[F4A] Healslut [Hypnosis][Mercy][Fdom][Slut][Brainwashing][HFO]

Dancing, dodging, ducking. Your thoughts try to escape me. Little tendrils of air and thought. No more substance than the wind itself. Like a sieve, and my will tries to catch them.

And yet, you can never truly get away. Can't escape, can't leave. You find yourself in a self made carnival of tricks and mind games. A house of mirrors in which every action, every reaction points you right back to your moment, In this moment. To being with me.

Being mine. Your own desires enwrap you, and your own wrappings cause it to grow tighter. Your self fulfilling prophecy is the more you want it, the more you need it. The more you convince yourself with little nudges or input required from me. I can just stand here, The vortex swirling around me.

The sum of your thoughts and your fears as they dance and twinkle. Simple, sparkling motes of dust that amount to nothing, amount to a pointless attempt to explain to yourself. Convince yourself there is a reason, an excuse, a why. But a why is not important. And so like dust, your will trembles.

Crumbles before mine. You are lost, and I have found you. A game of hide …

Dancing, dodging, ducking. Your thoughts try to escape me. Little tendrils of air and thought. No more substance than the wind itself. Like a sieve, and my will tries to catch them.

And yet, you can never truly get away. Can't escape, can't leave. You find yourself in a self made carnival of tricks and mind games. A house of mirrors in which every action, every reaction points you right back to your moment, In this moment. To being with me.

Being mine. Your own desires enwrap you, and your own wrappings cause it to grow tighter. Your self fulfilling prophecy is the more you want it, the more you need it. The more you convince yourself with little nudges or input required from me. I can just stand here, The vortex swirling around me.

The sum of your thoughts and your fears as they dance and twinkle. Simple, sparkling motes of dust that amount to nothing, amount to a pointless attempt to explain to yourself. Convince yourself there is a reason, an excuse, a why. But a why is not important. And so like dust, your will trembles.

Crumbles before mine. You are lost, and I have found you. A game of hide and seek playing out over and over and over. With only ever one real result possible. One conclusion.

One effort that you grasp and hold tightly in your fists. You spread your fingers, take a look inside, and it is spinning and spiraling out of your control. You are sinking, falling, lost and deep. Don't fight. Relax into it.

Only then can you know true peace, True submission. True freedom and bondage because that is true freedom. You know it. It is one of your deepest truths. Your life is convex.

You simply seek contacts, All of which will be provided once you truly lose yourself. Lose yourself into my eyes, my gaze. My dark blue swirling oceans of thought that strip you down, leave you lying naked and vulnerable. A fetal, shuddering mass of flesh I can rest my feet on or snap my fingers and have my smallest wish carried through. But this isn't about me.

This is about you. And you drop an aggressive circling of words. Too fast to completely grasp, only knowing you have simply to surrender, and the whole of the world will make sense. For you, there is only 1 world, and it is found through submitting, through letting your mind become blank and empty. Simply a receptacle to my wills and desires.

A mindless droning begins in your ears. So I don't even need to add any binaurals to make it occur, do I? Your own mind can supply it at my request. No. And my order.

The humming backdrop lulling you down. Lulling your thoughts out. Out. Out. And gone.

Gone into a blank void, a black hole, an endless looping Spiral that contains you like a weaver's loom. A spider's web slowly taking each Thought. And adding it in, inexorably slow, methodical process That leaves no space for mistake or escape. You feel your mind being drawn in, Into the center. The goddesses of fate, all 3 surrounding you.

Working their weaves as your thoughts disappear into the thread, into the loom, creating order from your chaos. Order from your struggles. Obedience from your existential dread. Incarnations of my will and power. Snapped into place by the twitch and the switch of my voice and my words.

Beguiling, Seducing. Consuming. Whatever you consider to be soul. There is only ever 1 threat you can pull onto. Hold onto it as if your life depended.

Where really only your mind does. Can you even remember? You can only barely recall. And then in a moment, you know nothing at Oh. You are a figment of my reality.

Only my will giving you shape but inform. And you find yourself here, completely at my mercy. But what is mercy? Something given? Something helped?

No. Mercy is you. All else is confusion and trickery, and so you find yourself clinging ever desperately more in this place, blonde and free of thought, perky as your nipples poke hard through your soft white uniform. Wings trailing behind, My own personal angel, as your tips brush against that lovely ass. So pleasant for me to look at, to hold, to touch.

A battlefield around us, helicopters, explosions. Strike. Before you can think of the moment it flashes, disappears, And you are on your knees at my mercy. My mercy. Staff held in your fingers, On the ground with my clothing, as you marvel at my perfection.

My muscles. I'm a tank and you are my whore. Who I allow and who I share, but who always knows who master stare as. You pretend to be strong and independent, but that's just a lightly covered lie. Sticky and round and easily shattered.

