FocusTunes Ch. 04

And the longer it remained, the more frustrated and desperate she was becoming as she tried to rid herself of it. It was sitting there in her mind like a dam in a river, touched by every current of her consciousness, impeding the flow of her daily life, accumulating strain with time. She was sexually pent-up and needed a release, and while I would be more than pleased to blow in her mouth or fuck her to orgasm again, sexual release wasn't going to solve her problem. She needed a release from the incessant want itself

"Okay." I went for a tried-and-true method. "I'll let you suck my cock if you do what I want, first. Does that sound fair?"

Miranda sniffled, the image of a petulant child unjustly held from her favorite toy. I sighed.

"Miranda, you should trust me, right?" I tried to recall my frantic, last-minute programming from the other day. "You should trust me and do what I say, right?"

"I don't have to do that," she said indignantly. Well, fuck that idea.

"You're right, you don't -- but I want you to answer my questions before you suck my cock, and if you don't, I'm sending you back home, okay? No hanging out today at all." I felt horrible for the legitimate fear that danced across her face, but it was a necessary threat. She nodded, and I smiled.

"Good. Okay: why do you want to suck my cock so much?" I asked slowly. She thought for a moment.

"I don't know. I've never felt like this before. I've always liked giving head--" oh? Is that so? Couldn't tell. "--but this is like, way more. It's intense and overwhelming...obviously." She gave a half-chuckle and dried her cheeks -- it was nice to see her picking up some brightness again.

"Good. That's really good, Miranda." I felt like I was being super patronizing, but I was also offering her the opportunity to suck my cock if she jumped through hoops for me, so that ship had long since sailed. "Now, let me ask you this: why do you want to have sex with me?" As I hoped, Miranda answered this one immediately.

"Oh, I've always wanted to fuck you." She beamed at me. "You're hot in a nerdy way, confident, funny, kind. I've wanted to get into your pants since Day 1." She bit her bottom lip. "Do you want to fuck instead?"

"Just one more question." I lifted my headphones and smiled sweetly. "I want you to listen to some music again while we have fun. Where's your phone?"

"In my purse."

I retrieved it, once again using Miranda's face to unlock it. I really need to get her passcode, or just download the app for myself. As I flicked through it, Miranda took the free moment to settle herself back on my dick. I peered down and smiled at her, chuckling in exasperation at the sly gleam in her eyes. I found Miranda's song, as I had begun to think of it, passed the earbuds down to Miranda.

"Of all the fetishes," she said wryly as she put one, and then the other earphone in. "Making a girl listen to music while she sucks you off has to be the fucking weirdest one..."

"Maybe someday, I'll tell you why I like it so much." I smiled knowingly down at her and hit play.

She slipped under the spell without a sound, settling back on her haunches and scanning the room passively. A sense of ease passed over me just as the sense of ease passed over her. I still hadn't been sure that it would work, even after I had seen the success once before.

I let the music play as I walked over to my desk, grabbing my sheet and reading over it once. It was clear that the messages I was giving her were taken extremely literally. They were truths; facts that the brain took as law and could not expunge, no matter its efforts. The implications were unbelievable. If I said "You are Sir Ian McKellan," would she wake up acting like herself and only respond to Ian? Would she do a northerner accent and talk about the comparative joys of playing Gandalf and Magneto?

I wasn't sure, then, that I could correct what I had told Miranda before. If I told her "You don't want to suck my cock," and she took that as truth just as equally as she took "You want to suck my cock" as truth, I could rip her head apart by making it wage war against itself. I could also, you know...lose free blowjobs. Which was the second most important thing, obviously.

This had to be done delicately, then. But could I give her subtler commands beyond the "You want" structures I had used thus far? Could her brain accept and understand nuance; could it take a command only selectively, instead of enduring this inescapable, crushing insistence of my previous commands?

I had started writing out a hypothetical command when I heard my door click open. Holy shit. My dad had come up to check on us. Miranda wasn't wearing a top and I wasn't wearing a bottom. We were screwed.

I turned; he wasn't there; neither was Miranda.

"Fuck fuck fuck,' I muttered, leaping to my feet, pulling my pants up as I stumbled across my room. I found Miranda halfway down the hallway, wandering aimlessly as she studied the photos on our walls, the cheap moulding beginning to crack along our ceiling. She was naked from the waist up without a care in the world; my father was thankfully nowhere to be seen.

