Signed First Edition
October 27th, 2011
I was not as strong as I was seven months before, but I had been recuperating nicely and Elaine had more or less forced me to go to a health club three days per week. It was a bit of a struggle, but I managed to lift my lovely wife’s sleeping form and carry her to bed, rather pleased with myself that I was only moderately exhausted after doing so. She slept through the night, though she tossed around a little more than usual, probably due to her bound condition. I tired of this about three AM, and without awakening her, I used a pair of scissors to cut her free of the stocking. After that she hugged and snuggled me, as was her custom in bed most of the time.
That morning, I awoke to find her already awake, lying on her back, looking forlornly at her wrists. “Did it leave a mark?” I asked her.
She seemed startled that I was awake, and she lowered her hands almost guiltily and reached under the covers for my cock. “Of course not,” she responded. “You’ve ruined my best pair of nylons, though.” She grasped me gently, then slid her hand down to cup my balls. “I can suck you this morning. Can I do that? I really want to.”
“Whoa, you little tigress!” I chastised, reaching down and moving her hand away. “I’ve created a monster! Didn’t you get enough last night?” She pouted and rolled her body atop mine, pressing her ample breasts into my chest.
Then she giggled. “I can’t WAIT to see what you’re going to do with that other stocking!”
“Well, you’re going to have to,” I replied firmly. “I have plans for today.” I rolled her back off of me and then kissed her. “Now, make me breakfast.”
She laughed again. “You really only want me chained to a stove!” she accused.
I don’t, as a rule, take long in the bathroom, and I was sitting at the breakfast table sipping coffee for the better part of half an hour before she finally made her appearance, clean-scrubbed and fresh. By the time she’d prepared the French toast, I’d finished the online news, found the store I wanted on my laptop, checked traffic conditions and finished making my plans. We chatted idly as we ate, but as the meal was finishing up, she lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Finally, she couldn’t withhold the subject that was uppermost in her mind.
“Rod … about the book ….” For some reason, she was blushing crimson.
“Ah. Suddenly, you can remember the book.”
“I … I don’t think I’ll be able to think about anything else until you ….”
“Not now,” I interrupted. “I have things I want to do today. We’ll talk about it later.”
She seemed very disappointed, but didn’t press the issue. I rinsed the dishes, but she had to unload the dishwasher before she could load it, and so it took her longer. I used the opportunity to sneak back into the bedroom and find what I wanted. Several months after we were married, we’d gone to a Halloween costume party, and she’d let me pick out her outfit … an peasant skirt and blouse that proved to be VERY risqué (I went as a nasty Scottish Laird, demanding my “Right of the First Night”). I laid out the outfit, then went back and confronted her. “I want us to go somewhere,” I told her simply. “I want you wear what’s on the bed.”
“Rod! I’m not going to go ANYWHERE wearing that thing!” she protested when she’d seen what I’d picked. But I simply ignored her, walked back out into the living room and made a phone call to make sure the store I wanted was open. Fifteen minutes later, there she was, her entire body covered in a soft blush.
She looked fantastic. The blouse had such a low-scooped neckline that only the brassier she purchased especially for the costume would work without showing. I was browsing the internet once for “famous TV ad campaigns,” and came across a commercial by a famous 50’s actress named Jane Russell that touted brassieres for the “full figured gal” … and that fit Elaine to a “t.” She was big up top (and rather generous in the hips department, as well). In the low-cut blouse and push-up bra, it was practically like she was offering herself to every man that looked. And every man WOULD look, believe you me. But I just nodded as if I had fully expected the effect, as well as her compliance. “Leave your purse,” I stated frankly. “You won’t need it. Let’s go.” And I held the door to the garage. She blushed some more, but walked past me with lowered eyes and got in the car.
We took the 134 to the 5 to the 118. The San Gabriel Mountains were on our right, the Hollywood Hills on our left. Now, I realize that every city in the world has its own culture and its own language, at least to some extent. For the 99% of my English-speaking audience that has never been to Los Angeles, please allow me to tell you a little about ours. First, it’s a bit of a standing joke that if anyone asks you how long it takes you to get from ____ to ____, then no matter what you put into those blanks, be it your home, Great Aunt Sookie’s house, Disneyland, whatever, the answer is ALWAYS “Oh, about 45 minutes, depending on traffic.” The last part of that sentence, of course, could add two hours, easily. And so, when Elaine asked me where we were going, I told her that she’d find out when we got there in about 45 minutes, depending on traffic. This won me a small smile before she blushed even more and tried not to look at the truckers who were all looking down at HER.
Yet another oddity in L.A. is our habit of naming every freeway ”THE.” Odder still, we simply can’t fathom why visitors to our fair city ask us why we do that. There is, of course, no answer to the question. It is simply so. Anyway, from the 118, I turned off on Sepulveda. (For you 99%, that’s pronounced “se-PUL-ve-da.”) Now, there are a lot of cities that boast about having the longest street in the world. Our entry to this claim is Sepulveda Boulevard, which stretches 42.8 miles from Long Beach to the San Fernando Valley, under the runways at LAX, over hill and dale, through some great neighborhoods and … well … some not so great. I had researched where I was going … which is pretty much a necessity, if you actually want to GET anywhere in L.A., and after several more miles and several turns, I pulled into the parking lot of the store I was seeking.
My last little entry in your Los Angeles trivia lesson is a comment on business. California is the number one state economy in the country. It almost doubles the second-place state, and is ten times the GNP of many others. Don’t get me wrong … there are problems, too. Several manufacturers bailed out of Southern California in the 1970’s and 80’s citing high taxes and stifling environmental restrictions. But, without exaggeration, there are more professionals per capita here, in just about every conceivable market, than anywhere else on earth. Be it rocket propulsion or lawn care … folks WANT to work, and pride themselves as the best in their fields. So, it’s the people that make California work … and it works very well. However, in L.A., there is only one industry that earns the moniker “THE Industry,” and that, of course, is entertainment. TV, movies, music recording, you name it. You’re either in THE industry, or you know somebody who is, be it a writer, editor, actor, set designer, hair stylist, grip, or any of the hundreds of other occupations involved.
