The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sasha was lying in her bed, in the mastersuite of her cabin. It should have been a time of satisfaction for her— she’d been looking forward to this vacation so much, and for so long. She’d planned so many things around it, made her life fit it. And it had been good, until now; so many tennis games with Millie. Hannah’s presence had been an irritation, but tolerable enough in pleasant weather, with good food— removed from the pressures and stresses of everyday life. Sasha had been starting to feel happy; starting to feel a little relax.

All other nights throughout this vacation, Sasha had arrived in this bed at night feeling grateful, feeling content. She’d been happy enough that night after night, she’d taken the time to read some of the romance novels she’d brought with herself before falling asleep. Hannah had read the books she’d brought— mostly fiction, but some physics texts— openly and in front of everyone.

Sasha had never wanted to read her novels in front of the others. The ones she liked to read inevitably steamed up, and when they did, she liked having the option to touch herself right when she felt the arousal start to take her. She couldn’t do that in front of everyone— reading at night in her bed, like she did at home, worked best.

And maybe it had been because so many of her other stressors had come off her, but Sasha had found herself more immersed in her romance narratives than when she was at home, going to and from work, it seemed. She had been content here, and at night she had turned her bedside lamp on and red.

Now she lay on her back, the covers drawn to her throat, in the dark. She had been content, slowly approaching a relaxed state, but she wasn’t any longer. It felt like much of that had been ruined. Millie had left to find a tennisball that afternoon and she still hadn’t come back.

As Sasha lay nervous, she tried to remember the things which Hannah had told her. All the justifications, the reassurances. Surely Millie would be back before lunch tomorrow.

Sasha was a practical person— so she had chosen to believe Hannah, so her panic couldn’t totally run unfettered in her mind.

But she would panic, she knew she would panic if Millie hadn’t reappeared by the promised time. And she would and could take action on Millie’s absence then— and then just hope that the day’s delay wouldn’t make the difference after the fact.

Sasha had been lying in bed for over half an hour, she thought now. And she was still only staring up at the dark. Her head wasn’t even on the pillow. She’d shrunk down from it, so she was level on the mattress. There was no hope of her falling asleep anytime soon.

She let out a sigh. Alright. Well, if she wasn’t sleeping she might as well go back to the romance novel she’d been reading last night. How different things had been then— just one more happy night on vacation. Going to sleep knowing she’d wake up and be able to go outside and play tennis with Millie. Tonight she couldn’t know that for a fact. Better to try and escape in that story she’d been reading— it was a good book all in all, though she was into the last section of it now. The latter part of it was almost steamier so far than the entire first two-thirds.

She turned the lamp on and slid up in the bed, getting the pillow arranged between her and the headboard so it was supporting her and cushioning her. In the golden lamplight, she reached for her endtable and picked the book up by its cover. Her poor romance novels— they never did very well physically.

When she read, she pored over text— lost all connection with her body, with the room, getting transported away into the story, and this usually resulted in her holding the pages so far open the spine of her books would inevitably split, often many times over, so by the time she finished the readthrough of a book even once, it looked like it had been read at least fifty times to start. The books she reread ended up in worser shape.

But this one wasn’t a reread. She was finding her place in it, where she last remembered reading— she had seemed like a different person then. Enjoying a pleasant vacation— looking forward to it continuing. She couldn’t imagine that now.

This book was new to her— she’d bought it just for this exact period of her life, and she was loving it. At first she’d been pretty lukewarm on it. But somewhere about halfway through it, reading it had just clicked for her and she’d become suddenly ravenous for it, racing through pages, trying to find out what happened next. She’d had more than one orgasm, too, reading the more sexual scenes.

But it was more than just the sex for her. The plot was what really kept her reading.

The male romantic lead was a spy— and so the heroine never fully knew if she could trust him, and as they were both on double sides of the same conflict, with the romantic lead having turned double agent, the heroine still wasn’t sure if he was secretly playing triple agent just to take her side of the organization down. And yet she found herself so attracted to him— falling in love with him. And of course, because it was a romance novel he was a wonderful lover.

