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Model is Brigitte Lahaie

Something about this magazine was curiously captivating. Even… arousing.

She didn’t know why, of course. It was nothing special, just your average magazine. She couldn’t actually remember how long ago she’d subscribed, or why, but every few months she'd get it in the mail, and there was always some headline on the front that made her glance inside, and before she knew it she'd read it cover to cover.

The article she was reading now, for instance, was full of fascinating facts and figures about… something. Something that was no doubt fascinating! But the subject drifted just out of reach of her mind. If only she read more of the article, she thought, it would surely become apparent.

The more she read, though, the more distractible she became. She noticed with a start that she had shrugged her robe open, that one hand had slipped down and started playing with her sensitive breasts. It had happened almost of its own accord, but now that she was touching herself there she didn’t want to stop. It felt so nice, and it would probably alleviate some of the ache between her legs and let her finally focus on this article, this fascinating article that she had to keep reading…

Some bits of the text sent jolts of pleasure through her body, just enough to leave her squirming and wanting more. She read on, hoping with each word that she’d get to feel that electric current to her pussy again. Unconsciously, she snaked a hand between her legs and started gently touching herself, teasing herself.

The words reverberated through her, though she couldn’t quite tell what the words were. Better just to read and play and let the article filter through her brain. Her body hummed with tension, her hand sped up its motion against her clit. She knew this article must have some fascination conclusion, some thesis or final reveal that was really explosive…

The very last sentence sent her over that delicious, delicious edge. She came hard enough to see stars, gasping and clutching at the copy of Brainwashing Quarterly beside her.

So Close Together

From So Close Together. Actresses are Krystal Boyd and Candace Luca.

She smiled as she looked down at me. The weight of her over my hips felt so good, and the way her hair shimmered in the light, and that smile – oh God, that smile. It meant that she was about to do something terrible, and it made me instantly wet.

“Look at me, Alison,” she instructed, but she didn’t need to; my eyes were already locked on hers like magnets. I couldn’t look away if I tried. She could tell – she could always tell – and her smile widened. “Good girl,” she murmured. I exhaled, hard. Shit, the things she did to me.

“You can feel the pull of my eyes, can’t you?” She was speaking softly, honey in her voice, and I was helpless against it, against her eyes, against her. “You can feel them captivating you, pulling you in. You can feel the weight of me pushing you down. You can feel how badly you want to submit…”

“Submit,” my lips mumbled automatically. She laughed at my traitorous mouth, and I squirmed against her.

“Good girl,” she murmured again. “Your body knows what I’m about to do to you, doesn’t it? It wants it so bad. It knows what’s best for you, after all. Now, all that’s left is to get your pesky brain out of the way…”

Business and Pleasure

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

* * * * * * * * * *

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.

Corruption

I know I can't fuck you. It would be highly unethical, given our relative positions, our power dynamics. So no, I’m not going to fuck you.

But God almighty I want to.

I see you from across the room, the way your hair falls, and all I want is to tangle a hand in it and wrench your head up, hold you there with your lips an inch away from mine.

Have you ever had your hair pulled? I mean really pulled, pulled well, so that you forfeit all control of your head and neck and feel that delicious pain at your scalp that makes you gasp, that reminds you that you're at someone's mercy?

I want to show you that. I want to see your eyes go wide as you understand for the first time how this is supposed to feel, what power really is. I want to watch your lips part, hear the sound that escapes them, as you're overcome with my nearness and your need to kiss me. I want to feel you struggle against my hand in your hair, straining to bring your lips to mine, trembling with that need and your own powerlessness.

Good Morning Sunshine

Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. Based on a true story. A super fuckin’ hot true story.

* * * * * * * * * *

I stretch, yawn, rub the sleep from my eyes. Morning light is filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and the room is cool and still and silent. You lie next to me cocooned in blankets, hair splayed on the pillow. I can’t help but smile.

Slowly, very slowly, I peel the blanket away from your torso. You’re naked underneath, of course, as am I—last night we fucked each other’s brains out, and fell asleep as limp puddles of pleasure, entangled in each other’s arms. Now, you stir but don’t wake, rolling over to your back so your chest is exposed to me. I take a moment to drink in the sight.

As lightly as I possibly can, I brush a hand across one of your nipples. Pause, study your face for a reaction. Then again, my hand grazing your nipple ever so lightly. Once, twice, three times more.

The changes in your body are almost imperceptible, but then again, I’m paying very close attention. Your lips part; your breathing becomes ever so slightly heavier; you arch your back just a bit towards my touch. I draw one finger slowly, lightly, up from your breasts and along the length of your neck. Even asleep, you make a tiny sigh of pleasure. I trace the same path with my tongue, and you squirm ever so slightly under me.

As I gently fondle one of your nipples, coaxing it to stiffness, you start to stir. “Hush sweetheart,” I murmur in your ear, my fingers still at your breast; “It’s okay, you’re asleep.”

Your face creases in confusion, eyes still closed. “‘M’asleep?” you slur.

“Yes, so deeply asleep.” My voice is low and soft and honeyed. “It’s so much trouble to wake up, why bother when it feels so nice to drift, to doze, to stay so very soundly asleep? And besides…”—I bring my mouth right up to your ear—“you were having the most wonnnderful dream.”

