Days like this were always the worst. They were the worst because they made Roxy's head ache with stress and worry, they were the worst because her restless mind wouldn't stop screaming at her over every insignificant mistake and every trivial concern and every little detail she couldn't stop obsessing over after years of dealing with one crisis after another that always started with some stupid minor bullshit that snowballed out of control, and they were the absolute fucking worst because the only way she knew to truly relieve her anxiety was to come slinking back to Paulie for another hypnosis session and one of her biggest anxieties was that one day her fuckbuddy was going to take Roxy's mind away and never ever ever give it back.
Not that Pauline Litowsky had any idea Roxy thought of her visits like that. She probably would have been surprised as hell to know that the sultry blonde agonized for hours before each and every time she stopped by Paulie's fourth-floor walkup in Flushing. She had no idea that Roxy thought of her as an addiction she couldn't shake, a constant temptation every time she had to struggle to find money to pay a bill or barely scraped by with a passing grade on her latest test. When the stress of thinking got to be too much, when Roxy simply wanted to escape her own head and drift away into a cloud of fuzzy pink lust where adulthood wasn't even a bad memory, she went over to Paulie's place... and Paulie would have been shocked to know that every time, Roxy wondered if she'd ever come back.
Because it wasn't like Paulie was really doing anything permanent to Roxy's brain. Oh, sure, she was a hell of a hypnotist, and she always knew exactly how to melt Roxy's brain into a sticky pink syrup that leaked out her pussy and left her eager to fellate Paulie's big thick strap-on until her tits were covered in drool. But it wasn't like she was actually brainwashing Roxy or anything. They just played a lot of the same games every time, and with each visit Roxy's descent into mindless obedience came a little bit quicker and a little bit easier. That was just basic conditioning. That was just part of the everyday pattern that developed between a Domme and her sub.
No, what convinced Roxy every time that she was on the verge of succumbing to a permanent and irreversible vapidity that would doom her to a life of brainless sexual submission was just... oh, fuck it felt so good. When she climbed the stairs to Paulie's apartment, her mind already inexpressibly weary from chasing itself in circles with stress, it always felt so much like coming home that she could feel tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. When she heard Paulie's fingers snap and felt all her anxieties blow away like dandelion seeds on the wind as her head sank forward onto her ample chest, Roxy always felt so fucking happy to be free of herself that she knew it wouldn't take more than the slightest nudge to keep her that way forever.
Assuming Paulie wanted to. One of Roxy's biggest worries, she admitted to herself as she rounded the corner leading to the second floor and continued her climb, was that one day she was going to offer herself up to the butch brunette and Paulie was going to say, "No." Or worse, she was going to extract some favor out of her submissive, make her hand over the money that would have gone to fixing Roxy's busted muffler in exchange for a single night of blank, blissful euphoria. Roxy knew her friend wouldn't do it, of course. She got as much out of hypnotizing Roxy as Roxy got out of being hypnotized. But Roxy knew that if it came down to it, she'd give in.
That felt wrong. Bad. Roxy was a grown-ass woman in grad school, she was studying to become a genuine motherfucking rocket scientist and get herself a big-time job working for one of the private companies that were trying to win the next space race. She shouldn't be so desperate to obviate her own self-awareness that she would cheerfully fling money at the first person to hypnotize her so damn deep she couldn't even remember her own name, much less Tsiolkovsky's formula.
But at the same time... Roxy was so fucking tired. She was tired of working three jobs to pay for a shitty basement apartment, she was tired of amassing a mountain of debt she didn't think she could ever pay off, she was tired of worrying every day that her electricity was going to get cut off or her Internet access would vanish or some sudden medical expense would leave her so destitute she'd have to crash on someone else's floor for the rest of her life. She was always tired, all the time, and the constant looping race of her own anxieties wore her out most of all. By the time she climbed up that last flight of steps, Roxy was almost grateful for the burn in her calves and thighs distracting her from her messy and intrusive thoughts.