And just one of the multitude of sidelines in THE Industry is porn. They like to call it:”The Adult Industry.” Oh, there are a lot of people that frown on it, obviously. But let’s face it, when you’ve got a business in your community that’s responsible for billions of dollars in revenue, it only makes sense that you would tend to overlook some of the detractors.
It was at one of the vendors of this industry that we now arrived. It was a rather non-descript building, as you may imagine, but it announced a few of its wares in large red letters that were trimmed in neon bulbs, though those sat unilluminated in the daylight. “Adult Books – Videos – Accessories.” Elaine’s eyes widened, and she sat stock-still, even when I got out, walked around the car, and stood holding her door open. She looked up at me like a young doe caught in the headlights, then she took a deep breath and swung her shapely legs out of the vehicle and stood. She held my arm tightly as I walked into the structure.
Behind the counter sat one of the skuzziest individuals I’ve ever seen. He was a man of about forty, slightly shorter than my five-foot-eleven, and perhaps two hundred thirty pounds. His beard wasn’t so much long as unkempt, and his oily hair was drawn back into a short ponytail. He looked up at us with a minor attempt at showing interest and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I called earlier,” I told him. “Your website advertises that you have the greatest selection of sexual restraints in the area. My wife here would like to see what you have.”
The guy silently closed a paperback novel entitled “Ravished Nuns Tied and Trained,” stood up and walked around the counter to us. He wore stained leather pants and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots, and his brawny right forearm displayed a Hell’s Angels tattoo under the sleeve of his filthy white tee shirt. He stood inches in front of Elaine, who clutched my arm with crushing fingers, and he said: “Madame, it is indeed superlative luck on your part that you happened to find your way into our establishment. We do, indeed, possess an impressive assortment of the devices you so desperately seek. If you would please precede me into the area at the rear of the edifice, I would be most pleased to explain the differentiations between those items which make up the finer echelons of our inventory.”
I might have made a small sound in the base of my throat, but I gallantly kept from laughing. Elaine, on the other hand, continued to regard the man with mute, wide-eyed wonder, and after a long pause, I gently urged her in the direction indicated. The biker followed us as we walked through a hanging curtain of wooden beads and into Bondage Wonderland. The room was large … maybe twenty feet square … and the walls were stocked with so many displayed restraint devices that I came to a flabbergasted halt, staring around me in stunned awe. To this day, I have no idea what half the stuff in that room was supposed to do, but our guide slid past us with a quiet “If you will pardon me …,” and stood in front of the far wall, which looked as if it was the all-encompassing final word in sexual discipline.
I glanced nervously at my wife, who was staring in open-mouthed shock, before I finally realized that my own mouth was agape, and I tried my darnedest to put on the mask of one who was supposed to be a little more urbane about such matters. When I finally turned back to our salesman, he was holding up a pair of standard handcuffs, the bright silver finish having already captured Elaine’s unwavering attention. “Now, these are obviously customary, regular-issue restraining paraphernalia used by the constabulary in The City of Angels, as well as other centers of urban population. Their only strong selling point is their ease of operation.” He held out his hand to Elaine as he said this, palm up. Automatically, she reached out and put her hand in his. In a wink, he had brought the cuff up, smacked it gently against her wrist, and the narrow ratcheting portion spun around her arm and snapped into place with a metallic click. He let go of it and turned back to the wall for something else, and Elaine watched with bulging eyes as the thing swung gently to and fro from her slender wrist in front of her. She was utterly enthralled. “Been on the receiving end of a pair of those me-self, once” he muttered under his breath, before turning back to her with another pair … this one with a chain almost two feet long between the cuffs.
“Now, this little beauty is a pair of leg restraints, obviously designed to be used on your lovely ankles and hamper proper mobility. Ah, but you see, used in another context, it also has the propensity for marginalizing movement of the arms, as well.” He had walked around her, and now held both of her wrists by her sides from behind, though he hadn’t actually attached the thing to either wrist. Elaine simple stood there, blinking her big eyes, staring straight ahead of her. “You can well imagine the degree of utter helplessness this might elicit,” he told her. “If you were lying prone on your back, you understand, your hands would be trapped. Useless. Unmoving. You would be utterly immobile. Defenseless. Powerless. Vulnerable.”
With each new adverb, Elaine gave an almost imperceptible shudder. There was a loud click, and the man came forward, in front of her, holding both pairs of restraints and put them back in their proper places on the display. Her eyes widened in sudden recognition, she held up the wrist that only seconds before sported a shiny metal cuff, and she reached out for a brief second toward the devices, as if she missed them and wanted to reclaim the feel.
He turned back to her, holding another pair, these lined with furry cloth. “And these,” he continued, holding them up but looking fixedly into her eyes, “are fur-lined. But these are not for you, my lovely, are they now? Ah, no. I know your sort, I do. You don’t want to feel fur … oh no, my lass. You have no taste for that, now do you? You crave the feel of metal on your fair skin. Now that you’ve experienced that, there’s no turning back, is there? No, I’ll just put these away again. These are for the pikers … not for the likes of a wench with your tastes.” My wife made a slight noise, almost like a whine.
