“That’s right,” she whispers. “That’s a good boy. All those thoughts fading away into the pleasure trance for me.” She knows he isn’t really hearing her anymore, not as words, but she also knows that the soothing sound of her voice is lulling him even further along into compliance. “Good boy,” she continues, methodical in her task. “Deeper and deeper.”

He stares up at her, but his gaze is blank and empty. She smiles back, nodding at him, letting him know that it’s okay to simply drift along to the rhythm of her endless strokes on his cock and let the pleasure sap away any will he has left. She wonders idly whether he still thinks he’s just playing along until he can get his rocks off, or if that bit of self-deception has faded into mindless obedience along with the rest of his thoughts.

“Good boy,” she whispers again, “my good sweet obedient boy.” It doesn’t matter, really. He can twist his brain into as many knots as he likes to justify his surrender to himself, so long as he obeys. And she knows he will. The promise of pleasure is too strong to resist, and she’s already braided together pleasure and obedience in his mind too strongly to ever separate them. Whatever his conscious mind might believe, she knows that deep down, he obeys because he obeys. The surrender is its own justification.

“That’s it,” she whispers, gently teasing his balls with her fingernails as she continues to stroke, “riding the edge of bliss again for me, good boy, good boy…” He gasps, his hips straining, his mind drifting on a plateau of ecstasy that floats so near to orgasm that he can almost touch it. He doesn’t, of course. He doesn’t have permission. But she’s allowed him to lose himself here until time has no meaning for him, suspended in a pleasure so perfect that he’ll do anything to experience it again. And she knows it. And she uses it to cement her control.

“Mine,” she whispers, letting him rest a moment before beginning the cycle again. A few more hours, she decides. Just to make sure he remembers.

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Hell yes please

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