Enslaved

by Ray Gordon

  Gushing, bathing her tongue, his male cream filled her cheeks, running down her chin as she fervently slurped on the orgasming fountainhead. On and on the product of his climax flowed, sustained by Marianne's snaking tongue around his pumping fountainhead. Thrusting his organ deep into her mouth, his glans jetting sperm down her throat, he grabbed her head. 'Drink it, you dirty cow,' he bellowed. 'Ah yes, yes! God, you've got a beautiful mouth!'

  His flow of sperm finally slowing to a trickle, he gently rocked his hips, sliding his glans over her pink tongue, watching her lips roll along his wet shaft. 'God, I needed that,' he murmured as he slipped his knob from her mouth. 'Lick me, clean me,' he instructed, gazing at his sperm glistening on her full red lips. Holding his organ in her hand, she moved her head forward, lapping up the globules of come, cleansing his penis - the penis that rightfully his betrayed wife had exclusive rights to. Would he go home and fuck her? she wondered. Would he fuck his wife and picture Marianne's mouth encompassing his throbbing glans?

  Pulling away and tugging his trousers up, Alan moved to the door, not even glancing at Marianne as he told her that she'd be drinking from his cock every evening. Muffled voices came from the hall as Alan closed the lounge door behind him. That was it; she'd done her job, played the role of a tart - sold herself for crude sex.

  The front door slammed shut and Barry entered the lounge. The client had gone - spermed in her mouth and gone home to his loving wife, she mused as Barry clicked his fingers and ordered her to wake up. Looking around the room, the taste of sperm lingering, she forced a smile, wondering again at the powerful trigger word.

  'When's Alan coming round?' she asked, licking her lips.

  'I don't know,' he replied. 'It wasn't a definite arrangement. Marianne, have you been out today?'

  'Why?'

  'There's something missing from the kitchen.'

  'Something missing? What?'

  'Er... just a book. Did you go out and leave the back door open?'

  'No, of course not. You've probably left it upstairs or somewhere. Which book was it?'

  'It doesn't matter,' he sighed, his forehead lined, his expression pained.

  So, he's discovered his five hundred pounds has gone missing, she laughed inwardly. Poor Barry, all that money - gone! And there was nothing he could say about it. But, she suddenly realized, if he were to use the word and question her, she'd not be able to stop the truth from falling from her pretty lips.

  'Juxtaposition,' he said as he stood before her. This was it, she thought anxiously, realizing that the word had worked, yet again. To her relief, Barry unzipped his jeans and offered his hard glans to her mouth.

  'Now you can suck me off,' he chuckled, seemingly forgetting about the missing money.

  As she took his knob into her mouth, Marianne guessed that he'd not question her about the money because he thought she had no knowledge of his hiding place. There was little point in asking her about something she knew nothing of. What conclusion he'd come to, she didn't know, or care - she was five hundred pounds the richer, that was all that mattered.

  'I liked watching you suck Alan's cock and drink his sperm,' Barry murmured as he pushed his organ-head further into her accommodating mouth. 'And watching you being thrashed by those lezzies was something else. Christ, the way you shoved that plastic pot up your arse was brilliant. Tomorrow we'll start making the videos. And I'll tell you something else, Marianne - I'm going to have you used and fucked by so many men that I'll be on a grand a week. Now, suck me off, you slag.'

  Her fate seemingly sealed, Marianne endeavoured to regain control over her actions. Trying to pull away, to slip Barry's penis from her mouth, she realized the full extent of the strange trance she was in. Her head actually moved forward as she involuntarily took Barry's knob further into her mouth. Licking, sucking, she obediently complied with her master's demands and wanked his fleshy organ.

  As his sperm jetted, filling her hot mouth, Marianne savoured the salty liquid, comparing the taste with Alan's, wondering again how many men would use her, fuck her mouth and drain their heavy balls. Swallowing Barry's sperm, she was surprised as he suddenly slipped his solid shaft out. Rubbing his throbbing glans against Marianne's lips, her face, he pumped his sperm over her youthful skin. Desperate to swallow more of his jetting come, Marianne engulfed his knob again, sucking, drinking from his massive cock. Her face drenched, dripping with the creamy product of his orgasm, she lost herself in her enforced act of debauchery, taking his cock-head to the back of her throat and swallowing hard.

