The Fear

Author's note: I came into this story with a pretty singular concept, but it quickly grew. I decided to get a little weird and just let this one flow, Let me know what's working for you - I might pull some of these idea nuggets out and explore them more deeply in rewrites.

Sommelier's note: This is a mind control story, but not in the traditional way. If you enjoyed 'Face the Truth' then you'll find similar notes of turning tables, loss of control, and semi-consent in this story. Notes of dark themes and psychological exploration. It's slightly more internal than 'Face the Truth.'

It was masturbatory in a way. Digging myself into the folds of his mind and then twisting his body into mine. He was less a partner than a passenger, smiling dreamily and responding to my body's every call. And I called him. Every smack of his hand against my tits, every stinging crack of the thin teflon cane against my thighs. All of it came exactly as I commanded it and no harder. His teeth left deep rifts of crumpled skin that I realized with pride would bloom into wonderful memorabilia tomorrow. My mind was soaring on an updraft of clarity driven by the sharp pains, the adrenaline pumping through my blood.

I raised his puppet hand up to my neck and eased the pressure up until I was just barely choking. My airway was closing but I didn't care - there was no need to utter a safe word when every detail of the scene was under my control.

A scene, yes. The word had possibly never been so accurate. Normally, a temporary agreement to fall into roles for each others enjoyment - a pact of improv and of partnership. But my scenes were like stories told in a dollhouse - perfect and surreal. Yes without and. Body without mind. Guided by my hand only.

I urged his dick to rise, hefting itself to stand at attention under the weight of his arousal. He had never seen anything so hot as my squirming body choking underneath him. Not until I showed him with gentle prods and pushes what hot should really mean.

His fingernails dug into my skin as he roughly grabbed my hips with a supernatural urgency. Yes! He pressed inside me and my body stretched to accommodate him. Now circles with his thumb in that perfect spot just over the top of my clit--pleasurable, but not overstimulating.

The adrenaline in my body reached a crescendo as I pulled against the hemp ropes that secured me to the padded vinyl table, I drank in the ambrosia of jolting pleasure mixing with the stinging pains that arose with every movement.

And then I pushed my powers deeper. I willed myself to see through his eyes, to take in the beauty of my body as I ascended to new heights. I let my mind expand until I could feel as he felt. A tightness and a fullness, the squeezing of a fist and a fist full of skin. If I dreamt it I felt it.

Soon I was overcome with a pulsing pressure. His or mine I couldn't tell, but an orgasm was approaching. Two heartbeats in two chests pounded at my ears. The tickle of a drop of sweat melted from his chiseled pelvis to my sensitive inner thigh, like an electric current passed seamlessly from one body to the next.

And I felt the moment finally come. An explosion on either side of my being, binaural beats of pleasure yanking me between bodies. My back arched, his spine coiled. I collapsed to the table as he bent himself up toward heaven. Symmetrical, oscillating forms. And when finally I'd wrung the last drop of pleasure from our orgasms, I removed his rapidly shrinking dick from inside me, ensured that he neatly whipped off the condom and disposed of his mess. I moved him to free the bonds holding me against the table, and released the ones I had locked around his mind.

Like a fish stunned at its first glimpse of a world above the water, he stood for a moment. Blinked. Then smiled.

"I didn't know I could be into something like that. But that was incredible." He panted, unaware of the ride I'd taken through his senses. "They seem to think so too..." He said more quietly, glancing around the room.

The "dungeon" was a tasteful room with dark walls accented in stainless steel hardware. It refused the cliche theme of worn red vinyl couches and instead favored redwood accents and leather couches strewn with soft fur blankets that felt delightful on freshly whipped skin. A small gathering of couples had formed around us, silently appreciating the intensity of our scene.

I rose and kissed him on the cheek. "You'll clean up, won't you darling?" I asked him with a small mental push.

"Nothing would make me happier." He smiled.

Power and hedonism. Is there a more passionate pair? I pondered this as I strode toward the wooden bar, stopping to drape a soft silken robe around my shoulders. I left it billowing open, showing off the bouquet of red marks over my chest. I poured myself a glass of smooth merlot and draped myself into a leather armchair, breathing in the last traces of my monumental high.

