Controlled and Obedient

Trudy closed the chat window, leaned back in her chair and sighed happily.  Sure, she'd lost three hours when she'd only meant to have a quick conversation, but it had been worth it.  She was a bit fuzzy about exactly what had happened, but it had definitely been fun, the dampness of her knickers showed that beyond doubt.

It meant she had to rush to get to the art preview at her friend's gallery, but somehow she didn't feel stressed.  As she showered, she lingered the spray over her clit, and could almost feel someone licking there, his hands holding onto her behind.  She shivered a little with how vivid the hallucination was, but just kept going a little longer, a little longer.

She was so worked up it didn't take long to get to the edge of coming, and as she hung there for a moment, she heard the voice in her head getting louder, more insistent controlled and obedient, controlled and obedient, obey, obey, obey...

As she fell into orgasm part of her mind was surprised that she'd got there without needing to touch herself, but the thought was soon washed away in the water running down her legs.

The nice, relaxed feeling stayed with her as she walked down the road and got on the bus.  It was as if the part of her brain that worried about things was asleep, leaving her free to enjoy the everyday things she normally ignored: the feeling of the breeze against her skin, the colours of leaves against the sky, the smell of the food stalls.  She laughed to herself at how simple things seemed, how easy it was to just live in her body for once, rather than dismiss it as an unreliable container for her mind.

Even the bitching and status seeking at the party didn't seem to penetrate her haze.  Trudy smiled and chatted brightly, and noticed how easy it was to find the right words to say to people, the best body language to convey interest in what they were saying, along with confidence in her own words.  She felt as if she was someone else, and yet more herself than ever.

Something was helping her, as if a hole she hadn't known was there had been filled.  She stood and tried to work it out, and again, on the edge of her hearing, was a voice gently whispering  controlled and obedient, controlled and obedient...


It was so strange, she'd imagined that feeling controlled and obe- ... that feeling like that would have made her more passive, scared, like she couldn't think for herself, but instead it made her feel stronger, worth more.  She had a secret, something she could draw on when she needed.  She wasn't exactly being puppeted, but an invisible hand was guiding her, protecting her.

It felt... man, it felt really fucking good...

Cold Eyes

This is a fantasy that turned into the start of a story.  The characters are some I've been working on for a while, although I haven't published anything with them in yet, so don't worry if you don't know the backstory.

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I turned up on his doorstep, shivering and crying. I shouldn't have done this, I was almost ready to run away when he opened the door and it was too late.

He looked at me coldly, "I told you not to come here uninvited." There was no sign of the charm he usually seduced me with - I'd gone against our agreement and would have to fight to get anything at all.

I was deperate, and tried to sound appealing through the tears. "I'm sorry, please... please let me in, I've got nowhere else to go!" I looked up at him with big eyes, "I'll be good, I'll do anything you want."

He laughed deep in his throat and I knew I'd done enough. "Come on then, crybaby, I'll hold you to that!" He left the door open and walked away from me; I scuttled upstairs after him gratefully.

I entered his living room to see him settled into his chair as if he'd never got up. I made for the sofa but he shook his head curtly, so I stood awkwardly in front of him.

"So, who's upset you this time?" He asked, no trace of sympathy in his voice.

I hesitated, then blurted out, "Josh of course! He's gone and run off with some little blonde tart again!"

"Well, shit, that's nothing new! If that's all, I'm sorry I let you in!"

I looked down at my feet. "He says he loves her..."

He laughed, cruelly. "Does he now? He's getting soft. Well I can see why you came to me, then."

I met his cold stare. He might never tell me he loved me, but at least he wouldn't fall in love with anyone else. Right now that was some kind of comfort. We understood each other: I wanted him to hurt me, to scour out the stupid pain my brother had caused me. In return I was going to have to pay, the only thing I didn't know yet was the price.

"Strip."

His orders were always flat, disinterested. For some reason that thrilled me more than overt passion would - I knew he desired me, or he wouldn't have let me in. I started to take my clothes off teasingly, trying to arouse him enough to crack the ice, but my efforts were in vain.

"I don't want all that bollocks, just get 'em off," he spat.

I should have known better than to try cheap tricks like that. I got my clothes off as quickly as I could without ceremony, and was both gratified and frightened to see his eyes glint as I glanced at the uncurtained window.

"Well, I suppose we can start with that, if you want me to go easy on you," he feigned kindness, and I sighed, turning to face the street. It wasn't busy, and his flat was on the first floor, but I didn't like being vulnerable like this. When I'm naked on stage, I'm in control. Here I was very far from it, and anyone looking in would see that.

Now my back was to him, his voice became softer, although no less commanding. "Slide your fingers in, slowly mind, and circle them around the way I like." I'm not an exhibitionist, but there was certainly something hot about exposing myself like this. I felt the humiliation become more manageable as the fuzzy warmth of losing control took over.

"Let every circle turn your mind off a little more," he was almost whispering now, but I could hear his words clearly without my thoughts getting in the way. Dreamily I noticed a woman sit down at the bus stop across the road. All she'd have to do was look up to get a full view of my show.

My hand sped up, slipping greedily around and inside. "Seen someone?" he asked casually. I nodded, too caught up to speak. "I think you know what to do, then," he was sure I'd obey the unspoken order, and I groaned knowing he was right.

I took a step towards the window, willing the woman to look up so I could finish this beautiful torture. The moments stretched out, I was getting closer and closer, but couldn't tip myself over without the trigger of shame. Finally she glanced up but her eyes slid off me immediately. I made a mewling noise and he chuckled, "Patience, Kitty."

I was panting, right on the edge, trying to beam messages into the woman's mind. Her head tilted up again, gaze drifting over the windows, perhaps unconsciously drawn to the movement, then at last she really saw what was going on in front of her. I shook with gratitude and felt his cold eyes boring into me from behind, her hot stare stabbing me from the front. I felt impaled, skewered between them, a puppet serving only to generate a response in a stranger. She blushed and looked away and I fell to the floor, burning too.

He got up to close the curtains, checking to see if our audience was still there. "Aw, we frightened her off," he said with slight regret. I didn't ask how he knew who'd been watching, he probably worked it out from my body language. "Right, that was fun, let's get on with something a bit more demanding."

I was pathetically grateful to feel my earlier pain disappearing as his cool scrutiny chilled me right through.