Brainwashed By His Ex

Sarah Hammond was the hottest girl I knew. She was tall, curvy, with the kind of limber athleticism of a professional gymnast that was both physically intimidating and sexy as hell. We'd matched on Tinder on Friday, and somehow we hit it off.

I thought it was a scam at first--a woman in my area out of my league that wanted to date me, of all people--but a few text chats, then phone calls, quickly dissuaded me of the idea. Like many attractive women, she was far more relatable than she let on at first. After the first few conversations, I figured she was just looking for love, like anyone else.

We set up a date on Wednesday at this fancy steak restaurant. She was wearing a beige turtleneck sweater, tight blue jeans, and black ankle boots that made her seem even taller than she already was. Her outfit was a perfect combination of artful and attractive, and seeing her in person felt almost too good to be true. Her long, straight blonde hair went down over her shoulders in a silken waterfall.

It was like seeing a real angel. Her face lit up when she saw me. "Sam?" she said. "I didn't think you'd be this early."

I grinned. "I didn't think you'd be, either. Maybe we have something in common."

She threw her head back and laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, soft and easy on the ears. I suddenly found myself blushing, and it made my ears feel hot. I hated that I could get embarassed so easily, but in front of a girl like her--well, it just felt natural. She had the kind of face you could tell secrets to.

"Nervous?" she said brightly, fixing me with those green eyes of hers.

I nodded, and then Sarah broke into a warm smile. "That's okay, Sam. I am too."

We sat down and ordered drinks. While we waited, Sarah told me she had her own practice downtown. She was a cognitive therapist--one of the best in town. When someone had a personal problem, she was the one you visited. It wasn't a surprise that most of her patients were men, but she had a way of controlling them that was impressive and just a little unsettling.

Many had been with her for years, but never left. It was as if she had a kind of hold on them, and the prospect of understanding what that meant both excited and terrified me. She was leaning forward on the table with her arms crossed, her forearms pushed up against her chest to make it seem bigger. I wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose, but I was trying very hard to maintain eye contact and not glance down.

As we had our dinner, something else I learned was that Sarah had never had a long-term boyfriend before. Considering how good she looked, this was surprising.

"Why not?" I said. "I mean, you're a really interesting person, and, well, the truth is that you really are attractive."

"I always wanted a relationship on my own terms," she said. "I guess I scare men away too quickly."

"Oh yeah?" I said, raising one eyebrow. Sarah was tall and pretty, but I wasn't sure how that could scare anyone away. If anything, the added element of mystery only made her seem more attractive. "Why's that?"

"Sometimes I see things in men they don't want to know about themselves," Sarah said matter-of-factly. She smiled again. "It's sort of an occupational hazard when you work in psychology."

"So you're the kind of psychologist that likes to analyze others, huh?" I said.

"It's what I do," Sarah said. "It's like palm-reading, but for personalities. Most of it's pop-science crap, but don't let that stop you from learning more about psychology. Some of it can be really useful."

"Sure," I said. A grin crept across my face. "You want to analyze me?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. Clearly, she was used to this. I guess this was just another occupational hazard of working in psychology--dealing with smart-asses like me. She searched my face carefully.

"You hurt someone a long time ago," she said gently. She suddenly reached across the table and touch my hand. "Am I correct?"

That caught me off guard. I swallowed, stared down at the table. I glanced up at her nervously, but she only gazed at me with a kind of curious sympathy.

"I broke up with her," I said quietly. "I admit I wasn't the best boyfriend to her. Not then, at any rate."

Sarah tilted her head and studied me. "What happened?"

I tried to grin, just to look less vulnerable in front of her. I failed. "We weren't right for each other," I said. "Things were good for a couple years. Then it was like a switch went off in her head. She suddenly became too controlling, too demanding. But instead of communicating with her, I ghosted her. I just couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. I'm not a bad person, Sarah."

"You're not, Sam," Sarah said. "Sometimes everyone makes mistakes. Even the best of us."

"That's nice of you to say, but that's what everyone tells me," I said, hunching over my meal.

What bothered me wasn't the fact that Mindy dominated nearly every aspect of our relationship when we were together. What bothered me--in a really fucked up way--was that I enjoyed it.

