The Stepford Mistress

Sharelle walked briskly across the parking lot to her car, her high heels making a "clik-clik-clik-clik" on the pavement. As she approached her car she pressed the unlock button on her key fob, and a moment later she had pulled the door open, tossed her purse on the passenger seat, and set herself inside. There was a bottle of water in her purse, and she took it out, cracked it open, and took a large swig out of it before setting it into the cupholder. She pulled down the sun visor and opened the mirror, studying her look in its reflection—and that's when she caught herself staring.

Staring deeply into her own eyes.

She shook off the effect, scolding herself for succumbing like that. Bad enough that it happened every now and again in front of her co-workers, but at least she could laugh it of with them—as a senior marketing executive, she could claim she was making sure her look was perfect because "presentation is everything." After all, it wasn't like she could tell them the truth—that would raise a whole host of questions.

She was about to put her car into gear when her phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and checked the ID. Her eyes widened, she drew in a sharp breath, and the phone almost fell from her hands.

It was Him.

The last time she'd seen him was two weeks ago; the time before that, a month. There was no warning he would call, no set schedule—except he always had a knack for calling when her husband Michael was out of town. Did he know when she would be left alone? Was he spying on her? Was she the spy? It was certainly a possibility.

She pressed the answer button on the screen and waited for his voice. He always spoke first.

"Where is your husband?"

"He's out of town on business. He won't be back 'til Friday."

"Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Not anymore."

"Then I'll expect you within the hour."

"Yes, Master."

The call disconnected, and Sharelle sat there for a long moment, lost in—well, it wasn't exactly thought, was it? She was aware of her surroundings, and yet her mind was somewhere else. On someone else.

On Him.

She sent a text message to one of her friends, saying something had come up and she wouldn't meet them at the pub tonight. The reply came back—four sad emoji faces. Fruity cocktails and spicy chicken wings would have to wait until another night, but they were her friends and they would understand. That done, she put the car in gear and headed on her way.

****************

The apartment was a large studio affair, with a three-quarters wall that was wood on its bottom and frosted glass blocks on its top separating the living and sleeping areas. The kitchen and dining areas were to the left, and just beyond that, the door to the bathroom. Immediately to Sharelle's right as she entered was the coat closet—and nearly covering the door to the closet was a full-length mirror.

A mirror.

She stepped closer to the mirror, and stared deeply into her own eyes. This time she let it happen. Her hands dropped to her side—her breathing slowed and deepened—her mind relaxed completely—

("You're hypnotizing yourself. Just like the geishas of ancient Japan would hypnotize themselves to cherish and adore men, so they would be better entertainers for them. Marilyn Monroe used to hypnotize herself this way as well—and she was one of the most beautiful women in the world. Almost as beautiful as you are. She would hypnotize herself to deeply love sex, and completely adore men. Just as you hypnotize yourself to deeply love sex, and completely adore men. Let yourself drift deeper and deeper into deep, deep hypnosis.")

Sharelle let herself drift, staring deeper and deeper into her own eyes. When she was ready—she began the litany.

"I am my Master's hypnotized slut. I always want to fuck my Master.

"I am my Master's hypnotized whore. I will always fuck my Master whenever and wherever he wants.

"I am my Master's hypnotized pussy. I am always warm and wet for my Master.

"I am my Master's hypnotized bitch. I will always get on my hands and knees for my Master.

"I am my Master's hypnotized toy. I will always let my Master play with me.

"I am my Master's hypnotized pet. I will always have the highest adoration and affection for my Master.

"I am my Master's hypnotized cocksucker. I will always accept my Master's cock into my mouth.

"I am my Master's hypnotized doggie-fucker. I will always allow him to take me from behind.

"I am my Master's hypnotized ass-fucker. I will always present my ass to my Master for his use.

"I am my Master's hypnotized goddess. I will always be the ultimate embodiment of beauty and sexuality for my Master.

"I am my Master's hypnotized lover. I will always be in love with my Master whenever I am with him.

"I am my Master's hypnotized servant. Whatever commands he gives me, I will always obey.

"I am my Master's hypnotized mistress. I will always keep secret the love and obedience I have for my Master."

