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Standard Disclaimer, NOT to be read by persons under 18 years of age.
Please thank the publisher who publishes my stories for you to
hopefully enjoy by sending him your good wishes. Thank you - Mesmer.
"Hypno-Romance"
by Mesmer
(c)
*
It was one of those rare opportunities and I couldn't let it go.
Something told me to take advantage of it and I did. I was sitting in
the back row of the class of science students. Next to me sat a girl
of about twenty or so. She was beautiful, and she was always tapping
her heel on the floor, sort of like she had restless-leg syndrome or
something. She always seemed to me to be off in noddy-land, too, while
the professors talked to us, and now she was doing it again. It was a
really annoying habit of tap-tap-tapping her heel on the floor. She'd
been doing it for about three weeks now and it was driving me nuts.
I'd have to fix that one day. As I stole another quick glance at her
now, it seemed like she had gone into a sort of a daze again while
listening to the boring monotone of the lecturer way down the front.
It was one of those lecture theatres that rose up and away as you
walked back from the professor's desk, so there was a fair distance
between my row and the one on front. Also, we were seated rather
close.
I don't know where I got the courage from - maybe from the
self-hypnosis book I had bought on impulse that told me I could have
any girl I wanted to, once I learned how to do it. I had studied hard
and had practised on some of my friends until I thought I had it down
pat. . My hear hammered in my ribs and my pulse raced. I had to
believe in the book. Too late to turn back now.
I called her name. It was Sharon. In fact, I whispered it near
her ear. She didn't hear me or chose not to. I leaned forward to see
here eyes. They seemed sort of far away, with a kind of glazed look
about them. I decided to take a chance. I leaned next to her ear once
more, very, very close.
"Relax." I said in a soft, soothing whisper into her shell-like
ear. "Let ..yourself ..go ..and ..just ..drift ..on ..down ..even
..deeper ..into ..that ..special ..place ..you're ..in ..right ..now
.. It's .. so .. nice .. where ..you ..are .. You ..should ..enjoy
..it ..fully .. Further ..and ..further ..down .. Like ..a ..leaf
..floating ..down ..on ..the ..back ..of ..the ..wind .. More ..and
..more ..relaxed .. Eyes ..feeling ..so ..heavy ..and ..so ..tired ..
So ..heavy ..and ..so ..tired .. Sleepy .. Very .. sleepy .. in ..
your .. special .. place .. So .. tired .. with .. those .. heavy ..
heavy .. eyes .. So .. nice .. to .. relax .. and .. just .. drift ..
off .. into .. your .. special .. place .. while .. those .. heavy ..
tired .. eyes .. just .. close .. all .. by .. themselves."
I whispered every word in a continuous fashion, just like I'd
always done while practising hypnosis - just like the book had said to
for absolute success. Then suddenly, Sharon turned her head and looked
at me, directly in the eyes. Her own were glazed, but she looked
directly into my eyes. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable,
but it never came. She rarely ever looked at me, that I knew about,
anyway. Her eyebrows arched a little as if she was about to ask a
question, or she was puzzling over something. And then her eyes slowly
closed without stopping. Her head went back to face the front, leaning
forward slightly and her breathing deepened. I could tell by the
gentle rise and fall of her nice hand- size breasts beneath her shirt.
I let the breath out slowly between my teeth in a long, slow hiss.
"Sleep.. Deeply .. now." I whispered again, leaning close to hear
ear. "Deeper .. and .. more .. relaxed .. than .. you've .. ever ..
been .. in .. your .. life .. before .. deeply .. asleep .. listening
.. to .. every .. word .. I .. say .. remembering .. nothing ..
because .. your .. subconscious .. mind .. will .. remember ..
everything .. so .. you .. don't .. have .. to .. remember .. what ..
you .. didn't .. even .. hear .. in .. the .. first .. place .. and ..
listen .. and .. want .. to .. feel .. nice .. to .. relax .. sleep
.. deeply .. and .. want .. to .. listen .. and .. want .. to .. do
.. everything .. I .. suggest .. that .. relaxes .. you .. so ..
deeply .. to .. sleep .. way .. down .. to .. the .. deepest .. sleep
.. you've .. ever .. had .. while .. you .. listen .. and .. forget ..
everything .. and .. remember .. only .. what .. I .. suggest .. to ..
you."
I noticed as I spoke softly into her ear that her breathing had
deepened considerably. At one time I thought I heard a soft sigh when
I said 'deeper'. Now for the trance key, I thought as I gathered my
confidence. The professor was still droning on down the front about
who cared anyway.
"You .. can .. come .. back .. to .. this .. special .. place ..
in .. your .. mind .. whenever .. you .. want .. to .. when .. you ..
hear .. me .. say .. your .. special .. trance .. key .. 'sleep- time'
.. and .. close .. your .. eyes .. immediately .. and .. go .. sleep
.. like .. you .. are .. enjoying .. so .. much .. right .. now ..
when .. you .. hear .. me .. say .. your .. trance .. key ..
'sleep-time' .. and .. close .. your .. eyes .. quickly .. and .. very
.. quickly .. go .. to .. sleep .. deeper .. and .. deeper .. and ..
wait .. for .. me .. to .. relax .. you .. even .. more .. and ..
you'll .. feel .. so .. wonderful .. and .. want .. to .. come .. back
.. here .. often .. and .. want .. me .. to ..make .. suggestions ..
for .. you .. to .. follow .. to .. the .. letter .. in .. every ..
way .. so .. you .. always .. feel .. this .. wonderful .. Isn't ..
that .. true?"
I crossed my fingers and waited. Nothing happened. Then it did -
her head nodded, only once, but it nodded. I smiled. It was working
beautifully.
"Tell .. me .. your .. trance .. key .. which .. you .. will ..
never .. remember.. Because .. you .. didn't .. hear .. it .. in ..
the .. first .. place." I whispered confidently.
I heard her mumble something and leaned right into her face.
"Louder." I whispered to her.
"Sleep .. time." she mumbled a little more loudly than before -
not clearly, but I made out the words okay. I smiled, happy. Now for
the good stuff. There would be time enough before the professor run
out of things to say on his favourite topic.
"I am .. your dream .. man." I told her. "I can .. give you ..
all the .. pleasure .. you always .. dream about .. in your .. secret
dreams .. and you .. want some .. of that .. incredible pleasure ..
from your .. secret dreams .. right now .. Isn't that true?"
I watched her head lift a fraction, and then drop again as she
breathed out with a sigh.
"Open your legs .. and relax very deeply .. and receive .. your
secret pleasure .. right where .. you want it .. right now." I
whispered.
Then I felt her knee touch and press against mine as she opened
her knees. I reached down with my left hand and rested it on her thigh
lightly for the first touch.
"The touch of your .. secret lover .. so warm .. and so
pleasurable .. and you .. can open wider now .. and relax .. and enjoy
.. very .. very .. quietly .. even when you .. reach your peak ..
without a sound .. and feeling .. so wonderful."
Her knee pressed even more firmly against my own. I moved my hand
over her thigh and beneath her dress, feeling quickly the warmth of
her centre. As I touched softly against the soft mound of her pubic
hairs nestling beneath her underwear she took a quick breath of air. I
froze for a few seconds, and then proceeded with caution. Gently I
slipped my hand beneath the leg of her panties and immediately felt
the warmth and wetness of her apex. Soft, downy hairs on my
fingertips, and again she sucked in a short, sharp gasp of air. And
then she did it again.
My fingers deftly spread her swollen lips to expose her jewel to
my touch. When I grasped the very core of her between my finger and
thumb her breathing became suddenly erratic, panting and hunching her
shoulders as her head hung down even further toward her chest. Gently
I began to squeeze. On and off. On and off. On and off, in rhythmical
fashion. On and off. On and off. On and off.
Sharon's breathing quickly began to match my pressure squeezes as
the continued for several minutes, her breathing deepening more and
more until finally I heard her take a deep breath. Then she crushed
her thighs together, trapping my hand between them. I continued the
gentle, rhythmical pressure-squeezing on the jewel of her Nile while
she thrust forcefully into my hand without saying a word, and I
continued to squeeze her in that sensual manner until the last shudder
had rippled through her body and she sighed loudly after taking a deep
breath. I gently removed my hand from her thighs as her knees relaxed
their pressure against me. I tasted her wine. It was the nectar of the
gods for me. It always was.
"Now you're very happy .. and very satisfied." I told her softly.
"And this is how .. you'll feel every time .. your hear your trance
key .. When you leave here .. you will wait .. for me .. your secret
lover .. recognize me by .. your trance key .. only my voice .. when
you hear .. your trance key .. with my voice only .. receive more
pleasure .. and do what I suggest .. without question .. without doubt
.. everything so natural ..and so right for you .. when you count to
twenty .. and wake up and be normal .. and forget everything .. you
can't even remember now .. and not even notice me .. as you count up
now."
I moved as far away from her as I could without getting too close
to the guy next to me and waited, watching for her first reaction when
her eyes opened. She must have counted fast. Her eyes opened. She
looked right and left, and then down at her breasts, a strange,
puzzled look on her face. I thought I could detect a crimson glow
spreading up her right cheek, but I wasn't sure. She looked down at
the professor who was winding up for the period. Then she slowly
closed her notebook. Now all I had to do was to walk outside where
Sharon would be waiting and claim my well-earned hypnotic prize.
* *
The professor finally gave out our assignments and we all got up and
made our way out of the classroom. I walked slowly down the hallway
and out of the building, losing her in the crowd. And then I saw her,
waiting against one of the large, concrete pillars, with her back
leaning against it looking like she was doing just that - waiting. I
walked up to her, knowing my hypnotic conquest was waiting patiently
for me to get on with the rest of our lives. She was tall, but so was
I - a perfect match, and soon now she would know it.
"Hi." I said smiling. "Pretty boring lecture, huh?"
She looked down her nose at me as if I was a bug or something. I
could see the tightening of her jaw muscles as she dealt in her mind
with another jerk hitting on a single girl as she leant against a
post. My heart hammered in my chest. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I completely forgot that she was no longer in any kind of trance. But
I thought she should have retained some of her secret-lover's feelings
for me, at least, from her deep trance.
"If you don't mind." she said with a cold voice. "I'm waiting for
someone."
My mind panicked as I saw the hostility and anger growing in her
eyes and on her face. I tried grinning at her. What was happening
here? I'd already arrived, only she didn't know it - yet. Desperate
times calls for desperate measures the book had told me. I had to put
her on the left foot somehow, until I found the opportunity to say her
trance key and hope like hell the bloody thing worked.
"Did you enjoy your orgasm in class today?" I said with a forced
grin.
Her face reddened instantly as she blushed from the neck to the
top of her forehead. Her eyes blazed at first and then lowered from
my gaze. Then she looked up again, directly at me, her eyes alight
with a burning fire of indignation and anger. It didn't seem to be
working. Fuck! Now I was really in the shit. I saw my life and future
dissolving before my eyes.
"How would you like a sexual harassment case brought against you
for your filthy mouth!" she spat at me with a venom rich in instant
death for me.
I was in desperate trouble, and I knew it. So did my pulse and my
heart. The Titanic had nothing on me. I bravely fought on, hoping like
hell that, as the book had told me, offence was the best form of
defence.
"They were my fingers between your legs, squeezing your wet
little jewel." I grinned at her immediately.
Her blushing deepened instantly, along with her hostility. She
looked puzzled, angry, murderous and confused, all at the same time.
Her eyes were like two blazing orbs as they glared at me. I fought
bravely on again, feeling like I was really going down now with the
Titanic for the very last time. I needed a miracle.
"Squeezing your jewel until you came with a vengeance, and,
without a sound. That's why you're all wet, down there." I forced
another not-too-confident grin.
She glanced quickly downward and then back at me, the tears of
her anguish, confusion and frustration brimming over and down her
cheeks. I'd had enough, I decided. It was now or never. Then, for the
first time in my life I prayed as I spoke.
"Sleep-time." I said firmly to her." And then, "Sleep-time." for
a second time, just for bloody good measure, just in case the book was
wrong about trance keys.
Her face reflected at first her inner tumbling emotional
back-draft, and then her eyes glazed over and closed gently downward.
Her chest rose high, stopped for a few seconds, and then she sighed
loudly.
"That feels much better than being angry. Isn't that true?" I
told her, my voice shaking a little as the Titanic inside my head
began to slowly surface again.
"Yes." she said softly.
"Are you still angry with me now?" I asked her, my pulse and
heart rate slowly recovering from the iceberg my ship had just hit in
the form of her anger.
"No." she replied.
"Who am I?" I asked, testing hesitantly.
She was silent for a moment, her brow furrowing a little for a
few seconds before relaxing to smoothness again.
"My secret lover." she answered.
A life-jacket. Somebody had thrown me a life-jacket. I grinned, I
think.
"Are you ready to come home with me now?" I asked, praying for
confidence and no more fucking icebergs. I knew my Titanic wouldn't
survive another one.
I saw her nod her head, but say nothing. I thought, for just a
moment, a brief moment, she was about to smile, but then it was gone.
I must be still in panic mode, I decided, as my breathing finally
began to return to normal.
"Fine." I told her warmly as I felt the good graces of God
compliment me for my hypnotic prowess. "You're doing perfectly. Open
your eyes now and meet your secret lover, the man you've been waiting
for, all your life."
Sharon opened her eyes, blinked several times quite rapidly, and
then smiled as she focussed her gaze on my face.
"Hi." she smiled, with all the seduction sounding of her inner
essence, almost as if she really meant it. I didn't care. I would have
her, and that was that. If it meant hypnotising her like this, then it
was for her own good, and mine.
"Hi." I smiled warmly back to her, feeling my heart melt along
with the weakening in my knees as my happiness set in fully.
* * * *
All that was ten years ago now. Sharon
still says "hi," in that same special way, whenever she opens her eyes
of a morning, and, she still smiles that same incredibly seductive
smile at me - that is, when the kids aren't jumping all over our bed,
wanting their Mum and Dad to get up and get them breakfast or play.
You see, I had fallen in love with her from the moment I first
laid eyes on her. I was the one for her, and she was the one for me. I
knew it at that very first moment - it was only she who didn't. But no
man would ever love her as often and for as long he lived as I was
going to do, and, I'm still doing it on the morning of our tenth
wedding anniversary. And since that first night she came home with me,
we've never been apart, and, two people under God's heavens have never
been as happy, all thanks to a little book on hypnotism that I bought
as a spur of the moment thing. Thank Christ for impulse shopping, huh?
The End
by Jason.
* * * *
Post Script - Different author:
Dear Readers,
I fell head over heels in love with Jason the first time he sat
next to me in class. I knew I loved him with all my heart - just like
I used to read in the fairy tales about wonderful romance. I knew he
loved me too, just from the glazed look in his eyes when our gazes
first met. I also knew he would never have the courage to even ask me
out, let alone tell me that his feelings, when we first looked at each
other for only a second or two, had been the same as mine.
My friend had taught me hypnosis when I had told her of my plight
with Jason. After that, every time we were in class together I would
get a far away look in my eyes and on my face, and just stare into
space, while resting the weight of my leg on the ball of my right
foot. That would cause my heel to tap in staccato fashion, silently,
but loudly enough on the floor so he could not possibly avoid hearing
it.
I'd been doing it for three weeks, but at first, every time I
turned to look at him he would look away, so I wouldn't catch his eye
as he stared at me. He was very quick. And after three weeks I had
almost given up and was planning to tell my friend that night to come
up with another idea when it happened. As I turned to look at Jason,
like I always do after about fifteen minutes of heel-tapping, he
actually held my gaze for a few seconds. His eyes shined as if they
were in a sort of a daze. My friend had told me that when it happened
I would have to move quickly to get done what I had to do. I leaned
over to him, holding his shining gaze in my direct stare and whispered
only one sentence - slowly, and with all the heart-feeling I could
muster.
"Relax deeper ... and deeper ... and very ... very quickly ...
and know that ... you have the idea ... now ... to learn hypnosis ...
and hypnotise me ... into being your lover ... and your wife ...
because ... you already know ... you love me ... with all of your
heart ... like I love you ... and ... you ... will ... be ...
confident .. of .. that .. outcome .. and .. be .. very ..
successful."
The rest, as you have just read, from Jason's point of view, is
history. I know he writes sexy stories from time to time and posts
them to you for publishing on the web. Because he gets me to post
them after he's left for work, I always steam open his letters, read
them, and then re-seal them and post them.