I know what you're thinking. Another grimy mind controller using their powers for horny reasons, taking over peoples' minds and keeping a harem of slaves to pleasure them. That's not me. I'm a woman of refined taste. And I'm not some grubby loser either. I mean just look at me -- long toned legs slung over the side of the chair, exposed stomach lean but soft, immaculate red lipstick and long, billowing black hair. I took up a lazy position sprawling over the armrests, willing bystanders to look.

And they do. I'm a sight to behold. In fact I'll have you know that my partner --okay, I don't actually know his name--approached me on his own tonight. He came to this club new to the community and was taken with my perfectly natural charms. All I had to do was help him let loose a little bit. And look at him now! He's an animal, there are already women waiting around to claim a second round with him.

It's taken work to develop this talent. It started with simply amplifying what was already there. But I pushed harder, and found that I could create new desires and new feelings if I had somebody's attention. And when there's a connection, I can go even deeper, borrow their sensations and feel what they feel. If you could do it, wouldn't you?

Imagine, sex with strangers without fear of the unknown. Partners that always find the clit every single time because you're there guiding their hand. Every sexual experience driven to the height of pleasure, everything you could possibly want to experience delivered at a mere thought. And deep exploration of your kinks without anything ever going too far. You have safe words, I have perfect feedback between the action and the sensation. It never even comes to discomfort unless I want it to.

It's a pretty damn good way to live. I nodded to myself as I surveyed the room, as if some essential vote had been passed. Definitive. Decided. And then he caught my eye.

Smooth, powerful like a jungle cat. He meandered through the room sipping from a caramel-colored liquor neat. He was aimless but not purposeless, eyes drinking in his surroundings thoughtfully. He surveyed the couples, the groups of singles still negotiating their interests. He nodded at the other lone wolves, men and women getting their bearings in a sea of passion and pleasure.

Dark eyes with a strong frame, buttoned shirt rolled back to expose muscled forearms. It was clear from his manner that this was a man with a certain...danger about him. And I just couldn't resist taming him.

Notice me. I incepted. Not implanting a desire, simply a command to look up and see me so that I might work my charm. Soon after, he complied. Unsure why he was even doing it, he turned in my direction and his eyes met mine. I gave him my best smolder, focusing my gaze on him. He approached, already answering my call.

"I've seen you here before." He said.

"Most weekends." I affirmed.

"Always alone."

"I prefer to keep myself open to possibilities." I smiled, coaxing him a little closer. The trap was laid, he just needed to spring it. He just needed to initiate this himself, and I'd have full moral reign to prod him toward the perfect scene.

"Maybe you're open to the possibility of another glass of wine?" He held his hand out for my empty glass.

I smiled. "I'll entertain it."

He turned and poured a generous glass of red. The same merlot I'd poured myself. You've been watching me haven't you? It's a shame you needed a push to act on it.

He returned then, resting the bulb of the glass in my palm so that the stem dangled lazily, a pendulum ticking down the heartbeats of silence as I made a show of smelling the wine.

"A good selection. Service comes naturally to you then?" A goad, testing the waters.

"I hope it's to your liking. I have a way of knowing what people like." He didn't tip his hand, but nonetheless exuded a quiet sort of power. I believed him, I realized. This was a man who didn't believe in making a show of dominance--he simply knew how to read a situation and a person. He sat in silence another moment as I sipped my wine and considered him. There was something different, fresh about him.

I wanted him. I wanted those eyes gazing down at me while his hands rained staccato smacks down on my skin. I wanted to strain against bonds for the chance to run my hands down that chest. I wanted him to hurt me.

I know, I know. As the mind controller, I'm supposed to be the top. The one taking control and getting off on another person's absolute subservience to my fantasies. But honestly, have you ever felt that raw power of turning heads with the sheer force of your will? It's the sub that's the centerpiece, the one who ascends to a higher plane of existence as the scene's intensity grows. Heads turn, faces wince, others hesitate to even follow the gauntlet you've thrown with the captivating performance you've put on.

Tops are tools, side characters. They tie you up, and in doing so bind themselves to you in service. Everything in a scene is curated to the sub's desires. And the sensations, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure? Best orgasms of your life. More mind control fetishists should really try it.