Sasha liked the romantic lead a lot; he was very sympathetic, but also something a little frightening. He had the air of danger about him; and every time he left the heroine, and the both of them had to re-enter the conflict, there was always a good chance of him dying— of the heroine dying too, though as she grew to care about him more, she valued his life over hers. She never knew if she would see him again— if they would meet in battle, and have to fight for appearances— and she still could never really trust him. She could love him, but couldn’t trust him, and though he was the one that had come to her to doublecross his side, he didn’t fully trust her either. The heroine couldn’t really be sure if he loved her or not, either— but he was so attractive.

Where Sasha was reading now, the two of them had just had another fight about mistrust— another fight, too, about the romantic lead wanting the heroine to stop putting herself in danger’s way. That was one of the things Sasha found most interesting about him— he kept so much to himself, because he was a spy, and he had to, but he had a very severe possessive streak. He would manhandle the heroine around, try to control her, treat her like she was his possession— a prized possession, but still a possession, and something in Sasha just melted over that possessiveness.

The thought of belonging to someone that much— maybe it did make sense he was so possessive. Maybe he was, because he was a spy and he could keep so little else— the new orders given to him only held long enough to be memorized before burned in a fireplace— everything always in service of his mission— but he seemed to have latched onto the heroine as if she was the one thing he could hold— the only thing in the world that was his. And she resented it, and seemed to crave after it in equal measure. And the love scenes, where the two of them were physical with each other— they were sometimes more like scenes of claiming.

Sasha sighed now— the fighting had gotten heated, and finally, the romantic lead had just roughly pulled the heroine to his lips, and now he wasn’t kissing her so much as trying to devour her in his passion. Sasha had to let the paperback fall against her chest for a moment, cradle the book of it with one resting one hand. He was so powerful— and so dominant. Sasha enjoyed fantasies with leads like him. She had to be so on top of everything for her work that she enjoyed dreaming of someone who could take charge— just grab her like that and kiss her— lift all the pressure off of her and make the decisions for once.

Reading this much romance— especially reading so much of this latest book lately, she’d only started it once she’d gotten to the cabin, and it was long and she was almost done— it made her wistfully wish there was some real romance in her life. Someone like the romantic lead— someone possessive, domineering, someone who could take control, who would mean she didn’t have to do everything herself anymore.

If only there was someone like him, in her real life— who would drown her in passion. But Sasha was becoming increasingly convinced that figures like this only existed in romance novels. All the dates she’d been on in the past year had ended disastrously. She’d never found a similar figure in real-life. Not all her romances featured such themes of possession, either, but she’d been looking for it sometimes without knowing she was. She wanted to be claimed. She wanted to be owned. She wanted to be held so tightly that she could know she’d never be discarded, never be left. She’d had so many painful breakups and rejections— she wanted someone that wanted to keep her— someone that wouldn’t let her go.

She lay there with the paperback across her chest for another moment. She wanted to keep reading, but not just yet— she was afraid in the end the romantic lead was going to die. She’d been reading for over 500 pages, there were still 100 pages left to go— and she didn’t want him to die. After so much that had happened, so much pain, she wanted the romantic lead and the heroine to find a way to trust each other, and win the conflict for the side of good.

Maybe Sasha had been reading in a manner too engrossed— she knew she had lost track of the passage of time, and her remedy for sleeplessness, her remedy for the panic about Millie she struggled to keep at bay, perhaps it had worked too well. She felt a little guilt about her escapism— about successfully putting her own daughter out of mind, but she didn’t look up from her reading until a strange noise called her eyes.

She had since slid into a half-lying down half-sitting posture, her lowerbody against the bed, her shoulders against pillows and headboard— she held the book open still but her eyes looked over the top of the page. The noise was the sound of something— someone— sliding up her closed bedroom window, and climbing in.

