Can I Trust You 1

"Thank you so much for driving me home, Cynthia," Alice said as she fumbled in her purse for her apartment key. "I was just a leetle bit worried about not being, y'know, up to it. That's the problem with BYOB Paint Nights. Everyone B's a whole B." She giggled, and dug a bit deeper into her purse. "I mean, I'd probably have been fine to drive, if I had to, but since you don't drink, and your car was here anyway, I mean, why take a chance? Even if I'm just a bit tipsy, why take the-" She stopped talking to dig furiously through her purse again. "What the hell?" she muttered. "I had them when I-"

Cynthia leaned past her and unlocked the door with the keys she still held from the drive home. "Let's get you inside," she said, pushing the door open and trying not to feel too smug.

"Sure, right!" Alice said, walking in with a deliberate gait that suggested to Cynthia that she was trying very hard not to wobble. "Sorry, blonde moment. You know how that goes." She stepped out of her shoes and gestured to Cynthia. "Come on in, I'll make you some coffee so you don't fall asleep on your way home."

Cynthia gave her a guarded smile and stepped inside, trying to fight her natural urge to make a polite and rapid exit. This was good, she reminded herself as she took off her shoes and had a seat on the couch. She was hanging out with someone outside of work and not just in a structured event. Alice was chatting with her, being friendly, and welcoming Cynthia into her private space. It was okay to accept that, Cynthia told herself. This was all positive.

She forced herself, very deliberately, to lean back into the couch cushions. After a moment, she uncrossed her arms and sat on her hands to keep from crossing them again.

After a moment's fumbling, Alice called out from the kitchen, "Is instant okay? I've got some of that French Vanilla stuff. It's dreck, but it's sweet dreck."

Cynthia nodded, then realized Alice couldn't see her. "Um, instant's fine," she called back. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Should we be shouting?" she asked, lowering her voice a bit just in case.

"Huh?" Alice popped her head back in. "Oh, the apartment thing. No, it's fine. We're in a corner unit on the top floor, and the guy who lives downstairs works nights. So long as I'm not playing loud music at two in the afternoon, it's all good." She ducked back into the kitchen and Cynthia heard the reassuring sound of spoons rattling against cups.

A few moments later, Alice came out with two cups of coffee. "I know they say it doesn't sober you up," she said. "But I always feel better after I have some." She handed Cynthia her drink and sat down on the other end of the couch.

"Probably keeps you hydrated if nothing else," Cynthia replied, taking a sip of her own coffee. She barely even tasted it-most of her concentration was on the conversation. It had been ages since she'd had to make small talk, and she was uncomfortably aware that her skills had atrophied pretty severely.

"I never thought of that," Alice said. She took another swig of coffee. Cynthia wondered if it was her turn to speak again, or if Alice was supposed to contribute another sentence or two. The silence stretched out a little longer than it felt like it should. Cynthia wished that one of the other girls from Paint Night was there-she had an easier time with conversation when there was someone else to help keep it going.

Thankfully, Alice broke the silence again. "So, were you happy with your painting?" she asked.

Cynthia nodded. "I think so," she said, feeling like her responses sounded a little too formal but not quite sure how to fix it. "I mean, I'm mainly going for the social aspect. I don't think I'll ever be very good."

Alice smiled over her coffee. "I drank half a bottle of cabernet while I painted, honey," she said. "I don't think 'very good' was ever the goal."

Cynthia chuckled, trying not to let her laughter sound forced. She did think it was funny; she just wasn't used to being alone with another person and she was feeling a bit self-conscious about everything. It was bound to get better after a little casual conversation.

"So," Alice said. "Are you, like, afraid of cocks or something?"

Cynthia almost inhaled her French Vanilla. "Sorry," Alice said. "I didn't mean to say it like that. But, I mean, you only ever come to Paint Night when we're doing still lifes, and you never want to go out afterward. And you're happy to do things with us like yoga and tennis and stuff, but you cancel out whenever anyone says they're bringing their boyfriend or their husband. I thought maybe you were gay, or maybe just getting out of a real bad break-up that left you...y'know, sick of guys."

Cynthia set her coffee down on the end table. Deep down, she knew the second she decided to come inside that she was going to tell Alice everything. It was just too exhausting to keep it all in anymore. She almost didn't care if Alice thought it was all crazy-just the idea of having someone she could actually talk to about her problems felt too important to pass up.