The guy picked up a flat white box and turned back to her. It suddenly occurred to me that he had never once dropped his gaze below her eyes; something that, given the circumstances of her dress, was really quite amazing. I wondered if he was gay or just a consummate salesman. “I’ll tell you what, my dear,” he continued. “Tell me what strikes your fancy.” And he stepped back a pace and waved a casual arm at the wall displaying all those shiny wares. Her eyes obediently slid away from him to the wall of chains, clamps and restraints.
They did not wander far, however. In only a few seconds, she was pointing a shaking finger. “What is that?” she asked in a whisper.
The man smiled smugly and removed a duplicate of the thing she had pointed to from the white box. “You have very discerning tastes in the finer submissive arts, my dear lady. This item is one of our own designs … a chainless set of handcuffs, cast in stainless steel and finished in nickel-chromium. The cuffs are oval and designed to fit the slave perfectly, so that they cannot twist on the wrist and are snug without pinching. We can cast them to hold the hands side-by-side, one atop the other, or so that the wrists cross, such as the one you have picked out.” For the first time, he looked toward me. “They are also our most expensive cuff, since they are custom made.” I smiled at this and gave him a slight nod. He turned back to Elaine and looked questioningly into her face, but she seemingly could not take her eyes off the shiny device he had just handed her. “Please, allow me to demonstrate,” he continued, gently taking the thing and opening it with the key, one restraining arm lifting up and the other downward from a solid, single center portion. “It is imperative that you learn how to restrain yourself in this apparatus, so that if your Master insists you be ready for him upon his arrival home, you can bind yourself.”
Placidly, she allowed him to attach the thing to her right wrist, then she struggled for almost a full minute, following his patient instructions, until she was able to snap the other half of it to her remaining hand by using the edge of a table to push against. When she was done, her wrists were crossed, one atop the other, and bound firmly together. “As you can envisage,” he continued patiently, “you can attach it with both palms down, as it is now, or both facing upward, or one in each direction … palms either facing each other or apart.” He paused and glanced back at me, since all of Elaine’s attention seemed to be centered on her hands. “Shall I wrap these up for you, then?”
“The lady would like to wear these home,” I commented casually, eliciting a sharp gasp from my wife. “And she would also like two pairs of standard cuffs, as well as one of the ankle shackles you showed her.” She looked frantically in my direction for a full five seconds before returning her gaze to her bound wrists.
“A most excellent choice, Madame,” he said formally, bowing slightly. “And while you are here, could I interest you in a pair of nipple clamps?”
She made a sort of gasping little moan and looked up sharply at the guy, then glanced quickly at the display he was indicating with his outstretched hand. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said, at the same moment she answered “How do they work?” He glanced quickly from me to her, uncertain if he had overstepped his bounds in the interest of a quick sale. Elaine blushed crimson, and lowered her eyes, obviously believing herself guilty of a slutty comment. But I barked a laugh and broke the tension by saying: “Why don’t you ask him which set he recommends, Pet.”
She swallowed hard and took a deep breath before looking up at him. “I … I … um … don’t have to … to … show you my … um … my …?”
He coughed politely and peered earnestly into her questioning eyes. “If I may be so bold, perhaps if Madame is unfamiliar with their operation, I might suggest this set. It is not our top-of-the-line, but it is fully adjustable, and it would not be necessary to … um … fit you with the device at this time. You and your Master could explore the boundaries of the item at your leisure.” He plucked a chain from the display, opened a drawer and chose three boxes, and then took all the packages toward the front of the store.
Elaine seemed to shuffle as she moved after him, as if her bound wrists had in some way impaired the rest of her movements as well. I followed up the little group and plopped down my credit card on the counter. “Pet, could you please sign for this? All these items are yours, after all.” I went away and browsed the absurd titles of the books, trying not to laugh at them. I only got involved again when he insisted on seeing some ID to accompany the credit card. Elaine found that it was difficult to write her signature … indeed it was difficult to do ANYTHING with her hands bound in that fashion, but at long last, the deal was consummated. I couldn’t help but notice that while she was bent forward, busy with the credit receipt, our biker friend was unabashedly feasting his eyes on her ample cleavage, so I inferred that his sexual orientation did indeed allow a proclivity toward beautiful women. As we walked out of the shop, I handed him a twenty dollar bill and thanked him for his professionalism.
“You’re one lucky guy, dude,” he smiled, pocketing the bill.
“Tell me about it!” I replied, and led Elaine to the car.
Back to Sepulveda. Back out on the 118. I turned to my silent, blushing wife and said calmly: “Take off your panties, Pet.”
She hissed slightly as her breath caught in her throat, and she looked inquiringly at me, but I refused to look back. She had to take off the seatbelt to do it, of course … and this was awkward, because I had to snake the seatbelt between her arms to get her strapped into the car’s seat in the first place, since I didn’t want to take off the wrist cuffs. Eventually, she got the belt off and the hem of her dress hiked up sufficiently, but with both palms of her crossed hands facing the same direction, getting her fingers underneath the waistband of the panties was exceedingly difficult. Finally, finally, the deed was done. But I wouldn’t let it end there. “Pull up your skirt so that your bottom is directly on the seat,” I ordered. Her chest was heaving slightly from what I assumed was the exertion of struggling with the panties, but even after working further until the back of the skirt was tucked back behind her, the rising and falling of her prominently displayed breasts continued, and I concluded that it was from sexual excitement rather than physical effort. She got the seatbelt back around her, but I had to reach over and snap it into place. She didn’t seem to care that this effectively trapped her hand under the belt.
“You … you’re … testing me,” she said quietly. “You’re making sure I’m worthy.”
I looked questioningly at her. “That’s an odd comment. Worthy of what?”
“Of … the book. Worthy of … taking me … taking my … mind. Taking all of me. Worthy of letting me give you … all of me.” She turned her eyes to me. “I’ll do anything, Rod. I’ll do anything you ask me to do.” She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes again to her hands. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, of course. Or you could do it just once … just so I could experience it … just once. Take me just once … all of me. My body … my mind … all of me … just once.”
