Lazy Boy

It's almost six o'clock by the time I get all the weeds out of the south garden, and my whole body is sore and aching from the work. Whoever said that retiring at forty would be a life of leisure has evidently never undertaken a landscaping project. My back feels like it might stop being stiff sometime around the next Presidential administration.

Still, it's worth it to look out of the bathroom window and see the dark, loamy soil I put down just waiting to grow something beautiful. The dirt will wash off, the aches will fade, the scratches will heal (even that one down my left arm from digging out the rose bushes that went wild when the previous owners moved) but what Jen and I are making here is going to last us a lifetime. That's more than worth a few aches and pains. And the cost of a tube of Neosporin. And the blisters I got when I was digging out that patch of thistles on the north side of the house. And... um, okay, so it's been a pretty long week.

I get in the shower and scrub myself down, getting the water as hot as I possibly can to help massage out some of the soreness in my back and shoulders. It works, as far as the pain goes, but the heat and the humidity leave my muscles feeling as limp as a rag doll. It's all I can do to heave my body out of the shower once the water's turned off, and drying myself feels like more work than the digging I did this morning. (Oh, and I also manage to find a whole bunch of new scratches I didn't remember getting. Terry cloth is good for a lot of things, but massaging scraped skin isn't one of them.) I grab the bottle of Advil and stumble out of the bathroom, heading to the bedroom and a change of clothes. Or maybe just a silk robe and a cold beer.

I don't make it. As I'm crossing through the great room, Jen gets back from the supply run she went on this morning. She comes through the door with a double armload of shopping bags and sees me, naked and exhausted and covered in scrapes and bruises. (I don't think I mentioned the bruises. There are bruises. I whanged myself pretty good on the shin when the wheelbarrow caught a root.) She takes one look at me, and I guess I most look even worse than I feel because she sets down the bags, points to the recliner, and says, "Sit. Now."

I don't argue with Jen when she uses that tone of voice. I also get kind of hard, normally, but I'm a little too tired to do more than twitch right now. I flop down into the cushions of the recliner with a weariness that tells me that I was sucking it up a little harder than I realized. Once I sit down, it feels like I may never get back up again.

Now, I know that some of that is down to Jen. When we finally got the house renovated enough that we could move in, she decided to take advantage of our newfound privacy to indulge a few of the fantasies she'd been saving over the years. Not that she didn't get a pretty big kick out of playing with my head on a regular basis even when we were both working, but she had a whole lot of fantasies that involved unlimited free time and no neighbors within twenty miles, you know? And the recliner was one of them. The recliner was the center of a lot of them, to be honest.

She didn't let me sit in it just any time I wanted. We had plenty of couches to cuddle on if we just wanted to watch television or something. No, she saved the recliner for special occasions, when she was feeling a little bit frisky and a big bit toppy and she wanted me to start feeling groggy and fuzzy almost as soon as I sat down. She only let me sit in this chair when she was going to hypnotize me, and I knew it. And knowing it made me start to slip away into trance just a little bit even before she used any triggers or inductions, because the feel of the chair under my body was automatically and irrevocably associated with the trance experience. She calls it an anchor. The chair is anchored to trance in my mind, because I only sit in it on those special occasions.

We, uh... we have a lot of special occasions these days.

The point is, though, that when I sit down, that wave of complete exhaustion that slaps me hard into the cushions isn't just me being tired, and it isn't just me starting to remember that my wife found out about 'erotic hypnosis' about ten years back and has gotten really good at it. It's both, hitting me at the same time. The bottle of Advil falls right out of my hand as I suddenly can't make my muscles hold on to it anymore, and my eyelids sink shut like they're made of lead. About the only part of my body that doesn't go limp is my cock. That perks up a little and starts paying attention.

I hear Jen moving around, bringing in the rest of the groceries and putting away anything cold before it has a chance to melt. It doesn't really feel real, though. Time has a way of getting away from me when I'm hypnotized, and right now I'm feeling so relaxed and so heavy that it's all I can do to keep from falling all the way asleep. About the only thing that keeps me awake is the way that my cock keeps twitching and pulsing every time I catch the sound of Jen's movements from the next room. It knows that Jen only puts me in the chair when she's ready to melt my brain to mush, and that's enough to get me turned on despite any lingering pain and exhaustion.

And sure enough, after a little while I feel Jen's hand stroking its way down my chest as she says in that soft, sexy voice of hers, "It looks like you've been very good for me today. You've been a good hard worker, you've done everything you needed to do, and I'm so proud of my tired boy. I think it's time for you to get a reward." Her fingers brush against the skin of my belly, tracing their way through my pubic hair. "Are you ready to be my lazy boy now, pet?"

I know that's a trigger, but there's always kind of a difference between knowing you've got a post-hypnotic trigger in your brain and actually feeling it tug your thoughts into trance like they're on a leash. The light trance I've been drifting through suddenly feels like someone filled my brain with molasses, and what I intended to be 'Yes, Mistress' comes out as, "...ss'm'ss..."

Lucky for me, Jen is used to translating my trance mumbles. "Good boy!" she says, lightly teasing my skin with her fingernails as she trails her hand through my pubic hair to circle around and over my balls. "That's my good lazy boy, deeper and deeper every time I say it." It's not just a trance trigger, I remember. It's a deepener. Every repetition takes me twice as deep as I was before. I didn't forget that, exactly, but I'm thinking so little right now that really obvious things sometimes pop into my head like I'm hearing them for the first time. Hypnosis is funny like that.