Sasha scrambled up into sitting completely— pressing her book against her chest as if it could shield her. The intruder— the intruder— for a moment Sasha wondered if she had fallen asleep, because it had been perfect like a dream. Reading of the dashing, dominant romantic lead a heroine could belong to— wishing for a dashing, dominant romantic lead she could belong to as the heroine of her own life— and then looking up and finding they had climbed in her window, arrived there for her to give her belonging to.

Something like that could only happen in a romantic dream— but for a moment it seemed it had really happened in her life— she didn’t think she had fallen asleep after all— but that was only until she looked more closely at who had come in her window. Not the romantic lead right for her at all— if the right one had climbed in her window, she would have forgiven trespassing, would have forgiven illegality of entrance, because she’d been in just the right headspace— just in an altered enough state of consciousness, half-swept away by romance and arousal, that she wouldn’t have cared about the ethics that had brought her romantic lead to her.

But this wasn’t her romantic lead at all— this wasn’t a man, taller than her with that dangerous but dutiful look about him. The creature that had climbed in her window looked like a woman, and women had never been her romantic partners of choice, let alone a group she would ever consider choosing a contender from for principal romantic counterpart. On this basis alone she was ready to scold whoever had climbed in the window— threaten them with a call to the police.

She was opening her mouth to tell her so when Sasha’s eyes made true sense of what she was seeing. Yes, the creature looked like a woman— but that was as much as could be accurately said. Sasha wasn’t sure that this female was a woman. She certainly didn’t look human— though she was vaguely humanlike.

At best estimate she had a height of five foot five— like many human women did— but privately, Sasha was thinking how this height disqualified her even more from the role of romantic counterpart. Because even if Sasha would have considered someone female for her partner, which she essentially never would have anyway, she never would have considered someone shorter than her. It ruined the romance of it, in her opinion.

But this interloper was stranger than her shortness— her hair was silver— and not silver like hairdye, but silver like the material somehow growing out of her scalp. And her eyes matched her hair— silver like the material forming into pupils. And her skin— it looked like poured plastic, unnaturally pink, like someone had decided to make a very unrealistically colored toy. Yet the skin of this creature looked so plush— or maybe it was the curves of her body, all soft lines, drawing wide for her hips and her ass, dipping in, drawing wide again for her breasts. She wore a catsuit that was perfectly tailored to her body, conforming to every line and tracing them out visible— it was a deep blue, like staring up into the night sky above.

Maybe she would have been beautiful, this interloper, if she’d been standing in front of someone who was an appreciator of the female form. But Sasha wasn’t such a person— so the attractiveness of this… woman… was wasted on her. She’d thought this could be a romantic, passionate dream when she’d thought there’d still been a chance it was a man who had climbed in. But now, confronted with the fact that it was someone female— and more importantly, someone nonhuman, it was more likely this was a nightmare.

Sasha’s eyes lingered again on that silver hair— it had been braided into a pleat, which hung down over the inhuman woman’s left shoulder. It sat there, resting. Like an almost sentient thing. There was a fascination in staring at this woman— because she was so ethereal and otherworldly— but also a fear.

Sasha had dealt with her fear all her life. Learned how to contain it, work around it, conquer it, tame it. She could deal with her fear now.

She closed her paperback book at last, and set it on the bedside table beside her.

The woman’s eyes flicked to the book, sitting there once it was set, and then back to Sasha. Something about that was nearly insect, it seemed so different from humanity. But Sasha was using the manner she pulled out during business negotiations— the manner she used when people were trying to renege on deals they’d bound themselves to legally, when they were trying to evade payment and she’d come to collect.

“I don’t know who you are, or why you came in here.” She folded her arms across her chest, giving her most imperious look— for that moment feeling so in control, so bathed in power. “But you’re not welcome, so I’ll thank you dearly to please climb out the window and back down from the cabin, and leave. Go back into the forest, or wherever it is you emerged from, and this can all be nice and simple.”