When I read this one I couldn't let his readers think that he'd
gotten completely away from the real truth, so I added my bit, just
for the hell of it. I hope you all don't mind. Don't tell him. I want
him to read the truth for himself when he looks to see if his latest
story is published. And, I'll be right behind him when he does. And
when he turns to look at me, he'll see the same tears in my eyes that
I know will be in his, because he still loves me fiercely, just like
he always has, and, just like he always will.
For Jason:By the way, sweetheart. I really didn't have to capture you
with hypnosis, my love. And I'm sorry I gave you a hard time when you
met me as I waited, leaning against the post. But I couldn't let you
think I was a pushover completely, and I just didn't want to waste any
more time being without you, than I had done already. Can you ever
forgive me?
:) (grin)
* * * *
Another Happy Ending.
(Is there any other kind?)
by Mesmer.
This erotic Hypnosis/Mind-Control
story is not to be read by persons under the age of 18 years of age.
Please enjoy this story and email me your comments or criticisms.
Thank you - Mesmer.
"Hypno-Samurai"
(c) By Mesmer
Chapter 1
*
Long-swords flashed in the late afternoon sun, returning to their
wielding owners their gleaming razor sharp blades slick with the
white-speckled deep red blood of the luckless bodies they passed
through in their vicious deadly cutting arc. Horses reared, front
hooves flashing, arcing forward, reaching out violently and crashing
downwards, striking mens heads and shoulders heavily, cracking bone,
splitting skulls and faces while rear quarters stamped and trod
mercilessly on those who had already fallen and who were not yet dead.
Long sharp- pointed lances thrust savagely in all directions,
impaling, skewering, penetrating leather-clad samurai to their hearts.
Armour erupted in blood-red patterns streaking down, gushing forth
from the vicious savagery of the time in the islands of medieval
Japan.
Takekazu Shinagawa had survived the man battle, only to be forced
to flee into the dense forest as several horse-mounted samurai charged
after he had sliced their leader's head from his shoulders. He
thrashed the heaving sweating flanks of his horse, riding it towards
the death of its future as he widened the gap between him and his
pursuers. He reached the end of the forest, setting his lathered steed
free to find its place to die as he skirted the edge of the seemingly
quiet village. Large shrubs and trees hid him from the view of any who
would see until the sky had lost the support of the sun altogether for
the day, perhaps in another hour or so.
Exhausted, Takekazu lay down in the thickest bushes he could find
to wait until dark. Then he would find the house of the traitor and
exact his revenge. In the day's battle had he lost most of his
father's samurai, all flighting valiantly to the bloody end, their
wives without husbands, their sisters without brothers, their brothers
without sisters, their mothers and fathers without sons and daughters.
He wondered if any beside himself had survived, doubting his answer
would bring him any satisfaction. They had been outnumbered ten to one
from the start. It had been an ambush, carried out with cruel and
calculating precision and ruthless butchery that had seen his own
soldiers slaughtered without a fighting chance, other than to draw
their swords courageously and state their family names before being
shown no quarter as they were cut down from all sides at once where
they stood their ground proudly, bravely, and dying the same way.
Takekazu closed his eyes, knowing the traitor, whoever they were
would pay dearly for their betrayal with their life, but not before he
had taken a huge and terrible revenge for himself and his fallen men.
Sleep from sheer exhaustion took him quickly to the land of his
dreams, anguished and bitter, sad and grief-stricken, yet amongst the
bloody image-struck visions did that of his own wife appear, naked and
sweet and waiting for him to enter her jade gates. Her thighs opened
wide, beckoning him home to them after his long and terrible day.
There he would rest once more in her eagle's nest of black lushness,
to breathe of her musky essence as he found the jewel of her body's`
pleasure, highly polished after seven years of marriage and pillowing
often. His body began to harden beneath his leather armour. Then the
images of all faded, his hopes rekindled and balanced, his awareness,
even in his dreams now fading first to grey, then to the welcome
blackness that finally carried him away into deeper rest and peace.
* *
He had awakened one hour after
darkness had fallen. Sure he had not been discovered Takekazu stripped
of his armour and hid it in the bushes, taking from his saddle bags
his peasants' ninja clothing of the blackest colouring, and tying his
special bag tightly around his waist. Careful of being seen, his lithe
body blended invisibly with the areas of darkness. He travelled from
house to house, garden to garden, avoiding the streets full of people
shouting. He heard them talking loudly about the fierce battle that
had raged briefly before all had been slain by their rival lord. He
saw many heads impaled on long poles as he passed the main areas of
commerce and markets in the village centre, some he knew, some he did
not. His tears melted into his black clothing as his determination to
avenge their useless deaths grew inside his mind and body.
Finally he perched halfway up a thick bushy tree outside the
house of his choosing. It was the only family in the village who had
been reported to his father's samurai as having some allegiance with
the rival clan. But it was not reported as to which of the family
claimed that allegiance. He was determined to find out if he had to
torture every member of the family. Takekazu peered from his vantage
point within the leafy branches, through the lighted window of the
thatched wooden and paper home. He saw a woman cooking, helped by two
younger women he presumed to be her daughters. Of a man he could see
nothing, and then he did, fleetingly as he passed by the window, then
returned to peer out into the darkness before closing it to Takekazu's
hidden view. The man's face had been serious, his eyes deep and
clouded.
Maybe with guilt, thought Takekazu, as he waited for the man to
leave the window. Then he gingerly allowed himself to fall silently
onto the grassy ground. He decided to enter their home through the
roof, a task easily accomplished through his special ninja training.
There he would wait and observe, listen and maybe discover by accident
and luck who the traitor was. Then he would kill them. It would be as
simple as that.
Like the most agile of black cats did he jump and climb from
ground to fence to tree and finally to the roof board extending
outwards on the style of home that was common in the village. Most
residents did not ever venture into the roof of their homes for fear
of falling through the thin supporting boards or being bitten by
spiders or other such things as the imagination might believe lived
there. Cautiously he squeezed his supple body through and between the
out and the inner supports until finally he was inside, plunged into
the inky darkness warmed by the cooking stoves in the main kitchen
beneath. He waited for several minutes for his eyes to accustom
themselves to the blackness. Then slowly he crept forward, his weight
spread evenly in his balance, lightly feeling the direction of each
rafter with the toes and the balls of his feet.
His hearing guided him as well, sensing the direction of voices
floating upwards and through the thin roofing structure. And so did
his toes and feet guide him that way until at last he squatted,
suspended and supported between two rafters directly above the
conversations floating up to him. As he listened, the words began to
take on meaning, but after a half an hour he gained nothing new in his
plight, other than the usual conversations one would expect around the
table at mealtime.
Takekazu decided to wait and explore the roof in total until all
had retired for the night. Within an hour he had accurately located
and committed to memory the areas of all sleeping quarters, one for
the husband and wife and two separate rooms for each of the daughters.
He waited patiently and within a short while after that all had
retired for the night. He moved silently back to the area above the
husband and wife's room, bending low, placing his ear to the rook to
listen through the small hole he had previously cut.
The sounds he heard angered him even more as he listened to the
pillow talk and soft gentle sounds of bodies gently slapping thighs.
They could still make love, he thought, even though their lord's
samurai had been slaughtered that very day. His vengeance seethed
within his mind and senses, realising that one or the other beneath
him, or both, for that matter, could be the traitor, or traitors.
Maybe they were celebrating the victory of their betrayal in the
entwining of their bodies and limbs? He thought.
Silently Takekazu lifted upwards and backwards the manhole size
piece of thatch- work from the roof flooring he had previously
perforated. He placed it down, balancing it evenly on the rafters
behind him. Peering over the edge he waited for his eyes to adjust
once again. It took only seconds. He could make out easily the
buttocks of the husband as he ground himself against those of his wife
beneath him who was positioned on all four limbs like an animal.
Takekazu then wasted no more time, driven by his earlier thought
of them celebrating the victory of their betrayal. He reached into his
small bag at his waist and drew out two long six-inch steel spikes,
sharpened to fine points. Then, holding his breath and judging his
flight he sprang, dropping silently but solidly upon the back of the
man bent over the back of his wife beneath him.
The man collapsed with a grunt, driving his wife's body flat and
hard into the floor. Quickly he slapped his hands together on either
side of the man's head, driving the deadly spikes deeply into the
man's skull. The husband grunted softly, then fell sideways to the
floor, dead before his body's weight had fully settled onto the tatami
thick matting. He stepped away from the trembling corpse and looked
down at the naked woman who was beginning to stir after having had the
breath knocked from her body after he had fallen onto her husband's
back. She moaned softly, drawing one knee upwards and close to her
chest, gasping deeply.
Takekazu reached quickly into the small pouch at his waist,
emptied a small portion of the white powder into the palm of his hand
and straddled the woman's naked back. He snapped his hand with the
powder over the woman's gasping open mouth, holding her head backwards
and still with his free hand. She was forced to inhale the powerful
and quick- acting hypnotic powder, tensing and stiffening in his grip
in alarm, sucking deeply, which is exactly what he had expected she
would do. Her shoulders struggled and her head twisted beneath his
grip, but he held her firmly. No doubt she thought he was her husband,
Takekazu thought. Then finally, after a few more futile struggling
moments he felt her relax and slacken beneath his grip. He released
her head and face slowly, allowing her to collapse gently down into
the matting, sighing loudly.
Takekazu's ears strained for sounds of discovery, but heard none.
The naked woman breathed deeply, calmly, seemingly very relaxed and
peaceful. Quickly he flipped the stunned woman onto her back and fell
between her thighs, working quickly and hungrily on the already moist
softness of the folds of her secret place. The thick bud of her
womanhood stood erect and waiting for his mouth, as also waited the
slickness of her centre as he searched her with his tongue. He lifted
her quickly to the heights of her peak, searching her inner ridges and
pressuring them sensuously while she moaned softly, her hands
caressing the back of his head. He ate and feasted forcefully of all
she had to offer him. Takekazu had to take her to her peak and hold
her there, quickly, gaining any information, knowing she would have no
conscious knowledge of releasing information to him during the throes
of her body's strongest arousal.
Forty-one-year-old Miko could not quite understand what was
happening to her mind, but she knew exactly what was happening to her
body. The springtime of the cherry blossoms had come again in her
loins, making her feel as she did when just a girl. She would deal
with her husband for hurting her later, after she had blossomed with
the cherry trees of all Japan at the summit of her Mt Fuji. That would
be when the volcano in her loins exploded and threw her bodily from
the dizzy heights of passion and lust. Yet Miko sensed there was
something different in her husband's handling of her, but she didn't
mind. It was lifting her higher by the second. She would have to make
him a special breakfast in gratitude in the morning when she would
awaken. Yukio always awoke refreshed after her body had been taken to
winged flight the night before in her husband's warm and strong
embrace.
Takekazu sensed she was rapidly approaching that point. Her
buttocks were thrusting firmly against his face, straining her wet fur
matting forward for him to take her secret place more harshly. He took
the pulsing shaft of her pleasure core deeply into his mouth, sucking
strongly, tugging it round and round, up and down forcefully, waiting
for the perfect moment, his tongue, his samurai sword, lancing and
slashing, cutting its burning arcs one after the other across and
around, up and down the throbbing core of female sensation.
Miko's breathing deepened to irregular, silent gasps, remaining
quiet in her awareness of her daughters in the adjoining rooms either
side of her. Her hips and buttocks began to verge on the edge of their
own control. She knew it would not be long now. Her senses swam in the
childhood memories of her first sexual joining and her breasts flamed
and her nipples engorged with passion, stinging hotly. She wanted them
sucked deeply into her husband's mouth, and to feel the sharp bite of
his teeth at her nipples. His flaming arrow she wanted to pierce her
quivering centre before it was too late. She tried to call his name,
but everything seemed hazy as her rapidly rising passion whisked her
dangerously to the edge of Mount Fuji and held her, hovering there
with rapturous fate uncertain.
Sensing the moment Takekazu jammed three fingers deeply into the
wet heaving centre of the Japanese woman's thighs. She groaned deeply
from the pit of her stomach. He felt it and leaned over her face as he
began to thrust his fingers violently and rapidly up inside her hot
channel.
"Who betrayed the Lord's family?" He asked firmly into her ear,
holding her head steady in her passionate throes as she tried to toss
it from side to side in burning search of release.
What was her husband asking her? Who's family? Miko wondered as
her hips and buttocks began to jerk, almost uncontrollably. Her mind
and body strained for release, her centre ached and throbbed, wanting
the driving hand deeper and faster, harder and fuller inside of her
squeezing, gripping channel. Why did he keep her waiting like this? He
sounded so far away. Now was not the time for talk. She groaned,
firing her gaping junction downwards, hard against the driving fingers
that filled her, penetrated her repeatedly and so wonderfully, so
deeply. They seemed to be feeling her from the inside out. So
different, Miko thought wondrously, as her hips and buttocks squeezed
that which filled her aching void, trying to trap it forever inside
her molten depths.
Takekazu repeated the question, closer to her ear as she strained
and forced herself against his hand and driving fingers. He was
holding her at the very edge of her precipice, taunting her body,
teasing it mercilessly. Holding her face still he placed his ear next
to her opening and closing mouth, repeating the question again and
again.
"Whaat?" She groaned quietly, desperately in lustful anguish.
"Not nooowwww! Ooohh! You know ... it was ... Kiko. But I ... told
you. Oooohh! Please! Take me to ... Mount Fuji ... now! Ooohh! Oooh!
Oooh!! Ooh! Yyeeeeeeessssssssss! Ooooooohhhhhhh! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
Yyyyeeeeeesssssssss! Oooooooohhhhhhhh! Nnnnnnnnyyyeeeesss!"
Takekazu dove his hand deeply the instant he had the information
he wanted. He lifted her firmly by the insides of her twisting
writhing channel, plunging his hand into her deeply, physically, over
and over again. His other hand gripped her head as she fought strongly
to twist it sideways. She bucked wildly in the heaving throes of her
peak's rapid arrival in her centre and buttocks. When he was sure she
raptured in the midst of her pleasure's passing he helped her do just
that. Quickly he withdrew his hand from between her steaming thighs,
then clamped it strongly with his other on the side of her head. Then
he twisted violently, snapping and breaking her neck as easily as he
would a meaningless twig from the forest floor.
The mother of the traitorous girl collapsed into the mattress
with a loud sigh, dead, as the last breath of un-lived and unfelt
passion and lust left her lungs for the final time. Takekazu stood
and gazed down at the dead naked woman, feeling nothing but contempt
for her. Kiko, he repeated the name to himself as he moved quietly
away from the now silent and still naked, trembling corpse. That must
be one of the daughters, but which one? He puzzled as he crept
silently out into the hallway, knowing the two adjoining rooms must
contain one daughter each. He had discovered that from his earlier
search while still in the roof waiting for them all to retire.
Takekazu knew he would just have to find out the hard way.
* * *
Takekazu paused outside the open
doorway and strained his ears, listening for the telltale sign of deep
and even breathing. Then, smiling thinly, he crept on silently on
padded feet, into the room and across to where the blanket covered the
sleeping form of one daughters. Whether it was Kiko or not, he had no
way of knowing. All that was visible was the girl's black hair
covering her shoulders as she lay on her back, breathing peacefully.
Her arms were beneath the covers.
He reached into his waist bag, bringing out a small portion of
the white hypnotic powder in the hollow of his palm. Then, quietly
kneeling down beside the sleeping girl he held his palm steady and
straddled her waist, effectively trapping her arms beneath the blanket
as his knees pressed it tightly into the thick tatami matting. She did
not stir as he leaned forward, palm open and steady until it hovered
just below her mouth and nostrils. He knew that once the white powder
was in her bloodstream it would only take a few minutes for it to
reach its full and debilitating effect on her body's system. And that
was irrespective of whether it was inhaled or mixed with the saliva in
her mouth.
Takekazu's other hand readied to hold her head steady. Then
quickly he cupped his open palm fully over the mouth and nose of the
sleeping girl, at the same time gripping her head firmly. Her eyes
flew wide open in terror the instant he touched her, two round,
circular orbs white with fear and half-glazed momentarily from being
shocked from a deep sleep. She tried to twist her head, but it was
useless. He held her still. She sucked in deeply, screaming beneath
his palm, but the sound went no further than his skin. Her chest
heaved as she gasped and drew the white powder deeply into her lungs
and mouth. Takekazu settled heavily down on her tensed stomach to
restrict her movements. Then he watched and waited for the signs of
the hypnotic drug to begin coursing through her body's racing
bloodstream.
Within three minutes her struggles began to diminish to feeble
movements, and then to barely none at all. Her eyes glazed fully, but
remained half-open. Her breathing stabilised to once more becoming
deep and steady. He eased some of his weight off her stomach as it
relaxed, and then moved completely from her now relaxed form
altogether. Slowly he then removed the blanket from her body,
revealing her sleeping costume - a white knee-length thin robe.
