The fan whirred and bought a gentle breeze over their bodies at each turn of its tall, slim cylinder body. The light was filtered through curtains, bright and searing outside, muted through shades to give the white walls a grayness. She took him by both hands from his desk, led him to kneel in front of her, and settled comfortably against the rustling beanbag chair. Her own back was against the side of the couch, the fat upholstered armrest and less stuffed but still padded straight flat part below it feeling good against gym tugged muscles.
He sat on his heels, like in a martial arts class, comfortable, already starting to relax. Trance was a routine, a habit you slid into when certain cues presented themselves. He couldn’t not start to drop now, when the context came up.
She put her finger to her lips, the easy to understand gesture that made the “shhh” command evident without needing to utter it. His attention was fixed firmly on her, particularly her eyes, but also her slender, long fingered hands.
She didn’t bring any props this time, not one of the watches or pendants from where it hung in their bedroom, not the plastic clicker, nor the toys from other sides of their dynamic: plugs and rope and cuffs and things that made his skin and the flesh beneath yield a little more with every strike. She was dressed for summer, t-shirt, shorts, much the same, but with the stubborn male habit of wearing long pants even in the hottest weather.
By gesture, only, she showed him to disrobe, pulling his shirt up and off, and the fly of his pants open to pull them down his thighs. Of course he was turned on already. Her attention was betwitching enough, on its own to draw that out of him. He could feel his breathing start to slow. She, in turn, knew that to hypnotize was a mirror. The pleasure in playing him down was to follow him into the state of float yet focus.
Indeed, as she raised her left hand so he could see it clearly, curling and uncurling her fingers to get his attention, she went along with how she commanded.
Breathe. 1-2-3-4-5. Her hand pulsed the beats to take that intake through his nose, her own chest swelling with an audible scoop of air.
Hold. 1-2-3-4-5. She clenched her fist in tight little spasms, saying nothing, watching him obey.
Release. 1-2-3-4-5. Her hand uncurled now in the same fashion, slowly, letting him drain out completely. Already, his shoulders were held a bit less tight, his face softer.
She repeated that loop twice more, resetting him, emptying his head of everything but the task at hand. Her willing subject let the pleasure of the resulting looseness let him slump a little more into the beanbag behind them.
Delicately, counting on the tingle that would result from only the most feather light touches, she let only her middle fingers touch her forehead, brushing them along from the midpoint below her parting to where they nudged blonde bangs from her temples. He anticipated this command perfectly, quickly raising his own hands to mimic.
She took her time to explore her face, circling all the nerve rich areas, around the edges of her scalp, along the orbits of her eyes, over her lips. Teasingly, she circled around and around, feeling the slight texture difference of her own lipstick. To him, he saw a mouth ringed in an almond-pink, close to natural. For her, she saw a copy, a thick small pout with a fair bit of colour. No lipstick, but oh so eager to mimic her fingers, now sliding into her own mouth.
His cock didn’t give her many cues. He tended to get hard and stay hard, so she measured the electric extra contact via the other tells, how his eyes briefly closed and savored the silent command to suck. She waited until he naturally opened them again, before moving on, down her neck, to her shoulders and looping around over her breasts.
She made three turns there, before mischief returned and she pinched both her nipples, trading what was entirely pleasure for her for what would be a little bite of sharpening discomfort for him. The intake of his breath was her reward and she moved on, caressing her own stomach, so he could follow, watching her lushness, as she watched him touch muscle under olive skin. From there, to her lap, over her thighs, down to her knees. He remained obedient.
When she finally made the gesture that let him know he could touch his cock, he was on autopilot, the whole entirety of his thoughts gone and only the need to intuit her commands there. She circled the air and stroked, up and down, up and down.
It amused her that, while he was by no means small, her own gestures exaggerated presence. She had no cock, unless she strapped one on. So, her hand wrapped around the air would travel up as far as above her breasts or just down to the fold of her lap, clear, visible and to be perfectly replicated in miniature.
She took her time with it, swoop and stroke, pacing herself. From time to time she would switch the beat, adding a twist into her wrist or a swirl of her palm up to show he must glide it over the head of his poor cock. Even this extra jolt of stimulation did not break his compliance. She could do it over and over again, knowing he wouldn’t let the flinching make him stop.
There was a paradox of erotic hypnosis: did one obey hypnotic commands because one desired to submit or did one desire to submit because one was hynotized?
Trance was trained into him, patterns grooved deeper and deeper into his psyche, bringing him down a little faster every time. She was able to command him like this, without a word or a sound louder than a sigh, because she had done this many times before. To be seduced and hypnotized by her was a memory he could play back for her with only the most minimal reminders.
Thus also, she found it got easier for her every time, stepping into patter as easily as she might her own home, knowing instinctively where to find his levers and vulnerabilities. She supposed that he reflected himself back onto her, the pliancy she found as much about his own talent to subsume himself into her wishes.
Through her puppetry, his face gained a certain returning tension where he had previously held it slack. His torso stiffened, particularly the two visible chords of muscle of his abdomen. Nonetheless, he was still fixated on her and her every motion. Closer and closer. Were this a command she made while he was fully able to speak without being spoken to he would start trying to signal that the point of no return was imminent.
He knew, normally he could not come without permission, but he was on this ride at her control, and if she decided that was what was going to happen, he would. This time she hesitated, enjoying the potential of that outcome and then brought her hand up quickly, her palm smooth and flat. Stop.
His obedience was immediate, but she enjoyed the lingering, instinctual twitches, hand wanting to seek back to where she had removed it. He was almost there. Just a bit more and he would have come. If, in her next gesture, she sent him back to pumping his cock for her she knew any restraint was gone and he would spurt, helpless, in scant more than two or three strokes.
Instead, she pivoted her wrist and SNAP. The pop was middle finger striking thumb, audible, breaking their silence even as he slumped down in front of her, dropping the rest of the way to bask in the relaxation of his complete trance.
Alas, I couldn’t post this one early for my dear Patrons because erotic hypnosis content remains on the no-no list for what patreon will permit. Nonetheless. if you don’t want to wait, most Friday Femdom Fiction is posted there first. It also helps support the site, so you really should consider signing up!