  'Keep still now,' Barry gasped. His knob absorbing the wet heat of her mouth, Marianne remained motionless. Slowly slipping his penis in and out, he shuddered in the aftermath of his climax as the last of his sperm bubbled from his cocktip slit and ran over her pink tongue. 'That was good! You did very well!' he commended as he slid his wet cock from her mouth and zipped his jeans.

  Sitting opposite, he ordered Marianne to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand before clicking his fingers and bringing her out of her hypnotic trance. Again Marianne was in control of her body, and she gazed at Barry, wondering once more what sort of man he really was.

  'I've been offered a job,' Marianne announced.

  'Really? Where?' he asked.

  'Brooke-Smith,' she replied, deciding to annoy Barry, to piss him off.

  'Brooke-Smith?' he echoed angrily. 'When was this?'

  'Today. He offered me a company car - a Mercedes.'

  'You can't work for him! I don't want you...'

  'Why can't I work for him? It's a very good job, Barry. I'd be his personal assistant and...'

  'Yeah, and I know what sort of personal assistant he wants! I forbid you to take the job, Marianne.'

  'Forbid me? Do you own me now?'

  'No, I didn't mean... I care for you, love. I don't want you working for a randy old bastard like Brooke-Smith.'

  Care for me? Marianne thought angrily. Barry was more than a bastard, she reflected - he was a hideous monster! 'I'm going to bed!' she snapped. 'Don't come up and annoy me, I'm tired.'

  Barry had spent the night on the sofa, leaving for work before Marianne had woken, much to her relief. Still fuming, she washed and dressed and nibbled on a sandwich, wondering about her next move. Grabbing her diary from her handbag, she flicked through the pages as she wandered through the hall to the phone.

  'Mr Ducante?' she asked as a man answered.

  'Speaking.'

  'My name's Marianne, I was on the hypnosis course you ran.'

  'Oh, yes - Marianne. How are you?'

  'I'm fine, thanks. I wanted to ask you something, if you can spare me a few minutes.'

  'Yes, of course - what's the problem?'

  Marianne explained her predicament to her mentor, but he was reluctant to discuss the matter over the phone. 'All I can say is that never in all my life have I heard of a trigger word being implanted in the subconscious by autosuggestion. It's just not possible for a subject to implant a trigger word in his or her own subconscious, Marianne.'

  'But it's happened,' she insisted despairingly.

  'Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose. Look, I'm not calling you a liar, but... Why not come up and see me and we'll discuss it further?'

  Not wanting to travel the long distance to visit him, she hung up, wondering why he'd not helped her, talked about it properly - why he'd even mentioned the word liar. Deciding to go to the park on the off-chance of bumping into Rod, Marianne left the house, ignoring the ringing telephone as she closed the front door. I'll bet that's Ducante, she thought as she walked down the street. I'll bet he wants to use the trigger word and have his wicked way with me.

  The sun was already hot in the clear blue sky, too hot, Marianne thought as she crossed the park. Flopping onto the bench, she sighed, again wondering what her next move should be. Gazing at Rod's house, she decided to visit him, just to talk, to get to know him a little better. She'd pretend that the trigger word didn't always work, sh
e mused as she neared the house. Should he mention the word, unless it really worked and sent her into a trance, she'd just smile and ask him what he'd meant by 'juxtaposition'.

  Finding the back door locked, Marianne wandered around the house to the front door. Ringing the bell, she gasped as she read the words engraved on a brass plate. R.D. Bewick. Hypnotherapist.

  Dashing around the side of the house at the sound of someone in the hall, she ran through the back gate and out into the park, her heart beating wildly as she recalled masturbating on Rod's sofa. He must have thought, or known, that I was faking it, she reflected anxiously, recalling Ducante's words. God, what must he have thought of me?

  Sitting by the pond, despondency set in. Her heart sinking at the thought of never being able to visit Rod again, she wondered why he hadn't mentioned that he was a hypnotherapist. It's all going wrong, she thought sadly. Her relationship with Barry was all but over, she hadn't seen John for a while, not that she really wanted to - and now she felt that she couldn't face Rod again. 'But the trigger word really does work,' she breathed in her rising confusion, leaping up and returning to Rod's house.