She curls her thumb and forefinger around my shaft and begins to slowly stroke up to the tip, and I can feel my breath coming faster as she teases my stiff cock. "That's it," she coos, her voice lulling me into deeper relaxation even as her fingers tug me to full and complete attention. "No need to move, no need to speak, just feel yourself becoming my empty little toy as I stroke all those thoughts away. You're feeling so deliciously relaxed, so calm and peaceful, and you don't need to do a thing. You don't even need to think. Just let Mistress play with that heavy body, that thick, heavy cock. Just relax."

I let out a tiny, whimpering sigh as her hand moves up over the tip of my cock and slides back down lubricated with a slick of precum-I didn't realize how much I was leaking until I feel her fingers slipping up and down my shaft like she poured a whole fucking tube of KY onto me. It doesn't make me any less drowsy, though; if anything, I'm so focused on the way she's making me feel that my mind seems even heavier and more blank than ever. It's like I've only got so much room in my head, and the bigger the pleasure gets, the more it crowds everything else out. If I could say everything I was thinking right now, it would just be 'please' and 'more'.

She knows that. She wants to give me more. Her fingers stroke faster, tugging my cock further into the air with each upstroke and rushing down to tease my balls with each downstroke. "That's my good, obedient, mindless pet. That's my lazy boy. That's my lazy, lazy boy." That's not just a trance trigger, I remember. It's a deepener. Every repetition takes me twice as deep as I was before. I didn't forget that, exactly, but I'm thinking so little right now that really obvious things sometimes pop into my head like I'm hearing them for the first time. Hypnosis is funny like that.

She stops stroking for a moment, holding my cock at the base as she reaches down and pulls the lever to recline the chair all the way back. That's a trigger, too; the sudden motion of falling while being cradled by the cushions makes me feel a powerful wave of deep hypnotic submission. I'm flat on my back now, and the weight of gravity is pulling my whole body down and down and down into trance. I'm completely helpless, an empty and mindless doll for Mistress's pleasure, and it feels so good that my cock is practically taking off like a rocket.

And she knows just what she wants to do with it. She climbs on top of me, straddling my hips. I don't know when she undressed-maybe it was before she even touched me, when I was deep asleep and losing track of my surroundings-but it's a genuine surprise to feel her soft skin against mine as she sits on my lap, rubbing my cock against the entrance to her cunt. "That's it, my lazy boy," she purrs, rocking her body up and down to stimulate the little fold of skin near the tip. "Deliciously passive, wonderfully docile and tame for Mistress. Time to fuck my lazy boy now."

She rears up, then, and impales herself on my cock. The shock of pleasure is almost enough to stop my mind completely.

I let out a groan of arousal, but I'm too well-trained to do anything like come inside her. Mistress will let me know when it's time to come, and it's honestly wonderful to know that. It's one less thing to worry about. I never come before Mistress is ready, I never come after Mistress is bored. I come when Mistress tells me to come. I'm a good boy. I feel a sleepy smile steal across my face as Mistress begins to ride my cock, her cries of pleasure telling me everything I need to know about what this is doing for her.

"Th-that's it, good boy," she gasps, her voice slightly slurred by pleasure. "Empty and mindless and blank and passive, my obedient fuckdoll. You love being used for Mistress's pleasure, you love being my fucktoy." She bounces up and down on me faster and faster, and I can feel her clenching around me. I can picture it in my mind's eye, and it's so fucking beautiful even if I could no more open my eyelids right now than I could fly. "Good boy, good fucktoy, my g-g-good sleepy slave, ohhh, fuuuuck..."

I feel a strange, drowsy pride at how fast she works herself up to climax; it used to worry me, just lying there and letting her do all the work. But she told me that there was nothing hotter than knowing that she'd imprisoned me with nothing but her words, bound me so tightly that I couldn't even thrust without her permission and I had no choice but to be her living sex toy. It's an image that sticks in my head as she growls out a loud, throaty scream of pleasure and grinds down onto my hips in violent orgasmic release.

"G-good boy," she pants, speeding back up into her rhythm and moaning. "Good boy, good boy, oh fuck yes good boy, oh oh fuck, oh..." I know this. This is the point where she starts to lose words, the focus she puts into our sex hypnotizing her in its own way until all she wants to do is fuck herself senseless on my cock. I know she's about to come again, I know she's getting so horny that all she wants to feel is me spurting inside her, and that turns me on so much that I can hear myself panting right along with her as she works herself up and down faster and faster and faster and-

"C-c-come, oh fuck, come for me, oh oh oh..." I'm so close already that all it takes is that word and I'm gone. My entire mind and body are focused on the very tip of my cock as the pleasure becomes a tiny supernova, radiating all the way up to my head and making me release a strangled yell of bliss as I let go and jet my cum in a gush of mindless bliss. I can feel her shaking, hear her moaning, breathe in the scent of her musk as she comes right along with me, and it's the happiest feeling in the world. Not just the orgasm, but the knowledge that I've pleased my Mistress. There's nowhere else I want to be right now, and nobody else I want to be with.

And I can tell she feels the same way. She sags down onto my body for a while, simply existing in closeness with me, our sensitive skin luxuriating in the feel of one another while we cuddle. Then, finally, she manages to pull herself back to her feet. "You just rest a spell, my lazy boy," she says, her voice still a little shaky with pleasure. "You've had a long day. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

And with that permission, my body finally lets go of that last little bit of tension, and I'm out like a light. If I say anything, I don't remember what it is, but I remember thinking 'thank you Mistress' in the moments before my mind melts into sleep. Even if I don't say it, though, I know she knows. My smile says the things that I don't have the words for right now. And her kindness says more than words ever could.

THE END