*[author’s comments: wanted something short, hot, and slightly lighter than what I’ve been writing recently. based loosely off of a few experiences in my life, but has no real analogue. this one wrote itself.]*
Probably shouldn’t have introduced him to hypnosis.
Really truly probably shouldn’t have.
The problem with fetishes, innate and learned, are how addictive they can become, how it nags at your brain and screams for more and makes your chest pound with want. All the time.
Struggling under him as he pins my wrists and puts the weight of his knees on my hips and thighs to keep me still, thrashing against him.
We’re playing again; he likes to subdue me and I like to be subdued. It was one of his first admissions to me in our early sexual explorations. He was almost nervous to bring it up, but as soon as he saw my eyes light up, I saw his glint in turn with cautious excitement, and it’s been one of our favorite staples ever since the night he first forced my arms to my sides.
“Shhh,” he croons, his soft tones in contrast to how hard his hands are gripping. “Hush now, little one, it’ll all be over soon enough…”
He’s holding a glass of water over me, trying to pour it into my mouth, but deep down I know it’s not water --
“I won’t let you -- not this time!” I give a hard kick and it jostles him such that the liquid sloshes out of its container to dribble down his arm. He growls at it and then me, the playfulness ebbing away to show the seriousness underneath it. I feel a flicker of fear, addicting in and of itself.
“Cunt.” Spat. I’ve frozen, nervous that I messed up, and he takes the opportunity to quickly transfer the glass to the dry hand and take the wet hand and smear it onto my face.
I panic, but I can already feel it soaking in through my pores -- not the most efficient method for it to get in my bloodstream, this I know, but enough to slow my reaction time…
“Gonna get you all drugged up and horny for my cock,” he murmurs, for suddenly his lips are next to my ear and I’m not sure how they got there.
Strength is mustered, digging deep for the utterance of “no!” and I give one last thrash as my tongue starts to feel thick and I purse my lips against the upcoming attempt…
Water -- liquid -- whatever, tips out of the cup and is poured onto my face, shocking in temperature, such that my mouth opens in surprise, and immediately the mistake is noticed.
It drips down my face and onto my tongue and into my throat and I cough and sputter and *swallow*.
“Drink it up… drink it up, little bitch, and get ready for the ride of your life…”
My lips and mouth and face begin to burn with a slow heat, and I can *feel* it rushing down into my belly and up into my brain. That desire, so latent before, becomes a mad urgency to be filled. I know I’m moaning and I know he’s laughing but it all feels so far away; the craving is the only immediacy I know.
“*Now!*” my lips shriek. “*Now now now now now* --”
My legs are spread so wide that they hurt, thrusting my hips up, and everything is blurred except for the sight and knowledge that I am about to get exactly what I need.
“This is your fault,” he grunts, and I don’t care. “You wouldn’t be a fucking mess of a drugged out, hypnotized slut if it wasn’t for you in the first place --”
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. Spread my legs further.
“Are you happy now? *Answer* me!” Punctuated by a hard slap on the face that I can barely even feel. Mouth opens. Sound comes out. I am so, *so* fucking close...
He asked me the same question without the harshness later, as we lay in bed.
“Is that even a question?” I was dumbfounded. He withdrew for a moment back to the nervous teen I once knew.
“Maybe you think it’s silly, but it’s important to me.” Purpose and determination that I couldn’t place was in those eyes, the ones I fell in love with. I curled my leg around his and squeezed his chest.
“I’m pretty sure I get more out of it than you do, most of the time.”
He snorted, but it was relieved.
“Glad you think so.”
I smiled, and paused. “Are you?”
He looked down at me, chin resting on his chest, and I felt the flutter inside me again.
I don’t remember if he answered; I didn’t really need him to anyways.