The litany completed, she continued staring into her own eyes, even though she felt them getting heavier and heavier. She could only keep them open half-way, just like those bedroom eyes photos of Marilyn. And as she stared into her own hypnotized bedroom eyes, she could almost see Marilyn with her, creamy white skin, platinum blonde hair, and her own hypnotized bedroom eyes staring back at her—a sharp contrast to her own dark hair, eyes and skin. And then, as it always happened, Sharelle's eyes closed.

She opened them after a few moments of deep, warm serenity, then reached over to the closet door and pulled it open. Inside, hanging from a sturdy wooden rod on a plastic clothes hanger, was a green evening dress—the only item in the closet, besides a small valet stand. Sharelle undressed herself slowly and sensually, savoring each motion of the fabric against her body, then hung each item on the clothes valet after folding it neatly. Her brassiere was the last thing to come off, and when she'd hung it up she looked in the mirror on the inside of the closet door and regarded her beaautiful body-the ample handfuls with Hershey-kiss nipples that were her breasts, the wonderful, firm curves of her buttocks, the slender, well-defined arms and legs—

("You should be very glad that you are a beautiful, desirable woman, and that men watch you and enjoy your beauty—for that means you can be close to them, and serve their pleasure, and express your adoration of men in the strongest possible terms—with the physical satisfaction you can give their bodies and the erotic satisfaction you can give their minds. You were meant to express your adoration in such ways. You were meant to satisfy men in such ways.")

Sharelle took the green dress off its hanger and slowly slipped it onto her body, once again savoring the motion of the fabric against her skin. And once again she regarded her image in the mirror, making sure she was her most presentable, making sure she was her most beautiful and desirable.

For Him.

When she believed she was ready, she entered the main living area, gliding in on her heels like a model slowly walking the runway. And there he was, sitting on a large, comfortable sofa, wearing a black satin robe and as Sharelle guessed, not much else. He was dark-skinned like herself, slender yet muscular, with short dark hair and large dark eyes that she could feel staring at her even when he wasn't in the room. A glass of red wine, nearly empty, was in his hand, and an open wine bottle stood alone on the coffee table.

He grinned as she walked into the room to stand before him—there was about twelve feet of space between them, giving him plenty of view to admire and appreciate her beauty. She stood there with her hands at her sides, one foot in front of the other, and waited for his word. He always spoke first.

"You look exceptionally gorgeous tonight—as usual."

"How may I serve you, Master?"

"You can start by refilling my wine glass," he replied, pointing at the bottle on the table.

"Yes, Master," said Sharelle, and she moved forward to pick up the wine bottle. Holding it carefully over the glass, she slowly poured it full, then lifted it up and away when she was done. He took a sip of the new wine, and then took another.

"You can put that in the refrigerator—it's starting to lose its chill."

Sharelle took the bottle over to the refrigerator and put it inside. She turned back to him and watched as he took yet another sip of wine.

"Why don't you fix me some dinner?"

"Yes, Master. At once, Master."

It was the work of twenty minutes to whip up dinner—beef-filled tortellini in red sauce, broccoli with melted cheddar cheese, a small green salad—and of course, more wine. While it wasn't all made from scratch, it wasn't exactly low-rate take-out, either. When it was ready she set it all upon the table, then sat at his left side with her hands demurely folded in her lap, feeling the full bliss of her adoration as she watched him eat.

When he was finished—and he ate everything on the plate—he stood up and moved to her side. Sharelle stood up as well, gazing into His eyes with rapt attention.

"That was excellent, as usual."

"Thank You, Master."

He wrapped his arms around her, placed his lips upon hers, and kissed her—deeply and passionately. She put her arms around him and returned the kiss with equal passion and even deeper adoration.

("You were meant for moments like this. You were meant to serve the pleasure of men. You were meant to serve the pleasure of your Master.")

He broke away from the kiss, and she took a step back, letting her hands drop to her sides. She waited for his next word. He always spoke first.

"What are you willing to do for me?"

"Anything you wish, Master."

"What is my wish?"

"Your wish is my command, Master."

"Very good,"—and with that, he put his hand to her ear and snapped his fingers. Immediately her eyes dropped shut, her head dropped forward, and that was the last she knew of anything for a while.