He sat while I contemplated him, comfortable in the silence. And then he leaned in, holding out his hand in a beckoning invitation. "Something tells me you want me to hurt you."

YES.

I placed my hand demurely in his. Urged him toward the padded pillory in the center of the playroom. He bent me over with a hand on my back, guiding my wrists and neck into the soft leather. As the lock clicked, he turned his attention to my feet. He ran his hands lovingly down my legs, giving a playful pinch to one of my growing bruises. He wrapped the leather buckles around my ankles, securing my legs spread open so that my body was on full display. I shivered in excitement.

I could see others beginning to gather, curious to see what my next scene would bring. Through my limited field of vision I could see men begin to turn their attention to me as they lounged on couches in the dimly lit edges of the room, their subs kneeling before them to worship their cocks. I could see a few solo women sprawled out among the fur blankets, luxuriating in the way the softness caressed their red and stinging skin, as I had so many times before. Many of them were rubbing themselves casually as their partners held them, coming down from the high of an intense scene.

The man behind me placed his hand on the small of my back, tracing casual lines as he rounded my side and came to face me. He knelt down to eye level and placed a hand under my chin.

"Safeword?" He requested.

I smiled. "No need. I can take everything you have to give me." I could see his expression falter ever so slightly as he took in my response.

I love my supernatural enhancements. But it's no fun manufacturing interest. There's no substitute for the way a man's desire builds, the way his eyes go distant as the force of your attraction drags him down into fantasy. He can't help himself. He's enslaved to the thought of controlling you.

"I won't hold back." He said, smiling devilishly. I felt a sudden need to demonstrate my seriousness, to raise the stakes. I pushed his attention to the rack of toys that stood nearby, toward the shelf of gags that taunted me. A dog following the hand that feeds him, he trailed after my gaze and rose, selecting a simple bit gag. I opened my mouth to welcome it.

I was feeling generous, so I let him pick the first implement. I was pleased to see he selected a hefty nylon flogger. I willed him to start and he complied. Thudding smacks vibrated their way through my very soul as he brought the tails down on my back, drumming a steady rhythm that lulled me into a thoughtless, peaceful place. The weight of the flogger came down on my back. The pillory shook in protest. My back arched and a hiss of breath escaped my lips around the gag. And the weight of the flogger came down on my back.

He paused. For a moment I was left alone with the feeling of my legs trembling, my breath heaving. Empty without that heartbeat of pain. No, I willed him. We're not quite finished yet. I settled in for more flogging.

But the sensation that followed was so deeply unnerving that I exhaled in surprise. His palm came to rest on my back, soft but firm. My skin was aflame at the touch, stinging from the ordeal it had been through.

"Breathe." He said. "Be present."

My mind was at war. The warm, comforting blanket of submission called me to respond to his touch, to let hairs raise and limbs shudder as he ran his hands over my skin in a calm, possessive motion. But a sharp and persistent wrongness broke through the haze. Something wasn't right. He should have kept hitting me.

Again, I yanked his mental leash back toward the flogger. You love this. You can't stop yet. I heard him walk back to the toy rack and I sighed in relief. Everything was as it should be -- I just had a brief lapse.

But before I had time to register what was happening, I felt something cool and metallic press up against my asshole.

"If there are going to be people watching us, we might as well have you looking pretty." He proclaimed. And my mind was once again torn. The lubed up plug began to slip inside me with an excruciating slowness. I felt myself begin to stretch as it flared and I wiggled in discomfort, more at the mystery of when it would end than any real pain from the forced entry.

My mind was racing. Come look me in the eye. Unbind me. You're not into this -- this scene is too much for you. I frantically pushed orders at him. I needed time to figure out what went wrong. I needed to reestablish a connection. But none of them took.

I simmered in that state of half-realization. The plug seemed impossibly large, moving impossibly slowly. I felt humiliation begin to boil up inside me as I so willingly accepted the intrusion. As if this man and my own body had conspired against me to leave me powerless.