  'Marianne,' he smiled as he opened the front door.

  'Hi, Rod. Why didn't you tell me about this?' she asked accusingly, pointing to the brass plate.

  'Because I... Come in and we'll talk about it.'

  Sitting on the familiar - intimately familiar - sofa, Marianne recalled masturbating in front of Rod. But I was innocent, she consoled herself as he sat in the armchair. I was completely innocent!

  'I didn't tell you my profession, Marianne, because I didn't believe your story about the trigger word. No one in his right mind would place a trigger word in a subject's subconscious, and leave it there.'

  'But the lecturer was taken ill before he...'

  'Then why hasn't he contacted you and removed the word? He would never...'

  'All right, I'll be honest with you. I faked the word to have some fun with... Anyway, the word, after faking it several times, actually worked.'

  'Do you recall what happened when you were here the other day?'

  'Yes, I do.'

  'Do you remember what you did?'

  'We talked, and then I left.'

  'Marianne, when a subject is under hypnosis, he'll later recall everything that had happened during that time.'

  'Yes, so what?'

  'I used the word when you were here and you...'

  'That proves it, then! I have no recollection whatsoever!'

  'But that can't be true, Marianne. Look, I'm only a hypnotherapist. I help people who want to give up smoking and the like - I'm not an authority on hypnotism. But I do know that subjects recall all that happened to them during hypnosis. OK, I'll accept that the trigger word really does work, but you must accept the fact that, whatever happens during hypnosis, the subject will recall everything afterwards.'

  Marianne averted her gaze as Rod rose to his feet and opened the drinks cabinet. She'd have to admit to recalling her wanton masturbation if she were going to have Rod help her. Building up her courage, she took a deep breath.

  'All right, I do remember,' she confessed, lowering her head as he passed her a drink.

  'And now will you admit that the word doesn't really work?' he asked, much to her surprise.

  'No! It does work, Rod! You have to believe me!'

  'Is there a drink or a certain food that you don't like?'

  'Scotch - just the smell of it makes me feel sick. Why, what are you getting at?'

  'Juxtaposition.'

  Pouring a glass of water, Rod passed it to Marianne. 'It's neat Scotch - drink it,' he instructed. Again the trigger word had worked. Unable to stop herself, holding her breath, she downed the drink in one.

  'How do you feel?' he asked, taking the empty glass.

  'Sick!' she breathed, holding her hand to her mouth.

  'Wake up, Marianne.'

  Gazing at Rod, Marianne frowned. 'You made me drink Scotch!' she complained. 'I couldn't stop myself from drinking it! Argh, I feel sick!'

  'It was only water,' Rod laughed.

  'It was Scotch, I could taste it.'

  'It was water. That shows the immense power of the mind, I think you'll agree? Anyway, it proved that you are able to recollect all that happens during hypnosis. Look, I have a client due in a few minutes. I'll accept that your word works, and I might be able to help you. I might be able to erase it from your subconscious, but not now. Can you come back after lunch?'

  'Yes, I can.'

  'Right, I'd better get ready for my client - he's another one who wants to give up smoking.'

  'OK, I'll see you later. Is it all right if I go out the back way?'

  'Of course it is - I'll see you out.'

  Wandering down the garden path, Marianne sensed a great relief. If Rod could rid her subconscious of the word, then she'd be able to fake it again, have her fun, enjoy her sexual conquests. Turning to wave goodbye, she smiled, happy that she was getting to know Rod. 'See you later,' she called, opening the gate.

  'OK. Oh, by the way - a subject under hypnosis won't do anything he or she doesn't want to do. Remember that, Marianne.'

  Walking through the park, Marianne pondered on Rod's words. 'God, he meant that, hypnotized or not, I wanted to masturbate in front of him,' she sighed as she walked home. 'Shit, he must think me a right tart! I am a right tart! I didn't want to drink Scotch - I wanted to drink his sperm!'

  Chapter Seven

  Marianne ignored the ringing phone as she ate her lasagne. Whoever it was would call later, she thought, finishing her meal and clearing the table. But when the doorbell rang, she felt compelled to answer.

