Caught Up In You 1

Jon stares helplessly into Linda's eyes as he comes.

His hand pumps up and down on his cock, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to, as he feels the endless pleasure flowing from every sensitized inch of flesh. The orgasm never seems to stop; he's lost all sense of time, and Linda's hypnotic gaze locks him into that perfect, eternal moment for what feels like hours. Jon doesn't know how long he's been coming. He doesn't know anything anymore except Linda's eyes and the sensations flooding through his body.

She seems almost to glow in the soft bedroom light. Later, she will tell him that his pupils were so dilated by the trance that his irises were just a tiny rim of blue around the black, but at the moment he doesn't register what's really happening. He just knows that she's so powerful, so commanding, and the words, "Oh, Goddess," slip out from his lips without even thinking about them.

"Good boy," she whispers. "Good boy." She is his goddess, when he's this deep and this lost in the pleasuretrance. He can't imagine seeing her as a woman the way he knows he could just an hour ago, before she led him into the bedroom and locked her gaze onto his. The bliss she grants is just too powerful, too intense. It feels like he's touching some sort of divine essence and letting it fill him up through the connection in their eyes. Every second brings him deeper pleasure and takes his orgasm to a higher level.

He feels her hand between his thighs, rubbing and teasing around the cock he endlessly strokes and finding new ways to heighten the pleasure and deepen the pleasuretrance. She's almost ruthless in the way she stimulates him, as though she has no intention of ever letting him escape the depths of his mindless fog of orgasm after orgasm.

His eyes begin to unfocus, but he can't close them. He remembers, in a vague and hazy way, that they were closed before; she wanted him to focus on nothing but sensation, then, as she found his hard nipples with her tongue and flicked at them so fast that he could feel nothing but a blur of warm, wet pleasure. He had to beg her to stop, then, when the tickling thrum of her mouth against his chest became too much to bear. She loved that. Linda always loves it when he begs.

He begged to stroke, too. His hand can't pull away from his cock now, but earlier, she bound his arms up over his head with a single spoken word--her hypnotic commands so much stronger than ropes or chains--and teased him until his cock stood straight up. It pulsed and throbbed and leaked out slick precum all down the length of his shaft as she sent him deeper and deeper into the pleasuretrance. "Helpless," he gasps out, not sure whether he's speaking of the memory or the way he feels right now.

"That's right," Linda says, and Jon can hear the delight in her voice, as though he's a student who finally figured out the right answer to a difficult question. "You are helpless. You are mindless. You are mine. My tranceslut."

"Your tranceslut," he responds, his eyes widening even further as he stares straight ahead. He can't focus at all anymore, not even enough to look directly at her eyes; instead, they blur as his empty brain tries to resolve the two separate, unfocused images into some sort of whole. Later, when he recovers, he'll try to explain to her what he saw, but for now, the image of the third eye right in the middle of her forehead doesn't feel like an optical illusion. It feels like a manifestation of the same power that captures him and holds him in the pleasuretrance, the divinity cloaked in human form that renders him helplessly, joyfully obedient. He always loves her, but right now he worships her.

"What does tranceslut do?" she asks, her caressing fingers coaxing the response out of him just as much as her words.

"Tranceslut obeys," he gasps out. He doesn't need to think about the words. His mantras and the pleasure are all that's left in his mind right now. "Obedience is pleasure."

"Good boy. Come." The words prompt another orgasm from inside the depths of the first, like a flower with another flower blossoming out of its whorls. He inhales sharply, the sheer bliss almost unendurably powerful. "Breathe," she whispers to him, and it is only then that he remembers he needs to.

"Good boy," she says. The words are simple, even repetitive, but the words aren't what drives him into mindless need. Linda's hypnotic presence, her sense of command turns simple words into elegant gestures of love and desire. She stared into his eyes, earlier, and simply counted down from ten to one, and it felt like foreplay to him when his eyes finally slipped shut. He can't remember what she was counting down to. Later, she will smile enigmatically. She never does tell him.

He doesn't need to remember, though. He knows that, just as surely as he knows that obedience is pleasure and surrender is bliss. All he needs to remember is the pleasuretrance, that endless fog of pleasure that builds and mounts and washes over him like waves. The triggers she programmed into him send shivers up his spine every time she whispers, "Pleasure," and crest into bliss every time she says "Come." He doesn't need to remember how many times he comes. He doesn't need to think about how long he spends in the pleasuretrance. He doesn't need to remember his programming. The pleasure just locks it in, so deep that it's impossible to resist. He doesn't want to resist anyway. Why would anyone ever want to resist this?

Realizing that, he gives himself even deeper to the pleasure. He can't stop, and he doesn't want to. He whispers out, "Can't stop coming," and her smile tells him that his words please her. His pleasure is an offering to the goddess, a sign of his faith and devotion to her. The deeper he goes, the more he obeys and the harder he comes, the more pleased she is by him.

"Your deepest self obeys, and all your strength is turned towards serving me." He shivers again at the sound of her voice, knowing that this is the moment when her programming sinks in the deepest and when it feels the best. He's completely open to her, as his conscious mind overloads with bliss and lets her words flow straight past to the furthest reaches of his subconscious. When he comes, it locks all his programming in, and that feels "so good, so good to be programmed..." It takes him a moment to realize she's actually speaking the words that form his thoughts. It takes another moment to realize he's saying them right along with her.

"Good boy," she whispers again, "Good boy," and every repetition coaxes more pleasure out of him. This time, he realizes, she's not going to stop. He watches her lips form the words, repeating them again and again, rewarding him for his worship with the knowledge that it pleases her. Every time she speaks, now, it pushes him further into the pleasuretrance, past the point where his mind comes again and again and again into the place where his body can no longer resist the endless stimulation and it has to release his pleasure completely. He wants that now. He needs it. But even on that final edge of total pleasure, with his body stimulated almost past enduring, he knows that there's one last thing he has to do.

Linda always loves it when he begs.

The words spill out as he pumps his hand feverishly up and down on his cock, a babble of endless need. "please please come please come please please please!" he whimpers, his voice high and shivery and utterly filled with need. They'll spend a good few minutes later on wondering how to tactfully ask the neighbors if they were too loud, but right now he couldn't care less whether they hear him. He wants everyone to know just how absolutely, intensely seductive Linda is. He wishes that everyone could worship her the way he does. He wants so badly to come for her.

"Yes, pet," she whispers, reaching up with her free hand and stroking his cheek. "You may. Come for me."

And only then, with his gaze totally caught in Linda's eyes, with his mind totally captured by Linda's words, with his hand helplessly stroking his cock, does he feel himself spurt out his pleasure. His come splashes out onto his hand, his cock, his belly, even spattering a bit onto Linda's arm as it rests on his chest. It's an explosion of total, potent bliss that seems to stretch out into one last eternity as he feels it from inside the very heart of the pleasuretrance. She has commanded him to come. And tranceslut obeys.

Only then do his eyes finally slip shut, burning from their long period of staring. His body relaxes completely, his hand slips off his cock to rest bonelessly on his hip, and his mind slips down into the blankness of total trance, without even the pleasure to occupy it. He hears a click, and sees the light diminish through closed eyelids.

"I've got you," Linda says, and he sighs happily as trance deepens into sleep.

THE END