The woman smiled in a nasty-looking way. She did not climb out the window, but raised her pouredpink hand to her mouth— and licked each of her five fingertips as she was quickly crossing the room to the bed.

She was standing over Sasha where she sat, and Sasha felt a little fear come into her, breaking through the power she’d dove herself inside of. She looked up at the woman, watchful, cautious— waiting to see what the woman would do, holding her palm open and reaching for Sasha’s face.

Her fingertips all made contact with Sasha’s forehead— and for a second, her entire forehead tensed, like she was being blasted in the face with some gust of extremely cold air— as if all the muscles resting above her skull were constricting, numbing— losing feeling— and then she suddenly felt the woman inside her head— inside her mind— a strange feeling because Sasha was still aware of her own body, and still present in it— but at the same time, she felt that woman inside.

Immediately, she knew her name was Adonna— and she knew Adonna was a mother— she’d come with her adult two daughters, Adella and Azella— that they had arrived from away— they were not of this planet.

And somehow she knew that Adonna was letting her see this— as she was reaching through Sasha’s mind. She got other concepts from Adonna, then. A younger, more inexperienced Ama might have fought their telepathic subject, might have tried to keep information from them, and grown frustrated when tidbits of information slipped through to the subject unwanted.

But she was a veteran at this— she had taken so many human pets, and brought them all the way back to the homeworld, put them in her personal menagerie. She knew that it didn’t matter how much information a telepathic subject gathered in the moments that their mind made contact with hers— it didn’t matter what they learned, because the outcome in the end was always the same.

That made Sasha want to pull away and be alone, so she would have time to think through the ramifications of this, of what it signified and what she felt, but there was no where to pull away to. Adonna’s hand was on her forehead, she had been pushed down into lying on her back, and she could perfectly feel the mattress under her, the blanket over her— and still Adonna was everywhere throughout Sasha’s head— there was no privacy, inner or outer, and Adonna was looking through her, looking for the most effective method of approaching seduction.

Adonna was looking for the book— for what it meant— she was finding it easily, like she had steered through so many other human minds before she knew all the places to check even when she was before a new stranger. Sasha could feel Adonna’s attention, the plot of the book, how Sasha had felt reading it tonight and throughout, what it had meant for her— and she found Sasha’s thoughts about the romantic lead, found Sasha’s thoughts about the intruder before she’d known it was a woman.

Adonna seemed pleased at the response she had, as she held it in invisible hands of focus and considered it. Sasha didn’t like her touching it. She didn’t like Adonna looking at her experience of it. And it scared her. She wanted to throw arms over it, make it impossible for Adonna to see. It felt like dangerous information for Adonna to have, like she would abuse. She would know— she was knowing now, that Sasha had such a submissive streak, that she had wanted to belong to someone dominating and controling for the peace it would have given her, the relief from the pressures of her life.

And she’d wanted it so much that she hadn’t cared how unethical, how dangerous it was when someone trespassed— at least, not if she imagined that person to be the dashing lead come to sweep her out of her life. She didn’t want Adonna to know that. Because it seemed like Adonna would use it now, in service of her goal— seemed she would use it to seduce her.

Adonna’s hand was still resting against Sasha’s forehead, and she could feel it there. But now it didn’t feel like Adonna was looking anywhere in particular inside of Sasha’s head. As if she had found the only thing she was searching for. Now it felt more like Adonna was controling her thoughts. Or, not controling exactly.

That might have been easier; Adonna seems so skilled she probably would have been able to force Sasha’s mind to think the thoughts she wanted in there. But whether because Adonna’s mind was touching Sasha’s, and so Sasha could see into it, or because Sasha had spent enough time with Adonna that she felt confident in making guesses about her character, Sasha was sure Adonna would have seen that as cheating.

