14th St. Caroling

"So you were sleeping your way to stay on top?"

Narrowed green eyes looked towards my hazel ones, annoyed but amused.

"Eventually I found my sound engineer had a hypno-fetish, or a fetish for hypnosis-related things. And yeah, it almost freaked me out too. Almost. I could've ended things with him right then and there, but curiosity got the best of me, and I asked him what was the appeal. I was so very glad I did; to listen to him...romantically describe his love of surrendering to some kind of mind control. To be a willing pawn to someone else's whims; I have to admit, putting it like that kept me rooted."

I didn't admit the same, taking a sip of my scotch, letting the liquor's and her monologue's burn travel down my throat.

"Once he mentioned a fantasy or two of me controlling him with 'the power of song' he called it, and spoke of the possibilities of it being real, I shifted from 'rooted' to 'invested.' Needless to say, after a lot of research and discovery, he got to live out several of his fantasies, which eventually became whatever I wanted him to fantasize about."

"For obvious reasons, he was an enthusiastic teacher, turning his student into his master, or Mistress as the term in hypno-kink can go. He even devised my secret weapon to enhance my voice leagues more potent."

"What secret weapon?"

Next to her chair, Comtesse grabbed and produced a CD. "Demoed performances of my singing."

"I...don't see what's so special about that."

"It wouldn't seem special, not in the first few tracks. But as the music would continue, my singing would be slightly less pronounced, making way for more...open-minded sounds, like binaurals, and subliminal tracks linking singing and the singer to specific suggestions. They'd all start with the beginner's CD, and when they would find themselves asking for more, intermediate and advanced CDs would soon follow, with varying degrees of deeper binaural levels and suggestions tailored to obedience, helpless sexual reactions, and other things I wanted. Soon, they would be so much a part of their psyche, it was like I'd always been there, leading them, like puppets literally dancing to my tune."

"So...you mean..."

"Pretty much. The Brad Banks, Mary Paul, the Sandersons, the Livingstons, much of 14th Street. Not to mention singing rivals in my profession, friends, even a mogul or two more than happy to support me for life while I perform totally at my leisure, they all love my singing. And 14th Street especially when annual caroling rolls around, they live for it."

"Just by listening to those tracks?"

"They think the CDs are secret recordings unable to be published under severe contract and copyright disputes. Their first exclusive, privileged listen pacifies them, then they fall asleep before the CD ends and feel compelled to listen later and try to finish it from start to finish. They never do, but the satisfaction remains. And once that album's programming is well established, they have a few more to repeat the cycle for, until neighbors and anyone of my choosing is literally my slave."

Truth or fiction, her explanation was captivating enough that I downed the rest of my drink sooner than I expected, thirsting for it to be real, and slightly satisfied that it probably was.

"And you're telling me all this, assuming it's true, why?"

"So far, you're the first anywhere to have ever gotten suspicious about what I've been doing. One of my commands to my slaves was to keep a watchful eye and inform me of whomever around them might suspect something is amiss. Imagine my surprise when the first time it happened, it was from a college girl like yourself, Ronnie."

I didn't want to believe her plans were so thorough, or my high-class neighborhood was so brainless (before Comtesse's CDs) that they never saw her coming, but it was hard to deny the swell of pride in myself.

"You deserve that little bit of pride; I thought you'd be going for investigative journalism at school or something similar, what a cute little Nancy Drew type you are, though I guess psychology makes sense for what you figured out. But the more I found out about you, sort of like my affinity for mind control, the more invested I became."

More than her words, the naked, pointed look she extended my way, and brought her bare legs into the chair as if to keep her juices from falling wantonly out of her, filled me with apprehension, but also with unrestrained butterflies, to know the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen found a reason, even a desire, to connect with me.

"You're like this interesting inverse of myself. Both of us growing up in stuffy, affluent towns, rarely unable to fully express ourselves, and yet we still manage. Mind pursuits, vocal talents, both of us gravitating toward one instead of the other, and yet from opposite ends, we've arrived at the same place."

