Your head slumps just a little, feeling strangely heavy, but your eyes still stare helplessly at the opal. It seems like there are impossible depths to it, layers within layers within layers, and each layer sparkles with its own stunning vistas of color. You tell yourself that you should look away, that you need to look away, but every time your eyes flicker away the opal simply moves to capture them again. The only way to escape would be to let your heavy eyelids slip shut, and you know you don't want to do that.
That's exactly what she wants. "The opal draws you in," she says, her voice smooth and measured and quietly confident. "The closer you look, the deeper you find yourself pulled into the depths of the stone. You want to get lost in those glittering colors. You want to allow the opal to capture your thoughts, your mind, your will. It's so easy. You want to sink into the opal and obey."
"No," you say, putting all your will into that single syllable. The word sounds strange coming out of your lips, the consonant sound slurred and the vowel over-enunciated like you've had a few too many drinks. Or perhaps like when you've been without sleep for too long, pushing your body to its limits to try to resist that endless, drowsy undertow that constantly tugs at every thought and makes cognition a tedious and frustrating chore. You shake your head, trying to clear away the cobwebs.
You try to push away the thick, sluggish sensation, like you have so many times in the last...hour? Hours? Time lost its meaning somewhere in the countless recitations of that same hypnotic monologue. You're not quite sure when you realized it was something you needed to resist, but you know it was a little bit too late. By the time the woman with the opal ring stopped seeming like a new friend and fellow stranded traveler, her friend (Piper, was it? Your memory already seems disturbingly vague) had already captured your limbs with her own. By then, your eyes were already trained to focus on the stone. Now it takes a conscious effort to look away. Not that it does any good, of course. None of your resistance does.
The woman with the opal smiles. You can just see it out of the corner of your eye, in the instant before the opal draws you in again. It's the kind of smile that says she knows she has all the time in the world to wring each and every 'no' from your lips, and that she has more than enough patience to wait them out. You try to struggle to your feet again, but the woman behind you has no trouble at all keeping her legs hooked around yours. Wriggling against her only feels awkwardly intimate, drawing your attention to the way her erect nipples rub against your naked body from behind and her hand pins your arms in close contact to her wet cunt.
Even when you strain against her with your whole body, it doesn't do any good. If anything, it makes you feel even more helpless when your struggles finally collapse into exhaustion and she tightens her grip on your body. You can't tell whether she's simply far stronger than you are, or whether the same exhaustion that makes your eyes feel heavy and your head hang down like it was made of lead is making your limbs too weak to break free.
The woman with the opal ring speaks again, like she was just waiting for you to give up. "The opal draws you in." There's something irrefutable about that statement, almost axiomatic in its perfection. She caresses your cheek as she speaks, her touch deliciously gentle against your skin. "The closer you look, the deeper you find yourself pulled into the depths of the stone."
The woman behind you begins teasing you again, the fingers of her free hand delicately tracing your labia with light butterfly touches that build the pleasure between your thighs until you shudder violently in her grasp. You know from what feels like hours of experience that she won't let you release that pleasure, though. Her touches only keep you distracted, fuzzing your thoughts with arousal until they echo like a Hendrix guitar in your head. Her hand creeps up to your breasts, tweaking and tugging your nipples, then back down to your wet pussy in a rhythm that you can't quite anticipate. Every caress catches you by surprise all over again.
"You want to get lost..." the woman with the opal says, stressing the word hard just as the woman behind you strums your clit with her fingertips. "In those glittering colors. You want to allow the opal to capture your thoughts. Your mind." She whispers the words like a lover's endearment, as though the sensuous mantra is a rapturous seduction. "Your will."
You feel your head droop suddenly, slipping down a fraction of an inch in a sudden jolt as you realize you were relaxing so deeply into the gem and her words that you forgot your body even existed. You make a conscious effort to raise it back up, but it feels wobbly atop your neck. You can imagine it lolling back in sleepy lassitude all too easily.
"No," you mumble, aware that your voice has far less strength than it did only a few moments ago. "No, I...no." You want to explain to her that you're not a lesbian, that you only met her a few hours ago and most of that time has been spent staring at her beautiful opal gem in empty distraction while she guided you easily and effortlessly from the airport to a hotel room into the arms of her willing, compliant slave...but the thought seems incomprehensibly complex. The more you try to articulate it, the more it seems to disappear into the coruscating depths of the gemstone. All you can do is repeat, "No," and hope she stops.