Even so, she couldn't quite convince let her guard down. Not after so long. "...can I trust you?" she asked. "I mean, can I really trust you?"

Alice blinked at her owlishly for a moment. "Um, sure," she replied. Cynthia clearly must have conveyed her concern about the casual tone in Alice's voice, because the other woman followed it up with an emphatic, "Absolutely."

"Okay." Cynthia sighed. "The truth is, you had it right the first time. I'm afraid of cocks."

It felt like such a relief to get it out into the open that she almost forgot to say anything more, but then she saw the utterly perplexed look on Alice's face and realized that sentence probably needed extensive follow-up. "Um...I don't mean

afraid

afraid. It's..." She sighed. "Okay, I had a boyfriend in college. His name was Brad, he was a junior studying psychology and I was a freshman who hadn't even come up with a major yet. He seemed so wise and worldly to me back then."

Cynthia's mouth went suddenly dry. She took another sip of coffee, surprised at how badly her hands were shaking. "A few weeks after we started dating, I was having trouble in some of my classes, and he suggested that I might focus better on my studying if I let him h..." Cynthia felt her throat close up, and she fought a momentary urge to sprint out the door. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and she struggled to get the next word out. "...hypnotize me. He wanted to do that. To help, he said."

The memory came back perfectly clear, even after eight years. A younger her, with a pixie cut instead of a long ponytail, lounging in Brad's apartment in a pair of shorts that showed off her long legs. Staring with sparkling brown eyes and an excited grin as Brad dangled a rose quartz crystal in front of her and spoke to her in low, soothing tones, telling her to focus on the stone and let everything else go. Let his voice fade into the background like the warm afternoon sun and focus all her attention on the stone as it spun and swayed, endlessly moving at the end of the chain. No need to move, no need even to blink. Just focus...

She pushed the memory to the back of her head. "And I agreed. It was, um...nice. And it did help my grades. I was really grateful to him, and it seemed to really increase our, our emotional intimacy. I think I moved in with him about six weeks after that."

She felt Alice's eyes on her, watching her. How crazy did all this sound? When was Alice going to push her out the door and tell everyone not to let Cynthia come back to Paint Night anymore because she was fucking nuts? She pressed forward anyway. "And once we were living together, I...I mean, we were in love, and we were both grown ups, and..." Her hands flailed uselessly, trying to describe the act even while her words were dissolving into babble.

"You two fucked," Alice supplied helpfully.

"Like bunnies," Cynthia whimpered gratefully. "He was twenty-one, I was eighteen, we went at it pretty much every night. And sometimes, when we were lying in bed afterwards, he'd remind me of the stone." She blushed. "The crystal he used to hypnotize me, I mean. And I would be all cuddly and drowsy and sated, and I'd just go right back under for him. And..."

She blushed furiously, remembering it all. Her eyes, glassy and vacant, staring everywhere Brad directed them. His cock, stiffening again as she watched it with hypnotic fascination. His voice, murmuring to her in low, soothing tones, the words forgotten almost as soon as they were spoken. His thick, hard, throbbing cock, still glistening with her juices, drawing her attention so easily. Her hands, moving almost of their own accord to touch him as she listened intently to every word he said without even realizing it. His cock, so huge, so powerful, mesmerizing her with the way the tip swayed with his every tiny movement. Her mouth, helplessly sliding onto him as she bobbed her head up and down on his shaft. His cock...

"...it was nice," Cynthia said in a voice about half an octave higher than normal. She set her coffee down to fan her face for a moment until the memories subsided a bit. Five years of separation hadn't done much to diminish the power they held.

"It got to be a regular, um...thing," Cynthia said, once she'd calmed down enough to proceed. "Every night, when we got into bed together, he reminded me how good it felt to be totally relaxed and focused on his cock, and it felt so natural to slip into trance that after a while he didn't need to say anything at all. As soon as he undressed, my eyes focused on his dick and before I knew it my mind went all soft and hazy and I was happy to do...anything. Anything he wanted."

