"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?"
"Oh, it was loads of fun. The first time, she just helped me relax by staring at her words on the screen and getting me to pay close attention to what she was saying. Getting me to focus on her words, you know, repeating them over and over..." It was surely my cock's imagination, but I could swear she was glazing over right now as she talked about it. Nah.
She continued, less glazy. "It was so soothing. It was like surrender. All my cares and worries went away, and I felt so much better afterward. She mailed me the transcript, and I'm glad she did, because I didn't remember a word of it."
I kept a straight face, I know I did. "Really? That's amazing."
"You still don't believe it, do you?"
"No, but it's obvious you do, and that's all that matters."
"Good. Anyway, I do it now and then when she's online. It always makes me feel so good afterwards."
"What does 'she' get out of it?"
"Oh, she says she has fun with it. If you ask me, I think she has a little crush on me and is hoping to do evil mind control things to me when I'm under." She dimpled. I love those dimples.
"And you're planning on dealing with that how?"
"Are you implying you would have serious objections to my having cybersex with another woman?"
"Ahem. Okay, let's put that aside for now." It would be difficult to "put aside" my erection, though. I'm a guy. Two women going at it is hot, no matter how crackpot the reason. Do I really have to explain this to you? "Who is this chick?"
"She calls herself 'Mistress Edralve'. With an 'e' on the end. Like it's French or something. She doesn't sound French, though."
"She ... hey, I thought you said the voice stuff came later."
"The voice inductions, silly. I just talked to her over voice chat, you know, normal. Not in trance."
"You know, the normal stuff."
"Yeah, okay, whatever. Listen..." Why was I giving her the third degree about this? I was being a complete freako about something I didn't even think was real. "I guess I'm comfortable with this on a couple of conditions: one, you won't let it affect our home life ... especially our sex life!"
"Like I'd let that happen."
"True enough. And, two no men!"
"I told you she's a woman."
"Yes, well, maybe she has boyfriends or something. Three, if I want you to stop for any reason, you'll end it."
She smiled broadly at me. "Is that all?"
"I accept. Now come over here. I have a feeling there's someone down there who's excited about this whole thing, even if your brain is not."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sure, dear, sure." She paused to unzip. "Mmmmm ... I was right. Very tasty looking. Does he want to fuck the hypnoslut's mouth?"
"Are you offer--" My question was cut off by my sigh of pleasure as her tongue went to work on the underside of my glans. She barely even throated me, just kept attention to the head and surroundings. It was less common than her taking my entire length (she said she liked the feeling of having me all the way in), but that made it more like a special treat.
When I spurted my come into her mouth she looked up at me and made a very obvious point of swallowing, then blinking innocently as if she'd just baked me cookies instead of giving me a sizzling blow job.
I finished the remaining dinner later. There were more important things to eat just then.
Things went along as normal, with the exception that sometimes I would come home to find my wife zoned out in front of the monitor, typing away, or a couple of times speaking into the attached microphone. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but I made the effort to leave the room. So as not to violate her privacy or something. I don't know. She was obviously still capable of comprehending that I was home since it was never more than five minutes before she shut off the computer and made her way to wherever I was, kissing me and asking me how my day was as if I'd not just seen her enthralled by some strange woman countless miles away.
It wasn't until the night I came home to find her reeking of sex that I even began to feel a twinge of jealousy. I inhaled deeply and obviously, all grins. "Someone had fun today."
"Huh? Oh, you mean..." She sniffed her fingers and blushed ever-so-slightly. "I'm sorry, I should have washed up."
"Not at all. I like you dirty." I kissed those fingers and she smiled. "What was the occasion?"
"Do I need an occasion to pleasure myself?" She cocked an eyebrow at me.
"I know I do. It's extremely rare you don't take care of my pleasure for me."
"Yes, well, we wouldn't want you to have to waste your time and energy on something redundant, would we?"
Our banter continued through dinner (as did my hard-on), and by the time I had finished the dessert (Sheila made a killer apple pie) it was evident we probably wouldn't even make it up the stairs. We settled on the living room couch instead, and my hand invaded her skirt as I kissed her deeply. She moaned into my mouth as I pushed her tiny thong aside and applied my hand to the pleasant task of stimulating her clit. She was as moist as I was hard, and it didn't take her insistent tugging on my cock to make me need her immediately.
"So what did you think about while you masturbated today?" I asked huskily as I slid into her for the first time that night. It was a game of ours: we told each other our fantasies while we were fucking, and it got us both off powerfully. I loved to hear her discuss what turns her on, and she asserted the feeling was mutual.
"I ... I'd rather not say."
"Come on, don't play coy with me. Tell daddy what you were thinking. What you were doing."
"I was on the internet."
"Looking at porn? Hot!"
"I was in trance. Mistress Edralve put me under."
"And that got you off?" And why wouldn't it? It was getting me off just imagining it.
"Not directly. She made me ... she gave me suggestions that I wanted to stroke my pussy to her voice ... that her words where like an aphrodisiac to me, and that I needed to get off while thinking about her."
I grunted acknowledgement at this arousing admission. She rightfully took that as a sign to continue.