"It helps when one of us drove the other here."

"I never asked you to follow my tail, but I'll never complain if the destination is kissing my ass sweetly if I sing it to you."

"Fuck you, Comtesse," I spoke her name like a stained position rather than a given birth title.

"If you play the cards I deal you right. And of course you will," she singsonged and winked at me, sauntering out of her chair to get more scotch. Gentle, implied commands sunk into me as I found myself staring at her ass, watching the hips swing back and forth. Running my hand through my hair, I noticed my earbuds from earlier were still in my head, still on low volume. I wanted to rip them off and toss them across the room for all the good they did in saving me, but the volume got progressively louder as I heard what the distracting noise really was - more binaurals and subliminals, but I distinctly heard "Ronnie" being spoken too.

Wide eyes were met with musical laughter over from the bar. "Afraid so, sweetie. It certainly was a...sound plan, but I accounted for that sound, of course. And before you ask, no, I typically don't personalize tracks I give future slaves. See how special you are now?"

The strong urge to hurl my glass at her or the fireplace never turned into a full-fledged thought to act on, so I reluctantly let her refill my glass, huffing at my lack of control, merely wondering how the hell I got caught in the first place.

Apparent mind-reader that my hostess was, she responded to my thoughts. "Alright my valued talent, think to the beginning. With clarity." The last sentence was sung, and information I was trying to squeeze from a stone flooded out into my head all of a sudden.

***

"Of course, I wonder how you didn't see this coming."

Her voice sounded off in the background, shedding light to my memories as I first discovered what Comtesse meant to my household when I wasn't there. That phone call with Mom and Ms. Richards, the sound of her hesitating to know I was possibly on the phone too. New knowledge given to me painted that in an all different light, as I imagined my mother kneeling before her Mistress, explaining to Comtesse how her daughter may have heard their exchange.

"Someone as potent and as powerful as me could've been careless. But I'm not."

A taunting singsong put a spotlight on Comtesse's form standing above Mom, toying with her however she wanted physically, bringing those lips to Mom's ear, singing commands that just sounded like siren's enchantments to me. I didn't need to hear the lyrics to understand them. A plan was forming, and a plan I didn't know I was at the center of.

"A college girl shuttling home more weekends than not? Either she's severely homesick, or severely sick for something. Or maybe a better term is...addicted."

I did come back home often, keeping a keen eye on everything my parents did, even researching putting hidden cams and recording equipment all around the house, and even Ms. Richard's house if I could find a way to sneak in there undetected. I had so many spy inclinations planned, but all of that got hazy at some point. Hazy like forgetful dreams. Forgetful dreams like ones I couldn't help but have whenever I came back home. At some point, coming home meant having these dreams, dreams filled with focusing on that singing. All the nuances, qualities, and rhythms of her voice, I told myself I was merely analyzing why her voice was lovely. I never admitted to myself how much I was falling in love with that voice, and how she spoke to ever-vulnerable parts of me.

"Have you ever paid attention to how an addiction starts? That little persistent, ever-so-insistent tingle, that inches you toward your new inclination, your new fixation. It doesn't matter where it comes from, or how far removed it started; once it's in you, it's a part of you."

It mattered to me a lot the moment I saw my parents sneaking into my room, placing headphones over my ears, transforming normal sleep into extremely-guided dreams. They were coordinated enough to keep track of my sleeping patterns to put them on once I fell asleep, and remove them before I woke up. It should've mattered more, that level of coerced betrayal...but it didn't outweigh what the voice, that song, did to me. Waking up every morning, missing it on my mind.

"It isn't long before that pleasant tingle turns into a gentle tug, and every reason you can think of to stay close to it becomes such a valid excuse, you'd swear it was the real reason why you needed to pursue it."

Regardless of my weird dreams, my investigating never stopped. I always kept an eye on Comtesse when I was back home. How immaculate she always looked, how poised and glorious she seemed. How I wished she would come over to visit my parents, just so I could catch her in some act. That was the only reason that mattered, I convinced myself.

