I need my computer for work. A basic sentence, said every day all over the world, and he'd let that lovely little nugget of information slip a month ago when we were chatting. He'd probably forgotten about it, a small comment during one of our conversations. I liked talking to him, he worked hard to keep on his toes while speaking with me even though every last bit of him desired to submit to me completely. He had a nice voice. Firm, deep, authoritative, with a rich laugh. He tended to get my jokes, which I find an endearing quality. He also thought of me as a mix between a living Goddess and a rock star, which tended to bring out an awkwardness and vulnerability in him he thought he'd left behind in middle school. His voice fit well with the pictures I'd seen of him. I enjoy him, I like him.
He calls me at nearly the same time every night. If nothing else my pet is a creature of habits. We almost had a lovely relationship like most husbands would dream of. He would call, we'd talk about his day, and he'd have a drink to help him unwind. As soon as he was calm enough, I'd start testing, teasing, casually dropping trigger words that I'd planted into his mind over time. Sometimes he'd drop strait into a trance, sometimes I had to start the induction slowly, like pulling a silk sheet over his mind, gently fuzzing away the edges until he was open to me, quietly awaiting my commands and programming.
"You know" he sighed over the phone "I love this. I look forward to it every day."
"Mmm, I bet you do." I was on my computer, creating a folder with his name on it. I already had a text document in there with all the information he'd given me, both consciously and little gems I'd pulled out during our sessions. I was running my favorite strong password generator. I had a list of 100 passwords so far, all of them a random mix of letters and numbers. Impossible to guess, nearly impossible to crack.
Earlier, I had set up a script to create paid e-mails on one of my favorite services. One hundred e-mails, with one hundred passwords. I set them up in a table on a little-seen corner of my website. Just for him.
"Tell me about that big project your working on. I take it I won't be hearing from you as often with you working so long." He sighed. Work was his life, I was his release. He'd told me often enough that I was his escape, that pampering me was the only thing that kept him sane enough so that he could focus on his career. He was very, very good at his job, but that just wasn't enough. He was so busy climbing the corporate ladder, he had a nice little midlife crisis early. Instead of a shiny red car and, he'd ended up finding me online. He begged me to be dominated, controlled, and used. He begged me to give him a purpose, a reason in life. I tied cords of silk and honey around his mind with my voice.
He talked to me about his project, the long hours, the partner who couldn't stand rewriting specifications and shoved all of that work onto his plate, and he sighed. He said that he might not be able to call me as often, and that he was worried that he'd be so busy that he wouldn't think of me as often as he knew he should.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I knows exactly how to handle that. Relax. You'll be thinking of me often. At least every hour. Probably more like every 45 minutes." I laughed, and he started to drop into trance. He couldn't resist the sound of my laughter even before I'd turned it into an anchor for him.
I turned on the TeamViewer he'd installed on his computer months ago, used the password he'd forgotten he'd given me. I started him on a nice, deep hypnotic trance. I let my brain take him through a deep induction almost on autopilot, and I knew he'd be completely out of it for at least an hour. It was time for me to go to work.
First, I pulled all the files and documents from his computer and dumped them into the folder I'd already created for them. I was sure that would turn up lots of good, juicy blackmail material. I exported the last months worth of work emails into a database and had them. I scanned a few of them while the data was transferring. His boss's name, with a footer with all his contact information in it. Oooh, the address book. Lots of cell phone numbers of co-workers in it. Perfect. His resume. His work history. His references. His corporate credit card information... how very, very tempting!