I grabbed her wrist. "Get back insi--" I began to say, then stopped myself. I still wasn't sure how this all worked, and I wasn't going to risk accidentally giving Miranda a command that would force her back to my bedroom every time she tried to leave it. She let me tug her along, offering no resistance.

I brought her back inside and checked the phone -- the song had been playing for a couple minutes, but was nowhere near its conclusion. As it was, I didn't know how long she was going to be tranced, and she was already starting to wander around the room again. Grabbing my sheet, I killed the music and watched the final switch in her brain click off, her gaze fall aimlessly forward into space.

"Miranda." She turned to me robotically. "You are able to control your sexual urges. You are able to control your sexual urges." A blink. "Miranda." I was going to keep using her name with commands until I knew it was unnecessary. "You trust me. Miranda, you trust me."

Her body hadn't yet begun to awaken, so I went through another cycle of commands before I saw awareness return to her face. The first idea was pretty basic: if I could give her a rigid truth, perhaps I could give her a skill as well. I didn't think I could change the fact that she wanted to suck my cock and fuck me, but I could give her autonomy to modulate those wants just like any old wants...hopefully.

The second idea was even basic-er: situations with Miranda kept getting weirder, and I was worried eventually she'd realize how out-of-character she'd been acting over the last few days.

There was a running clock, hot on my back. In just 36 hours, she went from a joking friend to weaponizing a skimpy dress and nudes to get into my pants. What would wait for me in school on Monday if this patchwork solution didn't hold?

Her consciousness was fully restored now. Immediately she went for her dress, pulling the straps back over her shoulders and securing her chest, abashed at her nakedness. God, I was such an idiot -- I had that perfect little body available at my beck and call, and I had just surrendered control of it back to its owner. That was supposed to feel right; but it just felt bad.

"Hey." I said after a few moments of awkward silence. "How do you feel?"

"How do I feel? The same." She turned to me, dimples winking on her rosy cheeks as she smiled. I was perplexed: when I had put her under, she was in distress; now that she was back, she seemed much happier. How did she feel the same...but look like she felt better?

"But you don't look like you feel the same at all," she continued, closing the distance between us with confident strides, knocking me back with her momentum -- I landed, seated on the edge of my bed. A small hand went to the crotch of my pants, where I had gone soft in the last few minutes. "No, you don't feel the same at all..."

Before I could say a word, she leaned forward, smashing into me with a heated kiss. Her tongue whispered to mine how eager she was; the tightness of her lips revealing the smile she just couldn't hide. I was reminded not of the confused girl who blew me yesterday because she didn't know what else to do; nor the entranced girl who couldn't ignore my cock later that day; nor the broken girl crying over my dick just a few minutes ago as she tried to scratch an unreachable itch. This was the Miranda who had found me in the bathroom; the Miranda who had fucked me in her basement; the Miranda that believed her feelings were natural, innocent...and sexy.

"Hey," I said between kisses, her grip now finding a rock-hard rod to grasp. "Do you want to...you know?"

"Do I want to...?" she parroted, her breath hot on my cheek as she closed the gap to my ear. "Do I want to what, baby?"

"You know..." I reassured myself mentally: she still had the original command. I could still use the language and hit her buttons. "Suck my cock."

"Yesss," she whispered instinctively at my phrasing. She found the tab of my belt and began unsecuring my pants. "I'm so turned on right now."

I did some back-of-the-envelope theorizing in the back of my head as the front of my head stayed focused on matching Miranda's make-out expertise. She was turned on -- probably because her engines were already humming from our sexual activities from before. She still wanted to suck my cock -- that was a win, and an expected one. But she had pivoted from frustration and terror to healthy enthusiasm...so was her problem solved?

"Are you sure your dad won't come up?" she said breathily as her fingers hooked on my waistband and started to tug. Another piece fell into place: the dress. She had put it back on because she was worried about my dad walking in on us; she hadn't been so thoughtful in her previous state. Which meant...

"Hey, wait." I grabbed her wrists mid-tug, my dick caught only by the elastic of my boxers. "If I said no -- if I said I didn't want to do this right now...would that be okay?"

