and focused now, his empty mind soaking in all her words and that feels so good. "Feels so good to obey."

Her hand reaches back and begins to caress him, now, as he continues to lick and she continues to speak. He can't help himself, he whimpers slightly against her feet as he licks, but he knows deep down that this only pleases her. She wants to hear him whimper and pant and moan, she wants to know that he's aroused and needy. She finds the sensitive spot right at the small of his back, and he arches up into her touch. "Good boy," she whispers.

Her touch feels so good that he keeps raising his ass up into the air to press more of his body against her expert fingers. "That's right, pet," she says. "On your knees." He realizes he'd brought his legs up into a kneeling position without even noticing, as though he was kow-towing to her there on the bed. He wishes he could stay like this forever, worshiping her body and feeling her touch and the gift of pleasure in return.

"On your back, pet," she says, "head up near me." She rolls over as he complies, putting her arm across his chest possessively. "Hands up over your head...and you won't be able to move them, will you? Bound and helpless, so completely powerless in my will."

"Helpless..." he whimpers out as he feels his hands lock into position. He knows there's nothing actually holding them there but her commands, but those commands feel so powerful and so irresistible that he can't move no matter how he struggles.

"That's right, pet. Your will sleeps." Her hand runs over his belly, and he gasps sharply as she finds the sensitive skin right around his waist.

"M-my will sleeps," he chokes out as the intense, tickling pleasure makes him writhe helplessly.

"Your will sleeps in my will," she says, finding that spot again and stimulating it mercilessly.

"My will sleeps in Your will," he groans out, his breath now coming in irregular gasps.

"You are a deeply hypnotized, deeply obedient tranceslut," she says as her hand slides down to fondle his balls.

"I am a...deeply hypnotized...deeply obedient tranceslut," he moans out. He feels almost like she's given him a name, the word 'tranceslut' resonating so deeply with the very core of his being that he feels like he needs no other identity. This dreamy, blank feeling, this empty, mindless obedience...that's trance, he realizes, and he can't get enough of it. He is tranceslut. He must obey.

She circles her fingers around his cock, and he feels the slick wetness of precum as she massages it into his skin. "This is mine," she says.

"Yours," he whimpers out. He can't imagine saying anything else.

"And the harder your cock gets..." She slides her hand up and down the shaft, the precum lubricating the motion.

"The softer my mind gets," he whispers. He doesn't know how he knew that. It's just the truth. It's as certain in his mind as the rising of the sun in the morning. The harder his cock gets, the softer his mind gets.

"Soft and wet," she purrs seductively, stroking slowly. "Your mind is soft and wet as your cock is hard...and slick...and wet..."

"Soft and wet," he gasps. His hips thrust into the motion of her hand, but his arms and legs remain helplessly frozen.

She leans right up into his ear. "I'm fucking your mind," she whispers, her breath tickling him deliciously. "In...and out...and in...and out..."

"inanout..." The pleasure spreads out now, past his cock all through his body, like he's just one big erogenous zone and she's touching it all.

Then she says, "Wake." He opens his eyes to find her smiling face looking down at him.

The arousal is almost more than he can stand. "I...oh, I..." His mind feels confused, groggy. He finds himself staring into her eyes. It triggers another body-memory, an instinctive understanding that his conscious mind doesn't need to think about. "I'm...looking in your eyes..."

She nods, shifting position slightly so that her eyes are above his. "That's right, pet," she says. "And what does that make you do?"

"It...makes me go deeper," he says in tones of quiet wonder. Her hand still hasn't left his cock. "I...hard to keep my eyes open..."

"It is, it's so very hard, you can't help it, your eyes just get so heavy..." He feels his eyelids flutter, his field of vision narrowing as he tries to hold his eyes open. "So heavy, need to close, need to sleep..."

"Need...to sleep..." His eyes are just slits now, the warm red encompassing most of his view as he can just barely see her beautiful blue eyes.

"That's right, pet, mind so soft and slick and wet..."

"Soft...slick...wet..." He can't fight it anymore, his eyes slam shut and he sinks into her touch and his own pleasure. He feels her lips close around his nipple, and the intensity of that sensation almost sends him over the edge into orgasm, but something holds him back.

"And now," she whispers, just before fiercely kissing his chest, "you feel...mmm...you feel my tongue, just flicking at the tip of your cock..." And he does feel it, a tangible sensation on his member that makes him whimper and moan and thrash his head from side to side as he groans in ecstasy. "And now taking the whole thing into my mouth, sucking and licking and tasting..."

His muscles are clenched in pleasure, the feel of a warm wet mouth around his cock absolutely undeniable. "And now I'm pressing a vibrator against your ass...feel it pulsing...and throbbing...and buzzing..." With each word, he moans anew as he feels the pleasant thrum, so real to him as he lies there with his eyes closed.

"Fucking your body, fucking your mind...keep feeling it, pet," she says, and even as she lets go of his cock and sits up on the bed, the licking continues in his mind. He can't help it, he's lost in trance and the pleasure just keeps going, and then he feels a pair of glasses slide over his closed eyes, and suddenly there's a bright light that just shines straight through his eyelids, forming dazzling, swirling patterns of red...and green...and blue...

"I'm programming you now, pet," she whispers in his ear, her hands rubbing his balls as he feels her licking and the vibrator throbbing and now the lights making him sink even deeper, go even more blank and empty and docile and brainwashed. "You can't help it, can't fight it, can't think, don't want to think..."

"don't want to think..." His voice is utterly empty now, simply a vessel for her thoughts and her words and her touch.

"Pleasure." The sound of the word is like a caress on his cock, and he lets out a tiny, strangled moan and bucks upward sharply as he hears it. "Good boy. Good boy..."

Every word of her praise is like a soft stroke on his sensitive skin, now, the lights and the touches and the sound of her voice shutting his mind down completely. "th...th...thank You, my Lady," he whimpers out, wanting to tell her just how grateful he is for this utter bliss, wanting to worship her and praise her and offer her everything he can, everything he has, everything he is to thank her for this perfect obedient state of mindless joy.

"And now you want to touch me again, want to worship and caress my body again...you feel the need growing, but you can't move, can't move to touch me, but you want to sooo bad..." He nuzzles at her chin for a moment with his lips, but then she moves just out of reach, and the craving only builds. He feels precum dribbling down his cock as he imagines the soft feel of her skin under his fingers, just out of reach...

"please, my Lady," he begs, knowing deep down, in the conditioned part of his mind that he can't consciously remember, that nothing pleases her more than hearing him beg. "please let me touch You, please please please need it oh please please..."

"But you can't touch me while you're watching the lights, can you?" she says in patient tones. He shakes his head. He knows she's right, everything she says makes so much sense... "You'll need to take the lights into your mind, if you want to touch me."

"yes my Lady," he says blankly, "i will take the lights into my mind..."

"That's right, the lights in your mind, never leaving, always programming you, always brainwashing you..." He lets his thoughts soak up her words, even as he lets his thoughts soak up the patterns of the lights.

"the lights are in my mind," he says at last, as his body goes utterly limp with mindless pleasure.

"Good boy," she says, removing the glasses. "You may touch me now."

He opens his eyes to see her lying back on the bed, and he urgently moves between her thighs to caress her pussy. He wants to touch her everywhere, but the center of her pleasure beckons him desperately, and it's so beautiful, so aroused and arousing that he can't wait even a moment longer to touch her there. He slips two fingers in, and they slide easily into the warm, soft wetness of her cunt.