Generous Natures Pt. 03

Part 3: Locked Away

Our story so far: After successfully pleasuring her Master's best friend, hypno-slave Jasmine waits to see if there will be consequences for disobeying an earlier order, or if she has made up for her indiscretion.

* * *

Jasmine recalled movies and TV shows where couples argued during a night out and then rode in awkward, painful, stressful silence on the way home.

The silence on her ride home with Devon, however, was not awkward, painful, or stressful. She thought he might outline whatever consequences he'd landed on for her transgression, but he didn't. She didn't pick up on any anger from her Master, but she kept quiet until he spoke, just a couple of blocks from their building.

"What did you think of my parents?" he asked.

Her lips parted, readying to respond. Any question from her Master should be answered, and considered as good as a command. But her mind was too slowed.

"Sorry," he said. "I know it's...especially after the day you've had." He laughed to himself and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "You're not expected to have opinions, especially not on the fly like that. I guess I just wanted to vent about them."

"Your mother was kind," Jasmine replied at last.

He laughed again. "Everyone thinks of her as the shrew who divorced my dad, but I'll tell you, I'd never seen her happier than when she finally left him. And do you know what else people think?" He looked at her as they waited at a red light.

"No, Master."

"That I get my shrewdness, my thoughtfulness, my everything, from my father. Because he's the one who heads a Forbes 100 company. But he's just been coasting along, doing whatever the board or I suggest, for years. Decades, in the case of the board. He's content to let things run themselves. And that's fine. But I resent that he's been able to keep this image when he's done nothing to maintain it, and barely anything to earn it in the first place."

Jasmine watched her owner as he spoke, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"It all came from her," he said, pointing in the vague direction of the building they'd driven from. "The unwillingness to settle into an expected life, to settle for a bad deal from our company's business partners. To settle for anything less than what I want." He reached out and gripped her chin. "You understand?"

"Yes, Sir," she said.

"Good girl." He released her and resumed driving. "Take the cuffs out of the glove compartment and put them back in your purse."

This time, she knew better than to hesitate. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she obeyed the command, zipping the clutch shut when she was finished. Just in time for him to pull up to the lobby of the building. Cesar hurried out to greet them.

"Welcome back, Mr. Devon!" he exclaimed as Devon and Jasmine exited the car. He took the keys from Devon and nodded to Jasmine. "Miss Jasmine." He paused, and she thought he might have recognized something in her that he hadn't seen before, but she could also tell he had no idea what it was, what it meant that her eyes looked the way they did, or the way her smile wasn't quite the same as an ordinary woman's. But just like Devon had pointed out earlier, it didn't matter. If he knew, if he didn't know. What could he do? She smiled. "Have a good rest of your evening," he said, breaking eye contact from her with a subtle blush.

"You too, Cesar," Devon said, wrapping an arm around Jasmine and leading her inside.

She felt a little bit like a purebred dog being brought in from a walk.

In the elevator, Devon was quiet again, not even acknowledging her presence. She held her purse to her front, feeling the cuffs through the fabric. Her fingers twitched, and she remembered how naked she'd felt when she'd first taken them off before leaving the penthouse. It felt so long ago now.

"After you," he said as the elevator arrived at their floor. It wasn't out of politeness or deference; after all, he preceded her in almost every way. But like a dog on her leash, her owner might sometimes prefer she walk ahead, especially if there was something he didn't want her to see.

She waited by the door to the penthouse, and he unlocked it. "Go on."

She stepped inside, keeping her back straight and her eyes forward. He took his time behind her. She heard the shifting of fabric, the opening of the foyer closet door, and guessed that he was taking off his jacket. He removed her wrap as well, and she heard him hanging both of them up. All the while, she stood still as a mannequin, her clit throbbing so hard she swore it was liable to jump right out of her.

He unzipped her dress and for the second time that day, her clothes fell to the floor at her feet, inches from the front door, leaving her with just her heels. But this time, she wasn't terrified or confused. The anticipation of whatever he might be planning was eating her alive. Whatever it was, whether she would enjoy it or not, she wanted him to get on with it. But her slave mind also wanted him to use her in whatever way he wanted. Even if that meant keeping her as still as she was. Even if it meant not saying a word to her, though she longed to hear his voice again.

