"What the fuck?"
A bit rough for a beginning, I am aware. Sorry about that. It was my initial reaction, and I'm afraid it's still a very accurate portrayal of what I'm feeling. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I've been aroused by mind control of various sorts for as long as I can remember. Long prior to understanding what erections were, I was experiencing them while watching television show characters "put someone under". It was uncomfortable ... and thrilling, and I spent furtive moments of my youth in public libraries looking up "hypnotism" and seeking the elusive instructions on how to perform it myself. Magazine articles, documentary videos, self-help books. You name it, I checked it out. I even swiped a buddy's "improve your study habits" self-hypnosis cassette tape for a night to see what effect it would have. (I returned it the next day. My studies did not improve.)
When I hit young adulthood I was distracted by erections from other sources and didn't think too much about mind control any more; I had, indeed, after perusing all the literature, come to the conclusion that the whole thing was kind of a farce, anyway. Sure, there was some evidence people joined in a sort of "shared hallucination" with their hypnotist, but as it was all voluntary anyway it seemed obvious to me that it was just people play-acting at being under control and susceptible to suggestion, whether they were consciously aware of themselves faking it or not. Having seen one too many stage hypnotists will do that to a person. Or at least a skeptical person, which is what I was becoming as I matured. By college I'd given up on mind control as anything other than an interesting sexual fantasy which the then-blossoming Internet delivered to me from time to time.
Sheila entered my life. Amazing Sheila. I was dating someone else at the time-- someone I went to school with-- and taking somewhat infrequent trips home. At a club in Canada I watched a petite brunette with great legs dance dirty with her girlfriends. I prayed to God that she would have a face to match her legs, and to my joy and dismay, my prayers were answered. Joy because she was a little hottie (a word which was new at the time, if I haven't already dated myself enough for you with my references); dismay because that meant I would simply have to approach her and I hadn't had enough to drink to be confident in doing that.
She took it out of my hands, though. After leaving the dance floor and sitting on a stool with her cocktail, she noticed me staring. She stared back. And smiled. And uncrossed her legs, giving me a very lingering and moreover very purposeful glimpse up her skirt. An intervening crowd hid her momentarily from my sight, but soon the waitress came over and handed me a cocktail napkin with neat lettering in pink pen, and I looked up to meet her eyes once more. And stared at her thighs, which she parted again for me. "You're not imagining things: I think panties are a waste of good fabric. Don't you agree?" the note read; she arched an eyebrow at me and smirked as I looked at her in thrilled disbelief. "P.S. Please don't be too rough with me. It always makes my pussy so wet."
I don't even remember walking over to her, grabbing her by the arm as if I owned her, and dragging her out to where my car was parked, but she tells me that's what happened and I have no reason to disbelieve her. I do remember grabbing her by the back of her blouse, slamming her chest down on the hood of my car, yanking up her skirt, and fucking her pussy from behind without even a word of request or even discussion. I recall vividly her admonition, "Use me, please!" and my reply: a grunted, "Take it! Take me. Take it, you cunt!" as she slammed back onto me with the same ferocity I used to pound into her.
She's told me since that was the best sex she'd ever had, and was why she married me. I'm flattered, though the best sex I ever had was on our wedding night. But I'm a romantic at heart and won't go into that here.
Suffice it to say my life is a blast. I dumped College Girl, spent a lot more time on trips back home, and dragged Sheila back to Chicago with me once I finally graduated. I'd never met anyone before or since who was a better match for me. Even putting aside the fact that she was as naughty as a minx, she knew all the same songs I did, could quote movies with me, and even hated the same celebrities. We were both avid readers and I suppose when you come down to it that's where the heart of the story really starts.
I don't know when I started looking at the mind control porn again, but it did manifest. I don't know why, either, but I sort of hid it from Sheila. It wasn't a secret or anything, I just would tend to click on another window any time she came by and I was reading the stuff. It made no fucking sense, given all the things we had and have shared, but in some way I was worried she'd think it was too weird.