Reaching down to take hold of it at her knees, he lifted it as high as
he could, noting immediately the girl wore nothing beneath it. She was
nude. Takekazu rolled her over onto her stomach and lifted the
nightwear again, up and over her firm buttocks and halfway up along
her back. With a soft grunt he then reefed it up to her shoulders and
over her head. Then he rolled her over onto her back.
Takekazu then rested back on his haunches as he dropped the
girl's nightdress to the matting. He allowed his eyes a few seconds to
take in her naked form. Her breasts were full and firm, her age being
in her late teenage years, maybe around eighteen or nineteen. Her
nipples were dark and elongated. Gazing between her open thighs he saw
she had practically no brush between her thighs at all. His hand
reached down and felt the girl's soft warm mound. It was made free of
any body-hair, which surprised him - that art usually left to the
geisha community. Her soft flesh pulsed beneath his fingertips. Her
slit felt sooth and a little moist as his finger gently parted the
swelling folds of her bare crease. He searched for the core of her
pleasure, then, finding it between his finger and thumb, proceeded to
stroke her small shaft up and down a few times. The drugged girl
moaned softly and sighed, her mouth opening, her tongue snaking slowly
out to moisten her lips. He smiled thinly and withdrew his hand, then
leaned down to whisper into her ear.
"What is your name?" he breathed firmly.
"Mmmm.. Yukio." The tranced girl responded dreamily.
He sighed. She wasn't the traitor. He thought for a few seconds
while he watched the girl's own delicate hand search for and quickly
find the apex of her own pleasure to begin tiny circling movements
across her own soft core. He decided to press forward for further
information while he had the chance.
"Did you help Kiko betray your lord's family?" he asked softly.
"Mmmm.. Yes." She replied as her pleasure deepened at the tips of
her own gentle fingers.
Takekazu's face hardened, knowing the whole family had been
involved in the betrayal, one way or the other. The girl had sealed
her own fate. Watching her sensual fingering actions he felt himself
harden, and then he grinned. Why shouldn't she pay with more than her
life? He thought angrily. Her hands glided across her velvet skin,
hips and buttocks beginning now to thrust gently against the
pressuring and circling actions of her own hand and fingers. His
half-erect penis, curved and supple and pulsating lay at an angle to
his scrotum within the tight confines of his black suit, straining for
area to grow to fullness, yet finding none. He stood quickly and
removed his pants, then knelt close to her side.
"Come to me!" He whispered firmly into her ear. "You will give
yourself to me now!"
Yukio tried to fight the fog closing over her mind. She heard the
strange voice, knew she was naked in the man's presence, yet could do
nothing of her conscious will about her terrible situation. Her mind
felt entrapped, her energy lazy and willing to accede to his command.
She felt him remove her nightwear, touch her secret place where only
she and her sister ever touched and fondled, for she had yet to have a
man lay between her thighs and take her as a grown woman. Her senses
reeled with the sensation of pleasure rippling through her lower belly
and thighs, sampling deeply with her own gentle hands and fingers.
Then slowly her mind cleared a little. It told her she must obey the
invader's command, while somewhere in the back of her mind she
wondered who he was. And for that matter, why he had wanted to know
about her family's part in the betrayal of their lord's family. Then
she lost the thought completely when she heard his strong male voice
whisper urgently to her again, repeating her instructions to come to
him.
Her hands ceased their self-pleasuring actions instantly. She
blinked a few times and slowly sat up, her eyes half-open and still
glazed, unable to focus clearly. She turned towards the sound of his
breathing, yet saw him not by clear focus. A strange taste lay inside
her mouth and on her tongue. Her hands reached for him, lightly
brushing the tip of his penis. It flicked up momentarily, twitching,
then stiffened rigidly at the attention of her soft, warm hands. They
felt for his scrotum and cupped him gently, squeezing softly. She
heard his breathing deepen, but remain steady.
Takekazu lay back, sighing and exhaling long and slowly. Her
hands dug deeply into the muscles of his legs, kneading, pushing,
squeezing. Her fine black hair dropped own over her forehead,
partially covering one eye. She slowly swept it back with a lazy easy
motion. Slowly her fingers started again, a frown etched on her
forehead. Why was he here? She wondered. Who was he? He saw her
watching his face, although he didn't think she was focussing on im
clearly. Her fingers massaged his chest. He groaned as she touched the
hurt from his earlier battle and fighting.
His expression remained unchanged, Yukio noticed as her vision
cleared slowly, but his row furrowed. She hoped she hadn't hurt him.
Yukio tried to remember everything her sister told her about pleasing
men as part of her bridal training. She had seen the pillow books and
read all the sensual stories of what to do. Her pulse began to race
and her heart began to thump wildly in her chest as her hands swept
down his stomach to his abdomen. Her feathery touch rippled the
muscles of his mid-section, but his expression still remained
unchanged. His eyes were closed, nostrils flared, a thin smile
stretched across his lips. What was happening, she wondered? Was she
not pleasing him enough?
Her hands slipped around his testicles, soft and smooth. She
curled her fingers around his penis and began to pull and twist.
Takekazu groaned silently as she caressed him slowly, smoothly. It
soothed him from memories of earlier that day in the battle. He opened
his eyes and looked up at her, his eyes keen and sure in the darkness.
She shook her shoulders slightly when she saw him begin to watch her.
Now she could focus, he observed. With her hands released from his she
rubbed her breasts briefly until the nipples stiffened and lengthened
before his eyes. Her legs were slightly spread in her kneeling
position, her crescent parted and clearly visible to his gaze. Then
she leaned forward and lowered her mouth to his lower stomach as its
tongue began a ritual dance. He drew up his knees, widening the
resting place of his feet, allowing her more open access to him.
Takekazu reached for her, placing a hand between her legs as she
dipped her little finger deeply between his buttocks. He shivered with
pleasure. Her finger then began to circle his entrance sensually,
rippling his pleasure outwards from between his buttocks and into his
whole body.
Yukio's lips formed an oval and slipped down over his awakening
penis. She could feel his pulse with her tongue as she moistened it
with her saliva. She inched her own knees farther apart at the feel of
his hand sliding up her thigh now, gently stroking her soft, young
skin. Yukio covered his penis fully with her mouth, her tongue leaping
and spinning, stroking his stiffness with her inexpert, but eager
touch. His hand rose slowly up her thigh until his fingers glided into
her waiting warmth. She shivered as she felt his touch, her first
touch by a man, there, in her secret place. She arched her legs wider
apart.
Takekazu's toes curled inwards as he felt the first wave of
sensual pleasure pass over his body. He placed his other hand on the
top of Yukio's head, forcing her mouth to make more penetrating
motions. He drove his fingers into her slippery smoothness, felt her
maidenhead tear, bringing a soft cry of pain from her throat, his
thumb and forefinger around the source of her sexual joy. Then she
lifted up from his groin and turn herself around, her eyes closed, her
body responding automatically. She guided her hips over his
mid-section until she was poised above him, her back to his face. He
arched his lower back and found her silkiness, entering her slowly,
his penis fully erect, hard, and wide. He controlled his motion,
slowly, ever slowly, to prolong the pinnacle of pleasure.
Yukio squatted on her hands and knees, the pain of his entry long
gone, rotating her lower body in harmony with his upward thrusts. His
motions became more pronounced, more vertical. Her body began to
quiver with ecstasy. Then his body suddenly lunged with a more
powerful movement upwards as he grasped her hips with his hands and
pulled her down hard as he arched upwards, thrusting, pushing, his
penis penetrating and withdrawing, attacking and retreating. She could
feel the waves begin to spread throughout her mind and body. One after
the other. Then suddenly she grunted as he made one powerful lunge
upwards into her widely-stretched junction and she felt his hot semen
rocket into her. Her vaginal muscles closed quickly, automatically
around his hot hardness. She held him tightly between her legs,
shaking, her hands clutching his ankles as he groaned quietly.
Takekazu heard her gasp as he emptied himself deeply into her
virginal insides and thrust viciously upwards into her one last time.
She gasped and exploded, her body shimmering with sweat in the cool
dark. Then she quickly spun around on his penis, facing him, her eyes
shining brightly in the dark, her mouth open and still gasping with
orgasmic rapture, her tongue out and down to one side of her mouth.
Her lips were pulled hard back against her white teeth, giving her an
animalistic appearance to his gaze. She kept him inside herself during
her sudden turn on him, until finally she collapsed on his chest with
a loud sigh, kissing his nipple, toying at it lazily with her tongue
as she gasped in regaining her breathing.
He undulated quietly within her as his thoughts regained their
composure of what had to be done, for no other reason than it simply
had to be done. She licked his erect nipple and then sucked on it
strongly as he placed one hand either side of her head and held her
lightly, his thumbs gently caressing her temples. She moaned softly.
Then he firmed his grip and snapped her head quickly sideways, once
each way, left and right, breaking her neck surely and cleanly. She
stiffened and arched in his grip while he held her. Then she sighed
loudly and collapsed on top of him. He rolled her sideways with an
upward heave of his groin, throwing her lifeless body onto the tatami
matting like so much unwanted garbage. Then he dressed quickly,
straining his ears for sounds that might tell him his presence had
been detected.
He fastened his waist bag once again. The loss of his fallen
comrades and friends cut through his heart. His blood began to boil
with hatred and revenge for the traitorous woman sleeping peacefully
and safe in the comfort of her blankets. So many of his men lay dead
on the battlefields, their families without fathers, without brothers
and sisters, without husbands to care for them as they grow. Gritting
his teeth, he crept soundlessly from the room and towards where his
destiny awaited him, as well as she who would soon be no longer among
the living.
* * * *
His breathing calmed and his jaw gritted as he peered around the shoji
screen, allowing his eyes the time needed to discern the sleeping
shape of the traitor who slept peacefully beneath the warmth of her
blanket. Kiko, the traitor, who would soon breathe no more, he
decided, as he moved stealthily into her room. No amount of torture
would be suitable in extracting his revenge and then bestowing his
vengeance upon her. She would know fully the reason she was about to
forfeit her life, exiting it as painfully as he could arrange.
Takekazu moved closer, reaching once again into his waist-bag for
the white powder, taking a larger amount than he had taken for her
sister. He knelt quietly down on one knee onto the matting beside her
sleeping form and steadied his palm to force the hypnotic powder into
her nostrils and mouth as she opened her mouth in fright when he
grabbed her. She was lying on her back, as had been her sister, her
head facing slightly to one side, her long black hair spread above the
blanket which covered her shapely form from her toes to her neck.
He lifted his right leg to step over her when suddenly his groin
exploded in blinding pain and fury. He grunted and fell sideways as
the now fully-awake young woman quickly withdrew the foot that had
pistonned upwards and rocketed into his groin and sprang to her feet,
crouching and staring at him, rubbing her eyes frantically with her
hands as her eyes blazed wide and staring at him sprawled upon the
thick tatami matting.
"Baka!" she spat at him. Idiot!
Takekazu sprang quickly and nimbly to his feet, his groin
flaming, his testicles throbbing painfully. He stared into the
slitted, cold eyes of she who had taken him by surprise.
"Chikusho!" he cursed aloud. Damn! He had been taken for a fool
by this she-devil traitor of a woman. Woman? Ha! Takekazu thought
angrily. She only looked like a teenager, but he was wary nevertheless
as he began to circle her, his eyes never leaving her steely gaze for
a single moment. She circled with him, although never leaving her
central position as he moved around her from left to right. He
crouched low, watching, waiting, allowing her to make the next move.
And she did.
As if she had coiled springs in the souls of her feet she leaped
and sprang at him, high in the air, covering the distance between them
like a blast of cold wind. He ducked and moved to the right, but not
quickly enough to get clear of her flashing foot. It rocketed into his
shoulder, missing his head by only the barest margin, the sheer force
of her flashing foot spinning him like a child's toy. He tumbled, off
balance and falling to the matting, only to quickly gain his footing
and crouch once again to stare at the wisp of a girl with a new sense
of caution in his mind and awareness. His gaze found hers already
waiting, her eyes flashing and blazing her confidence at him, angering
him even more. The pain from her kick was nothing to that which he had
felt in battle, yet he felt himself growing hot beneath his black
clothing in embarrassment at being handled like a mere student by only
a young girl.
"So, da-ne!" she hissed angrily at him. That's right! And then
she insulted him directly. "Itte'rashai!" Please come again!
Takekazu's blood pressure rose instantly. The girl was insulting
him, taunting him over the way she had so easily handled his attack on
her. He gritted his teeth firmly together, steadying his racing heart
and pulse, controlling his temper, knowing that to lose it would
surely mean the end of him. Jisatsu. Suicide. For this girl, young as
she may be, was no student when it came to fighting, lacking neither
skills nor courage in her displaying of both to him. He began to
circle her again, keeping low to the matting, staring past her,
allowing his peripheral vision to detect the slightest movement from
her before her body had actually moved into the strike, whatever it
happened to be.
Kiko watched the invader dressed in black, her thoughts only now
turning to those of her family, wondering why they had not come to
investigate the noise in her room. Then her heart saddened as the
reality set firmly into her mind. They had not come because they could
not come. They were all dead. He had killed them all. And with that
her resolve to kill him increased. She had already despatched him
twice. Dressed as a ninja he might be, she thought confidently, but so
far she had been able to outsmart him and outfight him. Her training
as a secret assassin for the family lord's rival had seen her talents
trained and honed to a cutting edge; those deadly talents of which had
already been responsible for many strange and unexplained deaths in
the family lord's province and villages. Kiko was Shihi, a woman of
courage, one of an elite cell of revolutionary samurai idealists,
fanatically loyal to her causes, whatever they happened to be as told
her by her superiors. And now this nonperson had killed her family.
Kiko's blood boiled in sheer rage at the thought of her younger
sister who had yet not had the feeling of a man between her thighs.
She suddenly sprang forward towards him, tumbling at a blistering pace
across the thick matting, knowing he would be expecting her to leap
through the air again. She held her breath while she tumbled. Her
thighs tensed like coils springs as she rolled across the matting. As
she tumbled she readied to unleash her powerfully trained legs and
hardened heels like two arrows into his midsection while he looked for
air in the air.
Had he not been using his peripheral vision Takekazu might not
have seen her ploy, which was to appear to leap up, but then roll at
devastating speed towards him across the tatami matting. This Nemi,
Courtesan, he thought insultingly of her talents now, had made her
first mistake in underestimating him and being overconfident in her
own abilities. She had taken her victory too soon and would now pay
the price.
Although the whole event from beginning to end had seemed to
happen in slow motion, it had, in fact, been but a split second. As
Kiko arrived, tumbling at his feet, her own powerful legs and thighs
unleashed and exploded upwards towards his midsection like to rockets.
Takekazu stepped back at the last instant, holding his move lest she
should become aware of his knowledge of her ploy. Her legs stopped
their explosive travel in the softness of his black clothing, but his
flesh was a little further away and remained untouched by the feet of
steel. And in that vulnerable instant, when both her legs were
extended, slightly apart did he strike.
He dropped to one knee and drove his rock-hard fist between both
outstretched legs, exploding his clenched knuckles into her centre,
driving his powerful strike onwards, even after it had made contact
with the soft flesh of her female parts. His attacker groaned deeply,
her extended legs and thighs collapsing lifeless onto the matting,
then were drawn up tightly into her chest as she writhed before him.
She moaned, her hands diving deeply between her legs to hold herself
in an attempt to blot from her mind the extreme pain she felt in her
soft loins.
Takekazu saw his chance immediately and reached quickly into his
waist bag, only again scooping as much of the white hypnotic powder as
his nimble fingertips could manage. He fell upon the groaning girl
who gasped deeply for breath amongst her blinding pain and jammed his
palm containing the white powder fully over her mouth and nose, then
held her face. He heard her suck deeply and cough, the white powder
not inhaled rose like a small cloud of smoke before her head. Then she
twisted and rolled sideways away from him to regain her footing and
crouch to stare at him, one hand moving quickly to wipe her face and
mouth, the other gripping her groin. Her face remained twisted in pain
as she watched him.
"Baka!" Idiot! He spat back at her, returning her earlier insult
and knowing the game of death was now over. It was now only a matter
of time before the effects of the hypnotic drug would take effect
inside her body's system. Takekazu estimated she had drawn enough of
it into her system to now give him the upper hand and the control of
both their fates.
Takekazu stared at her, allowing deliberately a thin smile to
creep into his face and his voice as he spoke again.