I sighed. “Elaine, fun is fun, but don’t you think we’re taking this a little too far?”
She regarded me out of the corner of her eye. “What do you mean?”
“Look, I like a little role-playing as well as the next guy. And maybe you DO really get off on discipline and bondage. The question is: Where did these ideas come from?” She looked at me suspiciously but didn’t answer. “Pet, I’m not being critical. What did you think Reggie and I were talking about when we got together day before yesterday? Why do you think I went to see him in the first place?”
She frowned, considering this, absent-mindedly chewing the corner of her lower lip. At length, she gave me her full attention. “You think I’ve been manipulated. You think these feelings have been implanted, deep in my psyche, by a hypnotist. You think they aren’t real.”
“What do YOU think, Pet?”
She shook her head determinedly. “I think I’ve felt this way since I was a teenager. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wished I could surrender to a strong man. I used to think I was evil … or that I was being tempted by the Devil. My mother has always been VERY religious. I’ve kept thoughts like that secret forever. I’ve never told ANYONE … not even you. I was afraid you would think less of me. And then … for the past twenty-four hours … it was like you suddenly … finally … understood me; understood how I’ve felt all this time.” She sighed and shrugged. “I can’t remember WHAT I did while I was hypnotized that night. Maybe … I don’t know … maybe he asked me. Maybe I told him. But it isn’t something HE thought up, I can guarantee you that.”
We were back on the 134 and about ten minutes from home. There was some construction in the center lane and I had to steer the car onto a temporary lane, across the rumble strip on the shoulder. Elaine suddenly gasped, shuddered and shivered. “Oh, gosh, Rod!”
“What is it?”
“I … I mean … with all of this … the handcuffs … watching people looking at my … my … breasts … and then taking off my panties ….” The lane shifted back onto the normal surface again, back across the rumble strip, and she gasped again. “And now, the vibrations from the road … Oh, Rod … it’s made me … um … wet. I’m afraid I’m going to leave a stain on the seat.”
She blushed even more when I laughed. “Well, let me know if you can’t clean it up,” I told her. “I’ll write a strongly-worded letter to the maker of the fabric guard they treated the seats with. Of course, I’ll have to tell them exactly what the stain IS.”
When we finally pulled into the garage of our house, I went around, held her door and helped her out. She couldn’t stop herself from looking back at the seat, and yes, indeed there was a wet spot where she had been sitting. “Please let me clean it up,” she begged, though she was unable to look up at me.
I chuckled. “Just come into the living room when you’re done.” And I went into the house and got the little cloth bag from my dresser drawer and waited for Elaine in the living room. Eventually, she came in clutching the bag containing the merchandise we had just purchased in her cuffed hands.
“The … I mean … I didn’t stain the seat. It cleaned up okay,” she stammered. “What do you want me to do with … with this?” She held out the bag toward me.
“It’s my gift to you,” I explained. “I want you to put it with YOUR things. When I want you bound and helpless, I’ll tell you to go and get it. Put it away, and then come back out here. I want to talk to you.” She turned to leave. “Wait!” I ordered, and when she turned questioningly back toward me, I held up the little key the biker had tossed me after shackling her with the custom-made cuffs. “I want you to put THOSE away, as well.” She looked very disappointed, but held out her hands toward me.
“You … you don’t have to … I mean … you can leave me like this if you ….”
“Do as you’re told please, Pet.”
“Yes. Of course,” she muttered sadly. But after I’d released her and put the cuffs into the bag with the other goodies, she remained, shuffling her feet a little. “Can I use the bathroom?” she asked nervously, blushing, looking down at her toes.
It was then that I realized that I could take this thing as far as I wanted … and, in fact, that I was the only limiting factor in this little game. I would have to give it some serious thought. She, given the opportunity, would sink so far into emotional “slavery” that she would seek permission for the smallest of acts. I didn’t want a wife who begged my permission every time she needed to go to the can. I needed to establish a set of rules. Still, her meek innocence melted my heart, and so I resolved to give her the control she sought for now. “Yes, you may,” I said gently. “But hurry. Come back here to me quickly.”
“Yes, M … uh … Rod. I’ll hurry.”
She’d almost called me “Master.” I sighed. I had the urge to look through the book once again, but I chided myself for my indecision and … yes … lack of originality. I didn’t want to be a slave myself to Reggie’s “script.” I felt that I understood now … both what he had done to her when he had her in a very deep trance, and what he was trying to tell me in the bar. I DID love her enough to give her what she secretly wanted in our relationship, and I was now resolved to do it. But it had to be on MY terms, not Reggie’s … and not even Elaine’s.
She was back, standing in front of me, her hands clasped (but unfettered) uncertainly in front of her, her gaze submissively lowered. I patted the couch beside me. “Sit here,” I ordered. She quickly obeyed. There was little room in the space I had indicated, and she was blocked snuggly between me and the arm of the couch. “Do you know what this is?” I asked, holding up the little green velvet bag.
She had to turn toward me a little to see it properly. “No.”
“Can’t you guess?”
Her brow furrowed. I was surprised. Elaine is remarkable bright, but she didn’t seem to have a clue. “Um … no. Did you get me some jewelry? You didn’t spend a lot, did you?”
I reached inside the bag with a thumb and forefinger and found the end of a thin silver chain. It dawned on me suddenly that I’d never actually looked at this thing myself, and I found myself fervently hoping that the little fake gem was still there and attached to the other end. I slowly, dramatically lifted the thing up and up and finally clear of the velvet bag, then kept lifting it until it was dangling a few inches above her eye level, at the height the book had suggested. As soon as it came into view, Elaine’s breath escaped in a soundless exclamation, followed by a sort of shallow gasp that seemed to leave her incapable of speech altogether. Her eyes were locked onto the little object, and she was obviously unable (or she lacked the desire) to look away.