Her eyes darted to mine, and I saw the fear flash. Fuck. It hadn't taken. She was still desperate for it, unable to silence the call I had buried in her mind.

"Of course we can," she said deliberately, taking a step back. "I...I figured because we'd been fooling around...but if we're going too fast, it's always okay to say you don't want to..."

Oh, fuckshit. She was doing a relationship-positive consent thing. I had been asking about her previous mental state, but she hardly seemed to have a memory of that -- she thought I was doing a 'let's interrupt this super sexy moment with stilted verbal confirmation that we want to go hog-wild on one another.'

Well, we can't have that, can we?

"No, Miranda..." I grabbed her wrists again, standing back up to pull her towards me. "I want it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I smiled reassuringly. "This is what I want." And I meant that. I wanted her to go down on me, but I also wanted it to be this version of her. Not that coerced Miranda, who reminded me in her absurdity of what I had done to her -- but this enthusiastic Miranda, who seemed exactly the girl of my fantasies, realized. That first girl just had the body that I wanted to fuck; this girl had the spirit as well.

"But are you really sure?" she asked playfully, finishing the tug to free my dick and sliding a hand underneath my ballsack to trace one fingernail lightly across my taint. That was fucking new, I'll tell you that. "You sure you can handle it?" Her eyebrow jumped in her challenge. I shrugged coolly.

"You don't scare me."

"Mmmh, maybe I should." She sunk to her knees.

"You fucking scared me earlier." I thought to myself ruefully.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, a sense of relief washing over me. I had done a good thing. I had definitely done a good thing. I had also done a bad thing, and arguably the bad thing was worse than the good thing was good -- okay, not fucking 'arguably' -- but alleviating Miranda's agony was a reward-worthy effort. I had risked something precious to do it, and--

"Hey, you."

I started. Miranda was still down below me, but my dick was suspiciously not in her mouth. Instead, she was lightly pushing against my hips, smiling up awkwardly at me.

"Yeah?"

"Can you sit back on the bed? It'll just be easier for me on my knees."

"Oh! Uh, yeah, of course." I stammered a bit in response, hastening back to the bed and plopping on down. I smiled inwardly. That was the first sexual request that Miranda had ever made of me -- the behavior of an autonomous woman, driven by more than just one primal urge.

Of course, that one primal urge still throbbed for the both of us. Miranda hooked her arms over my legs and placed both hands on my dick, light fingernails tracing over my head and forcing lurches out of my dick. Her tongue joined her fingers in her gracing touches, the pace of this blowjob agonizingly slowed relative to our previous trysts. There was no desperation here; there was control.

As Miranda pooled spit on pursed lips and began massaging the underside of my shaft, I realized: I should have been scared of her. I forgot how far out of my league sexually confident Miranda was.

I checked her eyes: alight, teasing, calculated. She pulled her lips off my dick and said with a sneaky whisper: "Scared yet?"

We both laughed, the sexual tension and power dynamics giving way to our youth and energy. "Fuck you," I gasped through a chuckle.

"Nothing cockier than a boy who finally got his dick wet," she repeated a now mocking refrain, wrapping her thumb and a finger around my cock and balls and securing a tight grip. A spine-straightening pressure started building in my engorged dick as circulation slowed, but a quick suck from Miranda sent electric pleasure along the same nerves. Jesus Christ, I thought I knew how many different things dicks could feel; I was very wrong.

She kept me there for frozen seconds, her tongue massaging me despite the fact that I filled her mouth, her grip stiffening my cock beyond healthy elasticity levels. I was trying instinctively to straighten my hips and force myself into her throat; she was doing her best to keep me pinned down with her arms.

She released me all at once, both of us gasping in relief. I felt the beat of blood back in my erection again, and that feeling was somehow erotic in and of itself. Miranda's grip went to my shaft, stroking even as she swallowed and smiled with mock sweetness.

"Do you--"

I cut her off with a hand, reaching for my now familiar grip on her hair. Her eyes betrayed no fear; I didn't like that.

"My turn." I said softly, firmly.

"Your turn?"

"My turn."