****************

Sharelle heard his fingers snap again. Her eyes fluttered a moment, and she realized she was sitting on the sofa. She looked down at herself—instead of the green dress she was now wearing a gold lamé bikini, the liquid-like fabric clinging neatly to her breasts, her crotch and her ass, and ties at the back, the neck and her hips to keep everything in place. She looked around and saw that the dinner dishes were sitting in a dish rack by the kitchen sink. She wondered what other housework He'd commanded her to do while He watched. She looked over at him, sitting on the sofa with his glass of wine, and he smiled at her.

"I'll say it before and I'll say it again—French maid outfits, while they have their appeal, are becoming overdone. This—" pointing at Sharelle's bikini, "is what a beautiful, obedient servant should wear."

"Master—may I speak freely?"

There was a small measure of disdain in his eyes as he considered the question. "I suppose so."

"You do not need to blank my mind to do the household chores. I will gladly clean your home, fix your meals, tend to your clothes. Nothing you ask me to do is too demeaning or degrading for me that I need to do it while unconscious. I will do anything you wish, for your wish is my command."

He set the wine glass on the coffee table. "Look into my eyes."

Sharelle turned towards him, sitting with her legs together and her hands in her lap. And as she stared into his eyes—deeper and deeper into his eyes—her breathing slowed and deepened—her mind relaxed completely—

"It pleases me that you are gladly willing to do whatever I command. It gratifies me that you are so happily devoted to my well-being and satisfaction. It is a sure sign that my seduction of you and your surrender to me is complete."

Sharelle smiled. "Thank you, Master"

"It pleases me also to do whatever I wish with your mind and body. If I want you to clean my home while mindless—you will clean my home while mindless. If I want you to clean my home while believing you are a geisha girl, or Marilyn Monroe, or anyone else I choose—you will do it. It's not about your satisfaction—it's about mine. You are here to serve and obey me. Do you understand?"

Sharelle did understand. "Yes, Master."

"Now—what are you?"

"I am your hypnotized slut. I am your hypnotized whore. I am your hypnotized pussy. I am your hypnotized bitch. I am your hypnotized toy. I am your hypnotized pet. I am your hypnotized cocksucker. I am your hypnotized doggie-fucker. I am your hypnotized ass-fucker. I am your hypnotized goddess. I am your hypnotized lover. I am your hypnotized servant. I am your hypnotized mistress."

"Very good. Now keep looking into my eyes—deeply and completely into my eyes. Your own eyes are getting heavier and heavier—it's harder and harder to keep them open—but you want to keep looking into my eyes, even as your own eyes get heavier and heavier—"

He kept talking to her like that, and she kept listening, and her eyes kept getting heavier and heavier—until finally they closed. He was still talking, and she was still listening—and the more he talked and the more she listened, the more deeply hypnotized and completely obedient she became.

"In a moment, I shall count from one to three. When you hear the count of three you will open your eyes and rise to your feet. Then you will walk to the refrigerator and open the door. Inside you will find a piece of chocolate cake on a plate. You will take the cake out, then after closing the door, you will open the silverware drawer and take out a fork. You will then bring them both back to the sofa and sit down. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master." And it was true—she remembered seeing the cake when she was preparing dinner. Now she understood why it was there.

"All right, then. One—Two—Three."

Sharelle slowly opened her eyes, and slowly rose to her feet. Like a sleepwalking model on the runway, she walked over to the refrigerator, then opened the door and located the cake inside. She removed it and closed the door, then turned just enough to face the silverware drawer. She pulled it open just enough to take out a fork, then slid it closed, making barely a sound the entire time. Then she sleepwalked back to the sofa, and sat down, waiting to obey his next command.

"Now—feed me the cake."

"Yes, Master." She cut off a bite and scooped it onto the fork, then reverently placed the bite inside his mouth. He closed his mouth around the bite, and she gently removed the fork. As the process was repeated, Sharelle could taste every bite, as though she were eating the cake herself. Except that it was even better—because she was doing it to serve and satisfy her Master.

When the last bite was finished she set the plate on the coffee table with the fork on it and waited attentively with her hands folded in her lap. "You can take that to the kitchen," he said, pointing at the plate. "You needn't bother washing it, just leave it in the sink."