Adonna was keeping Sasha’s mind empty— every time a thought arose, Adonna banished, so Sasha felt waves of emotion lapping up there, but there were no words.

In their absence, Sasha couldn’t help but be aware of Adonna’s body— not just her mind, inside Sasha’s own, but her body sitting next to Sasha’s on the bed. She had come down from standing over to siting beside— and now Sasha could smell the bouquet of her scent. Unplaceable, impossible to identify, but she was getting great whiffs of it, like it was blasting her in the face. With every breath she drew in, she was inhaling more of it.

And it was like smoking cigarettes— the inhale giving the burst of relief from addiction— the burst of relief from desperate desiring, before another inhale was required. Sasha didn’t smoke anymore— hadn’t for years— but she was thinking of it now. Only it wasn’t nicotine Sasha’s veins seemed to be demanding— they seemed to be demanding Adonna. Which was an offense to Sasha, and even with Adonna’s presence in her mind, roughly throwing her thoughts out, Sasha was still aware enough to speak.

“You’re not a man,” she sniped. “I can’t desire you. I can’t long for you.”

But Sasha’s veins were demanding. And her mind ached. She was sure it was not as a result of Adonna’s presence. She had experienced no pain throughout this entire bout of telepathy. She was sure the pain was coming from that scent. Breathing it was making her mind feel heavy, making it dense— sore. And it was making all thought all sludge— or the attempt at thought a sludge— whether it cost her pain to come to a thought or not, Adonna was quick to throw out whatever she arrived at regardless.

Adonna took her hand off of Sasha’s face finally— giving her a look. “You’re ready,” she commented.

Ready? Ready for what? What was Sasha expecting her to do, and what did Adonna think Sasha would be doing now?

Adonna smiled toothily, in a very unkind way, and Sasha felt for a second that Adonna had continued reading Sasha’s mind, even with her hand no longer making contact. She stayed sitting on the bed, but said to Sasha, “Get up.”

Sasha was going to laugh in Adonna’s face. Sasha was going to tell Adonna she’d never do anything she was told to do in a million eons, but she wasn’t saying the words. Her body was pushing the blankets back, making space for exit even with Adonna pressing down part of the bedcover. And Sasha was standing.

Sasha was also realizing something, as she stood directly in front of her. The casting out of thoughts which Adonna had done— those moments of aimlessly keeping the telepathic connection open, they had actually served a purpose. Adonna had wanted an excuse to keep herself close to Sasha, and had wanted a way of keeping Sasha sedate— long enough for Sasha to inhale plenty of that scent which Adonna had been putting out. Subterfuge— deception.

Sasha had thought the important thing was Adonna’s telepathic presence, her throwing out of Sasha’s attempted thoughts. But that had only been a distraction. The real aim had been achieved— Sasha had breathed so much of that stuff in it seemed to have changed things in her mind around. Enough that now it seemed Sasha would obey, even where her mind disagreed— she was being run by her blood now, and her blood demanded Adonna, demanded closeness to her. Whatever she’d inhaled was circulating her— and she was doing as Adonna had said. She was standing in front of her.

Adonna’s smile had never turned kind. “Strip yourself naked,” she instructed, and Sasha felt a fullbody blush rise to the surface of her skin— her hands were already moving to do the task. She had only worn a comfortable pair of pajamas to bed— no underwear beneath it— there wasn’t much to take off. She got her shortsleeve shirt off, exposing her breasts. She blushed, she hated it, she was so uncomfortable.

She didn’t want Adonna to see her intimately, not this way, not in anyway. But Adonna was seeing, seemed to take special delight in Sasha’s discomfort— Sasha’s arms were still moving. She was bending in half, pulling her pants down, stepping out of them low, standing upright once again.

Now that Sasha was standing there, naked, wishing she could cover her body with her hands or her arms but not quite able too, it was clear that Adonna was nearly laughing in enjoyment at seeing her like this. At how much she was resenting being put on display.