I took the opportunity of her frozen state to examine the little trinket myself. It was shaped a little like an hour glass with a thick middle … or perhaps two ovals that had somehow managed to merge, one atop the other. However, it was cut with hundreds of facets, so that light seemed to refract and reflect from both halves simultaneously, sending sparkling shivers of color scattering willy-nilly in every direction. I had to admit that it was apparently unique … at least, I’D never seen anything like it, and so it probably fit the requirement for something that could easily be used to trigger a hypnotic suggestion without fear of a subject accidently stumbling across a duplicate.
“Do you know what this is, Elaine?” I asked quietly but firmly.
“It’s … it looks like … I mean … it’s ….”
“Stop and take a deep breath,” I ordered. She halted her attempts at speech and obeyed me. “Okay,” I continued. “Tell me what it is.”
“It’s the gem that hypnotized Cathy,” she replied without emphasis. “It’s the gem that hypnotized me.”
“And what happens to you when you see it?”
“I get sleepy,” she answered matter-of-factly. She paused, awaiting my next question, when, after about ten seconds, she suddenly realized what she had just said. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes blinked slowly, struggling to reopen after they’d closed.
“And ARE you getting sleepy, Pet?”
“Oh, Rod … I’m so … um … SO … sleepy. I’m …. Rod, PLEASE make me … uh … make me ….”
“Make you WHAT, Pet?”
“Please make me sleep, Master. Please. I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’ll obey. Please, Master. Please make me sleep. Please ….”
This was going pretty much the way I’d expected, after reading the book. I was more than a little dismayed by the whole “Master” gig, but she was following the script that I’d been given … approximately. “Will you really obey me, Pet? Will you obey everything I tell you to do?”
“Oh, Master, please. I promise. I’ll be a good girl.”
“Wait until I tell you, then. Be sleepy for me, but wait until I let you. Just be sleepy. So sleepy.”
She whimpered softly. Her head began nodding forward and jerking back upright as she fought hard to stay awake until I gave her the go-ahead. After fifteen seconds, her neck began wobbling slightly from side to side, as well, and her eyes struggled to remain open even a slit. At last I gave her the command she yearned for: “Sleep!” And she heaved a great sigh and fell against my shoulder, her eyes now sealed shut. This was why I’d wedged her in between the arm of the couch and my body … I hadn’t been sure how she’d react when I finally let her trance overtake her, and I didn’t want her toppling over onto the floor. I let her slumber for a long minute before moving to the next step. “Elaine?” I asked tentatively.
Immediately, she sat upright and opened her eyes. “Yes, Master?” This shocked me. The book hadn’t said anything about her opening her eyes, and for a moment, I thought I’d done something that had forced her to lose her hypnotic state. She was staring blankly straight ahead at the center of the room, however, and I finally realized that she was, indeed, in a deep trance.
“Tell me what you are thinking, Elaine.”
“I think that I’ve finally gotten the better of that prissy bitch,” she said, smiling. I decided that I didn’t like that smile.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s always so calculating,” she explained, still staring at nothing in particular. “She’s so goody-goody and sophisticated! She’s SO worried about her appearance and what people will think about her! She’s constantly worried about EVERYTHING! But we showed HER, didn’t we, Maser? We showed HER that she’s just a submissive little harlot, isn’t she? She just wants to be tied up and used and abused. What a slut!”
“Um … Elaine ….” I stammered.
She turned to face me, and her eyes focused on mine. “And you, too, Rod. Now I’ve got YOU right where I want you!”
I suppose it’s time for me (the narrator of this saga) to explain things to you (the reader) regarding what I had read in my signed first edition. What I have failed to explain up to this point is that my new drinking buddy, Reggie, actually had a professional system with regards to his secondary vocation in the field of hypnotherapy. From what I could ascertain through a bit of online research, his methods were actually rather unique, if perhaps unorthodox.
When Reggie hypnotized a perspective “slave,” he worked to deepen the subject’s trance state through a series of awakenings and sleep inductions, each time intensifying his level of control and dominance … each time taking her to a deeper and deeper state of submission and obedience. When she was sufficiently susceptible to permanent suggestions, he convinced her that while she was hypnotized, her subconscious self had actually separated from her “aware” self, and could now communicate freely while her logical side slumbered. His hypothesis was that, given proper emphasis, a person’s subconscious would be easily swayed through hypnotic suggestion, and then would eventually overcome the constraints, restrictions and propriety that govern everyday life, so that she would finally become the type of individual that she truly wanted to be.
I had assumed this was working with Elaine, at least to some extent, since in a few short days, she had developed a side to her character that I had never seen before. This, however, was obviously the first time I had ever seen Reggie’s induced “split personality” in action, and I was more than a little surprised that one “side” of my wife might exhibit contempt for the other. I was also having trouble keeping up with her thought processes, though with her “logical self” suppressed, I suppose I should have expected that to some extent.
“So, you’ve got me where you want me, Elaine,” I told her, returning her triumphant gaze. “And just where, exactly, is that?”
“I noticed the way you leered at me while I was wearing this outfit, Master. I felt your desire for me. So did she. I felt her blush and stammer, and she was SO embarrassed when her pussy got sloppy wet and drippy. Oh God, it was delicious. When you went over those bumps in the road, she almost lost it. I think we came … just a little bit. And you’re acting so STRONG and sure of yourself! And you make me feel so sexy and feminine and submissive and … and … THAT’s where I want you, Master. I … I want you to … to make me DO things, and FEEL things and … and make me be who you WANT me to be. I want you to make me BELONG to you!”
