Authors Note: "Wind the Clock" is the second installment in my "Turn the Key" series but may be read as a standalone short story. Part one has already been published on Literotica in the Mind Control section.
CW: Contains themes of hypnosis, CNC, spanking, and doll play. All characters are consenting adults.
"Wind the Clock"
I feel the fibers of the purple carpet crushed against my face before I feel his hands on me, lifting me into his arms and bringing me back to bed. My fingers trace my throat and feel the outline of the tiny key hole in my hollow. Tears pool in my eyes as he lays me against the pillows and I look up into his face. "Shhh," he soothes. "It doesn't hurt does it?"
I take inventory of my body. I'm sore from his use and my belly button aches a bit where the ring has pierced my flesh but oddly, from my throat I feel nothing. It is as if the heart shaped lock has healed completely. I try to take a calming breath.
As he crosses to his side of the bed, I turn away from him and find myself nose to nose with Citrouille who is sitting up on the side of the bed now, his expressive amber colored eyes looking concerned. Normally when I'm injured, my sweet pup tries to sniff the wound, but he makes no move to press his nose against my neck. I stroke his head, and seemingly satisfied, he returns to his pillow in the corner of the room and flops down with an indignant huff. It's long past bedtime after all.
I turn to face the man, my new Daddy, the magician. He strokes my hair lovingly and presses his lips to my forehead. "It will take some getting used to Honey," he whispers in the dark, "but soon you'll come to see that you belong here." He pulls me close, my head against his chest, and I feel somewhat soothed but unable to sleep. I've been an insomniac since childhood and I imagine it will be weeks before I sleep soundly in this bed. "I know what you need," he says after a moment and reaches into the drawer of the bedside table.
"I made this book myself," he says with a hint of pride in his voice as he withdraws a picture book from the drawer. "I even sketched the illustrations." I peek at the foxes on the first page and can't help the small smile that forms on my lips before I close my eyes and allow myself to rest against him. I can't recall the last time someone read to me before sleep, but if it works I'll try anything.
Deep in the woods there lives a little fox
, he begins to read,
who often has trouble falling asleep
. Citrouille begins to snore loudly from the floor.
The little fox has heard rumors of a spring nearby whose waters would cause even the largest bear to fall asleep with only a few sips. The little fox, being very tired, begins to walk very slowly down the path to the spring, pausing to yawn along the way
. His voice begins to take on a melodic quality.
You might wonder what the path looks like or even what the dirt would feel like against your bare feet as you also walk down the path
. I imagine myself wandering down a long dirt road in the forest and yawn against his chest.
The little fox looks ahead towards the stream, but finds his eyelids so very heavy
, my new Daddy continues, his voice seeming to become more distant now.
You might notice your eyelids are becoming very heavy too. The little fox isn't sure if he will make it to the stream or simply FALL ASLEEP NOW
. I'm unsure what happens next in the story as I sink deeply into the mattress and lose all conscious thought.
I come to awareness gently as the sunlight streams through the window and onto my face. I wake feeling well rested but with the sense that I've had the strangest dreams. I stroke the lock, inlaid in my throat, and find I'm no longer distressed at its presence. In fact, it's as if it has been there all along.
I notice the lavender jumper on a chair in the corner of the room, laid out next to a white T shirt and socks. On the floor are a pair of high-top sneakers in the same hue as the little dress. The dress isn't as fancy as the one my Daddy has chosen for me to wear in doll form but the color palette serves as an obvious reminder of his preferences. There are no undergarments to be found and I decide this is a recurring theme. The fabrics however, are soft against my skin as I slip them over my head and so I don't mind the lack of bra. I make a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth and find a yellow hair brush with a white daisy on the handle next to a large purple bow. I can tell which toothbrush is mine because it has glitter imbedded in the plastic. It's as if the items were made for play and not intended for a real person to use. The toothbrush is green, my favorite color.
Dressed neatly with my hair braided to the side and the bow at the bottom, I follow my nose towards the scent of pancakes. I find my Daddy perusing the newspaper and drinking his coffee as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed at all last night. The place to his left is set with brightly colored floral-patterned china and utensils, and I begin to feel I'm living in a sort of doll house. I reach for the yellow mug, hoping that I have coffee too, before he catches my wrist softly and warns me. "Be careful Darling, there is coffee in your cup too and it's still very hot."
I sigh, inhaling deeply before taking a sip. The French roast caresses my tongue and I feel a sense of deep satisfaction that reaches my bones. It's blended perfectly with a splash of almond milk and no sugar, just the way I prefer it. "You'll have to tell Daddy what sort of pancakes you like best," he says breaking my reverie. "I went with chocolate chip thinking it was a safe bet."
"I love chocolate chip," I grumble through a mouthful of confectionary bliss, "but my favorite of all are lemon with blueberries." He smiles at me and lets me know that we'll have healthier options most days but that he'd wanted to have something special for my first morning.
Between bites, Daddy informs me that he has some work to do. He doesn't say exactly what it is that he does for work, but walks off with a purpose. I think he must be quite successful to have built this life, regardless of his field. He's told me to "go ahead and explore" my new home and so with Citrouille at my side, I wander out into the garden I'd seen on my arrival.
At the edge of the property, just before the wall, is a real greenhouse with blue glass panes. As we slip inside and lose ourselves amongst the orchids and other exotic plants, I look around for a place to sit and rest. Finding a bench near a small electric fountain, I sit and close my eyes prepared to practice some relaxation mindfulness that I'd learned in yoga class a few years prior. Unfortunately, I'm not the most adept at meditation and as I listen to the water bubbling my thoughts begin to replay the night before.
I hadn't been sure how I ended up on the floor in the purple room at all, but suddenly the memory comes crashing back like a wrecking ball through my peaceful musings. I touch the lock at my throat and begin to feel panic. I consider taking Citrouille and trying to run but this thought is replaced with the very strong impression that the walls around the property are very tall indeed and it is unlikely that I would slip away unseen.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I have chosen this path, and so far, my new Daddy has held up his end of our bargain. He's tried very hard to put me at ease and there was nothing in the contract that prohibited the use of enchantment. I'm reminded of the unfavorable terms for breaking the contract, but feel this isn't truly at the root of my resolve to see our arrangement through.
He hasn't really harmed me and while I still reserve a degree of skepticism, I realize that I'm drawn to him and the fantasy of a life with a bit of magic. Decision made, calm sweeps over me and I am filled with determination to start this new life on the right foot. I see some vases collecting dust in the corner of the greenhouse next to an assortment of pruning shears and decide to surprise my new Daddy with an arrangement.
As I snip away and fluff the flowers in the vase, Citrouille finds a sunny spot to nap at my feet. I work for the better part of an hour before I'm startled by a cry from behind me. Citrouille leaps into the air, overturning several plants in the process, and I whirl around in shock to face an older woman in worn jeans and an apron over her T shirt.
"These plants are priceless," she says breathlessly, "you can't just chop them into pieces for decoration!" I turn to look at my creation and it dawns on me what I've done. By the time I muster the courage to face her again I find my Daddy in her place. "I see you've met our resident gardener," he says sternly taking in my creation. "It really is quite lovely Honey," he says softening a bit, "and really this is my fault for leaving you to your own devices without supervision."
Without another word he scoops up the vase in one hand and holds out the other for mine. I take it and Citrouille trots along beside us until we reach the house. He prefers to stay outside in the sunshine for as long as possible and seems to be thoroughly enjoying his new surroundings.
Daddy sets the vase on the dining room table where we ate breakfast. "We may as well enjoy them now that the damage is done," he says, "and Daddy appreciates the effort you put in but we can't have you getting into any more trouble."
