Unaware

(NB dom/F sub; amnesia, time dilation)

“Sarah? Sarah!”

Sarah came back to herself with a start. “Oh, sorry, did I zone out? I’m just… what?”

CJ was sitting on the other end of the couch, gazing at her with their head tipped to one side. “CJ, you’re giving me a look. Why are you giving me a look?”

“Who, me?” asked CJ, all innocence. “I’m not giving you a look! We’re just having a normal conversation, right?”

“Right…” answered Sarah uncertainly. Usually when CJ asked a question like that, it was a pretty good clue that they were not, in fact, just having a normal conversation. (Her hands, lightly stroking her sides, moved further under her shirt to begin toying with her nipples. Sarah’s hips responded, stirring slightly.) “I uh, I think we’re having a normal conversation, but something about the way you say that makes me doubt that.”

CJ smiled that long, slow smile that sent shivers down Sarah’s spine. “Don’t worry about it,” they told her laughingly. “Now, you were telling me about your day?”

The Best Thesis Defense Is a Good Thesis Offense

Happy birthday, @bunbunlittleone! If anyone could pull this off, it would be you. Thanks to @daja-the-hypnokitten for edits, encouragement, and help with sciencebabble.

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Iris Konijnenberg was, objectively speaking, brilliant. She had co-authored her first journal article at 16, graduated early from Yale with numerous accolades, and was the youngest neuroscience Ph. D candidate that Elman University had ever seen. She was also, objectively speaking, gorgeous—and that was the whole problem.

With her flawless skin, full lips, tiny waist, and breasts so perky they seemed to defy gravity, she could have been a model. Instead, she was a promising young neuroscientist—but half the men in this field couldn't seem to see past her tits.

"Breathe, Iris," she muttered to herself as she paced the antechamber. "Breathe, and don't go there. It'll be fine. Your research is water-tight. Even the Phallus Brigade will see that."

Intellectually speaking, she could not have been more prepared for her thesis defense. She had double- and triple-checked her work with respected researchers around the country, her PowerPoint was lucid and well organized, her accompanying handouts were pristine. But Iris and her groundbreaking findings on the differing effects of hypnosis on the occipital and parietal lobes were about to enter a room of walking, talking penises who refused to take her seriously as a scientist.

A Quiet Night In

I closed the apartment door behind Siobhan, the taste of her still lingering on my lips. I was a little disappointed that we hadn’t played, but she’d been having an off night, so we’d just cuddled and chatted and spent a lovely, quiet, warm evening together. She’d headed home instead of staying over for our usual all-night mind-and-body fuck-fest, and I certainly did not begrudge her that, because every now and then I’d done the same. Sometimes you just weren’t feeling it.

I made sure the door was locked, then flopped bonelessly on the couch. Why was I so damn tired? Maybe an early night would be good for me as well.

Even though we hadn’t fucked or gotten up to basically anything sexy, even just the lead-up to a night with Siobhan usually got me a kind of riled up. I liked it that way; it was fun when I was a little wet just from the anticipation. It gave me some hot narratives about how badly I wanted it, how much my body craved her voice and her touch, how my mind ran away from itself. I smiled at the thought and idly stuck a hand in my panties, looking for a little fantasy fuel.

I had expected myself to be a little wet, but what I found was… different.

I was more than “a little wet.” I was sodden. I was absolutely dripping. What…?

Oh.

Oh.

Business and Pleasure

Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. As usual, many thanks to @silentstream9 for edits!

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This is what happens when you mix business and pleasure, grumbled Ashley to herself as she ran her oil-slick hands down her client's back and fought to still the answering tremble in her hips.

Or more accurately, she corrected herself, what happens when you mix business, pleasure, and hypnosis. Because I’ve definitely mixed business and pleasure before, and it never turned out like… like this.

Ashley was a massage therapist–and a damn good one, if she did say so herself. Countless times, her ministrations had left her lovers in melty piles of bliss. But Tracy–goddamn Tracy, with their soft brown eyes and their honeyed voice and their wicked smile–Tracy had thrown hypnosis into the mix. Had somehow tapped into all of the secret desires that had been bubbling in Ashley practically since puberty. Tracy had turned service into pleasure, and left Ashley trembling in arousal from the feeling of her hands on her lover's skin. She had begging to touch them, had begged to please and to serve, her own touch undoing her as thoroughly as it had undone so many others in the past.

That night had been incredible, as Ashley had left her mind and her arousal in Tracy's capable hands, had pleased and pleasured Tracy in every way she could think of and had herself come hard enough to see stars–multiple times. And Ashley would have been thrilled to repeat the experiment as many times as possible–in private.

Instead, here she was in her studio with a client–a client, for fuck's sake!–and somehow, the effects of last night's brain-fuckery had not gone away. There was a lithe young woman laid out on the massage table before her, back exposed and slick with oil, her lower half obscured by a sheet, and Ashley's fingers ached to touch her in a distinctly un-professional way. Every stroke along her client's back filled Ashley with pleasure, every knot she loosened struck her straight between the legs.