"Yes, Master." Sharelle picked up the plate and fork and took them to the kitchen area, where as commanded, she left them in the sink. When she turned back to him she found he had risen to his feet. She had an idea of what he wanted her to do—but as always, she had to wait for his command.

"Take my robe, please."

"Yes, Master." She sleepwalked over to him sensually and moved her body into contact with his. Still keeping contact she moved around his body, then with one hand undid the tie of his robe. Now standing behind him, she unwrapped the robe from his body and let it fall to the floor. The scent of his body filled her nostrils, the sight of his dark, well-muscled form filled her eyes, and it was all she could do to restrain herself from covering his back with kisses, then bury her face between his buttocks. But she did restrain herself, for she was hypnotized and had to obey.

"Now—why don't you undress for me?"

"Yes, Master." Sharelle walked around to stand before him while he sat back down on the sofa. She ran her fingers through her hair in her most sensual manner, then slowly reached behind her neck and undid the knot holding the top straps of her bra. She then reached behind her back and repeated the process, and her bra almost floated to the floor. She allowed herself a smile as she moved her hands to the knots holding up her panties. First she undid one knot—then the other. She then pulled the panties away from her body and let them drop alongside the bra. Now completely nude except for her heels, she arched her back and posed for him, letting him enjoy the sight of her nudity as she enjoyed his.

He beckoned to her with his right hand, and she slowly walked over to the sofa and sat down-and even though she was compelled—wonderfully compelled—to look into his eyes, she could not help but notice his cock, dark brown and standing tall, and she wanted more than anything else to have it in her mouth. She hoped he would command her soon—the anticipation was killing her.

"What do you want to do for me?"

"Whatever you wish, Master."

"Then I wish for you to go down on me."

"Your wish is my command, Master."

Sharelle lowered herself down to encircle his cock-head with her lips, while her right hand fondled his balls. She felt the warmth of his cock fill her entire mouth as she took in more and more, and as the strength of it overwhelmed her senses, so was her mind overwhelmed by his power over her. It was times like these that everything made perfect sense, that to serve and obey him like this was the right thing to do.

("You Hear my voice inside my mind. You hear my voice inside my mind, and it fills you with ecstasy—it fills you with delight—it fills you with desire. The desire to serve—the desire to obey.")

"I am my Master's hypnotized cocksucker," Sharelle said to herself as she continued her cocksucking. She would have sucked him the entire night if that was what he wanted—if that was what he commanded. But as always, he had other plans for her.

"Stand up."

Sharelle drew her lips one more time across his cock and slowly rose to her feet. Her eyes were half-closed bedroom-style, and there was a faint smile on her lips. She let her mind go blank as she stared into space, yet she was aware enough to notice he was standing up as well.

"Let's go to the bedroom."

"Yes, Master."

Sharelle turned and sleepwalked toward the bedroom area. He was right behind her, with his hand on the small of her back, gently urging her on. At the entry to the bedroom she stopped and waited.

"Turn down the bed for us."

"Yes, Master." As always, she tunred down the near side first, then sleepwalked over to the far side and turned that down. She then stood there and watched as he went to the opposite side of the bed, her hypnotized bedroom eyes staring deeply into his.

"Crawl over here and suck me off some more."

"Yes, Master." Sharelle crawled onto the bed and made her way across—it was a rather large bed, even larger than king size, and it seemed to take her forever to get to him, especially given the anticipation of sucking his cock again. But she did get there, finally, and she lifted the head of it up with her tongue and into her mouth, and the sensation of it filling her mouth and the taste of it on her tongue made it well worth the wait. It was like there was a direct connection from her mouth to her pussy, and she felt herself getting wetter and wetter, felt the pleasure build more powerfully inside her. As she sucked him over and over again, that same sense of belonging to him overwhelmed her once more—that she was always meant to be on her hands and knees before him, doing whatever she was told. Nothing else mattered but this perfect passion and obedience.

Then she became aware of his hands upon her shoulders, gently yet firmly pushing her back. She felt his cock pulling out of her mouth, and she took a deep breath as her airway was completely clear. She couldn't help but stare at his cock, strong and hard and pointing at her face—and then he spoke again.