The memories tumbled into her mind again, faster than she could push them away. Staring vacantly at Brad's cock while she played with her pussy, her eyes blank, repeating his words without even thinking about them. Lubing up her asshole with two fingers while gazing in mesmerized fixation at his thick, pulsing cock, then holding her ankles over her head so that he could slip inside her while she watched every inch of him disappear into her ass. Moaning as he fucked her for what felt like hours, her sense of time blurred by trance as each orgasm stretched out into an eternity of pleasure. Sucking him off, feeling a surge of warm, obedient pride as his cum splattered onto her face and tits.

Cynthia realized she'd trailed off into complete silence about two minutes ago. "Sorry," she said. "Woolgathering. Anyway, I was happy, but after a while I started to notice things. I'd catch myself doing something, like doing Brad's share of the cleaning or leaving my panties at home when I went out, and I wouldn't know why I was doing them. Every time I thought about it, I felt this...pressure, this strong compulsion to relax and stop worrying about it. Most of the time I gave in, because it felt so good to give in that I didn't even want to resist. But still, I noticed.

"And I noticed that we never fought," Cynthia went on. "I mean, Brad was nice, but...you've lived with someone, right?" Alice nodded. "Then you know what it's like, those little adjustments you both have to make to each other's way of doing things. One of you rinses the dishes right away and puts them in the dishwasher, the other one leaves them in the sink until there's a full load. One of you hangs the toilet paper over, the other one hangs it under. That sort of thing. Well, we didn't have those fights. Because whenever we disagreed..."

Cynthia felt herself fall into another pit of memories. A silly argument that began to brew when she found a damp towel on the living room floor. She picked it up, she waved it at him...and Brad undid his fly and pulled his cock out of his jeans. The towel slipped from her nerveless fingers as her eyes widened into a fixed stare, aimed directly at his crotch. Her legs lost strength as she slowly fell to her knees, her mouth already watering as his erection grew. Her mind went soft and fuzzy at the edges as she heard herself say that it was no worry at all, that she'd make sure it got washed and put away. She heard Brad suggest make-up sex, and even though the fight never even started, Cynthia's pussy grew wet and her head nodded in agreement without her even thinking about it. She leaned in to nuzzle his balls...

"He'd, um. He'd hypnotize me." Cynthia was aware she was leaving out a lot of details that would make the story make more sense, but it was harder to tell than she thought. So much of the conditioning she thought she'd gotten rid of was just pushed to the back of her head, waiting to be recalled. She was suddenly very glad she didn't have Brad's phone number anymore. "With his cock, I mean. It had gotten so bad that just looking at it put me under."

Cynthia looked at Alice, trying to get some sense of how the other woman was taking the story, but Alice just looked at her intently. Was that sympathy, or disbelief? Either way, Cynthia decided, at least Alice was letting her finish. "After a couple of years of that, I was very well trained. At least, I thought I was. I don't remember really resisting anything he told me-even when he suggested that I should drop out of school, it seemed to make perfect sense. We were so happy together, and he was going to have a good practice soon, and...I had convinced myself that it was all normal."

Cynthia felt her airway try to close up again as she came to the hard bit. "Until one night, he brought someone home. Her name was Debbie, and she...she looked at me with this weird, hungry look in her eyes. Then she looked at Brad with that same look, and asked him to 'prove it'. I didn't understand what she meant, until..."

The memory pounced on her in an instant. Brad slid his pants off, and he was already so hard underneath them that his cock sprang up like a jack in the box. Cynthia's stare locked onto him, everything else fading away as his erection became the focus of her world. Debbie didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered but that beautiful, rock-hard cock. Cynthia sank to her knees, her pussy already growing warm and slick with desire.

Debbie sat next to her and pulled her clothes off. She played with Cynthia's breasts as they were exposed to the cool air, tugging and flicking the nipples. Debbie's eyes were hooded with lust, and she kissed her way along Cynthia's collarbone and up her neck to her lips. Cynthia didn't mind, though. She was thinking about Brad's cock. Debbie could do whatever she wanted. Cynthia knew that would be just perfect.

She was their plaything, their fucktoy. It didn't matter how she knew, the knowledge simply entered her mind in a low, soothing tone and she agreed with it implicitly. She suckled at Debbie's breasts, she laid on her back and licked Debbie's wet pussy while Brad fucked her. She tongued Debbie's asshole while Brad pumped in and out of her doggie style, pushing her face deeper into Debbie's crack with every thrust. She spread her legs wide so that Debbie could taste Brad's cum out of her snatch, moaning in pleasure as Brad dragged his balls across her face. The heat, the pleasure of it all overwhelmed her to the point where she stopped thinking completely. All that existed for her was sensation. She was their slut now, their cockslut, and she loved every second of it.

