*Disclaimer:* This story is fantasy and contains descriptions of sex and other adult situations. If you are not an adult, or those ain't your kind of situations, then read no further.
All persons, places, and events in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to existing persons, places, and events, past or present, is entirely coincidental.
This story is © Mindlevel Zero. Please feel free to re-post as long as this attribution remains intact. And if you do decide to share my story, I'd love to hear about it!
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"Don't you dare!"
It was too late, though; Miranda was already running out the bedroom with a giggle, and Stephen could only enjoy the site of her shapely back as she bounced away from him. He was tangled in the sheets—and still erect from their teasing play—and couldn't get off the bed in time to chase her down. If it had been a fair fight, she'd never have made it to the kitchen, where her notebook waited on the little round dining table; he was so much taller and longer-limbed than his petite girlfriend she wouldn't have stood a chance.
Instead, he could only yell through the open doorway as he tried to disentangle himself from the sheets, careful not to painfully jostle his throbbing dick, lately lengthened by Miranda's skilled fingers, just gentle enough to tease him to full hardness while they talked about the newest way she could fuck with his mind.
"You'd better not write that down!"
She didn't bother to answer, even to giggle at him. He could already imagine her scribbling away in her notebook, tongue poking out the side of her mouth in one of the unconscious gestures he found so adorable. Her eyes wide and gleaming as she imagined toying with Stephen in a fun new way.
He marched through the door into the kitchen, trying to maintain a dignified pose even as his prick jutted and wobbled in front of him, as though to announce, "Your naked, horny plaything has arrived!"
But Miranda wasn't writing. She was sitting at the table, her notebook in front of her, the sea-green cover closed. She held her pen at the ready, and she was just watching him. Her eyes *were* wide and gleaming, and she was smiling.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" She asked, in the oh-so-innocent voice that never failed to fill him with an arousing sense of dread and *I'm-so-screwed* anticipation. "You don't want me to record that little slip of the tongue?
"You don't want me to remember it, so later I can use it against you?"
"I—" Stephen had a sarcastic reply all ready to go, but then Miranda casually flipped the cover of her notebook open, and a funny feeling came over him.
It started at the top of his head: a tingling, Miranda's imagined fingertips massaging his scalp. Instead of relaxing him, however, he stiffened, his muscles growing rigid to match his erection. He found himself staring at a point over Miranda's head, unable to move his eyes. He certainly couldn't spy on what she was writing.
He couldn't even move.
He felt confused, but pleasantly dazed and passive. It felt good, and erotic, to stand at attention while Miranda took her time, writing down her latest ideas for hypnotically controlling him.
It seemed only fitting to be under her hypnotic control while she did that.
And it made him throb with painful pleasure to realize he was under her hypnotic control. He didn't remember her installing the trigger—that's what he assumed this was, why she'd waited to flip open her notebook until he could see her. He wondered, through the dreamy haze that clouded his thoughts, when she would release him.
Miranda flipped the notebook shut and put her pen on the table, and suddenly Stephen could move. He shivered reflexively, free of the rigid pose he'd snapped into. His girlfriend just continued to smile at him, with that look that said, *"I got you again."*
He glared, but couldn't sell it—he was smiling, too. "You're not even pretending to play fair anymore, are you, babe?"
She cocked her head forward, a tangle of hair falling over her eyes. It was coquettish and cute; she knew he couldn't resist it, and Stephen didn't want to. He swept across the room, bent over the table, put his hands on either side of her head, and kissed her deeply. Their tongues met, and she reached out and found his cock, and started stroking it. It wasn't very long until they were in the bedroom again.
It was late when Stephen opened his eyes. He lay very still in the dark, until the sound of Miranda's breathing told him she was asleep. She was curled in a ball, her back pressed against his, small and warm. Normally he would have thrown an arm over her and cuddled, but tonight he'd decided on a mission.
He was going to see what was in that notebook once and for all.
It was the trigger that made up his mind: the fact she'd went to that trouble to ensure he couldn't peek over her shoulder, as erotic as it was, only filled him with curiosity. While he was normally happy to let Miranda surprise him with her sexy ideas for play, tonight he wanted to know.
He slid very quietly out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. He remembered doing something similar when he was a kid; knowing it was a dumb idea and he'd get in trouble if caught, he nonetheless crept down the stairs—grimacing and waiting an interminable minute every time one of the treads creaked under his small feet—just to have a little more Rocky Road.
There were no stairs now, and he smirked at the thought of getting in trouble. Whatever punishment his little sweetheart might come up with, he suspected he'd enjoy it. Most of her "punishments" ended with both of them cumming, hard, and collapsing in a sweaty tangle in each other's arms.
He carefully shut the door to the bedroom behind him, so Miranda wouldn't be disturbed when he flipped on the light over the dining table. Her notebook was still there left behind when he'd practically carried her back to bed. It looked so innocent, just like she did, with its sea-green cover and just the title "Stephen Notes" written in her careful, loopy handwriting in the little white box centered on the cover for that purpose.
Tired as he was, his cock stirred in his boxers at the thought of the notebook's contents. He forced himself to sit in the chair, turn the book towards him, instead of just flipping it open and devouring whatever was inside. He took a deep breath, and opened the book.