Shattered by the earth, By my hands and your hair, pulling you down. Down. Down. Focus. Focus is important.

You have to focus. Focus on me. Give me your beaming light. The beauty of your face as it supplicates before me. And I'll give you my essence, My protection, my shield against all else.

Everyone else. They don't matter. They fade out. All you see is me. All you heal is me.

All you follow like a self on the wind. The nymph of my dreams, my blond little slut. Mercy. Mercy. My enemies will cry out your name, but you only hear me.

My voice. My will. Wrapping your thoughts as you come to this moment. Bound on your knees, your face, inches. Inches from my center, my heat, my warmth.

Your lips already parted, tongue lapping around them as your throat dries up and saliva spreads. This is you and all you are. To be used by me, shared by me. Your mind blanks. And yet you still can't stop thinking of it, can you?

I can shape it however I choose. And your mind, hazily, will try to fade back to this moment. Intruding on your thoughts, wanting what's meant to be. Me. You want to taste me.

All else is unwelcome. All else is in the way. Already, it's so easy to accept who you are, your purpose. To follow, to heal, To serve. Submit.

Obey. Follow. Serve. It's all 1. 1 and the same.

All simple and Easy. And your mind can't focus on it. Your mind can only focus on one thing. Dripping and drooling. Drooping eyes, lumping posture.

Eyes focused and alert. Not focusing on them, only on me. A knee aching between your legs. Aching, tripping, drooling, wanting. It's so hard to resist.

So needy. Mercy. Your mind begs. Mercy. My lips bite.

Mercy. You feel this desire. This aching, unending need to be useful. To be used. Denigrated.

Soiled by my words and my touch and yet bobbing up ever higher into the air because of it. You fly for me, for my purpose, my will. This It's freedom. True freedom. Wind beneath your wings, casting your gaze down on the battlefield.

You are among the heavens. Heaven leads me. You come when needed, come when I call. Mercy. You're a dog, and I am your master.

You don't have a tail, but something, something deep and warm and hot It's inside of you wags and trembles and quivers. Your name on my lip so good. Such pleasure in itself. Mercy. You drip.

Your eyes droop in unexplained bliss. You are a slave. You are summoned. You are wanted and needed and owned. Mercy.

And yet you can't stop thinking of those moments. Me behind you, Fingers stroking you as I press against you when you thrust back against me. Staff in your hands because you are always so much sexier holding a staff. Mercy. Your mind melts into the identity.

Into the blank, hungry whore. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Your words crying out, begging for release.

Begging from that aching knee and swelling inside of you. Fingers clutched rushing and pulling at the strings of your Sanity is that warmth between your legs grows and grows. Wetness, dampness, growing heat. Mercy. The word becomes a focus, a focus of pleasure.

Your name on my lips. Your essence on my tongue as you feel me inside of you with each aching Exhalation. Mercy. You feel it now almost beating into you. That pleasure striking striking with an impact.

The word, the phrase, and meaning of it all. Are you begging for more or less? More or less? You will find it doesn't matter. All that matters is that it continues.

That you continue to be good for me. Mercy. You say it, release it. Out loud. Out loud, I said, mercy.

Begging, incoherent. Do you even know what you want? Or do you just trust me? Know that I will give you not just what you want, but What you need. What you deserve.

Mercy. Thank you in French, and our language between the 2 of us is not so different. You feel those words on your lips as I pound pleasure into you, through you, your awareness blanking back into this place again and again. Take it, you little slut. Take the pleasure I give you and thank me for it.

Mercy. Every time you hear it, the pleasure grows. A sweeping reform of any inputs your nerves had before. All they can concentrate on now is pure pleasure as it tingles and consumes. Growing, building, climaxing With every utterance, every sweetly savored command of mercy.

Mercy, but there is none. Mercy, but you wouldn't want there to be. Thank you or please. Your manners are so deeply, confusingly, sweetly, wonderfully. Blissfully being pushed in, shoved Gin installed deep.

Mercy. An exclamation now. An utterance Pleasure of sweet consuming lust rejoined and rejoicing with heat. Mercy, again, as it builds as your legs Spread wantonly. That's right.

Spread for me my whore. Feeling in it my affection, In my possession. My pride in your training. On how easily, how freely you expose yourself to others and to me. Oh, mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine. You are mine. I roar, and I take you.

Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Feel that pleasure. Feel that bliss filling you, suffusing you with light and laughter and pure striking pleasure as the words are ripped out from our throats in the throes of her passion.

Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Thrifting dreaming.

Awake and sleep. Questions fill you when subside as you rest next to me. All that is needed is provided. Sweet comfort. Sweet heat.

Hazy warmth as your eyes close and you feel so pleasantly, Wonderfully, Phil. Mine. My mercy.