"You know what I think you need?" Sarah said thoughtfully. "What you need is to move on, to think of something else."

She wrapped her lips around her straw and sucked on her milkshake. As the white, milky cream disappeared into her mouth, her eyes flitted up to me, wide and innocent, and I suddenly imagined what it would feel like to have those lips around me, the power of her mouth on my cock. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to go to bed with her that night.

I glanced down at her neck. A small, silver spider dangled from her throat. It was an odd choice for a piece of jewelry, but I didn't ask her for fear of sounding impolite. Yet there was something undeniably sinister about the symbolism, as if I was the fly, about to be caught in her spiderweb.

Sarah drove me to her place after dinner. It was a few miles off the main road, a grand, Victorian mansion that sat comfortably hidden amongst vast, empty fields and forests of great oaks. If it was anyone else, I would have been alarmed at how remote our location was, but somehow being with Sarah just made it feel cozy.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I said, as we parked in the wide, circular driveway in front of the mansion. The headlights painted the tall, wrought-iron gates of the estate in a sheen of gold.

"Being a licensed doctor does have its benefits," Sarah muttered.

When she shut off the engine, a vast, deep silence settled in around us. Combined with the pitch black of the evening sky, I realized just how lonely everything seemed, like we were the last two people on Earth.

Sarah ducked and stepped out of her car. "Come on," she said. "You must be tired. Let me make you another drink."

Together, the two of us climbed the flight of stone steps to her front door. Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention. There was another car parked in the driveway, but Sarah steered me away with one hand squeezing my buttocks in an eerily possessive gesture that failed to set me at ease.

She inserted the key and we stepped inside. Her home was massive--even from outside, looking in, it was impossible to really appreciate the grandeur of her mansion until you were inside it. The sense of scale and silence of the place reminded me of a cathedral, and it was then that I realized how isolated we really were. If anything happened, we were on our own.

Sarah switched the lights on, lending an air of comfort to the place. It was immaculate and modern, with the overhead flourescents and electric fireplace, and colorful throw rugs of a 21st-Century palace. As Sarah disappeared into the kitchen, I stood in the foyer, not sure where to stand or how to behave. This was the grandest place I'd ever set foot in, and I was as out of my element as I could be.

Sarah came back holding a drink in each hand. They seemed identical. She handed me one. "Your poison?" she said, lifting an eyebrow salaciously.

I examined the clear liquid carefully and grinned. "What is it?" I said, taking the glass. "Looks delicious."

"A bit of gin, a bit of vermouth, and something special just for you," Sarah said sweetly. She took a sip of her own drink, furrowing her brow in concentration. "Cheers."

We touched glass and drank. It was strong and delicious. When I was done, I felt this warm ball of flame explode in my stomach and spread to my toes, and I suddenly felt much more comfortable in this cavernous home. My face began to blush with heat. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever met, Sarah," I said.

"Thank you," Sarah said primly. She tugged on my wrist, heading upstairs. Evidently, she wasn't one for beating around the bush. She took what she want and got it. I liked that in a woman. "Now come on, Sam. The night is young."

The second floor of the mansion was far less intimidating but no less grand. The wide balcony overlooking the first floor, with its carved wooden balustrades, provided an authoritarian view of the living room, fit only for a queen gazing down upon her subjects. The white carpet was so plush and soft that my feet sank into it with each step, making it a struggle to walk. It was like treading through snow.

We reached a comparatively narrow hallway and turned into one of the master bedrooms. It had one of those massive, king-sized beds with a sturdy wooden bedpost in each corner, arranged like pawns on a blank chessboard. The queen, of course, was Sarah, who suddenly spun me around, pulled my face in with both hands, and kissed me with the sort of hungry passion that could tempt even the strongest man.

"Have you ever screamed in bed before, Sam?" whispered breathlessly.

I shook my head.

"Lay down on your back," she said gently. When I didn't move, she gave me a light shove on my chest, sending me sprawling backwards onto the bed. She climbed on top of me as we made out, straddling me with both legs. She was much stronger than she appeared, and for a moment her physique startled me as our makeout session escalated with the fervent, airless intensity of two drowning individuals.

