Jasmine's Last Stand, Pt. 02

Jasmine climbs the carpeted stairs, her breath caught in her throat, terrified of what she'll see or hear.

There's a clinking sound, glasses and dishware being moved about. Devon's in the kitchen.

Okay. Whatever. He's making breakfast.

Is he expecting her to go into the kitchen? This whole thing seems so innocent. If anything, she's the one acting weird.

But then the sensation of the leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles reminds her that no, something about this isn't right. She tries again to get them off, and still experiences an inexplicable mental block. She shouldn't go into the kitchen. She should get the hell out.

She makes it up to the landing, and sighs with relief at what she sees.

#

"Jasmine," Devon's voice was so soft, "are you watching the marbles for me?"

"Yes," she said.

"Good. Good girl."

She didn't know why, but when he said that, when he called her a good girl, she took in a small but sharp breath. She wondered if he noticed.

"Look at the way they move back and forth."

"I am."

"Just keep looking."

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

"Every time one marble hits the rest, I want you to imagine yourself getting more and more relaxed. I want you to imagine more and more of the world slipping away, until the only thing that remains, the only things you can see or hear, are the marbles and myself. Any physical sensations you feel come only from me." As he spoke, he put his hand on top of hers, and she took another breath in. "As you get more relaxed, more of the world falls away, and it makes you feel more relaxed to know that. It makes you feel more and more relaxed to know that I am in control of your senses, that you don't have to worry about them anymore."

Clink. Clink. Clink. The marbles were so beautiful and relaxing. She could see why people liked having them in their offices. It was so easy to do what Devon said, so easy to feel herself getting softer and softer in the chair. She didn't care what his friends thought about her anymore. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered. The only two things that mattered in the vastness of the universe were the marbles and Devon.

She felt like she was made of liquid, something that had melted and could be reshaped in a new mold.

She felt happy.

"As everything else falls away, Jasmine," Devon went on after a moment, "my voice doesn't just become the only voice you hear. It becomes the voice of absolute truth. Whatever I say to you is true. Whatever I ask you to do, you'll do. No question. No hesitation. Because I will only ask you to do things that you already want to do. Things that will make you happier than you already are. So, there's no reason to resist."

It was hard to imagine being happier than she already was, but she nodded.

There was a pause, and then Devon said, "Did you hear that, Jasmine?"

"No."

"Tasha was saying how beautiful you look in your trance."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jasmine knew that probably wasn't what Tasha really said, but Devon had said it, so it must be true.

"You are," he said. "Very beautiful. With your eyes glazed, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling with your slow breathing. Being in a trance suits you so well, Jasmine. It makes your mind and body more beautiful, and it's a state that should be desirable for you to fall into as deeply and as often as possible."

That made sense. It made perfect sense to her.

"And since my voice is the only one that matters to you, the only one that can speak truth to you, who is the only one that can place you in a trance, Jasmine?"

"You."

"And since you're in my trance, and since I can compel you to do whatever I want, do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It means many things, Jasmine. First, it means that thinking, making your own decisions, forming your own thoughts, that's becoming more and more difficult the further you fall into this trance. Every time one marble hits the others, it becomes more difficult. Until it's almost painful. And you don't like being in pain, do you?"

"No." At least his questions were easy to answer, didn't require much thought from her at all. She liked that. It meant that she was right to trust him to put her in a trance.

"Of course, you don't." His voice was gentle enough to rock a baby to sleep. "As you fall further into your trance, it's much easier to just stop trying to think, stop trying to question. You can feel safe to do so, because you know I wouldn't ask anything of you that you wouldn't be willing to do anyway."

Another pause, and Jasmine started to wonder if another one of Devon's friends was talking, but let the thought float away when her head started to hurt. He was right. It was much, much easier that way.

"Jasmine, do you want to know what else it means?" he asked.

Did she? Did she want that? What did she want? How was she supposed to know what she wanted if it hurt so much to think? She couldn't form words to make an answer. The best she could do was whine.

"That's a good girl, Jasmine." Devon ran a finger across the top of her hand, petting her gently. "Good girls in their trance don't think about what they want. They don't want anything except to listen and obey."

She frowned, sensing a contradiction. If he wasn't going to make her do anything she didn't want, why shouldn't she think about what she wanted?

The answer, she quickly realized, was obvious. Easy. So easy it required almost no thought from her, and didn't hurt at all to know.

What she wanted was to obey. And Devon knew that.

She smiled. The marbles kept swinging. He petted her hand again.

"It means something specific to be obedient, Jasmine. To give your will to another. To let them place you in a trance like the one you're in. Do you know what it means?"

"No." She shook her head.

"Do you want to know?"

This time, she knew the answer. "If you want me to know."