  'Oh, Lydia. Er... come in,' she greeted the pretty girl cautiously, praying that she wouldn't use the word and spend the afternoon forcing wine bottles up her bottom-hole! 'I'm off out. I have an appointment, but I have a few minutes.'

  'Thanks,' Lydia smiled as she walked passed Marianne, her short skirt revealing her firm, shapely thighs.

  God, I want her, Marianne found herself thinking. 'Go into the lounge. Where's Jill?' she asked, fighting temptation.

  'She's gone shopping. I came to see you because... juxtaposition.'

  Again the word had actually worked. This was the one time Marianne would have feigned an illness, anything to keep her date with Rod. But, her body now completely under Lydia's control, Marianne could do nothing to get rid of the girl. Desperately she tried to move, to protest, but she had no command over her body or her speech.

  'I can't stay for long, unfortunately,' Lydia began, slipping a hand up Marianne's short skirt and massaging her silk-covered girl-crack. 'I want to try something out, test this hypnosis business. Now, listen carefully, Marianne. You're to meet me this evening. I saw you sitting in the park earlier, and it gave me an idea. You'll meet me, alone, in the park at seven o'clock this evening. Do you understand?'

  'Yes,' Marianne answered automatically.

  'Good. Tell, no one where you're going. If Barry asks, tell him that you're going to see Jill. Your cunt feels hot, Marianne! I'd love to stay for a while and finger your hot cunt, lick your hard clitoris to orgasm, but I don't have the time. But this evening, in the park, I'll bring you some of the best orgasms you've ever had. And I'll thrash your beautiful buttocks with a tree branch until you come. Right, let's adjust your skirt, that's it. Now, wake up.'

  Would she be able to stop herself from going to the park? Marianne wondered. Without anyone mentioning the trigger word, she'd have the power to stay at home at seven o'clock, surely? There'd have to be more than the hands on the clock to prompt her to act.

  'I was only passing,' Lydia smiled. 'I was wondering whether you'd like to come out for a drink with Jill and me one evening?'

  'Oh, that would be nice.'

  'OK, I'll let you know when. I've got to arrange it with Jill, so one of us will give you a ring.'

  'I'll look forward to it. Anyway, I'd better get going.'

  'Yes, I mu
st dash. I'll be in touch.'

  Seeing the girl out, Marianne gave a sigh of relief. Thank God she didn't hypnotize me and stay for hours, she thought. Grabbing her bag, she realized that if Rod were able to erase the word from her subconscious, then perhaps Lydia's hypnotic suggestion to meet her at the park at seven would also be erased. Deciding to meet Lydia and enjoy some beautiful lesbian-induced orgasms, no matter what happened, Marianne left the house and made her way to Rod's.

  'Right,' Rod said authoritatively as he opened the door. 'Come through and sit on the sofa and we'll try and rid your subconscious of this trigger word.'

  Following him into the lounge Marianne sat down, praying that he could help her. But he wanted to know all that had happened to her since she began playing her games with her fake trigger word before he did anything.

  'Nothing's happened to me,' she replied. 'Can't you just hypnotize me and erase the word?'

  'I'll try. I don't see why it shouldn't work. Right, here goes - juxtaposition. Now, Marianne, you will no longer respond to the word, "juxtaposition". You will not fall into a hypnotic state when you hear the word, do you understand?'

  'Yes, I understand.'

  'OK, wake up.'

  Gazing at Rod, Marianne smiled. Her blue eyes sparkling, she sensed a pang of sexual desire course through her as she recalled Rod sucking her clitoris to orgasm. God, I need him, she thought, aware of her swelling clitoris, her tightening vagina. I need his cock coming in my mouth.

  'There all done!' he said triumphantly, returning her smile.

  'Are you sure?' Marianne asked, praying that she really was free at last - free to fake her hypnotic trances and enjoy crude sex in apparent innocence.

  'Let's try it out. Juxtaposition. There, you see, you're not hypnotized.'

  To her horror the word had sent her into a trance. Trying to move her hands, endeavouring to speak, her stomach sank as she wondered whether she'd ever be free.