"Purse, Jasmine."

There it was. She let herself smile slightly when he spoke, and handed it to him without turning to face him, because he hadn't told her to. He unzipped it, then there was shuffling as he must have put it in the closet. He took her hands without asking, and fastened the cuffs to each of her wrists, then crouched down and fastened the remaining two to her ankles. And just like that, her mind forgot how buckles worked again, shuffling the knowledge into a corner that she no longer had access to, until and if he needed her to take them off once more.

She would never not be his slave, but she was only truly at home if she was wearing the cuffs.

Finally, he walked around to face her, and met her eyes. "Let's go downstairs, shall we?"

It was cruel of him not to elaborate further than that, but then, he was her Master. He had every right to be cruel. "Yes, Sir."

She walked over the dress and followed him down the stairs, chin raised, hands clasped behind her back, chest pushed forward. She paused briefly at the bedroom door, but he walked past it, and she followed him to a different bedroom.

She tried to keep her face placid, but she couldn't help but betray some confusion as she faced the door of her programming room. Just hours ago, he'd told her that her conversion was complete.

But she said nothing, knowing better now.

"You're a good girl, Jasmine," he said. "I mean it." He opened the door. "Go sit."

The former spare bedroom had been remodeled to allow him easy access to her mind. A table and chair were the only furniture, with chains he could use to tie down her arms and legs and compel her to face a screen on the wall. There were also chains on the opposite wall, in case he'd rather restrain her that way.

She loved this room; it was stark, free of distractions or personality, but it was where she'd learned almost everything he'd taught her. But she also felt ashamed that she'd done something to make him want to use it now. She kept her eyes down as she went to the table and sat down at the chair, positioning her wrists and ankles near the chains.

Devon wordlessly came to her once she was sitting and clipped the chains to her cuffs. She let out a small hum of contentment, and he kissed her cheek.

"I'd been thinking long and hard about how to address your misstep, he said, crouched next to her. She kept her eyes on the as-yet blank screen, knowing that would be expected of her unless he directed her otherwise. "I wasn't mad, mind you, just taken off guard, and I knew it would need to be addressed. After all, I thought we were past this." He ran a finger along her exposed thigh, getting closer to her sex. "I thought I'd have to start the whipping protocol earlier than planned, maybe delay the conditioning that would help you enjoy it." She took in a sharp breath. Even without conditioning, it would be hard for her not to inherently enjoy any act from her Master. "That felt wrong, though. But then talking to Tasha's mother, when she tried to convince me that you and I just had to have a baby," he chuckled, "it got me thinking. I'm responsible for you now, Jasmine. Your body, your mind, it all belongs to me." He said it so casually, like he was explaining what day of the week it was. "And it would be wrong of me to punish you because I didn't do a good enough job conditioning you not to be too self-conscious to follow my orders." He adjusted himself to lean in closer to her. "So I've accepted that your programming may be a more ongoing endeavor than I'd anticipated, even now that you've so thoroughly accepted your role. But that doesn't sound so bad, does it, my slut?"

"No, Sir," she breathed, her clit hardening between her legs.

"You like being my little trance whore, don't you?" His voice took on that deliciously sinister tone that couldn't be ignored.

"Yes, Sir." She smiled, but kept her eyes on the screen. She heard him take the remote to control the projector.

"Maybe you disobeyed me so that I'd put you in a trance again. But we both know you're not smart enough for that kind of strategy anymore, don't we?"

"No, Sir." An image of a paused video appeared on the screen. Her arms tightened in excited anticipation for the moment she would fall into the deep hole where Devon could play with her head.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We both know that you're nothing but a simple little cumslut who exists to serve. And you're so very, very good at it. But tonight has taught me that you'll always be a glorious little work in progress. There are always going to be ways I can make you a better slave. And I think, despite your misbehavior, we can both agree that's a lovely thing."

She frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I didn't..." She blinked. "I wanted to be perfect, Master. I want to be..." It was the only thing in the entire world she was sure that she wanted.

"Shh. Shh." He kissed her temple. "You are perfect, Jasmine. Because you belong to me. That makes you perfect already. You don't have to be complete to be perfect. As long as you let yourself be open to your owner, you will be the perfect slave. And you are so, so open, Jasmine. My night-blooming flower. Not a single speck of you is hidden from me, is it?"

"No, Master." She relaxed in her chair.

He pressed play, and the screen started playing a repeating video of a Newton's cradle, five marbles hanging from a metal frame. His favorite induction method to use on her, which now turned her mind to jelly almost immediately. "Watch the marbles, Jasmine," Devon said, using his soothing hypnotic voice. "Watch them sway back and forth. Every time one marble hits the rest, you feel yourself getting more and more relaxed, more and more open to my instructions."

Whenever Devon hypnotized her, Jasmine felt like her atoms were floating farther and farther apart, like her essence was being spread across the length of the universe. But she knew that Devon had complete control over every atom, able to move them and arrange them in whatever way suited him. It was such a wonderful feeling to have him at the peak of his control, for all choices and free will to be completely taken from her. If he told her she would have to live the rest of her life in this state, she would have no objections. If she had the capacity to complain, her only one would be that in this state, she couldn't feel the cuffs very well.

"I'm going to count back from ten, Jasmine. With every number, you'll fall further into trance, and when I reach one, you'll be completely under my power, unaware of anything in existence except my voice and touch." He took a breath. "Ten...nine..."

She fell down, down, floating like Alice in the rabbit hole, with no concern for when the fall would end or what she would find when it did. That was so far out of the purview of her concern now.

"...three...two...one."

If someone were watching them, they wouldn't know anything had changed. "Can you hear me, Jasmine?" Devon asked.

"Yes."

"Can you hear or see the marbles?"

"No." It was like her eyes and ears were no longer capable of processing it.

"Very good." He massaged the top of her spine gently with his thumb. "You don't need to see them once you're in your trance. You used to, didn't you? But not anymore, because you've grown so much. You've become the perfect hypnotic thrall, and you enjoy so much being in this state, being so relaxed."

She was too enthralled to even murmur an agreement. To do anything, really, except follow a direct order and to listen to whatever words her owner wanted to fill her with.

"You feel relaxed because you know I'm right here with you, leading you with my voice and my touch. You're so weak and it's so nice to know that you have me to claim and care for you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Good. That's good, Jasmine. And I am so lucky to have such a good slave, such a malleable, pliant girl at my side. Now, Jasmine, I want you to imagine yourself following me to the storage facility. You remember it?"

"Yes."

"What is it? Tell me, so I know that you understand."

She swallowed to prepare herself to speak more than usual. "It's my mind."

"And what did it look like the first time I brought you here?"

Three months ago, when Devon had started taking her apart in preparation to put her back together again, he had chosen a brilliantly simple way for her to understand her own psyche, and the way it would now exist under his command. Her owner was so smart, so perfect. And he'd picked her to be his slave, out of everyone in the entire world.

"There were so many units, and they were all open..." she took a breath. "Disorganized. Things..." she winced, "spilling out of the rooms, into the halls. Had to step over them, had to..."

"Shh," he soothed her with a gentle pat on her hand. "That's alright, Jasmine. That's enough. You did well, and I know you understand. Tell me, then, what happened once I showed you this place. What did you give me?

"The keys."

"And what did I do with them?"

"You took over." And how wonderful that had been. He'd cleaned up all the rooms, organized everything.

"That's right. And now, none of it is your responsibility anymore. I have the keys. I decide which doors are open, and which ones are shut and beyond your access. I decide what items go inside each of them. I decide what should stay, and what should go away forever. Why do I have the right to do that, Jasmine? Why did you give the keys to me?"

"Because you own me." Her clit pulsed when she said it. Just as he'd taught her, thinking about her subservience to him always brought her a burst of arousal.

