A Long Week

The story below is a bit of fluff that was bouncing around in my head over the past couple of weeks and that I've finally found some time to write down now.  It's very short and there's less detail for the hypnosis bits than in most of the stories I write, but there's still a chance it's enough to make you feel a bit trancey so do be careful about when and where you choose to read this.

Derek was on the couch scowling at Wordle when Aimee arrived home.

“You alright, dear?” she asked as she took off her shoes.

“It’s just been a long week,” he answered.

“Darling, it’s Monday.”

“I said what I meant.”

Aimee hung her coat on the hook by the door and took a couple of steps into the living room.  “Is it alright if I sit with you?” she asked.

Derek put his phone away and motioned for her to join him.

“Make room,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

Derek moved forward a few inches and Aimee moved behind him, wrapping her legs around his waist.  She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in toward her.  Holding him close with her right arm, she moved her left hand to gently stroke his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“Do you want me to help you stop thinking about it?”

“Okay.”

“Lovely.”

With that one word, her voice took on the tone that he knew meant she was in control now, she was looking after him.  He felt his body melt back against hers as his mind filled with fog.  The room around him faded.  Her touch and her voice were the only things that mattered.

She was praising him now, telling him how good he was at relaxing for her.  Telling him how good he was at following her words.  Encouraging him to relax deeper.

He felt himself relax deeper.

“Good boy,” she purred.

He felt a shudder of pleasure run through his body.  She hugged him a bit tighter.

She was talking about pleasure now.  Reminding him how the pleasure of her praise would let him sink deeper, how sinking deeper would intensify that pleasure.  The pleasure of melting away for her, the pleasure of following her words, the pleasure of knowing he belonged to her.

“I belong to you,” he repeated.

“Good boy.”

Another shudder of pleasure, more intense this time.  He felt himself sink deeper as it washed over him.

She made him repeat a few more phrases for her.  I belong to you.  Your praise brings me pleasure.  The deeper I sink the better I feel.  I don’t need to think.

“Good boy,” she said again.

He felt his body tremble against her arms this time as the pleasure washed over him.  She ran her fingers through his hair and told him how wonderfully deep he was, how proud he should be of being able to sink so deep for her.  He was proud.  Proud to be able to sink so deep, proud to belong to her, proud to be able to follow her voice so well.

He felt her lips against his cheek and whatever was left of his mind spun.

She told him to stand up.  He did.

“Good boy.”

The pleasure would have brought him to his knees if she hadn’t just ordered him to stand.

“Follow me,” she said as she took his hand and led him toward the bedroom.