Pleasure Is Productive

Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. This is the original/long-form version of the story that was read so fuckin’ sexily by @digitalswitchgamine​ at Hysterical Literature of Entranced 2017. (Seriously, it was tooooo goddamn hot. Thank you for that, friend!)

* * * * * * * * * *

Jenny had been on the job for a week when the office got the massage chair, and for another week before she tried it out. It was part of the firm’s new employee health and happiness initiative, along with the new fancy drinks and snacks in the break room, and the inspirational posters going up all over the office that said things like “You deserve to feel good” and “Relax and work right” and “Pleasure is productive.” Still, she held off trying out the fancy-looking massage chair for a bit, out of fear that her new coworkers would think she was slacking. Eventually though, after she saw that the management really was enthusiastic about all of their employees feeling relaxed and well taken care of, and after she saw enough coworkers leaving the massage room with blissful smiles on their faces, she decided to try it for herself.

The massage chair was off in a side room, behind a folding screen, facing a wall. The rest of the room was desks and chairs that were mostly not in use–one man sat tapping away on his computer in the far corner, a serene smile on his face. Feeling a little self-conscious, Jenny slipped behind the screen. After a moment of consideration, she kicked off her shoes, and settled herself into the chair.

Without her even needing to press a button, the chair whirred to life. The footrest adjusted itself incrementally upwards until her bare feet rested perfectly in it, and the seatback adjusted itself similarly. And then the chair started to massage in earnest: the rollers somehow found all the tenderest parts of her back and pressed into her with just enough pressure; the footrest rumbled a massage into her feet, the headrest into her neck, and pneumatic sacs inflated on either side of her arms and her legs, squeezing them deliciously.

She lost track of how long the massage lasted. At first, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how she was here relaxing in this loudly whirring chair while the rest of the office worked, while there was someone working just yards away behind a flimsy folding screen. It became harder and harder to focus on those thoughts, though, and soon she was lost in the sensations, delighting in the feeling of all of the tension in her body being rubbed away.

When the chair clicked back into silence, Jenny drifted back to herself slowly. A blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered her guilt about the rest of her coworkers hard at work while she luxuriated in the massage chair. But she did feel much better, she noticed, much more focused now. Maybe pleasure really was productive, she thought to herself with a smile as she rose on unsteady legs, slipped her shoes back on, and returned to her desk.

We Have Ways of Making You Talk

A Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. All the thanks to @silentstream9 for lending me her delightful characters!

* * * * * * * * * *

Earlier that day, while they were both sitting around drinking tea and reading, Amy had looked at Mae over her mug and remarked, “I’m a hitty mood today.” To which Mae had responded by grinning and bouncing eagerly in her seat.

“You’re not cowering,” lamented Amy. “What’s the matter, am I not intimidating enough?”

So Mae dutifully cowered: “oh no please don’t hit me that would be absolutely terrible can you use that new purple flogger I really like that purple flogger oh no heaven forbid.” And Amy had choked on her tea and given Mae an affectionate kiss on the forehead, and they had both returned to their books, both slightly and pleasantly distracted imagining what might happen later that day.

* * * * * * * * * *

That afternoon, Mae was curled up on the couch with the same book and another cup of tea, increasingly distracted. She kept glancing up from her book, at Amy, waiting for the moment of decision, the moment when the dynamics shifted around just a bit and Amy’s voice acquired that touch of evil and anything she said made Mae a little weak in the knees. When Amy stood up from her computer and went to the bedroom, Mae was pretty sure she knew why, and tried in vain to return to her book, but her nerves were already thrumming with excitement.

Amy returned to the living room, propped her hands on her hips, and fixed Mae with a reproachful stare. She coughed pointedly, and Mae looked up at her from over her now-upside-down book. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Mae,” began Amy slowly, “have you seen my purple flogger?”

“Nooooope,” said Mae with an exaggerated shrug, and put her book over her face.

Amy snorted, came over, removed the book, looked Mae in the eye. “Mae, did you do something with my flogger?”

“Nooooope,” said Mae again. This time, she shook her head vigorously for good measure.

“Because you know,” continued Amy, “if you had done something with that flogger when you knew I wanted to hit you with it, then whenever I found it I would probably have to hit you even harder. You know that, right?”

Mae widened her eyes. “Really? That is fascinating, and a thing I had not known before.”

Amy grinned. “So did you do something with my flogger?”

“Mayyyybe?”

Amy threaded her fingers through Mae’s hair, and Mae gasped just a little. “So Mae…” Amy brought her face very close. “Where’s the flogger?”

Mae made her eyes as wide and innocent as she could. “W-what flogger?”

Laughing, Amy cocked an eyebrow. “Dearest, do we need to do this the hard way?”

“Maybe?” Mae blinked up at her, not play-acting this time. “What’s the hard way?”

“The one where you refuse to tell me and I interrogate you and you resist and resist until you finally give in to my diabolical wiles and tell me everything.” Amy released Mae’s hair and snuggled up beside her on the couch. “Does that sound like fun?”