He chuckled, and she smiled with dopey pride. "It means, Jasmine," he spoke in a dark voice that made her tremble. A voice that would fool anyone who didn't know that they barely knew each other. A voice dripping with desire and confidence, "that you belong to me."

#

Jasmine's shoes are by the front door. Her purse is hanging on a hook. She grabs her purse and checks her phone. Dead. Okay, after a night out, that makes sense. Nothing to panic about. Her wallet is still intact; all her cards and her ID are in the right spots. She slings the bag over her shoulder.

She decides not to put on her shoes, just to hold them in her hands. It's not because she's worried that she won't be able to put them on. It's just that she figures, putting them on would take too much time.

She could definitely absolutely put her shoes on if she wanted to.

She just doesn't want to.

#

"I want you to understand this to your deepest core," Devon said. "Belonging to someone isn't just about doing as you're told. You do what you're told all the time. When you're at work, you do what your bosses ask. When you walk on the sidewalk, you obey the signs that tell you when you can cross the street. But you don't belong to your job. You don't belong to the people who made the signs. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." Of course it did.

"You follow directions from your boss in exchange for money. If you don't want to follow them, you have the option to quit if you want, or argue. And the crosswalk signs are part of a social contract. You understand there's a safety reason that you follow them, and you and everyone else on the street has agreed to follow them for the public good. Yes?"

"Yes."

"When you belong to someone, you don't have the ability to quit. You don't have the ability to argue. There is no social contract compelling you, only the strength of the bond itself. The certainty that obeying your owner will provide you with the deepest pleasure. The knowledge that obeying is only part of it. You belong because you can do nothing else. Because if you didn't belong, something would be missing from your life. You might be able to go about your day, go to work, run errands, spend time with your friends. But there would always be a nagging feeling at the back of your mind, like you forgot something important. It would gnaw at you, disturb you, make it difficult for you to sleep at night." His voice got harsher as he described this awful existence. "This is how it's been for you up until now."

She heard a shift near her, but didn't move her head to see what he was doing; the marbles were just too compelling. Then his lips were by her ear, his hand firmly pressed into her shoulder, fingers along the side of her neck. Her cunt throbbed. "It's why you left your home and moved to the city. It's why you're constantly scrolling dating apps. It's why you look at me the way you do whenever you see me. Because you have been searching your whole life for someone to possess you, to make your life simple and pleasurable. You knew you would find it here, and when you saw me, you knew you would find it with me."

Somewhere in the very farthest part of her mind, she wondered if that was true. Was that really why she'd moved to the city? Wasn't it just that she thought it would open up more opportunities, be a more interesting place to live? Wasn't she just on Tinder because she was single and in her 20's? Wasn't she just attracted to Devon because, well, because he was hot?

But he squeezed her shoulder tighter, blew gently in her ear, and she melted further into the trance, forgetting the questions, forgetting the doubts. Just letting the truth of his words fall into her like they were rain and she was a bucket.

So much easier. So much nicer.

"You knew you couldn't belong to just anyone. It's a privilege, to own you. And I'm proving I'm deserving of this privilege just by putting you in this trance, Jasmine. Even if I were to release you, you would know this in the deepest part of your soul. That if someone can put you in a trance, if someone can control your mind the way I can control you, that person owns every inch of your being."

He was silent for a moment, and she absorbed his words as the marbles continued to sway.

"Tell me that I own you, Jasmine." Devon's command was soft, kind, and Jasmine realized how good it was that she'd found such a sweet and kind owner.

"You own me," she said.

"Good girl," he said, stroking her neck once more. She understood implicitly that this was a way of rewarding her, and she felt as happy as a puppy being trained with treats. "I'm going to ask you to say it again, but this time, when you say it, I want you to imagine it igniting your sex. I want you to imagine the words themselves, the knowledge, massaging your clitoris and giving you a jolt of pleasure. You'll repeat this process as many times as I deem necessary, until I'm satisfied that from now on, every time you think about the fact that I own you, you feel pleasure. Will you do that for me, Jasmine?"

"Yes." She tried not to sound too excited, too eager for this command, but the word came out quick and breathy.

"Good. Say it again."

"You own me." She felt a gentle tingle in her pussy.

"Again."

"You own me." The pressure increased in her lower abdomen, like someone was pressing on it under her dress with invisible hands, spreading their fingers across her mound.

"Again." His voice was so firm, so sure. Exactly the voice an owner should have.

"You o-own me." Her voice wavered with a moan. She hoped he didn't mind that. Despite what he was making her do, she got the sense that he was someone who was not just always impeccably put together, but wanted everyone in his sphere to be too.

But he chuckled, dissipating her fears and washing her insides with relief. "Again."

"You own me." She would have said it a million times in a row if she could. But she didn't dare speak more than he commanded.