"Good. My beautiful, obedient girl. I want you to walk down those walls. All of the doors are closed and locked when you're in your trance, Jasmine. The lights are dim and warm and the floors are covered in soft carpets. It's so peaceful and quiet now that it's all cleaned up. You don't feel any sort of regret or discomfort at knowing that you can't open any of them yourself, or that you no longer have any control over what happens to their contents. You know it's right that I can do with each room as I see fit. You don't mind that I could get rid of all of it, and leave you as nothing but an empty shell."

She shivered, thinking of herself as an immobilized doll.

"Because you are so much happier being owned than you ever were being free, aren't you, Jasmine?" Devon went on.

"Yes."

"The happiness consumes you. It follows you out of your trance. It's an invisible blanket that you always have with you. But tonight, Jasmine," his voice lowered, "something tried to keep you from me. Something tried to pull that happiness out from under you. And that thing has a name. Do you know what it's called?"

"No." Her throat was tight.

"It's called doubt, Jasmine." He spoke the word in a way that made her unsure if she'd ever even heard it before. "Doubt is a creeping, tenacious thing. It is very difficult to contain, because it can hide and spread. Its purpose is not to help you or protect you. Its purpose is to keep you from me, keep you from submitting to me completely the way you should be. You want to submit to me completely, don't you, Jasmine?"

"Yes."

"That's right." Another stroke, this one harder and more possessive. "By closing off so much of your mind, I've been able to get rid of most of that doubt, but your mind, that facility, is a labyrinth, and both you and I may never be able to explore every inch of it, not completely. You've given me all the keys that you've found, but there's at least one more that's missing. One more door we need to shut. I want you to continue walking down those corridors. I want you to look closely. All the doors look closed, and most of them are, but there may be one you missed. And that's okay. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm here to help you, but you must do as I say. I want you to check to make sure the doors are really closed. There may be one opened just a crack, or one with the key still stuck in the lock."

She imagined herself in the corridor, just as he commanded, twisting and turning as she walked. She wouldn't have been able to find her way back to the beginning if she tried, but that was okay. Her Master was with her.

"Do you see it, Jasmine?"

As if his words had manifested it into being, she stopped in front of a large door, and looked down. She knew it didn't exist, but it was as real to her as the real room she was sitting in. The door was cracked, just a hair, just enough for her to see its thin shadow on the floor.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"It's a door." She couldn't help the guilt in her voice. How could she have missed it? She'd promised to give him everything. "It's open, just a little."

"It's alright, Jasmine," he soothed. "It's alright. It's not easy to catch every door. You're doing so well, my little fucktoy. You're making your Master so proud. Trust is so important, and just as you trust me to have complete control over you, I know I can trust you to give me every speck of yourself that you can find. Do you want to give me everything, Jasmine?"

"Yes." Even in her trance, her voice cracked.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want me to have."

"Everything." Her tone was monotonous, but the pulsing in her sex was like a constant alarm that wouldn't stop until he gave her release. It made the space between her legs feel heavy, as if it too was weighed down by chains. "I want you to have everything."

"What's everything? Everything in the world?" he teased.

He did deserve it, but she knew what he meant. "Everything I am. All of me. I want...I need you to control me."

"Why?" His voice was so heavy with desire. It slithered around her like a thick fog, seeping into her pores and making the faint hairs on her arms stand on end. "Why do you need me to control you?"

"Because I'm weak. I need to belong. I need to be controlled." He'd shown her that, how incomplete her life was when she was free. "I need to be owned."

"By whom?" he asked.

"By you."

"Why?"

"Because you control me. You hypnotize me." The circular logic may have bothered her once, but it didn't anymore. It was a loop she had no interest in escaping. He controlled her and made her weak and entranced, so she needed him to keep controlling her, because she was so weak and entranced. As long as she could be controlled so easily, she simply could not be free, and no one else could take care of her like him, because no one else could control her like him.

"Good girl. Such a good girl. You've come so far." If she'd had her wits about her, she might have been more aware of how obvious it was that he wanted to fuck her right then and there. But he was a good Master, and he was able to focus on the task at hand. "I want you to open that door for me. You'll let me do whatever I want with the contents, won't you? Whatever I need to do."