I sat back on the couch and contemplated this for a moment, but she kept going. “And I LOVE it when you call me your ‘pet!’ It makes me feel like a little baby kitten, so helpless and reliant on you.” I grunted without comment. “And Miss Sloppy-Cunt loves it, too. But, of course, SHE would never come out and tell you ….”
“Shut up, Elaine,” I muttered.
“Yes, Master.” And she turned and stared blankly at the center of the room while lapsing into silence.
This new entity, “Subconscious Elaine,” was an air-headed bimbo, I decided. This entire situation was something outside the comfortable world I had built with my wife, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. When I faced a problem that I had no ability to solve (such as almost any problem that dealt with emotions), I could always ask Elaine. However, THAT Elaine wasn’t here at the moment. She was being suppressed by this … this vixen who had replaced her. Ah, but THAT wasn’t true either. This girl was Elaine, too, of course. She was just an Elaine with whom I had seldom had contact.
“Pet?” I asked.
She turned to me and smiled brightly. “Yes, Master?”
“I want to ask you some things about the Elaine who is asleep right now.”
“The silly little slut,” she said, shaking her head in pity. “She just doesn’t understand ….”
“Enough!” I snapped, and she instantly stopped her tirade. “I don’t want you to comment on her further. I just want you to answer my questions. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” she said humbly.
“Tell me what she wants in life. Tell me what she desires,” I ordered.
“She wants the same things that I want,” was her answer. “She just doesn’t realize it sometimes. She longs to be restrained, and dominated, and forced to submit, and to please you in any way you want us to.”
I desperately sought the words I wanted. “If SHE was alert and responding to my questions, and YOU were asleep right now, how would she answer me? What does she want?”
She struggled for a moment before replying. “Most people want to be loved,” she said slowly. “But SHE only wants to GIVE love. She loves the feeling of loving you. THAT is what she wants … to feel the love for you that she felt when she first met you … that she felt when she married you. Right now, she’s just mainly scared. She’s afraid she’s going to lose you.”
“She’s afraid you’re going to die … from all your problems with the radiation exposure. She’s afraid that if she lets herself feel that same degree of love, she’s not going to survive losing you. And she desperately wants to experience the love for a child … YOUR child. She’s afraid she’s never going to have that.”
I was stunned. My mortality was just something that was part of our lives at present. We almost never spoke of it. There really was no reason to do so, since there was nothing else that could be done. We were already jumping through all the medical hoops that we needed to. All we could do now was wait and see what happened.
“And that’s why you need to put ME in charge,” Elaine continued.
I smirked. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“She also wants what I want,” she explained. “She LOVES feeling submissive and helpless. She LOVES being your slave, just like I do. When you embarrass her, we get SO wet and excited! And when you take her, you make us come SO hard! You might not be able to be healthy for her, but you CAN give her what I want … because SHE wants it, too!”
And that’s when it hit me. I might be able to give them BOTH what they desired. Well, up to a point, anyway. It was a bit of a revelation, actually. I needed to study things a little … needed to set things up … arrange things. But suddenly, I KNEW what I had to do. I smiled and turned to her. I’d settle with the bimbo first. That part was easier, and it could be done right away.
“Pet, I want you to stare straight ahead of you … yes … just like that.” I positioned the gem in front of her again. “That’s right, just watch the gem dangling in front of you … sparkling and turning on its chain. That’s it. That’s a good girl. And now, I want you to go deeper for me. Deeper and deeper. And I want you to let all of your thoughts just go away.”
“You’re going to empty me,” she said in a flat monotone. “You’re going to empty my mind and fill it up with the thoughts you want me to think.”
“No more talking, Pet. Be quiet and relaxed … and go deeper and deeper. Let go of your thoughts and think of nothing. Deeper. I want you to tell me when you’ve gone as deep as you can go … when you have no thoughts at all.”
“I’m there, Master,” she replied almost at once. I studied her carefully. Her expression was identical to that of Cathy’s in the book.
“What are you thinking about, Elaine?”
“Nothing, Master. I have no thoughts at all.”
“Stand up,” I ordered. Slowly, mechanically, she stood. “I want you to take off all of your clothes, Pet. Be careful, but do it now.”
She didn’t actually hesitate, but she moved very slowly, removing first the peasant blouse and then the push-up bra. She never looked down as she did this … and her eyes remained fixed ahead, unfocused, blank. While she worked with the skirt in the same manner, I left her and went into my study to retrieve my digital camera.
When I returned, she was sitting again, removing her sandals, and then her panties. After she was through, she placed her hands at her sides and simply stopped moving. Her blank gaze was unsettling, and she reminded me just a little of a corpse. Everything that made her alive seemed to be absent from her eyes. Her mouth hung slack, her lips slightly parted.
“My words are your thoughts,” I told her, reciting lines from the book from memory. “My words are true. You KNOW them to be true. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied dully.
I stepped in front of her and took a few pictures, full-length seated, closer to include her naked upper body, and finally just a face shot. The flash went off several times, but she didn’t blink, and I suddenly found myself flabbergasted by the fact that her pupils hadn’t reacted to the blinding light. I put the camera aside.
“You want to obey me, don’t you, Pet?”
“Obey,” she intoned.
I had hoped to get at least a LITTLE more reaction than this. “You will always obey me. Always. Won’t you?”
“And you will be rewarded. When you obey me, you will feel pleasure. Personal pleasure. You will feel great satisfaction, knowing that you are obedient to me. Your obedience will give you physical pleasure. Sexual pleasure. Every time you obey. Physical, emotional, sexual pleasure. Every time.”
“Sexual,” she said dully.