Somehow, she'd gotten my shirt and jeans and underwear off and tossed them aside in the process. Her outfit was still on, which made me feel strangely naked even in my already compromised position. It gave her a kind of authority, the chunky heels of her ankle boots digging into my calves like spurs. She began to shift me towards the center of the bed as we kissed.

Sarah leaned over me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear in a way that made my entire body shiver. I was rock hard, but so far she hadn't indulged me at all save for brushing her hard denim against my bare cock in a harsh, teasing way that I was almost sure was intentional.

It was infuriating, and I would have done anything--anything--for her to let me come. Sarah brushed her buxom chest against my face, a suffocating pleasure that felt like heaven even as I knew she would not give into my whims so easily. It was only when I felt something tight encircle my wrist that I started to regain some semblance of rational thought.

I was too late. Before I knew it, Sarah had clipped and tightened the leather cuff around my left wrist, which was attached to a long, thick belt that had been concealed beneath the corner of the mattress.

"Hey, what--" I said.

I tried to get up, but Sarah suddenly pressed forward, grabbing my free wrist with both hands and pinning it against the bed. I struggled and fought, but her weight on top of me, combined with an already disabled arm, made it a futile effort. She gradually worked the cuff over my hand and buckled it tight, severely limiting my range of motion.

Sarah knelt back, admiring her handiwork with a smug, satisfied look, as if she had somehow outsmarted me. She did. The very realization made me blush with embarassment, even as the strange, terrifying reality of my situation slowly sank in.

"Wait, what?" I said, not quite shouting. "Sarah, we didn't discuss this. I thought you'd just--"

I lunged forward, hoping against all hope that the restraints would somehow loosen or snap apart despite how ridiculous a thought it was. They flattened me almost completely against the bed, so that I had to raise my neck uncomfortably just to look at Sarah. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

I was still in control. I had to be.

"Sarah," I said. "Sarah. Listen to me. Right now you're probably thinking this is a joke, but I don't find this funny at all."

Even in spite of myself, I was getting hard, harder than I ever have before. With Sarah straddling me like a comforting weight, I was effectively immobilized from the waist up. Somehow, that turned me on like a switch, and I stifled the urge to let out a whimper. Sarah stroked my cheek gently, gazing down at me benevolently.

At that moment, it was when I knew the kind of role she had in mind for me when I first entered he bedroom. She was the goddess. I was nothing.

"Sarah?" I said nervously, trying for a grin.

"Sam, we've had our eyes on you for quite some time," Sarah said. She let out a luxurious sigh, rubbing my bare chest with both hands. It was like being smothered. "And it feels so good to have you here. So, so good."

We've? The fact that she mentioned a plural made my heart spike with anxiety. Who else could she possibly be referring to? Then I remembered the car parked in the driveway of the mansion, and I began to put the pieces together.

"Sarah?" I said. "Who's we?"

Sarah's eyes flitted to the bedroom door. It swung open slowly, and my ex-girlfriend, Mindy, walked inside. My heart leapt, dropped, and sank to the bottom of my gut.

This wasn't happening.

Mindy was as tall as Sarah, standing at an intimidating, if mythical six-foot-six with a body of a Greek goddess to match. She was wearing a black latex unitard that looked ready to burst open from her massive double-D breasts, sleek fishnet stockings and fuck-me stilettos that gave her a painfully dominant look in the bedroom. Her smooth brunette hair was tied into a messy bun, her green eyes flashing towards me fiercely. A cruel smirk curled the corner of her full lips.

"Didn't think I'd find you here, sweetiepie," she said, placing a hand on her vase-shiped hip.

I jerked against my restraints violently, even though I knew it was a lost cause. Sarah just pressed her hands against my chest, making it hard to breathe. I could tell she was enjoying this. She bit at her lower lip, her eyes smiling at me in a calculating gaze that was more than a little unsettling.

"You are in so much trouble, bad boy," Sarah hissed.

"Mindy?" I said with disbelief. "What--what are you doing here?"

Mindy nodded to Sarah imperceptibly. Sarah grinned girlishly, moving over to the nightstand next to me. She produced a red leather ball gag, which she snapped tight with both hands with a utilitarian flourish.

"Say aaaaahhh," Sarah said, holding the gag in front of my face.