"Owari mash'ta!" We are finished! He told her confidently and
then visibly relaxed his physical appearance to drive home the point
to her conscious mind.
"Kinjiru! Kinjiru! Kiko screamed at him loudly, afraid for the
first time of him, not knowing what the strange taste was in her mouth
from the powder he had forced into it. Already beginning to feel very
strange within herself. The pain from her groin was quietly subsiding.
Get out! Get out!
Takekazu just waited and watched, sure of what would shortly
follow. He watched her eyes, her gaze, waiting for the telltale signs
of the drug's effect, a glazing, a relaxing of the rigid stance she
now fought to hold herself in. Then suddenly, taking him completely by
surprise, she leaped quickly at him like an arrow shot from an
archer's bow. Her move took him by surprise. He ducked and threw
himself sideways, but was not fast enough to escape. He threw his
head away from the lightning foot flashing towards him, only to
realise too late it had been a feint, and he had fallen prey to its
ploy. Her rock-hard fist exploded like fury into the side of his head,
stunning him momentarily.
He fell hard onto the matting, grateful for its softness. His
head throbbed, his vision swam and he fought hard to regain his focus
and footing at the same time. He stood shakily, turning to find her,
but again she found him first, her arms locking themselves about his
neck, preparing to despatch him the way he had, unknown to her,
despatched her family. Takekazu desperately cleared his mind and
sured his footing into the matting, forgetting momentarily about the
white powder that coursed through her system. Takekazu leaned forward,
quickly reached beneath him and grabbed her forcefully by both ankles,
then ripped her feet through his widespread legs with a force of a
god. At the same time he threw himself violently backwards into her
body, snapping his head back hard into her face. They flew backwards
through the air locked together, he still gripping her firmly by the
ankles, she still with her deathlike grip about his neck.
Kiko only knew her nose was broken. She had heard the bone break
before she had felt the blinding pain in her brain. Now she tasted her
own blood, warm and salty, felt it streaming from her nose and down
her face. She flew through the air backwards, desperately trying to
snap his neck before she hit the matting, knowing it would be her last
and only chance. Whatever the powder contained had made its effects
felt within her mind and system. It had taken all of her courage, all
of her mental and physical strength to attempt one last attack. She
thought she had succeeded too, but she had not anticipated that her
awareness and reflexes had slowed slightly, not much, but enough. She
had to break his neck or she would die. Of that she was certain.
Takekazu allowed his weight to go leaden, hoping that when they
hit the tatami matting he would crush her, drive the living breath
from her body. Then he would finish her once and for all. It was only
a matter of time. He felt her trying to twist his neck, but her
strength was failing her so fast he could tell he need not worry about
that part of her final and futile attack. They both hit hard. He
grunted and fell even more deeply into her, hearing with satisfaction
the air whoosh from her mouth near his ear. He heard her grunt in
agony, felt her powerful arms release their captive grip about his
neck. Quickly he rolled off her and sprang to his haunches, seeing her
holding her stomach as the blood poured from her nose and mouth. Her
eyes were closed, her face twisted in pain as she fought to regain her
breath.
Quickly he dropped to one knee beside her, and, reaching into his
waist bag yet again. He scraped the last of the white powder into his
palm and jammed it forcefully into her bleeding mouth and nose in time
with a deep gasp from her. She sucked strongly, twisting her head from
side to side, grabbing his arms by the wrists that held her head, but
her strength was that of a child. She was finished, and suddenly, all
of his pain vanished. He had won. And she, had lost.
"Shigata ga nai!" He said loudly to her in his victory voice. Bad
luck! Time to move on! Then he sat back on his buttocks, landing
heavily and relaxing into the soft matting. He felt the tension drain
away from his mind and body like a block of ice melting down in the
hot sun, yet still keeping his wary gaze on the now-subdued girl. With
every passing second he knew she was falling more under the effects of
the powerful hypnotic drug she had ingested so much of. He sighed and
breathed deeply, regaining his total control and composure, already
planning her departure from the land of mortal men and women.
Takekazu had won. He was filled with a pride he had not felt in a long
time. For the first time now he looked at the fallen girl with a
measure of respect. She had been a worthy opponent, he concluded.
Then, with a smile, he thought, but not worthy enough!
* * * * *
With no-one in the house alive but just the two of them Takekazu lit
the lamps in the room that contained them both and saw for the first
time the full damage he had caused his adversary. He inspected her at
close quarters. Her nose was broken and her lips were split top and
bottom. Both were already showing signs of swelling, blood still
flowed freely from each, although now slowing slightly. He rolled her
over onto her side automatically and without thinking, allowing her to
breathe without choking on her own blood. She groaned loudly. Her arms
lay lifeless beside her on the matting, her legs drawn upwards a
little, not quite making her chest. The white nightwear she wore was
covered in blood. Her eyes were open and glazed, her breathing now
quickly becoming regular and deep from the effects of the hypnotic
drug. He sighed. She was a mess, Takekazu decided cruelly as he gazed
impassionately down at his fallen foe. Then he felt for the first time
in his life what it felt like to truly hold the power of life and
death over an opponent in the palm of his hands. It felt good.
He knelt slowly down beside her waist, sliding a long-bladed
knife from its snug sheath strapped to the inside of his right calf.
Gripping the handle firmly he placed the razor sharp edge of the blade
to her throat, then slowly lifted the bloodstained neckline of her
nightwear and carefully held it away from her chest. Then, with the
knife tip pointing downwards towards her thighs, he ran the sharp
blade slowly, slitting the flimsy material from top to bottom.
Replacing the knife in its sheath on his leg he separated the two
halves of material with his fingertips, opened each side and lay it
against the tatami matting. After pausing for a few seconds he again
withdrew the long knife and slit the material away from each arm,
cutting quickly from her armpit to her neck. He put the knife back in
its sheath again and folded the entire nightdress away from her body,
gazing at the naked form of his opponent, open and more vulnerable
than she had been before in his presence.
His eyes roamed from her neck to her ankles, several times over
before settling back once more onto her bruised and still-bleeding
face. Then slowly they wandered back to her breasts, lingering there,
taking in the ripe fullness, the dark brown circles at the base of
each nipple, which, in themselves stood stiff and erect, pointing
towards the roof in their rigidity. Leaving the sensual fullness of
her gently rising and falling breasts, his gaze trailed leisurely
downwards to the apex between her thighs. Her junction yielded to his
eyes an erotic view of its lush thick brush of curly black pubic hair,
unlike her sister who had been hairless in that region.
Takekazu closed his eyes and thought of his wife. She also had
been well cared for from mother nature in the keeping warm of the
entrance to her jade gates. Her two full lips were covered thickly
with a dense matting of long black hairs, which then trailed down the
inside of her thighs a little way. Between his wife's ample buttocks
the forest of black hairs also grew in healthy fashion. He opened his
eyes, his gaze homing in directly on the forest of black hair between
his fallen opponent's thighs, his gaze remaining fixated on her
junction until he realised how hard he had become between his thighs.
Without thinking another thought he moved quickly between her
legs, grasping each ankle and spreading them more widely apart. His
hands went smoothly beneath her buttocks and around up over her lower
groin, whereupon his deft fingers spread the lips of her slit wide.
His mouth lowered, gripped her core at its shaft and sucked strongly,
his tongue lapping and licking the swollen little core until it
stiffened and became as rigid as was his own staff. Soft moans began
to sound from her swollen mouth as he tugged his tasty morsel of firm
flesh downwards and then back up again, unsheathing it fully from its
enclosing hood each time he did so. He dragged her pulsing core around
in circles, back and forth, his tongue dragging its flat back along
its full length each time, then spearing savagely when he reversed his
action.
The moaning of his fallen opponent increased in volume and
sincerity, and inside he smiled, deciding again that she, too, would
depart this mortal world at the height of her peak. She would never
arrive at that final summit of sheer raw pleasure and rapture her mind
and body would believe was its natural right by the time he had
finished her sensual preparation. He sucked and tongued her warm wet
junction more savagely, more fiercely, more aggressively, delighting
in feeling her hips and buttocks begin to take on a mind of their own.
They began to gently thrust themselves into his invading mouth and
tongue. Takekazu sensed knowingly she was rapidly approaching her
peak. He ceased all actions.
"Ki-ite, ite!" he snapped at her angrily. Listen!
Kiko's eyes opened, blinked several times, then closed slowly
downwards. Then they opened again, this time staying open. Her loins
were on fire, as were the depths of her buttocks and her secret jewel.
The numbness of her nose and face she felt, but the pain was not. Her
mind felt light and unaware, as if trapped in a dream somewhere out of
her body. She was aware, yet she was not, only of the deep pleasure
she had felt when he had fastened his hot mouth to the gates of her
cherry flower and had lapped and sucked strongly on her as if feasting
for the first time in many days. She felt as if she were his meal of
living flesh and her heart beat wildly with her pulse as it pounded
painlessly at her temples.
He had beaten her. She realised that. Kiko also realised that the
strange tasting powder he had forced into her body was some type of
hypnotic. She, also had been trained to use it on spies to get the
truth of their actions from their willing mouths, once the drug had
taken effect on their minds and bodies. They were powerless to resist,
even though they were clearly aware of what was happening to them and
that which they were asked to do. Kiko had seen many of her superiors
use the drug on prisoners and then tell them to commit seppuku.
Suicide.
It was a very effective drug, and she knew it coursed freely
through her system. She had tried it once to see how her future
prisoners felt after she had given it to them. Inside she was
completely alert, aware of everything that was going on, but outside
and within her body and mind's choice of action she knew she was only
awaiting instructions from her captor. Kiko half-expected him to tell
her to commit seppuku the moment he had finished staring at her
nudity. Within her awareness she felt embarrassed to be viewed by a
male while she was without clothes, open and vulnerable. Her bushy
centre lay freely there for his timeless inspection and judgment, but
in some other part of her mind Kiko felt aroused, and knew it.
"Kite!" he commanded her forcefully. Come!
Takekazu stood and undressed completely, then sat and waited. She
was slow to respond, as if still fighting the drug in her mind. His
body absorbed the intense heat of the revenge he intended to extract
from his hypnotised and vanquished opponent. His blood circulated in
saturated arteries, bringing rich oxygen to empower his brain and
loins. Then he saw her move her shoulders, and slowly she sat up, her
face swollen and bloody, her body blood-streaked to her waist and
across her breasts, but sensuous in its complete nudity before his
gaze. She rose awkwardly to her knees and moved close to him, reaching
out with one shaking hand and touching his shoulder. He flinched
slightly at the softness and the gentleness of her touch on his skin.
His thoughts began to return to times of sensual wonder he had spent
with his wife.
Kiko felt and then saw her hands rise before her eyes to gently
massage his face with her fingertips. Inside herself she struggled to
restrict the movements of her hands, yet from deep within her she knew
what to do, had pleased a man many, many times, such that her body
could work unaided by her mind. And that was exactly what was
happening to her now. Her mind screamed for her to stop caressing
the murderer of her family, the killer of her little baby sister,
still a virgin when he took her unlived life away from her. It was no
use, but she continued to try and force her mind to overrule her
body's unconscious and pleasing actions.
She pressed lightly but firmly on his temples, smoothed and
closed his eyes, the pungent aroma of fresh sweat began to assault her
nostrils causing them to flare widely. Her mind yelled at her to stop
when she reached between his legs and began to caress his penis. She
massaged and soothed, soon bringing it to attention with her expert
strokes while her mind begged her body to cease what it was doing, but
the only answer her body gave her was to slip her left hand under his
buttocks and up between his cheeks. Then, with her right-hand stroking
and pulling his erect penis, the little finger of her left hand
slipped smoothly into his rectum as she alternatingly stroked and
rubbed, pushed and pulled. Kiko could feel her own wetness now as she
stroked, hating herself, hating her body. She felt the drive of her
own desire penetrate deeply as she rubbed gently and pulled, his
firmness rising and falling in tandem with her strokes.
Takekazu groaned softly and allowed himself to lie slowly back
down, relaxing fully into the tatami matting, trusting completely now
in the hypnotic drug, keeping the defeated girl prisoner until he had
done with her for the last time. His breathing became imperceptible as
he thought of his wife and their couplings in all their sensual
detail. He relaxed his lower back and sighed deeply as she leaned over
him. He rolled over onto his stomach. She slid her hands down the
small of his back and massaged his lower spine, digging her hands into
the muscles protecting his kidneys with fingers more powerful than
those of most men. Again she found his rectum with the middle finger
of her right hand, guiding it into the opening which had widened in
its relaxed state. He moaned again, softly, deeply, as his thoughts
captured the images of his wife in all her poses and actions on his
body.
With all of her available mental and physical strength, Kiko
refused adamantly to obey the instructions her unconscious mind was
giving to her limbs and body, but it seemed a gigantic task. Moving
her right hand down between his legs she brought his genitals fully
into her grasp, squeezing them lightly, pleased with their smoothness
and hating herself for feeling that sensation. She screamed at her
mind to obey her commands, yelled within herself, cursed and swore at
every action she made on his body and each and every pleasurable
sensation she received in return from those actions. She grazed a
finger across the tip of his penis, teasingly, with a touch lighter
than air.
Then, placing both knees on his back, Kiko steadied herself with
a hand on each of his shoulders, driving her knees into his muscles
with force and power. She wished she was ending his life instead of
bringing him the deep relaxation and pleasure she knew was the result
of her body against his in its actions. She could hear him grunt,
wishing to hear only the death sounds of his spirit departing his body
as she drove the air from his lungs with her precise and powerful
strokes.
Takekazu felt her move off his back, following her touch that
rolled him onto his stomach. His eyes were closed and he chose to keep
them that way as she began to massage his stomach, his face,
expressionless. He felt the restraint in her hands, knowing her
thoughts of evil and passion conflicting beneath the actions of her
limbs massaging his chest with long, firm strokes, then moving her
hands down the sides of his body. Slowly he reached up and squeezed
her nipples lightly, caressing her breasts with experienced hands. Her
hands glided down the sides of his strong torso, her eyes closing and
opening several times. He spread her legs slightly, sliding a hand up
into the silkiness of her inner thighs and pressed a thumb into her
wetness, smiling as he felt her shudder with a spasm of pleasure.
Kiko was losing her sanity to her own body and its pleasurable
actions on his flesh. She gasped, tried to hold her breath and
suffocate herself, but failed miserably as another wave of pleasure
rippled outwards and upwards from her throbbing centre. She was
becoming ready and she knew it. Why couldn't he just kill her now and
save her the shame he was forcing her to go through at her own hands,
she screamed at herself. But nobody heard her pleas. She was being
defeated a second time, only this time by her own body and its
unconscious physical needs of pleasure and rapture.
Kneeling then, Kiko pried his legs apart and massaged his
testicles, slowly and gently, gathering her remaining strength to
fight the actions of her own limbs. Her hands dipped inside herself
quickly and coated him with her own oil, working expertly with her
fingers, her eyes widening in expectation as she watched his fullness
rise, throbbing upwards and outwards from his body. She hated herself
at that moment more than she had ever hated any enemy in her while
life, but still she would not give in to the mental net he had thrown
about her senses and awareness.
He saw her smile as his penis stiffened and lengthened thickly
under her sensual touchings, a forced smile. Takekazu suddenly
realised that it was a natural smile she was trying to suppress. He
was amazed and astonished. She was still fighting the hypnotic drug
from within her mind, while her senses and body remained deeply
hypnotised. A new admiration for his defeated opponent entered
Takekazu's mind, but still she would die for the traitorous woman she
was. She kneeled down further to take him into her waiting mouth,
curling her soft lips around his hardness. His immenseness stopped her
for a moment, but she finally succeeded in forcing its entry through
her cut and swollen lips and mouth. She reached down with her left
hand and caressed again his testicles tight with desire. He felt them
twitch in her firm gentle grasp.
Kiko saw and felt him stir with restlessness, feeling now the
warm soft embrace of his hand between her own thighs, fought herself
with her rapidly fading mental and physical strength and failing
miserably. She could feel her own body and mind lurking, waiting to
take complete control of her being the instant she g ave in, waiting
to unite with his body and mind in a fusion of flesh and spirit. She
felt his right-hand flex as he felt her for the depths of her aching
junction, sliding his fingers smoothly upwards into they found her hot
wetness. Then she gasped unconsciously as he drove his entire hand
sharply into her with a single, powerful stroke. Her blood boiled with
lust and unknown raw hatred as her body responded. She moaned deeply
from the pit of her pleasure core. Her head snapped back instantly,
her eyes flying wide open with shock as her hips began to rise away
from the fullness and pain and pleasure of his full hand pushing
tightly up inside her body.