"...until Brad hypnotized me again," Cynthia said. "Um, can I get a glass of water?"

"I'll go get you one," Alice said, patting her on the knee. She went through to the kitchen, and came back a few moments later with the drink. Cynthia gulped it down in seconds.

"Um, so he hypnotized me, and let Debbie...have her way with me," she continued, once Alice had settled back onto the couch. "With both of us. And the next morning, I realized what had happened. It really hit me for the first time just how much power he had over me, and I panicked. I packed all my stuff and I left. No note, no forwarding address, I just took off. I took as much money with me as the bank would let me withdraw, I bought a bus ticket for as far as I could go, and I went to the first women's shelter I could find in my new hometown and asked for some help getting back on my feet. I, um...I didn't tell them what had really happened. I didn't think they'd believe me. I didn't think anyone would."

Cynthia sighed, feeling for the first time in years like she'd set down an enormous burden. "And that's pretty much the whole story. That's why I don't drink, that's why I avoid men, that's even why I have my smart phone and computer set up so they won't display images without a prompt. I can't even risk seeing a banner ad with a dick in it. Last time that happened, I wound up buying three cases of penis enlargement pills that I have absolutely no use for." She smiled nervously, hoping Alice would at least grin at that, but the other woman just looked at her with that same intent, slightly sad stare.

"You poor thing," Alice said at last, and the ice cube in Cynthia's stomach finally melted in relief. "And nobody's been able to help you get rid of this?"

Cynthia shook her head. "I wouldn't even know who to trust. I've thought about finding a hypnotist to undo it, but I always worry what would happen to me if they...um, didn't want to. If you know what I mean."

Alice nodded. "I get it. I really do." She leaned over to pat Cynthia's shoulder reassuringly, but the effect was spoiled when she forgot that she was still holding her coffee and it splashed into her lap. "Aw, crap!" she yelped, trying to tip the cup back upright and overbalancing it so that the rest of it splashed onto her dress. "Fuck!"

She stood up and surveyed the impressive stain. "Crud!" she wailed, practically stomping her foot in frustration. "Be right back, I need to change."

Cynthia nodded and lay back on the couch cushions, her relaxation much more genuine now. She felt almost giddy with relief. Years of secrets, shame, worry...all gone. She had a friend now, someone she could trust to keep her safe if something unexpected happened. No more worrying about unsolicited dick pics, no more fears about flashers in the park, no more lame excuses to avoid everyone's boyfriends. Cynthia felt free for the first time in years.

After a few minutes, Alice came back in wearing a red silk bathrobe. She paused in the doorway, a pensive look on her face. Cynthia sat up and smiled at her. "Thank you," she said. "For listening, for believing me, for...everything."

Alice shook her head mournfully. "Oh, babydoll," she said, pulling free the sash on her robe to reveal a thick silicone dildo locked into a strap-on harness between her legs. It bobbed obscenely up and down as Alice freed it from the confining fabric. "Why did you have to tell me all this?"

"Oh, you bitch..." Cynthia muttered, but it was too late. She could already feel her mind getting soft and hazy, falling into that same pattern of deep relaxation that she could never resist. The cushions suddenly felt warm and welcoming, and she slumped back into them as her body went effortlessly limp for the first time all evening. Her eyes ached to close, but the allure of the swaying fake cock jutting out from between Alice's legs kept them open.

Alice crossed the room slowly, seductively, the dildo waggling back and forth with every step. "I thought you were gay, honey. That's all it was. I thought, 'Well, Cynthia's cute, and she's probably les like me, so maybe we can have some fun after we get home.' I wasn't even going to break out the toys, honest."

Alice stopped a few feet away from the couch and held the dildo meaningfully in her hand. She let it bounce in her palm a few times, her eyes alight with desire as she watched Cynthia follow the motion. "But your eyes, babydoll. You should have seen it, the way you looked when you were talking about that dick. You looked so pretty. So blank. So sleepy and sexy, just like now." She crooked a finger of her other hand, beckoning Cynthia closer, and Cynthia found herself sliding off the couch and crawling in Alice's direction.