I had to resist. I pressed my lips together as hard as I could, determined not to make this easy for them. They had already taken away my ability to move. If they took away my ability to speak, there was no telling what sort of diabolical torture they could inflict upon me without consequence.

Sarah let the gag drop limply. She glared at me, annoyed. "Oh, now you really are being a bad boy."

She pinched my nose shut with two fingers. I held my breath for as long as I could, fighting against my lungs to resist. "None of that now, sweetie," Mindy said dismissively. "Give in to your new mommy. Give in to Sarah."

My lungs exploded with pain, and I let out my breath in a quivering gasp. In one smooth motion, Sarah pressed the ball gag into my mouth, wrapped the leather belt around my head, and buckled it down tight. Clever girl.

I let out a moan, less from pleasure than from the sheer terror of the situation--trapped here with two beautiful women, one of which was certifiably insane, and the other which was my girlfriend, with no rescue in sight--and let my head fall back against the pillow.

As I adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation of being forced to breathe through my nose, Mindy strutted across the room towards me, her flat abdomen pulsing against the latex of her outfit with finely tuned muscle. Even though she was the very paragon of feminity, she still looked strong enough to do whatever she wanted to me, even had I not been tied down to the bed.

"Sit on his legs, Sarah," Mindy said harshly. "I don't want my little pet to think he has a chance at escaping, do you?"

Sarah happily obliged. She wiggled her ass backwards, exposing my red, rock-hard cock to the cold air and pinning my legs down. Mindy straightened my legs out and attached them to leather cuffs, fully flattening me to the bed in a spread-eagle position. She glared at me ruthlessly, as if I were land that was about to be conquered.

"MMMMMMMPPPPPHHHHGGGGGGGGMMMM!!!"

Mindy pretended to ignore me. "Sarah, go into the wardrobe and make yourself indecent," she said. "I want to have a word with our slave here."

Sarah closed the door, leaving Mindy alone with me. I was filled with that deep, familiar dread. The thing about Mindy was that she was brilliant--she was a self-taught Harvard psychology grad, top of her class--and when she looked at you, there was often that sense that she was studying you, analyzing you even as your heart was jackhammering with lust at the very sight of her.

This wouldn't have been particularly alarming had she not been so obsessed with bondage. When I first met her, I had adamantly refused to be in a compromised position in bed while she had her way with me. That had been one of the primary reasons for our breakup. But it wasn't because we were sexually incompatible. I was scared of her, the same way a mouse is scared of a cat, the same way small men are afraid of powerful women.

And now I was here with her.

All tied up.

Mindy let out a long sigh. She placed a maternal hand on my bare thigh, and my cock bucked in spite of me. She was looking somewhere else, and I let out a breath of relief. Had she seen me, she would have known just how weak I was for her.

"Sam, I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me and Sarah. I'll answer them in due time, but for now I just want you to know that you're safe here. With me. It's okay to be nervous, but it won't be a problem when tomorrow morning comes around."

What did that mean? I fought against my restraints to no avail, and Mindy stroked my thigh even firmly, as if warning me that I was trapped and nothing I did could change that fact.

As she sat down next to me and ignored my erection, Mindy told me what happened. She had met Sarah at a femdom fetish club. They had bonded over Shirley Temples and a shared love of dominating and breaking recalcitrant men, and when Mindy had told Shirley about me, they hatched a plan that would return me to her grasp in quick order.

After teaching Sarah the tricks and wiles that every good dominatrix knows, Mindy had set Sarah up with me by--you guessed it--hacking the Tinder algorithm to put her in my spotlight. I had fallen for the trap despite knowing it was too good to be true, and now I was about to pay the price.

"You see," Mindy said wistfully. "Bad boys like you tend to need a little discipline to behave like good little slaves. It was a shame you left before I could truly recondition you--I guessed even the subliminal audiotapes and sexual hypnosis goggles I put on you when you were sleeping didn't change you fast enough--but I suppose I had been too forward too quickly. It was sloppy. But now that I have you all tied up, I won't make the same mistake again."

Hypnosis goggles? Subliminal audiotapes? I never knew the extent of her control had even went beyond the waking world. I thrashed and struggled against my restraints. This seemed to annoy Mindy. She grabbed my balls and gave it a painful squeeze. I froze, and she let go.