Takekazu felt her withdrawing. He grabbed for her body's central
core of pleasure with thumb and forefinger and squeezed viciously,
savagely. She yelled softly and tried to stand up, but slipped
sideways instead, falling half-sitting onto the matting. His left hand
quickly reached across and grabbed her right arm at the shoulder. His
left hand took her left hip and swept her up and over onto his waiting
erect penis. Eyes wide with anger at her still fighting the drug from
inside her mind he positioned her body on top of him, her legs hanging
limply either side of his fullness. Then, with a sharp, downward
thrust he jammed her body savagely and fully onto his. His penis found
its wet hot target with ease and rammed inside her and without any
warning he exploded, fully releasing inside of her, feeling his semen
rocket into her in gushing pulses that took forever to reach
completion.
Kiko moaned, feeling her insides being ripped apart.
"Itai! Itai!" he heard her cry out loudly. It hurts! It hurts!
Kiko was stretched to her body's limit, stretched to her fullest,
felt the wrenching pain and pleasure each time he pulled her down
sharply on to his penis. His right hand released its grip and came at
her in a blur she could not have seen or anticipated, slapping her
hard across the face. As her head snapped back he pressed forcefully
with his left hand and pushed her off to his right, pulling his body
out from underneath. She glared at his eyes, her own blazing in utter
futility at being able to do nothing to protect herself. His gaze was
ablaze with desire, his face red with passion.
Takekazu moved quickly, flipping her over onto her side. He spun
her round with both hands and turned her over onto her stomach,
pulling her arms behind her back towards her shoulder blades so she
couldn't possibly resist. Then, pushing her onto her knees with her
head and shoulders against the matting, he positioned her such that
her round buttocks arched high into the air. He slid his body into
position, and, without caring for the hurt he caused her, he guided
his penis with his left hand deeply into the tight tiny starfish
between her creamy buttocks, then rammed it fully and to the hilt in
with one powerful surge.
"Aaaaaaahhh! Itaiiiiiiii! Itaiiiiiiiii!" She whimpered again,
half dazed, half-crazed. "Ooohh!" Kiko struggled weakly and in vain.
The room seemed to shake with the violence of his thrusts. He
disappeared into her, again and again and again, hammering her
repeatedly and relentlessly, delaying his final orgasm until the last
possible moment, bringing body and mind to that fusion called
perfection. Then he erupted violently, his body convulsing and shaking
with a hundred spasms of pleasure, raw and heated as his mind burst in
an ecstasy of total concentration. Takekazu thrust and he thrust and
he lunged, splitting her cruelly, stretching her and impaling her body
to the fullest, caring nothing. She was a traitor. She was nothing,
and already dead.
Kiko felt him explode in her depths. She cried out loudly, both
pain and extreme pleasure inextricably linked together as her orgasm
was ripped from her loins and buttocks. The incredible heat radiated
like an exploding supernova through every part of her mind and body
with the violence and brutality of his body's thrusting. Her thighs
and buttocks trembled and shook uncontrollably. Her heart hammered
against her ribs, her pulse pounded in her temples, causing her mind
and senses to swim crazily. Then suddenly, as her rapturous pleasure
and pain peaked at its fury she screamed her hatred and pleasure to
the world that did not listen and did not care. Her spine arched and
her breasts flamed through her stinging nipples as her hips and thighs
jerked and convulsed uncontrollably.
"Motto, motto!" She cried loudly, hating the words she heard
herself gasp. More! More!
"Suburashii'n da!" Incredible! Takekazu moaned as the she-devil
drained him completely of his body's fluids, twisting and heaving,
bucking her thighs and buttocks against his loins, milking him like an
animal. He was astonished at the completeness of her fusion of
sensation and mind. He knew that she realised her death was imminent,
yet still she cried out her sensual bliss to the humid air of the
room. She suddenly stiffened her whole body, held it for a few
seconds, then shrieked loudly and collapsed heavily beneath him onto
the tatami matting.
Takekazu fell with her and on top of her, panting audibly,
hearing her own gasps as she sucked hungrily for air. The power of her
lungs lifted his weight on top of her easily. He lay there, rising and
falling with each of her rasping breaths, his thoughts turning
slightly from that which they had previously been. He was both amazed
and astounded at the same time. Then he remembered his fallen
comrades. His eyes narrowed as his breathing calmed along with hers.
"Zannen da." Too bad. He whispered, as he began to withdraw
himself from her hot, sweating body, knowing his task was more
important than her inner sensual beauty and talents.
Kiko scrunched herself up into a tight ball on the tatami
matting, her knees drawn tightly up into her chest, her arms gripping
them firmly. She felt like a cornered, beaten animal, pleasured by
force and her own unwilling, yet much-wanted acceptance of each and
every single thing he did to her and made her feel. She groaned her
fate to the silence of the room. Then suddenly she felt his vicelike
grip on her wrist, jerking her upright with force to stand shakily on
her feet before him. Her gaze remained fixed on the tatami floor. She
was ashamed, of herself, and her fate soon to come. Tears misted in
her eyes, a thick lump forming quickly in her throat as she fought to
keep her samurai courage and control in her final moments upon the
earth.
Takekazu lashed out, his right-hand coming down quickly, slapping
her hard across her already beaten and swollen face. She would have
fallen to the floor, but he held her tightly by the wrist. She
whimpered like a beaten dog, her eyes black pools of fear and defeated
will. Still holding her wrist, he threw her bodily, whipping her
around and down onto the matting. Then he kneeled and straddled her,
pinning her wrists to the flooring with his knees. Takekazu grasped
her narrow throat with the iron fingers of his right hand, thumb
against Adam's apple, middle finger pressed against the thick,
pulsating vein in the side of her neck. He squeezed, watching her
terrified eyes, but seeing the fear strangely fade from them as she
locked his gaze with her own in her dying moment as she gasped, her
eyes bulging grotesquely.
Kiko gasped and breathed in, knowing she would soon never breathe
out. Her body convulsed in several upward jerks. Her lungs began to
seize and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Her life flashed
before her eyes, seeing all the wrongs she had committed, the hurt she
had caused, all the while holding his cruel gaze locked into her own.
She thought of the children she would never bear; never know the pain
of childbirth that her mother had told her and her sister about. She
would never know the real heart's love of a man for her. Her mind
began to drift as it died, wondering if this man who was killing her
now could have ever loved her, were they not enemies. Kiko's thoughts
then strangely calmed. Her mind cleared and her heart cried sadly for
all that she would never know, never feel, and she had yet to fall in
love.
"Shigata .. ga .. nai." She tried to whisper. Bad luck, nobody's
fault, time to move on.
That was the meaning of the words she had mouthed softly to him,
although no sound had emerged from her bruised and swollen lips. Yet
she knew he had understood her intent, had seen the cloud briefly come
and go from his cold eyes, showing her a fleeting glimpse of something
strange. Then suddenly she breathed in deeply as his fingers released
their death- grip on her throbbing throat and neck. He reached around
her quickly, sweeping her upwards and off the tatami matting and held
her limp body against his chest. Her world spun crazily, maddeningly.
She was dying now and she accepted everything that was, or would ever
be. The stars in her mind twinkled and shone brightly, then
instantly, she was gone, swallowed up by the black, turbulent sea,
disappearing into the foam that spun and churned inside her mind as it
spun wildly until she finally sighed, and breathed slowly out as her
mind shut down. The pain was no more. There was only ... nothing...
black ... empty ... nothing.
Takekazu laid down the lifeless form gently upon the tatami
matting, then stood and walked to a corner of the room and squatted.
He gazed at the naked form of his worthy adversary and opponent,
admiring her in spite of the hurt and heart's anguish she had caused
him with her betrayal and her personal combat with him. Her long black
hair flowed out across the matting, black and thick. Her face lay
facing him, bloodied and bruised, swollen and disfigured, yet saw the
natural beauty that was once her. It reflected the shining brightness
of the stars as his own wife's had done, many years ago when they had
first met.
Then, checking his waist pouch and the long knife strapped to his
leg he slowly stood, knowing exhaustion was overcoming him quickly. He
had stayed too long in this task and felt as if a powerful drug was
trying to take him down quickly to sleep. It was time to leave and
return to his wife and child who were waiting for him. They would not
know he was still alive and was about to return to their loving warm
embrace once again as the sun rose over Japan, heralding a brand-new
day. He turned to leave, then stopped and turned back to gaze at her
lifeless naked body one final time, knowing her facial cuts and broken
nose would heal in the fullness of time, as would the hurt from the
loss of her family, and her beauty would one day return.
* * * *
Takekazu had spared her life, yet he did not know why. When she had
said those words to him, 'Shigata ga nai', he knew he had not fought
with a woman, a mere girl; he had fought with a samurai, who was
equally as brave and courageous and skilful as he was; and who had
loved him fiercely with her body, and then finally her mind in its
complete fusion, even though she knew she was about to die at his
hands. Yes, he thought, as he walked back to her sleeping form and
gently placed the thick blanket over her cooling body from her toes to
her neck. She would heal. And one day, maybe, they would meet again.
Maybe next time, he smiled softly at the memories of their loving, it
would be under different circumstances. Then he turned and left her
to her waiting fate, whatever it might be, while he walked quickly
from the room and onwards towards his own.
* * * * *
The End of Hypno-Samurai"
* * * * *
(If you have enjoyed this story please
email me and let me know. If you have not, well, email me your
criticisms, and have a nice day anyway. *Smile* Thank you for reading.
- Mesmer.)
This hypnosis/Mind-control story is not to be read by persons under
the age of 18 years. If you enjoy it please let me know. - Mesmer
"Hypno- Saxophones" (c) by Mesmer
Chapter I
*
He was a self-made man, feeling his own construction in the many
moments of his aloneness, in his own company, or alone in a crowded
room. Carrying the weight of that loneliness did not show through to
those who did not know him personally. They only saw the outer,
beneath which the inner man resided, strong and silent in his own pain
of life's hurts and anguish. His hopes, and, sometimes, seemingly
unattainable dreams always there, inside, always searching, quietly
optimistic for a future without the heavy weight of known times past.
Of uncertain times ahead, he was simply uncaring, not anxious, knowing
whatever was to happen would happen, when, where, and how it wanted
to. Why, just wasn't important anymore. They were all simply not worth
knowing, or even trying to know or anticipate, and were accepted
without malice, because that's just the way it was and is, and will
most probably be again. There was only himself in his life to help
carry the burden, ease the sometimes heavy load, himself and one other
... his sax ... his friend ... his lover. None had compared to her ...
yet.
**
The velvet darkness was there, in
front of him, behind him, above and all around him. Then the light
came, but only one, thin and narrow, tubular in tapering origin,
tunnelling through the pitch-black to find a floodlit home at his feet
as he walked forward, then to stop, to gaze again into the shadows
from within the beam, to see, yet knowing nothing would be
distinguished of those who were there, waiting, hoping, sensing,
wondering if they had come to the right place, at the right time. He
knew they had ... and maybe this time, so had she, somewhere, out
there ... in the invisible horizon.
The subdued lighting of the room, along with the one single
spotlight shining onto the stage gave the impression of a surreal
figure standing there, alone once again in a crowded room with his
moment of now. A solitaire in the centre of the stage he stood, a
tall, athletic man, clothes all of deep, blue colouring. Hanging from
a thin brown strap around his neck, held lovingly within his hands and
fingers like a woman caressed rested a shining gold tenor saxophone.
The slow-burning energy of the crowd that watched him simmered
barely noticeable throughout his nervous system. The faces of the men
and women of all ages he could not see in the darkness, yet he knew
they were there; the heat and the press of their bodies sitting
closely together, waiting for the beginning to just happen; their
voices heard, whispered, high in quiet anticipation; the shushing of
stocking-clad legs and trousered thighs, crossing and uncrossing.
Perfumed skin, alluring and beckoning, tainted the air he breathed
slowly in through his nostrils.
His eyelids closed gently down. With one single finger he traced
the sensual, curving shape and unique form of her, from shapely
curving bottom to deep warm mouth, touching, stroking, awakening. The
shining gold-plate gleamed and sparkled, smooth in texture, her skin;
perfect, waiting to be kindled and ignited from without. He lifted her
to rest, her touch familiar and warm against his lower belly and
groin, sliding his lips sensually over the warm reed and feeling a
familiar sensation in his loins. But he knew she was only resting,
waiting for his touch to light her fire, to begin her slow burn, but
she was not sleeping, only waiting impatiently for his strong and
sensitive touch to bring her deep channel to life. Then her moans and
screams would be heard, along with her wails and sadness through
happier times ahead in the coming few hours, until finally she would
beg ... but first needs were to be gentle, to tempt her, to arouse
them; the small, barely inaudible gasps of wondrous surprise as his
exploration of her form and sensual depth commenced and then climaxed,
slowly, intimately.
Somewhere out there, sitting leisurely amongst them in faceless
darkness maybe this time she sat, yet he saw her not, knew her not,
but only not as yet. Maybe she was there, as maybe she was always
there, envious of the other whom he held between gentle, knowing
fingers of feather and firmness; and maybe she would see, and hear,
and feel, and then maybe she would come to him; different of form and
features each time, yet always the same, but still, maybe she would
come this time to be held and caressed as will be the other.
A gentle tensing of his fingers began the sound softly to the
slow, repetitious, gently- thrusting rhythm of the almost-silent
Mississippi blues coming out of the darkness from the invisible band
to his left and right, and behind where he stood almost unmoving. Her
voice moved leisurely from the depths within and beneath the keys
beneath his fingers, to emerge as her silken and sultry voice; notes
of music from her golden warm and sensuous deep throat, floating
through her strong, warm tunnel of accord. Feather-touch caresses of
his fingertips touched warming, gold extremities; moistened the skins
of them, the watchers, unknowingly, yet feelingly, even now, at the
very beginning of her arrival within their sensations. Her single-note
voice birthed slow-wailing Mississippi melodies, sending them forth,
homing to ears that willed and wanted to listen, to hear, kissing them
softly, provocatively, like tiny tongues of heated affection, touching
their nerve-endings, sliding deeply, yet noticed into their intimate
and very private places.
Carefully her rich, golden velvet voice touched the curves and
shapes and forms of all, kissing their outlines sensually,
tantalisingly. Flirting and promiscuous he was being with her now,
tempting her extremities, moistening her mouth, her golden cave
becoming humid, warming to his elegant embrace and touching.
The warming form of her bottom he cradled, his mind with hers
beneath his gentle coaxing fingers beheld in both, she who maybe had
now come again, to listen and to hear, and to feel for the very first
time, naked beneath the outer, her nipples stiffening to his unseeing
eyes of simmering fire at dusk. Her centre, pooling its energies in
readiness for the knowing, the embracing deep red blush, cascading
over her smooth warm skin, gathering in the hidden depth of her navel,
hurrying urgently to the lush plumage between her thighs. And so maybe
this time, the meeting, together again, for the very first time.
They who watched and listened felt her sounding touch against
their flesh, warming and exciting, promising so much more in the
fullness of her time with them, arousing that which had lain dormant
before their arrival amongst her sensual beauty. They opened to her
now and were keen. All were waiting, and they were ready. His senses
told him so, born of her many lessons on the effect she had on the
minds and bodies of all who came. Without trying he heard her softly
moan, ready and alluring, charming him towards she who maybe was
there, even more intimately; mouth moistening, lips and thighs parted,
beckoning him on. The slow-writhing quiet and deadly violence wound
tightly in his loins, warmed under his skin.
He stroked her smouldering fire deliberately to a slow burn,
knowing and sensing the tension was real now. They strained forward
unseen in the seats, narrowing their eyes, tensing their muscles. The
glistening of his brow cooled instantly in the perfumed air of her
presence, knowing, maybe this time she was there, yet unaware of her
presence, even if she was, in his beginning moment of now, with her.
He felt them all begin their slow burn, felt them coming closer to
him, and closer to her and what she had to say to them, had to give to
them to justify her unique and exquisitely sensual and surreal
existence. He felt their unspoken lust and was firm with her now. On
purpose, in a slowness that agonised all eyes, ears and bodies he
lengthened her moans, then paused on spontaneous impulse, longer than
last time. They waited with him. He felt their presence, and maybe
hers, suspended, anticipating in silent minds the next note, the next
sound, the next part of the puzzle, the next warming, physical
sensation.