She sensed movement near her, but Devon didn't move. But then someone lifted the bottom of her dress, pulled down her underwear, and she spasmed as she felt something slick and wet rub against her clit. A tongue. She squirmed instinctively, but Devon held her tight, and two hands held her ankles, keeping her legs open. "Remember, Jasmine. Anything you feel is an extension of me. And I can do anything I want to you. Why is that?"

"You own me." Her head stretched back and she let out a cry. The tongue was relentless. She doubted that it would care if she came. It might go on forever. It might lick her to death. "Oh...oh..."

"Say it again," he said, with no sympathy for her plight, no concern for how difficult she found it to speak. She hated him for it. She loved him for it.

"You o...oh...own...me..." The pleasure from obeying was too much, but somehow, it also wasn't enough. She wanted it to consume her. She didn't want to exist outside of it.

"Again."

"Y...you..." She had to take in a couple of breaths. "O-oh-ohhhh..." Her tongue felt so heavy in her mouth, making it impossible to let out anything except voweled howls. "M...m..." She shook like someone had drained all her blood sugar as the tongue continued its relentless pursuit within her folds.

And Devon's voice was just as relentless, just as insistent. "Again."

#

Fuck. What did she let him do to her brain last night?

Nothing. Nothing, she tells herself. She knew it was bunk then, and she knows it now. All she did was let herself get caught up in the fantasy of...of...

Was it her fantasy? Was that something she used to dream about, a rich hot guy and his friends having their way with her?

She lets out a shuddering gasp at that thought, the image that passes through her. It has to have been part of the trance, making her think they did that. Because she remembers after, they went to Phobia like nothing had happened, had a few drinks, didn't mention anything beyond Jasmine just sitting there and looking at some marbles. And then she went here with Devon and they fucked before passing out. And now she's here.

Whatever. Maybe he did mess with her brain. A little. She'll give him that. Even if brainwashing, the kind she's thinking of, isn't real, she supposes it's definitely possible that whatever he did to her last night fucked with her enough that somehow, she can't take off the cuffs. Maybe he gave her some drug that messed with her fine motor skills, whatever.

She thinks about Peggy and Glinda's warnings to her. Bad seed. Devon's a bad seed. But even they probably couldn't have predicted he'd try something like this. This, this is so much worse. They probably just thought he'd fuck her and then never call her again, but whatever this is, it's beyond the pale. Infuriating. Unforgivable.

So why does she feel so relaxed? Why can't she muster more than an indignant furrow of her brow, which makes her feel more like a child readying to throw a tantrum over having her toy taken away, rather than a woman who's been the victim of a powerful, sinister man?

Maybe that's the drugs too.

But she doesn't feel drugged. And when she thinks about everything he said to her last night, she feels that warmth in her cunt, saliva pooling at the bottom of her mouth.

It's a vicious cycle. The more she tries to feel angry, the more aroused she feels.

Okay, this isn't getting her anywhere. Whatever actually happened, she needs to leave. And only one thing stands between her and the outside world. A doorknob. All she has to do is turn it, pull the door, and she's home free.

All she has to do is turn it...

All she has to do...

She has to...

Her hands stay at her sides. She stares at the doorknob.

She's not sure how long she stands there, telling herself that's all she has to do. Time starts to lose all meaning. She can't do anything except stare at the door, unable to take the next step to turn it open, even though she knows exactly how it works.

But she still stares at it like it's an unsolvable equation, until she hears a voice from behind her that makes her knees tremble, makes her feel like that tongue is back on her clit.

"Oh, dear," Devon says, slow and easy. "I think Jasmine is having a little trouble."

#

Jasmine lost count of how many times she said it. "You own me. You own me. You own me." The tongue licked her pussy, faster and faster. Harder and harder. She couldn't think. She could only repeat the mantra as best she could. Other hands touched her, rubbed her, squeezed her breasts. Another tongue on her neck. A mouth sucking her fingers. A million hands. A million mouths and tongues. All of them belonging to Devon, but not the way she did.

"You can cum, my sweet Jasmine," Devon said hungrily in her ear. "But if you do, you'll be mine forever."

It was a warning. Her last chance at escape, to walk through a doorway before it slammed shut. She blinked, eyes heavy, drinking in Devon's face, feeling his hand, his actual hand, which held her chin and cheeks so firmly. He looked so pleased with her, and his voice, oh his voice was so amazing. Everything about him. He wanted her. He wanted to own her. And he made her feel so good, even if she hadn't realized before tonight that she wanted to belong to him, not just be with him. Somewhere in the back of her head, she still told herself that this wasn't real, that it was all some bizarre sex play that she was going along with. But so what if it was? How could she turn down an offer like that?

Her pussy clenched around the tongue inside her, and she came with a shudder and a cry.

To Be Continued