But it was clear that Adonna’s enjoyment at Sasha’s discomfort wasn’t something she was enjoying as much as what she was about to enjoy instead. She had the air of someone holding back, saving themselves, their investment for the thing that was going to be everything. Adonna had put a hand over her mouth to restrain, or failing that, hide, her tittering, but now she lowered it. “Get down on your floor, and crawl around like the animal you are.”

Sasha’s whole body felt like it was in fever. She wasn’t blushing anymore, she was flushing with rage— with the desire to claw herself up disfigured so she would be unrecognizable as herself— it was such an awful, shameful request. Not something Sasha Jesper would ever have been caught doing in typical circumstances, but now her body was bending at the waist again. She was dropping onto her hands and knees. She could feel the fine wood floor of the cabin under her palms and fingertips, could feel that fine wood against her knees. She crawled forward— with none of the grace of the wild. She was crawling anomalistically but she was also crawling knowing she was being watched. Like an animal at a zoo— not an untamed specimen, but one kept in captivity for more sentient lifeforms to observe. And clearly Sasha considered herself a superior lifeform— now she was laughing jeeringly. But she had tricked Sasha’s body into doing exactly what she said, so maybe she was right about being superior. It didn’t matter: Sasha was crawling.

There was a wide area at the foot of Sasha’s doublebed, a place where a rug had been laid— it was quite an open space, a long gap before the wardrobe across the bed intruded; announcing the arrival of the frontwall of the bedroom. Sasha passed the end of the bed and started crawling anew, making a wide circle around the edges of the rug— it seemed she would just go around and around forever, and the sound of Adonna laughing, cruely, loudly, with more and more vehemence, echoed in her ears as she made the slow journey. The parts of her that had to keep contacting the floor were aching painfully, but there was no respite.

“How is your pride, Sasha?” Adonna managed to get out between her biting laughs. It was as cutting as the rest of it— maybe the most cutting thing Adonna could say. Sasha carried herself through her life on the power of her pride; but it was in disarray now, worn to tatters. The Sasha Jesper who had commanded board rooms, who had ruled negotiations, who had trailblazed and innovated in her field— now she was lower than a common animal, literally on the same physical plane, as near to the ground. Wild creatures that lived in wilderness had more dignity than her— they were not the source of entertainment and mockery as she was. Even zoo animals could possibly have more dignity than her— not every zoo animal was laughed at and mocked. Some were seen as majestic. She felt more like an animal taken by the circus, when that kind of thing was still done— and yet, even if she and they would have been the subject of similar mocking, hers was the worse lot, because she had a mind to understand what was happening— of how far down she’d come from the echelons she had once known. She was someone completely foreign to herself— she was aching, she was crawling, listening to Adonna enjoying her debasing.

And still.

Adonna commanded her— as surely as the romantic lead had done in the novel that was now sitting closed on the bedside table. The novel she could see every time she rounded her repeating circle and caught the glimpse of the endtable beside the bed. Adonna might even have been better at giving commands, exerting dominance; acting possessively. Even in the way Adonna laughed, she exemplified her belief that Sasha was her possession.

Everything she had done so far had shown the same belief to be held— how cherished or not as a possession had yet to be shown. But Sasha did feel she belonged to Adonna. And it made her want to hide her face in her hands if she could not rend it and erase all visual link between who she was now and who she’d been before. Because feeling that possession, feeling her belongingness to it— seeing and acting out the proof of Adonna’s domination over her… it was turning her body on.

The air seemed heady still with the scent of Adonna’s body, but Sasha didn’t believe that was the true cause of the arousal. It might have amplified something already there— but the reason for such a thing’s presence was Sasha’s fault. Adonna had looked into her mind, and understood how to make her a traitor to herself. She’d understood how to make Sasha want to be a self-traitor, how to make her want to crawl around and debase herself for ownership even if it meant losing herself.