As always, her ache for him, and him alone, he could feel,
becoming the wild animal, the polished jewel-shaft that trembled and
grew at his feather-touch, crying softly in its pulsing impatience to
live its life in the fullness of the moment of now. Then he knew the
rage and the violence, the blood-lust that pawed her warm, golden
keys. With strong wet lips and mouth, tongue duelling with hers,
dancing sensuously, darting and diving; soft and firm strokes of his
fingertips, slow then fast, then agonisingly slow again, and then fast
again, to cause her to cry and wail, reducing hardened hearts to tears
of joy and ecstasy he began to squeeze, attacking hungrily, harder and
faster, faster and harder. Their bodies swayed, thighs and buttocks
gently thrusting, squeezing unconsciously against the brushed velvet
of the seats beneath them.
And as always he felt her longing for him escalating and swelling
now, the surges throbbing and expanding. Hot air, thick and consuming
suddenly became asphyxiating. He knew it, could feel the warmth and
nearness of their bodies, maybe of her body, eager and excited,
straining for release. He deepened her vibrato, lengthened her wail,
made real her tears of frustration and wanting him, set loose the
arousing thrusting rhythm. It washed through them, around them, inside
of them, erupting and swelling.
Their enraptured, pre-orgasmic elation of suspense, fluttered on
the edge, close, so very close. Their concealed hysteria, and maybe
hers. Moments arrested in unconscious awareness as he caressed and
explored with fury all and within with his hands, again and again,
arousing and igniting the flames of all. Ambushed in the adrenalin
high, rock-hard, he knew he could play forever, could fondle her
forevermore.
Then, at long last, the absolute eruption, the explosion, the
savage, primitive, high- pitched wail of her supernova as she came
with a vengeance, the electrifying seizure of tone and fierceness at
her flaming peak, until finally, after several unending moments in
time and absolute silence except for her, he was spent. He lowered his
sax with shaking hands, heart thumping wildly against his ribs, pulse
pounding inside his temples, breath rushing, replaced by the cool,
quickly, often. It was over.
Gazing downwards at her, he knew he'd felt again the
highly-polished warm gold of the keys as he would the soft, naked
flesh of his maybe woman. Maybe she was there, this time. Maybe she'd
heard, and felt, as they all had, as he had. He had wielded his
fingers like the stinging trail of a whip, scoring her flesh and each
and every non-chosen note into a frenzied sonata of passionate and
sensual wailing blues.
When the music had ended and he had first looked down, he almost
expected to see her keys transformed into bruised flesh. He knew he'd
again discovered the secret, had used it well, when it began, as he
expected, as it always did, slowly at first, and then in earnest. The
secret of how to unlock the passion and the lust from her keys, how to
create that soaring, searing, orgasmic frenzy. Then, and only then did
he allow himself to smile as his strong hands affectionately caressed
and gently squeezed her warm bottom and long, slender throat.
As the last thrilling echoes spiralled away, they, the audience
remained dazed and mute, utterly drained. Slowly they roused
themselves, as maybe did she who had come for the very first time to
see, to hear, and to feel. The applause, erratic and confused at
first, quickly increased to as deafening clamour. They were possessive
now, passionate for more ... of her.
* * *
In the far back row, in the darkest of
dark places before him, breathless and hearing her own unconscious
applause thundering in time with others, feeling his strength, the
power over him of her, who now rested quietly against his heart and
loins in the golden glow of her aftermath, his victory over them who
had listened. She who had heard, had felt, and been touched
intimately, virginally, in that incredibly private and sensual way for
the first time, she who had been one of them had also peaked her own
summit with his golden lover, along with them.
"My god!" she exhaled silently, shakily, all of a sudden acutely
aware of the flooding warmth, the dampness. Nervously, she looked
around, slow and easy, casually, left and right, and then smiled
softly, completely astounded. She had always had a soft spot for the
Mississippi blues.
* * * *
Chapter II
*
She stopped her car outside the beautiful country house, the address
given her by his agent. Opening the door, she slid out, looking
around. Then she saw him. He was leaning against a tall, thick tree
which reached up into the blue day sky with its massive, old gnarled
trunk, showering its tentacles of green willow omnidirectional, the
green fingertips of each touching the ground in several places around
its arc. She walked through the open gate towards him, annoyed with
the incessant thumping of her heart against her ribs as she drew close
to him, feeling his powerful gaze upon her, leading her as if she had
no choice in the direction she now moved, except to go directly to
where he waited. His face was serious, arms hanging loosely by his
sides, hands buried deep in the pockets of loose, dark trousers.
She inhaled her own marvellous fragrance wafting around her face
as she walked towards him. Her thoughts felt instantly the reason she
chose that particular perfume. It swelled her two additional mounds of
pleasure, and between their plump golden contours quivered the already
pulsing thread of her moist crease. That he might eat away at them and
their precious content was a dream she dared not dream. It was a
vision she feared was all wishful conjecture. Between her thighs lay
the supreme haven, the final home from which all her restless thoughts
and desires were born, and she wanted him ... there.
"Miss Devlin." He said, as a formal introduction of confirmation
of whom she was, but did not extend his hand to her. With secret
rapture he gazed at the pattern of physical womanhood who stood before
him, the notion of latent sensuality so tremendous that it could
almost take his breath away astounded him.
His voice was beautiful, a deep, flowing baritone, articulating
and musically controlled. It was a voice that could tempt nuns to
immorality or attract sinners to excellence. She felt a sudden rush
of warmth, low down, and wondered if he knew the capability of that
voice, knew how it caressed her ears, and other places on her body.
The physical bearing was conflicting to what she had expected
from her memories of him on stage, standing in the spotlight almost a
week ago, the eyes deeper set, the mouth fuller, more sensual. And his
eyes were more commanding by far than she remembered, a dazzling blue
that seemed to knife beneath the skin and search her mind.
"I'm here to listen." He said. "Would you like to follow me?" He
motioned her towards the front entrance of the large home. It had not
escaped him that her gaze had subtly caressed his body from head to
toe, yet, in his innocent and vulnerable naivety would he not have
expected any hidden purpose behind her attentions, other than the
stated reasons for her visit. He knew his own thoughts had already
delivered to his mind and sensations her sensual form locked in his
strong hands as he penetrated her rushing junction.
"Yes." She answered, swallowing thickly. Her mouth felt dry when
she became aware she had been staring. She followed him silently into
the foyer of the old-fashioned, but elegant house. Once inside, the
sound of her heels clacking on the tiled floor echoed in her ears.
Wrong shoes for this floor, she thought grimly. Her eyes travelled
quickly, left and right, noticing the abundance of freshly cut
beautiful flowers, carefully arranged in displays all around the
walls.
He opened a large wooden door and stepped aside, gesturing for
her to enter. It was a large room, again the lovely flowers
everywhere, all around the walls and on the small tables sitting
around the floor on the plush carpet. Paintings of abstract design
adorned the walls. Along one wall was a large sound system, in front
of which stood a long, thick microphone pointing downwards at an angle
of about forty-five degrees, as if waiting to rise, resting in its
shining silver grip, and set to the height of a tenor saxophone bell.
Walking over to the sound system he pressed one of the buttons.
Her heart jumped for no known reason when the rich, soft sounds of a
tenor sax filtered soulfully from the large speakers, to then drift
leisurely through the still, flower-scented air of the room. It was
her, and the sound was the tape she had sent him. She had recorded it
just for today, just to be here, just for him to listen to so she
might be here. She waited nervously, awkwardly, gazing at him as if in
a dream while he stood there without moving, listening to her tape.
She allowed her own music to help relax her, calm her jangling nerves
in his presence.
"You recorded this just for me." He said to her. It was a
statement, not a question. The melody was too similar to his own
style to be her original work. Yet one day she might deliver
uniqueness, as he had delivered in the fullness of his own time and
discoveries.
"Yes." She replied, calmed somewhat to hear her voice sounding
clear and calm, no sign of the turmoil going on inside her mind and
stomach, yet very aware of the heat emanating from her furry cushion,
her nest where eagles of men would soar on the strongest currents of
the winds of emotion to locate, gain entrance and make home for long
nights. Yet, none ever find, a secret place, a hidden abyss, reserved
for the one to come, the chosen one. But always was the nest ready and
waiting to be made a home.
The short tape ended. He played it again. And then he played it a
third time. All the while she waited while he stood silent, head
bowed, listening intently. She knew what he was doing.
"Let's have a coffee." He said, surprising her completely, and
leading the way for her to follow.
She stood caught by surprise, then hurried to catch up with him,
her footsteps once again echoing when she left the carpet of the room
and stepped quickly onto the tiled floor. It seemed as if she'd been
there for hours, when in fact, it had only been less than one. He had
made time somehow seem meaningless in his presence.
After asking her how she liked her coffee he showed her to the
lounge room and then left her there. She wondered if he had considered
the thought that she might not have liked coffee at all. She did. But
she wondered anyway as he returned and placed her steaming cup before
her on the small occasional table. He remained silent while they
sipped their hot drinks, except for mentioning only the weather.
His lack of conversation disappointed her a little, wanting to
hear his voice speak, just to feel that rich, powerful quality again.
Her eyes kept coming back again and again to his hands. His fingers
seemed long, shapely and elegant, offering no clue to his majesty when
it came to him playing his instrument, bringing it to a living life in
the incredibly sensual manner he did.
His hands moved with the unconscious, precise coordination of a
true musician, idly bracing the heavy silver coffee tray as though
testing the weight of a sax. With his thumb and forefinger he traced
the gentle curves of his beautiful china cup in a repeated stroke of
light caress, again and again in a hypnotic, almost erotic
appreciation of the fine contours of its shape.
He looked at her thoughtfully. Unaccustomed to the company of
strangers inside his house, he was mildly amazed to find her an almost
acceptable companion to have coffee with. Hers was not the sweet
silence of others who had been here with him, still, it seemed she had
some awareness of sound and didn't seek to litter the air mindlessly
with lifeless chatter about absolutely nothing.
She toyed with her coffee cup, conscious of feeling a little
light-headed. Her eyes wanted to return again and again to his
electric blue eyes and strong hands with their long, slender fingers.
She felt as if she could sit there and just gaze at them for hours on
end, appreciating them, their talents, the majesty they could weave.
He watched her unnoticeably, objectively admiring her face, the
pale skin, the unusual, slanting eyebrows. She was beautiful in her
own right. He wondered about her life, the private intimate details
that could never be found in normal conversation with her, or from
observations in the way she presented herself.
"Have you ever considered the relationship between master and
pupil?" he asked, deliberately, right out of left field.
For a moment she couldn't believe she had heard him correctly,
but the words refused to disappear. Then, while she considered her
confused state he spoke again.
"I used to sometimes wonder if my teachers had." He said without
looking at her, draining the last of his coffee from the
elegant-looking cup. Then he looked at her with those drilling eyes
and continued.
"It rests on power." He went on, his eyes piercing beneath every
shield and every thought she might have been having. "But it rests on
power that is simply not imposed. It must be a relationship in which
the pupil is willing to trust the teacher's instinct, give him or
herself over to the dominance of greater experience. It's a
relationship like that between parent and child, but more intimate
than that of lovers."
Across the small table his eyes were fixed on hers. She felt
drawn by them, unable to look away.
"If," he paused then, drawing out the silence, "if by some chance
you were to interest me sufficiently, I might be willing to teach
you." He heard himself say the words with some surprise. "But you
should understand the relationship. You would have to be willing to
suspend your critical values at first, and obey me without question."
He lounged back in his chair, speculating whether he was actually
considering teaching her, or merely fooling with the idea to please
some hidden agenda within himself.
"You are an innocent." He said. "That virginal tape you sent for
me to listen to is showing a desired direction, but not a result.
You're still playing the melody, the notes, in an exceptional manner,
I agree, but you are not a channel for your music as yet."
"Virginal?" she repeated, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Music begins bottomless within you. It's not commanded by the
mind, by slavish attachment to the written notes. It is a crude,
prehistoric urge, or intuition, buried in the bottoms of your soul.
From there it flows out, amplifies to your heart, your breast, down to
your groin, comprising of your most sensual imaginings. You become the
saxophone and it becomes you. It's a completion, a realisation, a
joining and sharing of your most intimate and private essence." He
stopped then, before he said too much, aware he had come too close to
baring the mystery that had fed his own genius.
If she had spoken then, even a single word, he would have left
the room, and her in it, alone, and wiped her from his memory. But she
said nothing, sitting calm, head bowed, inclining dark brows drawn
together in thought. When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were
bright with unshed tears.
"It was the last section of the tape. Wasn't it?" she accepted
softly.
He nodded, stunned a little by her awareness, disarmed by her
tears now flowing unheeded down her cheeks. She hardly seemed
conscious that she was crying. Quietly he rose from his chair and
stood behind her.
"A trial, perhaps," he said softly, as though to himself. "Why
not? We'll audition your instrument, see if it has any resonance in
your hands at all. Put your hands on your breasts."
"What?" she asked, astonished, and felt his hands on her
shoulders, balanced and waiting.
"Trust me. Do as I say." The attitude of his command was
unmistakable, edging the dark honey of his voice.
He compelled a willing submission to his dominance, a blind faith
in his genius, obedience without question. She was intensely aware of
the heat of his hands on her shoulders, acutely aware of the rigid
pillar of his body standing behind her, could almost feel the power
waves of intensity vibrating from him. To be so near to such musical
artistry, to find it aligned with such a sensual charisma was
stimulating, and in that moment she knew, this was a man who could do
anything with her, that she would bow blindly to his voice, his hands.
"Yes." She murmured, slowly lifting her hands to her breasts,
unsurprised to feel them trembling.
"Good." He said more softly. "You must be in tune with your body,
in touch with your real instrument. Focus on the idea that your body
is a saxophone, your fingers the keys. Every instrument has its
vibrator and resonator. The keys are the saxophone's vibrator. Make
your nipples the keys of your body."
And so she brushed her hands against her nipples, feeling them
tighten against the black silk of her blouse.
"Good." He approved. "Touch them up and down, feel them."
She felt the glow rising in her face, felt the tingling sensation
that flowed from her fingers to her breasts, felt his hands gently cup
the back of her neck, then search through her hair and come to rest at
her temples.
"Don't stop until I tell you, you may." He said.
Closing her eyes she brushed her nipples with her thumbs, up and
down as he had commanded, feeling the softness of the silk like an
irritation. Sensitised to touch now, her nipples were erect, pulsing
with life. There was something intensely carnal in touching herself,
exciting herself as he stood behind her, his long fingers cushioning
her head. He must be watching, she thought rousingly, seeing how her
nipples were standing out solidly, confidently, daring him to warm and
suck them.
Standing behind her, he could feel the revealing pulse at her
temples, sense her awakening.
"Tell me what you feel."
"Fire." She answered immediately, softly. And she was hot, aflame
almost. The most delicious, burning heat, rising through her body,
knowing that he was watching her, his eyes fixed on her hands, her
breasts.
"Harder," he said. "Press and squeeze the keys, fast and slowly.
And then fast and hard.
Harder, faster, squeezing, pressing, rolling between fingers and
thumbs. She tightened her fingers, pinching her nipples as firmly,
tabbing the keys of her saxophone fiercely. She felt the electric jolt
ripple through her body, radiating from her breasts to her groin.
"Again." He said, his hands moving gently to her shoulders.
Her nipples felt like duplicate coils of flame, hot and
unbearably carnal, her breasts heavy and distended. Closing her eyes,
she leaned back in her chair, resting her head gently against his
belly. Through the silk, her nipples were extending, enlarging, and
without his urging she pinched them harder, rolling them between her
fingers and thumbs. She felt the growing damp between her legs, the
enlarging of her lower lips, the first, avaricious awaking of her
clitoris. Caught in the emotions coursing through her she twisted in
the chair, would have turned to face him, but he locked his grip on
her shoulders, compelling her to stay still.
"Tell me."
"Still hot," she breathed, "but fuller now."
"And moist." He suggested, feathering her ear with his breath as
he leaned forward and down.
"Yes, wet." She felt the lips between her legs growing warm and
swollen, imitating her nipples, the hot wet fluid of arousal dousing
her groin.
"Liquid music," he said softly. "Think drenched and liquid, you
are the keys. Play your own music." She felt his hands slip from her
shoulders to cup the arc of her breasts, bracing the abundant fullness
that her fingers had tabbed to swollen warmth.
"Lower." He said softly.
Almost gratefully she slid her hands downwards over his,
delighting in the pliant restraint and authority, the slow burn of
both their hands enfolding her bosom.
"Now find your right keys, by instinct. Touch yourself wherever
you feel your keys to be. You are the golden bell. Make it vibrate."
Caught by his voice, hypnotised deeply by the sound of it, the
deepness of it, the richness of it, the power of it, her hands
delayed. And then she gasped as his fingers fastened just a fraction
on her breasts, causing a flame of quivering ecstasy.