I pulled her down onto my cock; she quickly tucked her arms between my legs, ensuring nothing but her head filled my erotic vision. It took us a moment to figure out the angles -- I couldn't exactly thrust my hips from a seated position -- but eventually I settled my cock on top of her gullet and, with a firm push on the back of her head, slid myself down her throat.

I wasted no time. If she wasn't going to be the urgent one anymore, I would fill the role. She had to do most of the work, bobbing her head aggressively to pump my dick with her throat, but I kept my hand buried in the waves of her styled hair to encourage her pace. She had dressed up for me -- no, she had dressed up to get facefucked by me. She had dressed up to get straight fucked by me. She was still mine to use.

The thought was shiver-inducing. Yes, she had been given control over her urges. But she had been given that privilege by me, and I could take it back if I wanted to. (I actually couldn't, I don't think, but I was fucking feelin' myself right now, so leave me alone.) And further exposures, further fetishes, further vulnerabilities? My word wove them into her existence. I spoke, and she wanted.

I quickly felt cum boiling up, and used my grip on Miranda's hair to take her off my dick entirely, her countenance made wild with spattered spittle and matted hair and the arousal alight in her eyes. Another puzzle piece fell in place.

"You like that, don't you?" I asked, almost accusatory.

"Like what?" Her answer was far too innocent.

"You like deepthroating."

"A nice girl like me? Deepthroat?" She batted her eyes. God, she was so fucking hot. "I would never do a thing like that."

I growled in irritation and horniness alike, hooking her by the armpits to bring her to standing position with me. She stared at me defiantly, so I whipped around her and shoved her only semi-playfully onto the bed. She landed on her stomach and bounced up onto her elbows and knees, her dress falling softly over the curve of her hips. I flipped it up onto her back and ripped her panties down to her knees in one quick motion. You could smell it on the air and see it on the gleam of her puffy pussy lips: she was wet.

"Don't fucking stop," I muttered as I pumped my cock a couple times, dropping my hips to line us up. I wasn't sure if she'd know what I meant. She did.

"What kind of a girl would like having a cock shoved down her throat until she couldn't breathe? Some fucking whore." Miranda panted, her coy tone muffled by the bedspread. "Not me. I'm a respectable girl, with a -- FUCK!" I slid myself inside, meeting tight resistance from her yet untouched pussy. Just those first few inches were enough for Miranda, squirming under the intensity of the sensation. She tried to lean away from my dick; I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her closer. "Ohhhhhhhh that's so fucking good..."

I used light thrusts to worm my way further into her pussy, the friction and heat of which was inimitable from this doggystyle angle. I kept a firm grip on Miranda's shoulder to prevent her from wriggling away, as each successive inch gave her another wave of tremors. I stayed motionless once I bottomed out in her pussy, pleased enough with the ripples of warm muscles squeezing against me in Miranda's bliss.

Once she settled, I drew myself out as far as my balance would let me before sliding back in. Another throaty moan escaped the tangled mass of hair buried in my bedsheet. "Don't fucking stop." I repeated as I continued at my slow pace. Miranda panted a few more hot and heavy breaths, mustering herself before resuming.

"I...wouldn't just let some boy...fuck my mouth...use me." I slid out, she whimpered. "I've heard that some girls get off on that...they like feeling dirty...but that would never be me."

"Never be you?" I thrusted, harder this time. She bucked and yelped as I prodded her G-spot.

"Never be me." She settled back into place, this time dropping her stomach to arch her back, filling out the enticing shape of her ass. "I know how boys look at me; like I'm some piece of meat built...to please them. They get hard just looking at me...but that doesn't make me wet. I don't just tease them...because it turns me on."

I established a steady pace now, my mind ablaze at Miranda's words. Not only was she admitting it -- that she was a sexy little tease -- but she was admitting that she got off on it. She liked the power she had over guys, and she leveraged it because it made her feel good. I was equal parts pissed and extremely aroused; her next words only made it worse.

"I love teasing...my fucking tutor. I can tell he's...super into me...and he doesn't know I'm into him...but I just fuck with him because it's so easy...mmmh that's fucking good...I dress in sexy schoolgirl clothes so that he'll...fantasize about me. I let him peek down my...fuck!...shirt when he...doesn't think I know what he's doing...I invite him out with...friends because I know...he'll give all his FUCK FUCK Ben fucking...attention to me."