"Ten," Stephen snarled through gritted teeth. The barbell clanged back against the pins, and he was done. He rocked up to a sitting position on the bench, careful to not bang his head on the bar, and tapped his smartwatch to end the workout session. 400 calories; not bad. There was a pleasant throb in the muscles of his chest, back, and arms, and--as he stripped off his shirt on the way to the bathroom mirror--he smiled at the sight of his traps and deltoids standing firm under his reddened skin, swollen from the exertion.
He looked good.
Miranda came from the kitchen, where she'd been doing a little writing, as usual; her headphones blocking out the sound of her boyfriend grunting and clanging weight plates around while he did his thing. She stood slightly behind him and smiled at him in the mirror.
"Admiring yourself? Hmm? Like what you see?"
Stephen turned around, grinning down at her. "Do YOU like what you see?"
"Mhm," she said, nodding, tracing her fingers along his arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath the skin. "Getting nice and strong for me, eh?"
He stepped closer and slid his arms around her. "Careful! I could probably hoist you up over one shoulder and have my way with you."
"Oh, my!" she said, her fingers tracing across his chest. "I'd better watch out."
Her hand came to a stop over his solar plexus, fingers splayed out. "Freeze," she said.
Stephen's body stiffened, and he found himself staring straight ahead. The pleasant exhaustion that came after a workout was replaced by the even more pleasant rigidity of being bound by Miranda's hypnotic suggestion. And speaking of bodies stiffening, his cock stirred in his shorts.
She continued to trace her fingers along his strong, still body, leaning in to kiss him below the nipple. "So very strong, sweetie... and so very helpless. Aren't you?"
"Mrrrrnnn," he said, unable to move even his lips.
She left a line of kisses across his chest, biting his other nipple playfully. Meanwhile, her hand slid into his shorts and she grasped his cock. Her touch took it from mildly interested to desperately eager.
"Mirrnnnd!" he groaned, and Miranda laughed.
"Is something wrong, my big strong pet?" she asked, snapping her fingers. "You may speak freely."
Stephen had control over his mouth again, but nothing else, his body resolutely locked in place. And her slow, teasing strokes made it hard to focus on what he wanted to say. But it was important.
"Miranda, please! I need to shower and get to work. I wish I had time for teasing, but--"
"Tsk!" she interrupted, giving his cock a quick tug that made him gasp. "You're saying some silly job is more important than being my plaything?"
Stephen wasn't sure if he wanted to nod or shake his head, but he couldn't actually do either. He groaned. Of course he wanted to please her, he would have gladly fucked her right here on the floor if she'd told him to, but she knew as well as he that they just didn't have time.
"Please, please, Miranda, I'll make it up to you tonight, I'll do whatever you want!" He saw the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that said she was unmoved by his plea. "You wouldn't want me to have to tell my coworkers I missed the seminar because I was your hypnotized slave, would you?"
Miranda simply raised her eyebrows... and tugged his cock again. Stephen moaned, as much in frustration as arousal. What he'd just said turned both of them on, and he knew it. He was so fucked.
But this time, Miranda was merciful. She pulled her hand out of his shorts and snapped her fingers again.
"You're free to move," she said. Stephen breathed a vast sigh of relief, now that she'd restored to him the ability to sigh vastly. "Just remember you said you'll do whatever I want..."
"Of course! Tonight, tonight I promise, whatever you want," he was already turning towards the bathroom as he assured her, hoping she wouldn't spring any more surprises on him. Triggers, mantras, secret words; she'd done so much work to condition him. Stephen knew he *was* Miranda's plaything, and only her mercy (and economic necessity) let him keep his job at all.
He shut the bathroom door and flipped the lights and fan on, as though he needed an audio-visual barrier to prevent him from running back and plowing his eager girlfriend. Stephen looked at himself in the mirror again, now distracted from his swollen muscles by his swollen erection, standing straight out from his pelvis and pointing back in the direction it apparently longed to go. He cursed quietly. He hated disappointing Miranda, and disappointing himself besides, but a job was a job. She'd already talked him into taking a cheeky sick day once this week, the third time this month; if they kept this up, as fun as it was, he'd be unemployed pretty soon.
The water braced him up. It was always cold at first, and Stephen took the shock across his broad back and gritted his teeth until the hot water kicked in and he could turn and face it. He had hoped the cold shot might quench his desire, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Miranda, freezing him in place and teasing him; imagining her spreading her legs, running her sexy, sparkly fingernails up and down her thighs, beckoning him... he'd stalk across the room on his hands and knees like a lion stalking its prey through the grass until his hands were gripping her thighs, urging her to squeeze them around his head. He loved the heat and the dark and the absolute focus on her pleasure as he went down on her, the way she squirmed and thrashed with her hands gripping his hair, the sounds she made...
Without realizing it, Stephen was stroking himself in the shower, having stopped soaping up halfway down his torso. The fantasy had become so vivid he could almost smell Miranda's scent. His hands still slick, he gently squeezed his balls while beginning to stroke faster, his intention to shower and dress and make it to the office on time beginning to fade, replaced by the throbbing heat growing deep in his body.
"Just a couple minutes of this," he thought, with the slightest pang of guilt. "Miranda gets me so fucking worked up..."
He turned his back to the shower again and let the jet of water cascade down around him, creating a warm, wet cocoon in which he stood and slid both hands up and down his cock. Long moments dripped by until Stephen realized he was mumbling something. At first he wasn't even sure what the words were, and it seemed like the harder he tried to think about what he was saying, the less sense it made. It was a strange sensation, like his body was on autopilot, his hands firm and slick as they slid up and down with just the perfect amount of pressure, cock hard and throbbing but nowhere near release, just feeding the growing sensations back into his brain as he stood and slowly, steadily...