"Your hand," she whispered, and then felt it dawdling gently down
to her abdomen. Every nerve ending in her body tightened, fluttered
in accelerating suspense. She saw herself as a harp now, as well as
saxophone, meant to be plucked and played, and felt herself dampen,
growing hotter and more liquid. Through the silk she felt the warmth
of his hands gently inciting her pubic hair. She gasped, feeling the
nectar seeping out of her, knew that she was now not moist, not wet,
but drenched, immersing the gossamer cloth panties she wore. She was
deluging in a blush-pink tide, flooding and honeyed like Niagra Falls.
"Yes." He prompted.
"Tides." She said, the term coming from nowhere. She felt
strangely possessed, fuzzy, conscious now only of a leisurely fiery
excitement stealing over her body. Her breasts were full and hot, and
she felt her clitoris disturbed like her nipples, wanting to be
fondled, plucked and sucked. Beneath the silk she was grilling,
sweating, felt the beads trickling down her neck, the middle of her
back. The air was closer now, like velvet.
"Receding tides. Tell me. " He said, fascinated, as he felt her
pressure against his hands. Watching her from behind hooded eyes, he
saw the crimsoned cheeks, her lashes fanning them, breasts rising and
falling. Her ready desire astonished him. He meant only to challenge
her a little, find her deepness, watch the flames lick like a slow
procession and then dry her tears, but already this girl was
accelerating to the verge.
Deliberately he slowed the movement of his hand, and extending a
finger, felt for her clitoris through the silk, brushing gently,
feather-soft, searching between the folds of fabric to find the erect
little core.
"Flowers bloom in spring and bloom with their own heat from
below." She murmured, forgetting his words of tides. She felt his
finger harden, press firmly against her aperture. She'd used the very
words she associated with an orgasm brought about when a man's face
was engulfed between her thighs, licking, sucking, sampling and
teasing.
He was caught off guard with her uttering of the strange phrase.
He felt himself hardening.
"Enough." He said, releasing his hands instantly from her and
turning away.
"But why ... what?" Bewildered, disorientated, she opened her
eyes.
"Enough. You're losing the flow. Music made by your body isn't
spring flowers." He stood with his back to her, apparently intent on
contemplating a painting on the wall in front of him.
Dumbly she gaped at him, feeling the unfulfilled palpitation
between her legs like a second heartbeat, hearing his words from far
away. She felt dissociated from her body, as if her mind and body were
in two distinctly different places. It felt real, as if she'd been
left stranded somewhere, taken back too soon, but not all of her came.
"So, have you learned anything? One can learn even from an
audition. Especially from an audition, in fact." He said casually.
Frantically she hurled her mind back, struggling to find
something that made sense, words he'd said only moments before,
anguishing to appease the aching void left by the inscription of his
hands and fingers between her trembling upper thighs. She was losing
him before she had even begun. No, she thought desperately. She can't.
"My body is the saxophone." She said breathlessly.
"And your hands?"
Her mind raced. She had to get him back, knowing in her soul he
would one day realise his teaching of her would be worth it. Then she
knew the answer he wanted, knew also it wasn't the right one. It had
been his hands touching her, plucking her, tabbing her that became the
keys; his hands made her the saxophone.
"Hands are the tabs." She said, concealing a little. He nodded,
apparently satisfied. She thought furiously then. What did that have
to do with the receding tides of her body, that wet hot flood denied
release? Wasn't that what he said when she was feeling so close? So
close.
"Hands are the tabs, body is the saxophone, my tides come and go
from within my body's own music." She replied finally, letting some
other part of her mind talk for her. She'd given up. And the words
had just appeared.
"Yes." He said quickly, offhandedly. I'll make my decision
tonight. You should go home now and go to bed, get some sleep. If you
want to know what my decision is, you may come back tomorrow, if you
wish."
"But I ....." she managed, but too late. He'd already gone. Still
breathing heavily, her lung-rhythm shaky and unsettled she rose
unsteadily to her feet, clasping the table for assistance. Her body
felt disarranged, confused, still not yet together. The waves of
emotion that had flooded through her so violently only moments before
were easing now, leaving her very drained, but strangely elated.
Cautiously she walked across the room into the entrance area,
felt for the handrail for its welcome support and stepped down the few
steps to the green grass and onwards to her car. Driving was the
farthest thing from her mind. She drove unsurely and very cautiously
home to her small rented townhouse. It seemed terribly far away, all
the long drive back, until finally she reached it, closed her front
door with trembling fingers, and collapsed on the bed in tears of
anticipated failure of her dearest wishes and dreams, and her sheer
physical frustration of release not arrived, not taken, and not
delighted in.
* *
Chapter III
*
Was she asleep? No, not exactly asleep. Dreaming perhaps? She had
woken, she thought, saw him looming over her, this god dressed in deep
blue, but then everything swam out of focus again. And now she was
naked, nude. She'd felt the whisper of her nightdress leaving her
skin, the cool air caressing her body, felt exposed somehow as the
silk drifted down her arms, her breasts, soft swathes pooling along
her belly, settling momentarily in the juncture of her thighs, then
whisked along her legs. And then hands, strong hands were spreading
her legs, opening her thighs. She should be embarrassed, naked as she
was in front of him, but she knew her skin was as white as the driven
snow, knew herself to be as sensuous and voluptuous and open as the
goddess of love who lived in her tortured soul. Then the clouds
wrapped their soft white arms around her, carrying her away into the
ever-dark.
Was she awake? Yes. Not fully, but almost. No! Not yet! Please!
Her eyes were open, body shining with glistening dream-sweat, loins
aching, unfulfilled, breasts full and heavy, untouched, un-kissed,
nipples building, stinging, throbbing. Her mind searched and found
again the dream, eyes closed once more to go back, yet found no
entrance to heaven beneath her closed lids. Fingers and thighs
trembled, lips above opened in yearning for the lost pathway to there.
Lips below quivering to accept that which had not yet arrived, in
dream or in life's real days or lonely nights. Lungs sighing the
futility of stillborn stinging tears of lust and longing, of passion
and love and cherishment in his arms, not yet to be, even in dream-
time. Her eyes opened, blinked away her stillborn pain.
Was she awake? Yes. She was awake, of that there was now no
doubt. There was the pain of longing, the hurt of missing that which
had never really been, except in the same dream incomplete, not
finished, and not really begun. Yes. She was awake, wishing for some
other place, some other life, in some other's arms but her own. Yes.
She was awake. And it hurt to be that way.
* *
Fed and exercised, mind and body tense with anxieties and fears of
unknown knowledge yet to come later in the morning she shrugged off
her sweated tracksuit and ran to water in the long tub, adjusting the
water temperature to acceptable for her mood of blue depression and
pessimism. Filled to three-quarter's full she fitted the adjustable
showerhead with its long flexible hose to the tap outlet and stepped
into the hot water, drawing quick breath and moaning silently,
pinching eyelids tightly closed as the stinging ferocious heat
assaulted the tender skin of her souls, feet and ankles. And then it
passed.
The damage had been done, the warming commenced. Her slow burn
had begun, to cleanse her mind, to wash clean the negativity of the
dream and replace with optimism, hope, the confidence of the dreams of
yesteryear and yesterday, so far away. To be reborn again to face the
day anew, to live again in hope and trust in the ever-arriving moments
of now as her future arrived at her feet.
Not too cold, not too hot. Just hot enough to cleanse, and to
arouse. Oh, God, yes. Bliss, flowing around her. Taking the
showerhead and turning on the taps she sighed and closed her eyes, and
she warmed from the inside out. Underwater, warm pulsing jets of
rushing fluid within a body of fluid. Moving leisurely, slowly,
starting from her knees, tracing the nerves of her inner thighs, then
pressing against her apex, pulsing, wave after warm-flowing waves,
swirling, dancing with her lips, her labia, flirting with her
clitoris. Again and again the path was repeated, sometimes slowly,
sometimes in sharp little thrilling bursts. Her centre arched towards
the showerhead, tried to capture it, summon it to the centre of her
pleasure like a sea creature caught in the tide, ebbing and flowing.
She was at the mercy of the flowing jets of warm water, lapping
the junction of her thighs, teasing, pressuring, forcing open her lips
with warm, wet kisses of liquid heat within heat. She was ready. Her
skin sensed it, the rocking of her hips, questing towards the jets
spurting from the showerhead held in her hand. Her body almost
completely submerged, only the tips of her breasts peaking above the
water. She felt the tension in her wrist, positioned the showerhead
between her thighs, waving it gently up and down, round and around,
back and forth, fanning it across her red pubic hair.
It was humming. She could feel it, hear it, sense it humming like
a bee coming to drink the honey of her juices from her hive. Warm wet
waves, pulsing towards her, stirring her hair, ruffling through the
tender skin beneath. Her groin felt heavy, as though all her blood was
rushing and coursing to settle between her legs. Under the hypnotic
rhythm of that fanning warm tide, her lips were growing, engorging,
plump and red and slick. Her clitoris was stirring, hard and greedy,
desperate to reach that humming, pulsing jet. It had caught the
rhythm, was humming and pulsing too, pushing through the swollen folds
of her labia. The tides were ebbing and flowing in earnest now,
washing against the insides of her thighs, now swirling through her
hair, tantalising her clitoris with the faintest of watery caresses.
She was poised on the crest of her own tidal wave of passion and
lust released alone in her moment of solitary comfort. Her breathing
deepened, the warm water lapping at her lips and cheeks as her rocking
hips and thighs set the waving motion, tidaling the ivory ceramic
tub's waves back and forth the length of her watery bed. She felt the
wave arrive and then recede. Moaning, she rocked towards it, followed
it, the thrumming symphony of sensation she needed between her legs.
Her clitoris was quivering, trembling with need, suffused with aching,
her swollen lips encircling it, again and again. Throbbing, aching,
pulsing, all of her, every part. Drowning, submerging in the warm wet
want, her toes were her clitorises, her clitorises her toes, ten, no,
eleven erect little mounds, all palpitating, pulsing for release to
prolong to infinity, to turn greed to need to desire, so that the
final explosion was nothing less than a brilliant, mind-warping
shuddering supernova.
Her breath was coming faster and faster. She could feel the salty
sweat of the sea on her brow. The waves were crashing against her
clitoris, crashing closer and closer. Then she placed the warm jets
hard against her lower lips and turned on the taps full force, crying
out into the humid air of her bathroom as she did so. Tense, straining
for release so long denied, with the streaming jets thrashing her
clitoris she came in a rushing, screaming frenzy, a torrent of
suppressed sensation, a fury of ecstasy unlike anything she had ever
experienced. Her skin flushed instantly all over, both from the
warmth of her water and the sheer force of her fiery underwater
orgasm.
* * *
Breathing coming in ragged gasps, she calmed slowly, her milky breasts
still heaving, floating above and below, her calf-muscles still
trembling beneath the quietly surging waves, the tidal flow lapping
the insides of the tub slowly evening out, now that the tide had
passed its ebb and flow, settling gradually, calming on the change of
moods of the current beneath. She drew a deep breath and sighed, then
allowed her full form from head to toe to sink slowly from head to toe
beneath the warm water until her entire form lay submerged beneath the
now gentle swell. Tiny bubbles floating gently upwards burst forth at
the surface of the warm water above her submerged form, sighing the
release of her tension and the arrival of her calm into the still
above the gentle warm waves.
Her clean, blush-pink feet. Her cleansed emotions, her glowing,
tension-free body surfaced slowly like a glistening deep-pink mermaid,
a siren from the deep, her mind a clean slate, ready for fresh
scribblings, new discoveries, different conclusions and fulfilled
dreams, wishes and heart's desires.
* * * *
The End
*
(To be continued) (Thank you for reading.
Please email your comments or criticisms to me. Mesmer) Standard
Disclaimer, meaning this hypnosis/mind-control story is NOT to be read
by persons under the age of 18 years. Please email your appreciation
to my publisher at this site for bringing my work to you for your
reading pleasure - Thank you - Mesmer.
"Hypnosis Does Not Work! - Does it?"
(C)
by Mesmer
* * *
Julie had a bad feeling when she agreed to let Alan hypnotise her as
he tried to get better and better for his upcoming assignments for the
therapist course he was doing. It wasn't that she didn't trust him.
She'd known him for years. It was herself that she didn't rust. While
she didn't actually believe in it, there was something about it that
seemed somehow forbidden to her - like being naughty somehow. Anyway,
she thought with a sigh. It was too late now. He was about to start,
and, she had promised him. He had done her a few favours over the
years, and had never asked for anything in return.
Alan looked at Julie as she settled herself down in the chair. He
knew she was obviously uncomfortable about letting him hypnotise her,
but he didn't care. She was the only one, a female, who knew him well
enough to trust him and allow him to do it. He sat down in the chair
opposite, about three feet from her and smiled warmly.
"Relax." he told her reassuringly. "The worst thing that could
happen is that it won't work. I'll be the only one with egg on my
face."
You got that right, Julie thought, as she also thought of the
opposite.
"No. The worst thing that could happen," Julie replied, "is that
is does work, and then, whatever you're going to do next."
Alan laughed aloud. "Okay." he said. "We can forget it if you
feel that uncomfortable about it."
Julie thought for a moment very clearly. This was her opportunity
to get out of it. He'd given her the chance she'd wished for only
moments before. But even as she thought of it she knew she wouldn't
take it. Something inside her was obligated to pay him back for all
the favours he'd done her unconditionally.
"No." she answered. "Let's do it."
"Okay." Alan smiled warmly at her. "Now, just relax and breathe
normally. Look at the spiral on the computer screen and think of
nothing but how the lines all keep going to the centre of it, but
never actually get there. I wonder why that is?"
Julie gazed into the centre of the computer screen at the
never-ending spiral that snaked its way toward a never-arriving
centre. Her breathing she allowed to deepen and gentle at the same
time. I wonder why it doesn't? She thought idly as her gaze tried to
follow the lines to nowhere. Julie felt herself beginning to relax
between the shoulder blades. She took a deep breath, letting it out
with a defeated sigh. Oh well, she thought. I might even enjoy a
relaxing time at that. I feel a little more at ease even now.
"Concentrate .. on nothing .. except the centre .. and the lines
.. spiralling toward it." Alan said to her soothingly, once he saw she
was cooperating. "Just let the relaxation you ... feel right now ...
deepen even more ... and more ... taking you ... to an ... even more
relaxed state ... where ... you can really experience ... the
incredible effects of ... being hypnotised ... so deeply."
Julie listened to Alan as he spoke. At the same time she kept her
gaze steadily on the centre of the slowly turning spiral. She wondered
why she didn't feel sleepy, or why Alan wasn't telling her she felt
heavy and tired. Then she lost the thought as the centre of the spiral
drew her more and more steadily toward it. She was feeling very
relaxed. This is not too bad, she reflected, as she sighed. What was I
worried about, anyway?
Alan knew Julie was relaxing more and more with each passing
second. He didn't want her to go very deep for the experiment he
wanted to carry out with her. That's why he wasn't suggesting she go
to sleep, as she had most probably been expecting.
"And now," Alan began his experiment. "You can ... feel yourself
... reaching a very relaxed state ... where ... you are not tired ...
feeling very healthy ... in high spirits ... as you ... listen to the
sound of my voice ... in your very relaxed .. and .. receptive state
... breathing naturally ... feeling very good ... about yourself
...your life .. in every way ... while you listen to my voice ... in
your very relaxed ... and very comfortable trance ... in a very ..
very receptive state of mind .. where .. everything I suggest to you
to do .. or see .. or hear .. or feel .. or experience ... you will
experience ... with every fibre of your being ... because you .. are
in a very .. very deeply relaxed .. and comfortable trance .. right at
this moment .. feeling so good ... about yourself ... in every way ...
as you relax ... and receive everything I say ... in your very ...
very receptive state."
Julie sighed as she listened to Alan's voice drone on. But he was
right. She did feel good about herself and her life. And she was
feeling very relaxed and receptive to his ideas and suggestions about
relaxing. The centre of the spiral became a blur every now and then
and she really had to concentrate to see where all the lines were
trying in vain to meet. You never know, Julie thought. I might just be
the only one in the world to ever see these lines actually reach the
centre if I watch it closely enough. Then she doubled her
concentration, relaxing her shoulders fully at the same time.
Alan watched Julie seemingly concentrate harder. This he did not
expect.