I needn't have worried. She found my browser history files and, always blunt, queried, "Care to share something with me?"
She says it was cute the way I turned red, and that she wanted to take me right there but held off to get to the bottom of things. She asked what I'd been reading, and why, and whether it was something that turned me on. I confessed that it was smoking hot, and that it had been in my fantasies, lurking, for longer than I knew for sure. We talked that night about which stories I liked the most, thematically, and though she didn't display any major interest in my newly-revealed fetish we certainly still fucked like rabbits that night and the next morning, too. It was like revealing that kink had been cathartic and my catharsis circuitry was celebrating with the need to bang her pussy into oblivion. And so I did.
Nothing came of it, really. There was some discussion on whether I had ever been hypnotized, or hypnotized anyone, and of course I had done neither. It was a lot of nonsense, I assured her, though that didn't make it any less sizzling on the libido-meter.
She's a lot more open-minded than me, though, and proved it months later.
"What the fuck?"
The opening line of this story refers specifically to my reaction when I came home to her sitting in front of her laptop, typing away in a daze and completely ignoring me. I thought back to various things on the honey-do list I'd been neglecting recently and wondered which was enough for this silent treatment. She was still doing a great job of pretending I wasn't there, typing a key at a time, and I went upstairs to cool down before talking to her about it. She enjoys being spanked, but I have a really bad temper and right now I was as likely to backhand her for being such a bitch, and I didn't really want to bloody her so I took a shower.
When I came back down she was smiling and friendly and folding her laptop. "Hi, darling," she said as I entered, "welcome home."
She looked hurt and puzzled. "Did I do something wrong? Why the anger? Bad day at work?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Bad day at work?!? You ignore me for ten minutes when I get home and you think my anger has to do with something at the office? What the fuck?" See, I told you it was an appropriate phrase.
"Oh," she looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. I guess I must have been in trance, then."
"In who-va-what?" Fury abated now, I was confused as hell instead. "In trance?"
"Didn't I tell you?" My incredulity was evidently on display. "Damn, I could swear I did. Look, let me tell you about it over dinner. The roast is done."
I helped with the plates and tableware while she got the tasty morsels on the plate in front of me. Damn her but she knows my weakness: roast beef cooked just right, and lightly crisped potatoes. (And eating pussy. Not at the same time as the roast, you understand, it's just another one of my weaknesses. Love that stuff! But I digress.)
Sheila proceeded to tell me that she'd been playing around with hypnotism on a couple of the mind control websites I frequented.
"Define playing around," I grumbled, and I could tell from her reaction my eyebrows were creasing together in just that way.
"Oh, don't worry about that, sweetheart. My cyber-hymen is still intact." She giggled at my jealousy. "No, I was just trying to see if I could go into trance. I wanted to see what it was like."
"What?" The the fuck part was silent, but nonetheless present.
"I could swear I'd mentioned it to you."
"Huh. Well, anyway, it started a month ago with this--"
"A month ago?!?"
"Can I finish?"
"This lady online said she wanted to test out new methods of trance, and I said I was game, and so she took me under."
"Took you under? How?"
"She calls it a 'text induction'."
"With text? On a screen? No voice, no images?"
"Oh, no. That stuff comes later, she says."
"Later? Later than what?"
Sheila looked troubled. "Honey, you seem really upset by this. Have I done something wrong?"
I was suddenly torn between ordering her to stop and laughing at her for playing the fool. It was a gimmick. I knew that. I'd watched people in crowded nightclubs play-acting, had read the literature which revealed that the feats demonstrated while in the "trance state" were easily duplicated by unentranced subjects who were given significant financial inducement to try very hard.
"No, dear. It's nothing. I'm okay." I felt better now. "You know I don't really believe in any of that stuff anyway, so I can't imagine any harm done."
"You're so close-minded."
"A closed mind helps keep my brains from falling out. So, you gonna tell me about what happened?"
.... There is more of this story ...