But the way Adonna was laughing— she clearly liked to see her pets, her slaves like this, as much as there was some secret thing in Sasha that wanted to be like this. So in some odd way they made a complimentary match with each other.

But Adonna was leaving her place sitting on the bed, and coming over close to Sasha. She was stopping with her hands, making Sasha kneel— and Sasha flushed, at once in satisfaction and in self-loathing. How could she want this? How could she be a part of this?

Why did it make her so wet?

“I’m still not a man, am I?” Adonna asked sneeringly, her voice still edged with laughter.

“You’re not,” Sasha snapped back. She was telling herself she could never want Adonna the way she’d wanted the male romantic lead in her book. Telling herself Adonna could never satisfyingly fill that roll, even though her body was saying otherwise.

Adonna was standing over her, crotch at mouthlevel with Sasha kneeling, but Sasha watched— a phallic protrusion was swelling; as big as any male lover Sasha had ever known— and then bigger— it was done, now, but it sat there accusingly, falsely erect.

“Since you so wish you were with a man,” Adonna snickered. “Suck it.”

Sasha really would have preferred not to, but her body was already shifting to acquiesce. Her lips wrapped around the phallus of the catsuit— Adonna had willed it to be, and it had become, but Sasha didn’t like it. Somehow this was more shaming than if she’d been licking Adonna on the pussy. Sasha could feel her entire body blushing in embarrassment. This wasn’t giving Adonna direct physical pleasure— it might have been giving her roundabout mental pleasure, but it wasn’t actual skin contact.

And it didn’t feel the same for Sasha either— the phallus was too large, hard to even stuff in her mouth, and it stretched everything— it made her gag— and it didn’t taste like a real penis, and it didn’t have the texture of a real penis, and everything about it was reminding Sasha that this was only a fake.

And she was so incredibly turned on. More maybe than she would have been with a real man— something about being forced to suck the shadow of a thing. It reminded her that this was a woman, a woman was making her suck to serve no purpose apart from embarrassment and Sasha was so embarrassed, but that was turning her on because it made her feel owned and she was sucking anyway, even though she was sucking uselessly. The obedience of her own body disgusted her— disappointed her— she worked her mouth, worked her jaw more enthusiastically than she ever had before. Her best work was being wasted on a phallus that couldn’t even respond to what she was doing. And that only made her suck more eagerly, only made her suck it harder.

As she worked, she was getting whiffs of that scent off of Adonna, and it was turning her mind around. It kept the embarrassment in place— kept her body blushing for her shame, but it was cultivating things underneath this— it was making her feel love underneath. It was making her appreciate Adonna forcing this on her.

As if it was just a game between them now— like a pet owner throwing a ball to a dog— Adonna could know how much Sasha like to be owned, and Sasha could know how much Adonna liked to assert ownership. She forgave Adonna all the things that had made Sasha hate her that night; then she loved Adonna for those things instead, and she was showing this love by sucking.

“A little wetter—” Adonna encouraged throatily. “I want the thing to slide right into you. I want you to know that it’s slipping into you on your own saliva—“ more flushing in shame— “there,” Adonna said, and pulled back. She shoved Sasha roughly onto the floor, angling the protrusion for Sasha’s entrance— but she rolled Sasha, putting her stomachfirst on the carpet— she was slipping into her pussy from behind, and Adonna did slide in like it was a glide inwards.

Then she started to ride Sasha punishingly. Maybe she had not been a household pet all this time— maybe she’d been a pet of transport all throughout. That was what she felt like now, with the way that Adonna was riding her, forcing her hips back, slamming in her inner opening. And Adonna fisted her hand in Sasha’s hair, pulling back, jerking her head back until it hurt at the roots— pulling and pushing in, pain in Sasha’s scalp— it put all other thoughts out of Sasha’s head— she didn’t notice the collar going around her throat.

She was owned. She was so completely owned that thoughts could not exist in her head.

That was complete perfection.