Chapter 1 - "Hypnosis thing"
The voice on the line was silky yet venomous, like a sting hitting the back of Jonah's neck. It belonged to Princess Ashley, the latest verbal rapist he had welcomed into his life, a barely legal fake redhead whose talent for total humiliation was anything but an illusion.
"You're such a pathetic loser, you're lucky I even talk to you. Go on, tell me how much of a dipshit you really are, stupid boy," she said. It was a premium call at a special rate with all the insults anyone could handle, and very few in truth could. Jonah lived for them though, needed the release like a junkie needs his fix.
"I'm a total dipshit that doesn't deserve the attention of any woman, let alone one as royal such as You," Jonah screamed, thoughts and words enveloped in a sweaty haze. His head hung low, eyes fixed on his hardened cock. It throbbed with each carefully chosen indignity, a familiar script to condition his mind.
"You got that right and that's all you're allowed to think from now on, do you understand?" the dominant nymphette commanded, cementing even further the truth he had already taken for granted. "You're so ridiculous you would even give a blowjob to yourself if I told you too, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Princess Ashley," he muttered, and he certainly had the skills for it. Not that long ago his gymnast skills had been appreciated all around the world, with comparisons to Mitch Gaylord and Philipp Boy yet the gold medals and thunderous applause from eager audiences paled in comparison to the thrill of being demeaned, diminished, turned into a fetish robot to be used and abused online by fantasy strangers that would forever remain that way.
"Spit on your cock, worthless meat sack. Spit on your cock and thank me for doing this to you."
"Thank you, Princess Ashley," his wet lips said, saliva dripping onto the tip and scrotum. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
The Princess laughed at how easy he was to manipulate, even easier than most men who dared to call her. A metallic ping rang in his ears. "I'm too good for you so I just upped the rates even further. I'm going to ignore you during the next ten minutes but you're still going to pay, of course. Remain on your knees, thinking only of me, and how much you love being my humiliated bitch beta. And don't forget the generous tip at the end of it all or you won't hear from me ever again, do you understand?"
"Yes, Princess Ashley. Anything you say."
"That's right, anything I say... goodbye, shitface."
And so he was left to his own design, released from the sound of her voice, yet still very much her mindfucked thrall. She couldn't see him yet he dared not move a muscle, focused only on the surge of emotions whirling through his body. He waited twenty minutes instead of ten before hanging up the call and proceeding to gift her yet another small fortune she would use on real men the following day. He felt ecstatic, on cloud nine, and then...
... he felt nothing. Nothing at all. The illusion shattered from inside out and Princess Ashley's voice was gone with the wind. Jonah got up, checked his bank account, and buried himself on the sofa. The grooves of Sunday night were the same as the day before. Something crunchy brushed against his ball sack, a forgotten popcorn. Without a second thought, he threw it in his mouth.
The game was fun, more fun than it had the right to be, but it was also dangerous. He had gone through half his savings in little over a year chasing latex-clad rainbows with viperine tongues and for what? "Dear Diary, today I paid another woman to treat me like dirt, just like I did yesterday and the day before that," wasn't exactly best-selling material yet all that his memoirs ammounted to. Paparazzi from all over the world would have a field day if their indiscrete cameras ever caught a glimpse of his sessions but therein stood the beauty of living in a penthouse so far high that it would take a helicopter to capture any details of his private life.
"I need to stop this," he thought even though he wasn't sure he was able to on his own. The grip was too strong, the desire to surrender almost like a living entity fused to the core of his persona. Luckily, he knew just the one to talk to. His younger sister, Angela, hadn't inherited the flexibility gene to do pirouettes and backflips at will but was rather skilled in mind bending and thought correcting through the use of hypnosis. Yes, she was the right person for the job and surely she wouldn't pass on the opportunity to help out a family member in need. He would call her first thing in the morning or, better yet, ask her out for lunch.
"Sounds like a plan," his subconscious said before issuing an order to grab the TV remote. The Rockets game was on, it was good enough of an entertainment. The bouncing orange ball had the fortunate trait of making him forget the blue ones between his legs. Jonah feigned a smile and rooted for his team to win.
* * *
"You want me to do what?" Angela Barnes asked, almost choking with the pasta on her half-empty plate.
"Fix my humiliation addiction, please. As fun as it is, I really need to get over it," Jonah replied, root beer glass in hand, watching her eat with a bemused smile on his face. Calories didn't scare her but she sure knew how to scare them.
They were sitting in a cosy restaurant just outside her office. Twenty-nine year old Angela was a green-eyed stubborn blonde with medium-sized tits, a penchant for leather skirts, and far too much trivia knowledge inside her head. In spite of all the clutter, anyone that tried to describe her personality as "bubbly" or something similar was sure to get a heel stuck up his/her ass before even finishing the sentence. With two degrees under her belt, a private practice worth six figures a year, and an insatiable appetite, she knew what power was and wasn't afraid to use it.
