Delores slowly, languidly spread her legs, the motion pushing her cherry red silk skirt up her smooth brown thighs to expose her cunt to Isaiah's view. She wasn't wearing any panties, and his cock throbbed in unbidden excitement at the sight of her pubic mound and the neatly-groomed tangles of short curly hair that surrounded it. "This makes you weak, doesn't it?" she asked, but the way she said it didn't make it sound like a question. It was somewhere between a prophecy and a foregone conclusion, the statement of a fact carved into the very fabric of the universe. Isaiah was being made weak, had always been weak, would always be weak to the slick and soaking pussy of his next-door neighbor. There was no escaping it. No resisting it. It simply was.
But Delores always made weakness sound so attractive. "It's okay, sweetheart," she cooed, her fingers drifting down between her legs to lightly trace the outlines of her plump, glistening labia. She was smiling, but Isaiah could only see her face out of the corner of his eye--his entire gaze, his complete focus had gone down between her legs and he could no more drag his gaze up to her face than he could drag his own feet off the ground. She held him transfixed, and he didn't even want to struggle against it. "It's okay to be weak for Miss Delores," she purred, and Isaiah found himself nodding in blank, thoughtless agreement.
"You can feel that heavy head getting too weak to hold all those thoughts," Delores drawled, her voice a husky growl that rubbed like warm velvet against the back of his mind. "They're all so big and tangled and complicated and you just don't have the strength to keep holding onto them. That's okay, sweetie. Let them drop. Let them drop down, one by one, tumbling out of your fuzzy, foggy brain until there's nothing left but pleasure. You know you can do that for me. You know you want to do that for me." Isaiah nodded again, acutely aware of the erection tenting his jeans. He didn't actually remember the process of getting hard; one moment he felt that first pulse of arousal for Delores, and the next his cock was an iron bar in his trousers.
He was used to those little gaps in his memory when he was around Delores, though. His head got fuzzy so easily when he stopped by to talk to the older woman next door. Isaiah kept finding himself distracted, focusing so intently on her heavy breasts or her broad hips or the heart-shaped curves of her buttocks whenever she turned around that he lost track of everything else. And when he came back to himself, when something vital and important finally impinged itself onto his consciousness, the world had changed in some significant detail. Almost like magic. Being with Delores felt like magic, and the most wonderful thing about it was that he was the one living out her spell.
"That's it, honey," Delores murmured. Isaiah suddenly realized his pants were missing. He didn't remember taking them off.
The momentary effort to assert control over his own thoughts and memories was swept away in an instant, though, by her next instruction. "Let's get your hand on that cock, darling," Delores purred, tugging the leash in Isaiah's mind and bringing him easily to heel. "Nice, slow, sleepy strokes for me, making that drowsy mind just a little bit dumber. Just a little bit weaker. Just a little bit more ready to give in and obey Miss Delores, isn't that right?" Isaiah's head bobbed up and down again, the motion becoming ever more vacant and automatic. He understood that he was being primed to view acceptance as the default, conditioned with pleasure to keep flowing from one 'yes' to the next until agreement became an unthinking instinct and his mind slipped away into blank, amiable compliance, but that only made his cock harder between his fingers.
Isaiah had come to understand a lot about psychology since he moved in next door to Delores. It wasn't really his field--he was in engineering, and he was always going to be a lot more comfortable with electrical circuitry than the infinitely more complex neural networks inside the human brain--but you didn't spend every night with a woman who was a skilled and talented hypnotist without picking up a little bit of knowledge here and there. He knew what she was doing to him, he knew why it worked... and he knew that he didn't want to fight it. That was the true, delicious weakness at the heart of her power over him. Delores didn't need to overcome his resistance, she only needed to remind Isaiah just how little resistance he ever had to her sensual charms.