“And if your logical mind decides that my commands are not good, you may question me … but only AFTER you obey. You will ALWAYS obey me. Always. And you will be rewarded for your obedience. Always. With pleasure.”
“Sexual,” she intoned.
“And emotional and physical satisfaction. Obedience means pleasure. And you will always obey me.”
I took her two wrists and held them in front of her. Her arms were limp. “Now, look down at your hands, Pet,” I ordered. She did so. I dropped her right wrist, which remained stationary where I had left it, and I held the left one in my left hand. Slowly, I began tracing a line around her left wrist using the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. I’d read this in an online mind control erotic story and decided to use it on her. “I am wrapping an invisible string around your wrist, Elaine. You can’t see it … and you can’t even feel it, but when I do this, it will be very, very real. The string is unbreakable … and you cannot untie it. Only I can do that.” I placed her right wrist against her left one and continued to wrap the “invisible string,” tying her hands securely. “When I do this, your conscious mind will tell you that there is no string. But that won’t matter. For you, the string is real. You like being tied up, don’t you, Pet.”
Finally, she gave a little response in the form of a slight shiver. She took a deep breath. “Oh, yes.”
I stopped “wrapping” the string around her wrists. “And even when you are awake, this will be true. Doing this to your wrists will ALWAYS cause them to bound like this. Actually, physically bound. REALLY bound. They will be bound until I tell you they are not. Your logical mind can tell you differently, but THIS is what is real. Every time.”
“Obedience. Pleasure. The invisible string. These things are true. These things are real. Do you believe me, Pet?”
“Are these thing true? Are they real?”
“Oh, yes. Always. Every time.”
“I will count to five, and you will awaken. You will feel happy. And you will feel love. You want to feel the same intensity of love toward me that you did when we first met … that you felt when we were first married … don’t you, Pet?”
Now, she paused a few seconds. “Yes,” she answered in a quiet voice.
“And you will,” I commanded. “I will count of five, and you will feel happy and sexy and shy and helpless because of your bound hands. You will feel that same intensity of love for me, and that love will stay just as strong and just as fresh from now on. And now … One … Two … Three … Four … and … Five.”
Oddly, the first thing she did was to close her eyes. Then, slowly, they blinked open, as if she was awakening from a long night’s sleep in a sunlit bedroom. She blinked again, then smiled and stretched, yawning. A moment later, she finally noticed that she was sitting upright, naked, and she reached her hands up toward her chest, perhaps with the intent of covering herself … but her hands froze in front of her, then advanced farther, so that her wrists were in front of her face. She studied them intently, confusion wrinkling her brow.
“What’s wrong with my hands?” she asked, examining her wrists carefully. I didn’t answer, and I sat observing her with interest. Presently, she lowered her hands to her lap and gave me her attention. “You did it, didn’t you, Rod? You hypnotized me. I was in such a DEEP sleep! And now, my hands are tied up … even though they’re not really tied up, are they?” She raised her arms again, just a little, and she struggled for a few moments, trying to separate her wrists. Finally, she gave up and let them fall into her lap again. “You’ve done it, haven’t you? You’ve done what’s in the book. You’ve made me your slave, haven’t you?”
Again I was silent for several seconds while I studied her. Her eyes were a mixture of emotions, yet she was apparently unconcerned. “Stand up, Pet. Obey me. Do it now,” I told her at last. Without hesitation, she rose and stood facing me with her hands hanging together in front of her. She took a deep breath and her eyes became unfocused for a moment. She shuddered slightly. “Oooh,” she moaned quietly.
“What’s the matter, Pet? What just happened?”
“Nothing,” she said, blushing.
“How do you feel?”
She hesitated. “I … I feel good. Really good.”
I stood and took a small step forward, so that there were only a few inches separating us. “Raise your hands over your head,” I ordered.
Again, she acted immediately. With so little distance between us, her hands scraped against my chest, and against her own as she raised them, causing her breasts to bounce, then flattened a little as her body stretched, her crossed hands high above her. I let my eyes roam up and down her body, from her blushing face to her hard, erect nipples, to her sex, and back up. She had shuddered again as she obeyed me, and she had made a small noise, deep in her throat. I stepped forward again, pressing my body against hers. “Put your arms around my neck. Do it now,” I ordered.
She stood on tiptoes and lowered her arms until they encircled my neck. She shivered.
“How do you feel, Pet?”
Her breathing was ragged. “I … I feel SO good, Rod. I … I don’t know what you’ve done to me.” She looked into my eyes. “Are you going to kiss me now?”
“You’re being a very good sex slave. I guess I could reward you with a kiss.” I let my hands roam up and down her bare sides and back. “But first, I want you to tell me exactly what you’re feeling. Obey me. Tell me now.”
“I … I feel SO naked and helpless. My … my hands are tied up, even though I know they’re not … not really. But I can’t move them. And I just want to do what you tell me to do. It … it feels SO good to do what you tell me to do. And I … I feel so … so sexy and … and your chest is rubbing on my nipples … and your hands are touching me … and I can’t do anything about it … because I’m tied up and vulnerable and powerless … and I want you to kiss me SO much … and … and …. Oh, God, Rod. I think I’ll cum if you kiss me!”
“Cum for me, then,” I told her, and I lowered my lips to hers.
Her body froze for a moment. Then it began to shiver. Then it began to quake. And then her knees buckled and she clung to me with her crossed wrists around my neck, trying to press every square inch of her bare skin into my body. Her lips parted and she moaned loudly into my mouth, her frenzied form pressing frantically up toward me. She began making funny little mewling sounds while her arching, straining muscles began undulating sinuously forward and back, up and down, rubbing her nipples and thighs against me, over and over. But her movements finally began to slow, and at last, with a rippling sigh, she gave another panting moan and relaxed.