"And no matter how strong that magnetizing pull gets, there's no greater spike in pleasure you could experience than when your addiction comes to your door, places itself in-front of you, waiting for exposure, waiting to expose you."

It was the weekend at home when the first sign of the leaves starting to turn, something that should've been an insignificant memory of mine, except for a redacted memory coming to light. That light started out as a doorbell ringing, me opening it, and being face-to-face with Comtesse Richards herself. I was speechless standing in-front of the target of my "investigation," and speechless in how I was made to not remember her just showing up like that.

"M-m...m-my parents aren't h-home right now, Ms. Richards?" I tried to speak diplomatically.

"I'm sorry, I'm not here for them...I'm here for you, Ronnie." That was the first time she called me that, and I was too shocked to correct her, let alone to stop her singing to me in greeting. "We're looking for volunteers for holiday carolers on 14th Street, and you have been called to serve..."

"S-s-serve..."

"Yesss, sweeetttiieee. Ssseerrvvvee." The way she turned that one-syllable word into a crooning command brought me to my knees. And just like I hoped, she stepped in the doorway, locked it behind her, and stepped up to tower over me. I tried to think of what to do or say, to exert some will, and all my body, my mouth could come up with is.

"H-how..may...I....?" In trying to put myself back together in that moment, I didn't know I'd constructed a slave. The rest of the pieces her singing picked up, as she sung my clothes away, lyrics leashing me all the way to our living room where she had me gently remove her white, pristine pantsuit and lick my way all over her chest, thighs, and wet pussy that stained our couch. All the while she sung to me, threading fingers into my hair, letting that scent do to my nostrils what siren songs did to my ears.

At some point, I knew my parents returned home while I was licking her out. The lyrics changed, but the spirits stayed high. Eventually they were fucking one another while I licked her out to an umpteenth orgasm. At the sound of "the loveliest family reunion" from her lips, we all came together, like a family thinking as one. I could only remember smiling when she was done with me, her cum still staining my lips, the scent of it...

"And when you became exposed, you found your true self, my addicted, valuable girl with the talented tongue, among other things. Unable to hide yourself, unwilling to hide yourself, unless to told, for my amusement. Tethered to me, bonded, enslaved, your heart singing to find yourself indulging in your addiction, kept safe and protected by it. Knowing the next time you wake up, you won't have to hide anymore, and just be my valued talent..."

***

Gently snapping out of my memories, I took in my surroundings again, appreciating everything as I was awake again, more awake than when I woke up earlier that day. I don't even remember closing my eyes as I recalled everything, it was all like a second's worth of recollection. Comtesse, Mistress, just smiled at me, and I beamed one right back at her, wanting to thank her for being allowed to be my truer self again, but my voice croaked a little as it'd been a while since I'd said anything.

I looked over to the stand next to my chair, and saw my scotch, plus a glass of water that wasn't there before.

"I figured you'd need something more appropriate for your dry throat, so I got you some water."

I graciously picked up the glass and took a long sip, inhaling deeply as I enjoyed how cool and refreshing it was. My senses picked up more than the usual watery taste though, as I inhaled again, suddenly thirsting and hungry for something else. At the rim of the glass, I saw a clear substance smeared over it, unidentifiable by sight, but unmissable by scent.

"And I figured you'd appreciate a little...additive, for flavoring. Something special to go with the roaring fireplace."

I turned to the warming flames nearby, still the only source of light in the room, and then to Comtesse who'd already set her feet on the floor, spreading her legs wide, firelight glinting of glistening liquids, ready for my addicted tongue.

"I meant my roaring fireplace."

I swallowed the remainder of my water before I went to my knees, reaching out to grasp her ass in the seat and pull her delicious slit towards me. Amidst the sounds of worship her love-slave gave, I thought I heard the faint noise of binaurals in the background, followed by strange singing, and the sounds of strained arousal around me.