Sowly, the movement of the plug finally stopped and I felt my hole tighten around its narrow base with a willing gratitude. There was a certain finality to it, as if something in me shattered with that definitive pop of the plug settling itself into my body, the fullness gnawing at me in a refusal to be ignored. I couldn't hide from the truth. I wasn't in control here.

His words rang through me. He had a way of knowing what people like. The Malbec, the gags. This was indeed a man with an intuition for reading people. I realized in that moment the arrogance, the false security of my simple commands. This man was the jungle cat. He was the hunter watching me, learning me. I had never been in control.

At the same time, I noticed the audience. I was suddenly, painfully aware of everything around me as my mind tried to make sense of what was happening. The couples looking on in dreamy eroticism had once seemed like adoring fans, but their gazes now bore down on me with a crushing weight. I was powerless here, I was the sacrifice chosen for their entertainment. Legs spread open, ass plugged with an ornament I couldn't even see. Onlookers delighting in a secret I wasn't in on as the man behind me prepared the next phase of the scene.

He was behind me now, and all I could sense of what would come next was a casual smacking sound as he tested various implements.

I felt something - a new sensation. Anticipation and dread formed swirling eddies in my mind as my thoughts stopped flowing, logic disappeared. My skin formed goosebumps at the very air dragging over it, waiting for the next touch of his hand or flash of pain.

Fear. I was about to discover what fear felt like. It sent an icy jolt down my spine.

But before I could contemplate further, he returned. His voice was somehow playful and commanding as he announced, "Why don't you give the people a show?" I felt his finger wander down between my legs until he found my clit, gently parting the folds that hid it. And then suddenly and without ceremony, he pressed a pulsing vibrator directly onto it.

If you've never experienced that much stimulation, allow me to illuminate the situation for you. First, every nerve in your body snaps awake and turns its attention to your clit. Like a magnifying glass in the sun, everything is amplified, every brain cell you have is devoted to parsing out the feeling, and still you cannot wrap your mind around whether this is pleasure or pain. Next, you hear a sound in the background like an animal in heat but it will take you several moments to realize that it's coming from your throat. Then every muscle in your body begins to tense up, you are a human static charge waiting for involuntary release. Your eyes glaze over as your other senses disappear, you're in a straight jacket alone in an echo chamber of stimulation. As you near the point of breaking, your body will begin to shake. Your legs will go weak, you won't be able to quite tell whether you're even still standing. But you'll feel something begin to build and you'll see a crack of light illuminate your escape like something holy. You slip into a kind of eldritch madness as your body seeks a higher plane of feeling, everything else loses all meaning. No other sensation can even break through the grip it has on your mind. And then release.

Only my jailer knew how to read people. And just as I reached that magnificent moment of freedom, the vibrator turned off. I was suddenly cast out, an empty vessel writhing worthlessly, searching for that magnificent light. I was hyper aware of my hips bucking, my breath coming in heaving moans, the trickle of sweat on my back.

Three sharp cracks jarred me back to myself, and I felt the stinging bite of a thin cane on my rear. My mind struggled to make sense of the new sensation, struggled to even feel anything at all except for the echoing absence of the vibrator. I could feel my body responding to the pain but my mind was somewhere else. And then at last, the vibrator returned.

He continued this way, cycling between vibration and impact. Never allowing my mind to slip through that crack into release. Was this ecstasy? Was this torture? I was beyond comprehending. The sensations were so overwhelming a part of me willed them away from myself, wishing I could escape into another body.

The man behind me was power itself as he terraformed me into a mindless conduit for his fantasies. I was vaguely aware of more and more people drifting in to watch. The room seemed to be holding its breath. Oddly, I felt somehow connected to them in my humiliation.

The vibrator switched off, but no beating followed. Footsteps, a shadow. I was staring at his shoes. I only realized that my head had drooped downward when he lifted my chin and gave my cheek a gentle slap.

"Anybody home?" He taunted me, but his eyes were focused, inquisitive. I moaned uselessly. He stroked my hair and leaned in close. "I know it's hard. But you don't get to cum until I do. That's fair, isn't it?" I found myself nodding in agreement. This man was in total control, and I took his words as truth without question. A patriarch is served first, and so there would be no release until he was finished.