I broke the kiss and looked into her unfocused eyes. “That’s a good, obedient pet,” I told her.
She gulped a few times and tried to get her breathing under control. “How … how did you DO that?” she asked in a whisper. “I … I’ve never had an orgasm without you touching me … down there. But … but you just TOLD me to … and I did.”
I smiled, looking into her questioning eyes. “You obeyed me, Pet. I told you to cum, and you obeyed. I love it when you obey.”
“But … but ….”
I reached down and grabbed her, filling my hands with the areas where her buttocks meet her upper thighs, and I lifted her. She gave a little, laughing “eek!” and threw her legs around me, then clasped me around the neck with her forearms, using the fingers of her “bound” hands to stroke the back of my head. There is a heavy end table at one side of the couch, and, thanks to her clutching legs, I was able to use one hand to grab a lamp and set it onto the floor, where it fell over but fortunately didn’t break. The table was the perfect height, and I plopped her ass down on its surface and started unfastening my belt and trousers.
“I’d like to help you,” she told me breathlessly, “but you’ve … um … tied up my hands somehow. They’re not REALLY tied up, are they? It’s … it’s some sort of posthypnotic suggestion, isn’t it? But I really, really can’t move them! You’ve ….”
“Shut up, woman!” I growled. I finally finished with the trousers and shoved them, along with my underwear, savagely down my legs, then worked to line my engorged cock up with its target. Just as soon as she felt me pressing against her, she raised both feet and used her heels to pull me forward toward herself almost violently. We lunged together with equal enthusiasm, and she issued a deep-throated moan as I filled her. Her breasts ballooned against my chest, and we were closer than we’d been for a long time. I reached up and filled my fingers with her hair and pulled back, forcing her face to lift up toward the ceiling, and I began kissing her ear, her throat, and that funny little place where the side of her jaw meets her neck that I love to nibble and lick because it makes her body shiver in my arms. At last, I relaxed my grasp on her hair, and as her face came back down, I captured her mouth with my own. I started pumping into her almost violently … but I was surprised because her feet and legs were pulling her slippery, clingy cunt forward toward me with equal aggression. Our stomachs were making rhythmic slapping sounds as our bodies pounded into each other. This went on for a few minutes. Our kiss had to be surrendered because the exertion was making us both gasp and pant.
The feeling of impending orgasm started in my scrotum and spread rapidly through my whole body. I put my lips next to her ear. “Obey me! Cum again!” I growled, then lifted my face and roared as the throes of pleasure overcame me. For several long seconds, I failed to hear the cadenced grunting squeals coming from her open mouth, and she was clutching me so tightly with her arms and legs that it was becoming difficult to draw breath. I felt the inner walls of her vagina gripping me, squeezing me, and that only spurred on my own continued, gushing bliss.
Gasping, I picked her up again by the ass and reeled backward, spinning around and collapsing back on the couch. She refused to let us part where we were joined, however, clutching me with her legs, and so we simply toppled over in a heap on the cushions and held each other. Her nose was touching mine, and she was gazing into my eyes with an expression I’d never seen before.
“You did it again,” she said between breaths. “I came again … just because you told me to. How do you do that?”
I kissed her lightly. “How do you THINK I do it?”
“It’s a posthypnotic suggestion, isn’t it? But Rod, it’s all so … so … REAL! I really can’t move my hands. I really, really can’t! Even though I KNOW it’s just hypnosis!”
“Just hypnosis?” I asked her. “Everyone says that a hypnotist can’t make a subject do something that she doesn’t want to do. Assume that’s true. NOW, what’s the answer?”
She thought about that. “It … it means that I’m reacting to all of this because I WANT to,” she said, more to herself than as an answer to me.
“You’re not reacting, Pet. You’re obeying. You’re doing all of this because you want to obey me … and you want to obey me so completely that the suggestions have become reality.” I watched her closely as she considered this. “And, now that you know the truth, what will you do? Will you fight me?”
And she didn’t hesitate. “Oh, Rod, no! I … I’d NEVER do that! Please don’t tease me. I’ll obey, I promise. I’ll ALWAYS obey you!”
I smiled at her earnestness. “Okay, then. We’ll start with your obeying this: Your hands are free. Now!” And I snapped my fingers.
Immediately, her wrists pulled apart as if someone had just cut that invisible rope. The suddenness of it made her gasp and start, and she brought her hands from around my neck and stared at with genuine shock, as if she expected there to be marks on her wrists from the restraining cord. She was silent for a long, long time.
“You … you can make me do ANYTHING now, can’t you?” she whispered. “I’m really your slave now, aren’t I? I really am your pet. I belong to you. Really and truly.”
In response, I rolled over, causing my now-flaccid member to slip from between her legs. I reached toward the coffee table and picked up the camera, punched a few buttons until the digital display showed the picture of her, bare-breasted and empty-minded, and let her see it. Her gasp seemed to resonate in the room, and all she could do was stare in open-mouthed astonishment and silent wonder. After a full minute, I pressed the off button and put the camera aside again. For the briefest second, she grabbed at the instrument, trying to keep the image that so enthralled her, but instead, she lay meek and silent against me. I put both arms around her again and held her. She snuggled closer.
“I need to know how you feel about that,” I told her seriously.
“I’m in love with you, Rod. I have more love for you than I knew existed. I want to belong to you. I want to be yours. And now … now, it’s as if a dream I’ve had all my life has suddenly come true. You have made me your slave. And now … now, I’m happy. No, I think I’ve always been happy with you. But now … I’m satisfied with my life.” She sighed.
We lay like that on the couch for a long, long time. After awhile, it started getting dark, but we still didn’t move. From time to time, I thought that perhaps she’d drifted off to sleep, but she hadn’t. And we just held each other. Peaceful. Content.