"In a moment," Alan began again. "I'm going to count to three ...
and then snap my fingers ... When you hear ... the snap of my fingers
... you will feel wide awake and feeling very good .. but .. you will
still be deeply hypnotised ... in your subconscious mind ... and your
body ..and .. because they want to feel ... as relaxed .. and as nice
.. as they do right now ... they will both listen ... to the sound of
my voice ... and accept my suggestions ... as being good for you ...
no matter what I say ... so .. you can enjoy ... and relax again ...
and be very comfortable ... as your subconscious mind ... and your
body ... continue to accept fully ... all my suggestions ... and carry
them out immediately ... when you hear my fingers snap ... after I
count three .. Do you understand that? Quite clearly?"
Julie nodded immediately. Of course she understood what he'd
said. Did he think she was an idiot or what? She realised that it was
her subconscious mind that had allowed her body to relax and her mind
to follow so wonderfully. She was a student of psyche. She knew that.
It was obvious her mind and body would accept and respond to his
suggestions, even when she was awake, just like Pavlov's dog whenever
he rang their bell. Well, she wasn't a dog, but it was nice, anyway,
to feel like she was feeling at the moment. This hypnosis wasn't that
bad after all. What had she ever been worried about? Julie started to
form a mental note to tell Alan he had a very boring voice, but then
she lost the thought as he began to count up to three.
"Three!" Alan finished counting. Then he snapped his fingers
quite loudly.
* *
Julie opened her eyes and blinked, focussing on Alan's face and eyes
instantly. He was smiling warmly at her. His eyes were all shiny.
"Do you feel as good on the inside as you look on the outside?"
he asked her.
Julie thought about his question for a few seconds before
answering him, which was strange for her, she noticed. She was usually
quick with an answer for anything asked of her. Her mind mentally
scanned herself from head to toe, reaching the conclusion when she'd
finished that she did, in fact, feel good. In fact, she felt very
good. She smiled.
Alan relaxed when he saw her smile. For a moment there he had
been worried she hadn't been deep enough and had been analysing
everything he was saying, instead of going with the flow as she had
promised to do.
"Your smile tells the truth, even if you don't want to admit it."
Alan said to her with a grin.
Julie felt guilty immediately. "Okay." she answered. "I do,
actually. In fact, I was just thinking, I feel really good, for some
reason."
Alan did not miss her inference.
"And you wouldn't credit your feeling of well-being to having
just been deeply and solidly hypnotised?" Alan said, capitalising on
her still-open subconscious mind in its relaxed state.
Julie again felt guilty, but didn't really think he had
hypnotised her. She had heard everything he had said to her and
remembered it all very clearly. Everything. So how could he give
hypnosis the credit for her own natural talent for keeping her own
wits about her?
"Maybe a little." she answered. "I don't think you hypnotised me
though. I didn't feel anything except very relaxed while you were
boring me to death with your voice. Why do you speak like that,
anyway?" she finished with a smile.
Alan sighed. Maybe he'd done it and maybe he had not. He would
soon find out. Her negative attitude wouldn't have helped, that was
for sure, he concluded with another sigh.
"Why don't we find out if I successfully hypnotised you or not?"
Alan then said with yet another sigh.
"Sure." Julie answered. "And how are you going to do that? I'm
awake again now."
"By making you accept and carry out a suggestion I give you." he
replied. "One that you wouldn't normally do, if you weren't
hypnotised."
How could she be hypnotised? Julie thought as she studied Alan's
face. She was wide awake, for Christ's sake. Was Alan losing the plot?
She was supposed to be under for him to get her to do that, if, in
fact, he could do it even then. Julie decided to humour him. She was
starting to feel guilty again about letting him down through him not
being able to hypnotise her.
"Okay." she said, smiling. "Give it your best shot, but, don't
say I said I told you so."
"Will you keep your cool?" Alan asked suddenly.
Julie felt her eyebrows shoot up to the top of her forehead.
"What are you going to ask?" she snapped quickly at him.
"What the hell do you care." Alan snapped right back at her just
as quickly. "If you're not hypnotised, as you claim, it won't matter a
bloody damn what the hell I ask. Will it?"
His quick and somewhat angry reply caught her completely by
surprise, giving her a few seconds to think about what he'd actually
said. And in that sense, he was right, she thought. It wouldn't matter
what he said. She definitely wasn't hypnotised, so it really didn't
matter. She would keep her cool, she decided, no matter what he asked.
"Ask me whatever you like then." she told him. "It won't matter
anyway."
Alan thought about it for a minute or so. Maybe he'd failed after
all? He didn't know, and, at that point, he really didn't care. She
was starting to put him off the whole idea, win, lose or draw.
"I want you to try and not do what I say, even if you want to."
he told her. "And even if you don't want to, I want you to try and do
what I don't say."
"What?" Julie exclaimed. "I didn't even understand what you
said!"
* * *
"It doesn't matter." Alan sighed, losing faith in the whole idea.
"Just take your shoes off, and do it quickly please."
Julie thought about what he'd asked her to do. What did he say?
Don't do what he told her to? Do what he told her not to do? Christ!
He was enough to confuse anybody hypnotised or not! In sheer
exasperation she quickly reached down and undid the clasps on both her
shoes and slipped them off her feet, crossing them then and rubbing
her right soul up and down the instep of her left foot.
Alan smiled as he watched her take off her shoes, and quickly,
too, he noticed.
Julie saw him grinning and realised instantly what he was
grinning at. She had done exactly what he'd told her to.
"You didn't do that!: she snapped. "So you can stop grinning like
a Cheshire cat. I did it out of sheer frustration at trying to
understand what you meant!"
"I thought it pretty straight-forward." Alan replied to her
indignance. "I told you to quickly take off both your shoes and you
did it. Simple as that. I win. You lose." And then he laughed loudly.
Julie became quickly incensed at him laughing. How the hell could
he claim to have made her take off her shoes when she knew full well
that she took them off, all by herself?
"Bullshit!" she snapped at him angrily. "I, did it!"
"Really? Well, if that's the case then, quickly take off your top
and prove it!" he snapped back at her, just as angrily.
Alan wasn't angry on the inside. He was elated. He knew he had
her. Now all he had to do was to convince her, and have some fun at
her expense while he did.
Julie was livid. How dare Alan tell her that he made her take her
shoes off, when she knew damn well that she did it, all by herself,
from her own thought and decision. Being hypnotised had nothing to do
with it. And if she had to take her bloody top off to prove it to the
simple idiot, then she would. And she did, and quickly, dropping it to
the floor beside her chair, after which she sat there with her arms
folded across the white bra that restrained her rather large breasts.
She was smirking at him, looking and feeling like a winner. Cop that,
stupid! She thought, as she noticed quietly the warm air now wafting
around her bare chest and breasts.
Inside Alan's mind he was jumping for joy. He wondered how long
it would take before the penny dropped. He kept his face grim,
allowing her to think that she had gotten the better of him by taking
off her top.
"I suppose you're going to tell me now that you made me take off
my top." she said with a sneering tone in her voice.
"Yep." Alan grinned at her. "I told you to, and you did it as
quickly as I asked you, too."
Julie was set to explode right there on the spot. There was just
no getting through to him, she thought, as her conscious mind fumed.
He was going to any lengths of ridiculousness, just to prove she was
hypnotised, and would do whatever he told her to do, and quickly, too.
"You did not make me take off my top!" Julie exclaimed angrily at
him, not caring whether she offended him or not. This guy needed to be
brought back down to earth. "I, took off my top! And I'll take it all
bloody-well off, just to show you that you did not do it! I did!" And
then she added, "And quickly too!"
"Bullshit!" Alan snapped angrily back at her. "Then do it, now!
Take all your clothes off, and quickly, too! Go on! Just see if you
can do it..all by yourself!"
Julie jumped up from the chair and began quickly undressing. She
was fuming. What sort of a fucking idiot was this guy? How could she
have ever agreed to let him hypnotise her, when she knew that he
wouldn't be able to. If she had to strip naked to prove he was a
complete and utter failure, then she would, damn it. She would. And
then Julie proceeded to do exactly that.
Alan could not believe his eyes. His grin seemed to be making her
madder and madder. He watched as she reached behind herself and
quickly release the strap of her bra, not even bothering to catch it
as it fell down her chest and onto the floor before her hands were
undoing her jeans and wiggling them down over her hips, her blazing
gaze never leaving his eyes for a single second as she dragged them
angrily down around her ankles and stepped quickly out of them. And
she wasted no time in hooking her thumbs inside her underwear, brief,
black panties, and stripping them down to her ankles and then stepping
quickly out of them as well. That done she angrily slammed her arms
folded across her breasts and stamped her feet heavily on the carpeted
floor in temper, her eyes, glaring orbs of fire that dared him to tell
her she didn't undress by herself.
She had won. Julie was fuming with anger, but she had won. She
had never felt so angry in her entire life. Now he could see, her mind
screamed silently at him. The fucking fool, she fumed inside her
conscious mind. She was bare-arsed naked, and she did it, herself. He
didn't do it. She had. So he could take a running fucking jump at his
hypnosis methods, and stupid fucking ideas that he was telling her to
do everything that she had done, and quickly, too, when she had
proven, now, finally, that she had done it, all by herself, and
quickly too, she thought, with not a little pride in her defiant
stance as she glared down at him in his fucking chair.
"Now tell me that you made me strip naked! Go on! I dare you, you
idiot!" Julie shouted at him angrily. "You just saw me do it! Not you!
Me! What have you got to say now! Are you stupid, or fucking-what?"
* * * *
Alan was internally falling out of his tiny tree with amazement and
pride. He couldn't believe it. But there she was, standing less than
two feet away from him, and completely naked. Her lush, thick thatch
of curly black pubic hair formed a large matted triangle at the
junction of her well-rounded thighs. As she was also standing slightly
side-on to him in her anger and defiance he could also appreciate the
beautiful curve of her left buttock as it arched gracefully down and
joined her upper thigh with a slight crease.
"Well," he said in a less heated and smug tone. "If you really
did that by yourself, as you claim you did, then you wouldn't possibly
be capable of the conscious thought, all by yourself, of kneeling down
in front of me right now, taking my cock out and giving me the most
pleasurable oral satisfaction you have ever given any man in your
life, just because you know you can, one that even you could be proud
as hell of. You couldn't possibly be able to have that conscious
thought, all by yourself. Could you? You smart-arse?"
Julie exploded. It was too much. He was too much. What the fuck
did it take? What the fuck did it fucking-well take? How dare he tell
her what she could and couldn't do? What she was and was not capable
of? If she wanted to, she could give him the best fucking head job of
his god-forsaken miserable fucking life. How dare he tell her she was
not capable of having that thought, all by herself? If she wanted to
suck his cock, she damn-well fucking would. If she wanted to suck the
balls right off his fucking body and spit them back in his smirking
face, she would fucking-well do that, too, she decided, in a temper
unknown to her conscious mind before.
Suck him? Julie thought, in the most hostile fashion she ever
had. She'll damn-well show him she could do whatever she fucking-well
wanted to do, without him telling her. She would give him the most
pleasurable oral satisfaction of his entire life, and the next fucking
life as well, she decided, as she dropped like a rock onto the carpet
between his open knees and reached for his belt, quickly undoing it,
then ripping his stud button away from its clasp.
Julie felt herself surge with a raw power she had never felt
before in her life. She ripped the zipper down on his jeans and reefed
them down over his hips when he lifted himself up by holding onto the
arms of the chair. She dragged them all the way down to his ankles,
Then she whipped them off his feet in a flash, turning and hurling
them to the far side of the room before turning back to him, her gaze
rivetting on his already long, thick spear standing proudly upright,
just how she liked the look of them.
She dived forward with her head between his legs, her hands
grasping his hot lance by the base. Then she slipped one hand beneath
the long stalk and cupped his testicles, squeezing them softly as she
slowed her pace, knowing she was going to prove to him that she could
give him the most pleasurable oral satisfaction he had ever had in his
miserable life. Then he'd have to admit finally that he had been
wrong, and that she had been right. She could think and decide for
herself. And that was exactly what she was doing, and going to do
right now, as her mouth lowered slowly over his pulsing spear, inch by
inch, until she reached the feel of his wiry pubic hairs against her
top and bottom lips. The thick head of his long arrow touch softly
against the back of her palate. Julie was committed in her conscious
mind to pleasuring his fucking stupid brains out until he begged her
to take his long, delicious-tasting length out of her mouth and give
it finally back to him, drained completely dry of every last drop -
every last fucking drop. And that was exactly what Julie proceeded to
do, with every fibre of her being.
Alan felt, rather than saw his shaft disappear again and again
into the warm depths of Julie's mouth and throat, again and again and
again. He could not prevent the moans of sheer ecstasy and sensuous
rapture escaping from his lips as he threw his head from side to side.
His knees trembled as her mouth clasped and closed, sliding the entire
length of him down into the depths of her throat, over and over, and
every time she swallowed his length fully she would nip and pull some
of his pubic hairs as she withdrew again, just to let him know she had
mouthed his entire being. His hands found the back of her head and
went along for the ride. She needed no forcing him deeper. She was
taking all of him as deeply as was possible for his length to go,
until finally he could take no more.
Alan groaned from the pit of his belly as he felt the tip of his
flaming arrow expand with the contracting of his aching, swollen
testicles, deep in the hot, humid confines of her soft, slippery
throat. He felt himself contract for the final time, and instantly
felt her swallow his entire length, then clamp her mouth closed about
his base and squeeze his testicles at the same time.
It was too much. His flesh opened like the parting of the Red Sea
and he emptied, gushing into her with all the spasms his fevered mind
and body were capable of producing. Instantly she began tugging
forcefully backward as he continued to pulse and ejaculate his
champagne cocktail into the inner recesses of her hot mouth and
throat. She was draining him dry, and he was raining fluids into her
mouth and body as if all his dams had burst at once. It just kept
flowing out of him, spurting into her hot oral cavern like an erupting
waterfall of coolness as she continued to suck and tug and drain him
dry. Alan felt as if his life blood was being drained away from him
while he just sat there and willingly let it happen. He was in
heaven's seventh heaven.
Julie swallowed and sucked and licked and squeezed and tugged
with her mouth and throat and head until his flaming arrow softened to
almost a former shadow of his spear of hardness and heat. Then, with
one last deep and sensuous suck of her throat as she drew away from
him, with him still trapped between her clamped mouth and lips, she
drained his softness like the teat of a cow, stripping him dry of the
last molecule of sperm that had somehow remained hidden and unnoticed
in whatever corners existed in the centre-line of his own channel.
Then she sat back on her haunches and heels, proudly exhausted,
yet completely satisfied at what she saw when she opened her eyes and
looked up at him. He looked like a deflated man. Totally and
completely. Well, she thought, as she breathed deeply and sighed with
a woman's satisfaction at pleasing her man. That should show the jerk
once and for all. Teach him to tell her she couldn't please her man.
She could please her man, alright. And she had. And he, Alan, was the
living proof.
Then suddenly, Julie giggled. Well, almost living, anyway, she
chuckled to herself. Yes, she had definitely pleased her man in every
way she knew how, and then some. In fact, she thought, as she looked
lovingly at Alan's soft arrow resting snugly against his left thigh. I
bet he loved the way she pleased her man - him - her man. Then she
stopped in mid-thought. Her man? Alan? Her man? She had pleased him?
Pleasured him? Sucked him? And for a moment Julie panicked. Her mind
raced uncertainly in every direction but one she could follow.
Alan opened his eyes and smiled lovingly down at her. She smiled
back at him and her racing thoughts instantly calmed. Her man, she
sighed, as she leaned forward and rested her head against his knee.
She had pleased her man, and had done herself proud. She knew that
from the look on his face and in his eyes. Yes. She had definitely
pleased her man, and, she had done it without being hypnotised.
Hah, she thought with a smile to herself. Hypnosis? Who needed
it? It didn't work anyway. She really didn't know why he wasted his
time trying to learn it. What good would it ever do him if it wouldn't
work on a simple girl? He hadn't even been able to get her to not
pleasure him orally. That was why she had come over to his place,
wasn't it? She thought. To do that for him? For her man? Of course it
was, she decided, resting the full weight of her head against the
soft, warm muscled flesh of his inner thigh and feeling his hand rest
lightly and warmly against the side of her cheek. Of course it was.
Wasn't it?
Alan just smiled again as his hand found and rested on Julie's
warm cheek. His soft, gentle fingers felt her eyes close as her
breathing deepened. And then he sighed and joined her wherever she
was. One day, he thought to himself as sleep took him to Julie in his
mind. He would have to tell her the truth - that hypnosis really does
work. But not just yet. And then he smiled once more as the sandman
gently closed his eyelids for the last time that night. Not just yet.
* * *
Another Happy Ending
by Mesmer.
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