After the third or fourth time I made her cum, she let me rest against her leg. Catching my breath, and letting light fill my eyes again, I indeed saw the other carolers, naked and singing gently while masturbating to a recording of Mistress singing opera with binaurals and suggestions filling the large room. On the large rug, a collection of Mary Paul, Mr. Banks, the Livingstons, and my Mom were tied in a big orgy that had yet to be satisfied. Seeing everything unfold made me reach in-between my legs for what I knew was an allotted reward from above. She furthered the sensations I was feeling, turning that cheesy caroling song from earlier into audible gold.

Hushaby, hushaby,

Christmas stars are in the sky;

Sweet the bells of Christmas Eve --

Lovelies, each a lick receive --

Hushaby, goodnight,

Hushaby, goodnight!

My mind loved how much more meaningful her words were when sung. At some point, I'd realized I'd fallen deep enough to stop masturbating and just let the song wash all over me. Waking up, seeing her smile down at me, my fingers couldn't help but start again.

Lullaby, lullaby,

Lovelies in their wet dreams lie;

Every one enslaved is bound,

Hush, make not a single sound!

Lullaby, goodnight,

Lullaby, goodnight!

I'd fallen again, but my id was hotter than before, surrounded by multiple sound sources in the room, deaf to them all, except for Comtesse's song. I stroked myself faster, in-time with the lyrics.

Rockaby, rockaby,

Cumming for me draweth nigh;

Stroking now, that rock-hard teat,

Lovelies jerking so still and sweet --

Sweetest dreams, goodnight,

Sweetest dreams, goodnight!

Mistress loved how close we were all getting, holding on unable to reach where our bodies were desperate for, our minds held lovingly captive, waiting for the crescendo that came nearly an eternity later.

"Ccccuuuuuummmmmmm fooor mmmmeeeeeeeeeeee!"

It was hard to hear everyone else's screams over mine, but I knew it was a collective chorus, and dutiful programming left us all mentally thanking our choir director for the another opportunity to voluntarily please her.

"And as for you, my valued talent, I think you're going to find yourself beginning to feel the passion for singing come back to you very soon. I've always wanted my own apprentice I could mold in my image, and how honored you are to follow my lead. And I'll be quite interested to learn what you have learned in your psychology classes; it should be fun learning from a more academic angle. And every time you return home, you'll find an eager student, teacher, and Mistress, ready to receive you. How does that sound?"

I nearly had an aftershock between my legs at the though of more direct attention from Comtesse.

"It sounds like I'm yours, Mistress Comtesse."

"Oh yes you are, my future hypno-songbird."

***

"Hushaby, hushaby,

Christmas stars are in the sky."

It was the next Christmas Eve, and everyone's subconscious favorite time of year again. Time for the 14th Street carolers to spread their cheer. Mistress Comtesse was kept away due to performance scheduling of the season, but her wise counseling left her star pupil in-charge.

"Sweet the bells of Christmas Eve,

Lovelies, each a kiss receive."

All the faithful and mindless carolers backed me up as I sung the way I was taught to, singing Brad Bank's mind out as he stared at me, lust all over his face. I stared back at him, ready to fuck a man I'd dreamed of fucking since adolescence. He was a first to receive a taste of my first custom CD, and was already very programmed to serve me as well as he did Comtesse.

"Hushaby goodnight,

Hushaby goodnight!"

Next to him, just as affected as him, was Melissa "I hate caroling" Banks, desperately in-need of a new title for herself. Comtesse was proud of how I took my first slave on my own, someone Mistress hadn't bothered with, but as hot as I thought she could look under my siren spell, why not?

Both triggered to sleep, I let the carolers behind remain idle as I walked up to the couple and whispered their need to find a babysitter for their kids for the night. I gave both a deep kiss, and stroked their arousals while my practiced soprano melted their ears and minds further.

And to think, I hated caroling once too.

"Now you're singing my tune, now and forever, my valued talent," Mistress Comtesse's repeated internal suggestion helpfully reminded me.