Ellie's Surrender

I sat there with my huge errect cock in front of the shy and hypnosed Ellie. My best friend. But now I was more to her, to her trance self. I was Master.

"Trance Ellie is totally head over heels for me, right?"

"I'm totally head over heels for you, Master."

"Is Waking Ellie head over heels for me too?"

"Yes, she is!"

"How does that show?"

"She hangs out with you all the time, even buys you underwear, hoping you'll take her one day and fuck her hard. She masturbates a lot and thinks about you while she does it."

"How does she masturbate?"

"She clamps a pillow between her legs, and after a while, she fingers herself."

"How does she finger herself?"

"She rubs her clit and plays with her other hand around her anus."

Interesting! Okay, everyone has their thing. Why not?

"Do you like anal, Ellie?"

"Yes, I like the idea, even though I've never done it."

"What do you like about it?"

"The thought of being taken against my will, that he just takes me however he pleases, and then suddenly I like it too."

"Can you imagine me taking you right now, fucking you in the ass without asking first, without lube, just however I want?"

"Yes, Master." She bit her lip, her breath quickening, a flush creeping up her neck.

"Strip for me and show me how you masturbate."

She didn't hesitate, her trance-deepened obedience kicking in like a well-oiled machine. Her hands moved to the hem of her shirt first, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation as she peeled it up slowly over her torso. The fabric clung a bit to her skin, damp from the sweat of her earlier arousal, revealing the soft, yielding curves of her body inch by inch. She was a little plump, her belly rounding out gently, the kind of flesh that jiggled subtly with each movement, inviting touch, promising warmth and give under pressure. As the shirt lifted higher, her small breasts came into view, nestled in a simple bra that strained against the swollen, reddened nipples poking through the thin material—hardened peaks that begged for attention, sensitive from the heightened horniness I'd implanted. She tugged the shirt over her head, her arms stretching up, causing her body to shift and settle in a way that emphasized the plushness of her sides, the way her skin folded softly at her waist.

Next, she unclasped her bra with a quiet snap, letting it slide off her shoulders. Her small breasts hung free now, modest in size but heavy with arousal, the nipples erect and throbbing visibly, dark against her flushed skin. They weren't perky or sculpted; they were real, soft handfuls that sagged just enough to sway as she breathed heavier, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with the growing heat between her legs. The way they moved was mesmerizing—not in perfection, but in raw, unfiltered sensuality, like they were made for squeezing, for pinching until she gasped.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pants, shimmying them down over her hips. The motion made her thighs quiver, the extra plushness there rippling as she bent slightly, pushing the fabric past her knees and stepping out awkwardly, her balance off in the haze of trance. Underneath, her panties were already soaked, the damp spot dark and spreading, clinging to the outline of her mound. She was shaved smooth down there, her labia puffy and glistening, peeking out as she straightened up. The plumpness extended to her lower body, her ass cheeks full and dimpled, the kind that would spread invitingly under hands or weight, promising a cushion for whatever came next. She slid her panties down last, the elastic dragging over her skin, leaving faint red lines that faded quickly into the overall flush. As they pooled at her feet, a string of her arousal stretched and broke, connecting her to the fabric for a lingering second—evidence of how wet she'd become, how her body betrayed its eagerness without a word.

Naked now, she stood there for a moment, her trance eyes half-lidded, body exposed and ****, every curve and fold on display. She was ravenous in her exposure, the plumpness of her form making her look utterly fuckable, like a canvas for pleasure rather than admiration. Without prompting, she spread her legs a bit wider, one hand drifting to her clit, rubbing in slow, insistent circles that made her hips buck involuntarily. Her other hand reached back, and with surprising ease—clearly from practice—she pushed two fingers into her anus, knuckles deep, her body accepting them with a slick, audible squelch. She moaned low and throaty, her plump thighs trembling as she worked herself, the dual stimulation building fast, her small breasts heaving with each breath, nipples straining harder.

Precum oozed from the tip of my massive cock, a thick, glistening drop trailing down the shaft, hanging there like a promise. But I held back. I had to be careful now—I was about to tweak her deepest self, reshape those hidden desires without turning her into a brainless bimbo. No, I wanted her sharp, functional in the waking world, but utterly mine in the shadows of her mind.

"Ellie, as you touch yourself, feel the pleasure doubling with every stroke. Your subconscious loves this—loves submitting to me. From now on, even when you're awake, thoughts of me will make you wet, make you ache to obey without knowing why. But you'll stay you: smart, independent on the surface. Deep down, though, you're my good girl, craving my control."

She whimpered, her fingers moving faster, her body arching as the suggestions sank in. I watched her edge closer to release, her plump form glistening with sweat, every jiggle and gasp pulling me deeper into the power I held. It was intoxicating, this fine line between influence and destruction—I'd push her further, but always with that calculated restraint, building her addiction one layer at a time.