Good Girl, Floating

He said hello in response to mine, a mellow lilting tone that made me know a warm, half-smile played across his lips. After many months, I was so conditioned to this voice that the two syllables sent a pleasant shiver up my spine and a blush down over my face and neck.

"How are you today?" he asked, and I told him a little about my morning and plans for the day. We chatted lightly about inconsequential things but even that bit of conversation had already changed my physiology in subtle ways. My breath was slower and deeper, my muscles had relaxed, and best of all, my mind had relaxed, beginning a release of endorphins into my system that at the same time calmed me and excited me.

Unexpectantly, in the middle of discussing current vacancy rates, he said, "Brush your breast three times." I had learned long ago this was his key phrase for me. In the beginning I had obeyed out of a desire to see if this really worked. Now when he said it, I didn't even have to perform the action, the feeling immediately hit me like warm water pouring over my head and running down my body. My eyes closed to shut out all extraneous input, my head bowed slightly, my breath grew deeper still and my whole body sat in quiet anticipation of his words. He had flipped the switch and emptied me and I waited attentively for him to fill me.

It wasn't always like this of course. He didn't meet me one day and say "brush your breath" and I was suddenly his mental sex slave. Despite what you might've read (and some people wishfully think), it doesn't happen that way. It takes time to build a level of trust. It also helps to learn enough about a person to know what makes them react - to know what buttons to push and which ones to leave alone.

Personally, I've always had the desire for someone else to be in control of me, at least sometimes. It's like taking a vacation from myself. I want someone to get inside my head and turn the volume down and lead me to feel things I really want to but am afraid to try. I was raised to be the "good girl", not allowed to let go and enjoy all the nasty little pleasures of life. What he gives me is the freedom to feel everything without the guilt of it.

"Feel me inside your head," he said. "Listen to my voice and feel me inside of you." I listened and with my eyes closed; his voice was the only thing in my world now. My focus on it was sharp and complete as he told me what to feel and my body responded as if hands were touching me.

"Your nipples have grown so hard.." Calling my attention to them brought a rush of warmth into my breasts and I felt the tips turn rock-hard. When I looked down, I could see their outlines beneath my shirt.

"Harder and harder until they begin to ache" and with his words, the pain came. A burning, as if the skin was stretched hard. "The fabric of your shirt rubs over your nipples, teasing them... each movement, each breath you take is a sweet torment of stimulation." I moaned, feeling the areola crinkle tightly with a wonderful throb. This intense pleasure/pain brought a flood of moisture between my thighs.

The first time he entered my mind, it was more clinical, in a way maybe just an exercise to show me he could do it. He had me sit starting at a single point on a blank computer screen as he spoke to me. I was not to move my eyes from that point. Very soon, I developed a sort of tunnel vision - which is a normal reaction to staring at one point so long - and the only thing I could see at all was that one dot. My eyes were exhausted from staring so hard and as the world around me faded, his voice echoed in my head, assuring me that I was just fine. Then he told me to close my eyes and that was a great relief, bring all that sharp focus from my eyes to the only other sense receiving input - my ears.

"You are going deeper," he said. "Very calm, very relaxed, knowing only the sound of my voice." I felt as though I was riding that sound, that it moved me along like wind in a sail. "Down, down, deeper, where nothing matters except my voice. You have no thoughts now, your mind is empty." It was. I could only listen to what he said, like the connection to my own brain had been severed.

"You feel a touch on your cheek." I was in such a high state of suggestibility now that I absolutely felt it! I gasped at how amazingly real it was. As if instead of my skin picking up the touch and sending the electrical signals to my brain, his voice had spoken directly to those neurons and ordered those same signals to fire. There was no difference in what I experienced. I felt a touch.

"Sssh," he calmed me. "Everything is all right. Just relax, easy... feel my touch." The memory path that he had activated took over and I felt a soft caress and I leaned into it, rubbing my cheek against this invisible hand and feeling chills rush over my skin.

"Do you want to feel me inside of your body?" he asked.

"Yes," I whispered, feeling very small and meek.

"Who am I?" he asked questioned.

"You are Daddy," I answered automatically. We had talked about this many times. He was older, he took care of me like a daughter. He guided me and taught me things.

"Yes," he breathed. I loved the lilt of affirmation in his tone when I answered correctly. I had rarely earned his disapproval because it could make me cry.

"Are you mine?"

"Yes, Sir, I am."

"Then tell me what you want to feel from me."

"I want to feel you inside of me."

"Doing what?" he demanded, making me think of words that my good little girl mind didn't want to use.

I stammered at first. "F.. fu.. fucking me," I whimper/whispered.

"Louder."

I repeated myself.

"Yes," another pleased sigh that made my heart leap.

"You can feel the head of my cock pressing against you now," he directed.

I could feel it. My pussy throbbed just like it would if a hard dick was opening the lips, preparing to thrust inside. I wanted it.

"The ache is stronger now," he said, "You ache for me. You ache so much that you would do anything to have me enter you."

"Yesss," a small almost inaudible hiss. "Please...."

"What?"

I couldn't stop the moan that escaped from my throat, the craving honestly caused me pain. My whole body needed to feel him inside me right now.

"Please fuck me," I begged, helpless to save myself from the shame of it. He'd taken over my mind and with it, my body, and I couldn't do anything except be overwhelmed by the feelings he ordered.

"You don't sound sincere," he mocked me. "Not yet, I think."

In a whine, I begged again, hardly able to breath out the words... I was on fire down there and only he could quench it.

"Please let me feel it inside me!" I couldn't describe the ache that emanated from me, all the tissues down there felt as if they were reaching out for him. The threat of tears in my voice was an aphrodisiac for him.

"Feel it plunge into you, one long motion," he said sternly, his words penetrating me.

I cried out, my breath taken away momentarily as the pressure of a large, unyielding cock invaded me. My pussy opened to it, stretched around it and I could clearly feel the strokes, moving in and out, in and out of me. In the back of my mind, I knew that I really was not being fucked, but my body didn't. It responded just as if I was lying beneath him, his weight pressing me down into the bed, his thick, diamond hard penis pounding into me. My mind lost the battle, dismayed by what my body knew was happening. The sounds I made were no different, the gush of wetness that I leaked was no different, and my need for release was just as strong.

Every morning when I am alone, he calls and talks to me as he's done for several months now. We talk about general things, then when he feels the time is right, he tells me to brush my breast. Every day my mind is more deeply conditioned to this phrase, to sink more rapidly and to sink deeper. He has never caused me pain in this state and never done anything to give me reason not to trust him completely. There are times when he will introduce a subject that we've not discussed and he will choose his words carefully to judge my reaction. In the trance-state, I really am unable to come out and say no directly but he can tell when I am reluctant. Usually for me, this shows as an answer of "I don't know", which translates to "NO! NOT THAT!" In that case, he backs away from that topic and moves on to something else. Every day I look forward to this time where I can turn over control to him this way.

He has given a name to a specific set of conditioned behaviors. He invented this one day by pushing me deeper than I'd ever gone. We call her Amber. There is another phrase that works to drop me straight into that deeper place. He says "Sleep, pet, sleep" and I sink without resistance. He will tell me, "I want to talk to Amber now" and my whole personality changes. Amber is an exciting, sensual woman who craves sex all the time. She is much cruder than I am, she says things that I would never say and she does things I would never dream of doing. Or perhaps, I do dream of them and would never do. Her existence is in a way permission for me to be as nasty as I please and when we are finished, Amber and any guilt are put away succinctly.

"You are aching to cum now, I can feel it," he said. "But even more than that, you ache for me to cum. You feel it burning inside you, it overwhelms you, this desire for my orgasm. You'll do anything to feel me cum."

Over the months, this scenario has become so vivid, this need to please him, to hear his breath change when he reaches that pinnacle of pleasure. It is so deeply ingrained in me that it is impossible for me to have an orgasm of my own until I heard his.

"You don't care if you have to humiliate yourself by begging me, there's nothing you won't do to make me cum, is there? Nothing you won't give me?"

"No, Sir," I moaned. Tears welled in my eyes as my own need grew out of control. I still felt the sex and my orgasm was inevitable, but my body was trained to fight to keep it way.

"Please, please Sir! I need to feel it. I need to hear you cum, I need it so badly!" My voice was frantic, cracking in distress. "It hurts! It hurts to hold back, please please cum!"

It was always the pleading tone, the abandonment of caring about anything but his orgasm that pushed him over the edge. He didn't try to prolong my agony. I heard his smooth voice, "Yes" and his own breath caught in his throat, a deep low moan and I was free to let go.

I could not be as quiet as he was. I cried out as each spasm passed over me, through me. I could feel the muscles deep inside me squeezing a cock. I could smell the pungent aroma of semen pouring into me.

I need what he gives me. I would almost say that I am addicted to it. Long ago, it ceased to be a game and became very real. It's not only sexual, although that seems to be a major part. Sometimes we just talk about life and I carry things away from our conversation that help me in my day-to-day world. There are times late in the darkness of night when I can't sleep that I listen inside my head for his voice and I hear "Sleep, pet, sleep". It calms me right away and I sleep. He is with me all the time this way.

Both of us were silent for several minutes but that was not uncomfortable. We could feel each other, the silence was not a lonely one.

I was very deep inside myself now and clinging to my only anchor, him. He let me drift peacefully for a time, I knew I was safe and he would not leave me while I was this way. This drifting is my reward, my drug.

"I need you to come back now, Susie," he eventually called to me in a gentle tone. I loved when he called me pet, or daughter, or even his slut, but most of all, I loved when he called me by my name.

Sometimes I didn't want to come back. There was too much cold reality waiting here for me, bills to pay, work to be done, risks to face, not safe and warm like this place.

I could hear the patient smile in his voice as I kept my eyes tightly shut in denial.

"I know you don't want to, but it's time." Today it was a struggle. I still held on to his every word.

"Imagine a boat drifting along on a lake, heading in to a dock. You've cut the engine and just drift slowly, no hurry, no sudden jolt, not even a little bump. You glide smoothly towards the dock, slowly... very slowly.... until you ease gently to a stop, and you are back. Open your eyes, Susie, and you are back."

I opened them and blinked in the harsh light, I shivered and felt suddenly cold and alone. A glance at the clock told me an hour and a half had passed. I was not aware that I had been in his world that long.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

As usual, it was difficult at first for me to put words together coherently. I just answered, "Good. Safe."

Another silent smile. "Good girl."

Words I live to hear.