0 comments/ 18842 views/ 1 favorites Back and Forth By: Talisker I cup my hands under her ass as she reclines on the bed, lifting her to me like a man drinking from a bowl. I draw in a breath and take her clit into my mouth, rolling my tongue across it in undulations and she inhales as if in pain. This was the first image that had popped into my head when she came to the door, dressed for our date like she had polled my id for the outfit that would drive me craziest. Carnal thoughts drove out all others when I saw the low-slung jeans, her full ass rounding the denim, her hair pulled back into two, long pigtails (oh please, please leave the pigtails in when we fuck, please), an innocent coquette and an earthy Lolita in one. I could only think of disappearing between her thighs and tasting her. The picture of her upturned face in ecstasy haunted me, turned my mind from dinner table chit-chat, from making correct change at Ben and Jerry's (oh dear god, she bought a cone, licking the cone and it dripped to her fingers and she licked them too, oh god), distracted me while I tried to be charming. I watched the olive skin of her face crinkle like crushed silk by her eyes when she smiled and her dark eyes glanced downward at her fingernails, tracing shapeless patterns in the condensation on the table from her beer (later she's tracing those same patterns through my hair as I lick the inside of her thigh). Her voice is light and has just the slightest hint of a breathiness (but it can be loud and guttural, filled with pleasure), like a sigh is always hovering at the edge of her throat. I force myself to do everything slowly back at her apartment. I open the wine slowly, walk slowly to the living room (and she has her shoes off there, her feet bare, stretched out before her as she lies back), wait patiently for her to move her feet so I can sit but instead she lifts both legs straight up (don't look at that curve of buttock, the joining of leg to groin that leads to a softly defined mound, don't look at it), I sit down and she places those perfect feet in my lap. I hand her the glass of wine and she watches me from above the rim. I sip slowly and she follows suit, also slowly because she savors everything (a drop of wine on her lips and her tongue darts out to catch it and I am doomed) and she rests the glass on her belly, soft and ever so slightly rounded. How do I maintain my composure? Flashes of pictures in my head, a film projector gone haywire flickers all the things my body is telling me to do, all the things my hands long to touch and probe, the places my tongue yearns to taste, the sweaty joints where our bodies will meet. She smiles (that smile, it’s the same when hair is stuck to her damp forehead and she’s catching her breath) and she’s telling me about her very first date. Dry, self-deprecating jokes about clumsy kisses while I strain to listen attentively, but she’s moving a finger around her own belly button and along the downy hairs that trail from it to her waist and onward. I shift in my seat, careful not to disturb her beautiful feet resting in my lap, but moving one heel from the erection that is now painfully straining against it (she feels it, I know she does). I catch her glance and she knows her words have only part of my attention. Dark eyes glint over ruby wine and that finger still traces lazily up and down and the button of her jeans is now open, like magic, without my seeing it. I am in her spell utterly and I feel warmth suffuse my skin. I watch like a man being hypnotized, her hand carry her glass to rest on the table and return to her belly, pushing her shirt up just slightly, the fabric bunching against her delicate finger (soft panties, bunched against her ankle later, and still later against my cheek as she playfully teases me with them), and I’m treated to 2 more inches of precious skin, velvet treasure. My breaking point’s near. I can feel my will splintering like green wood and she sees it, sees the steam in my eyes and the trembling pressure beneath my lips and in my groin. I place my glass on the table too, hand trembling slightly (a small shudder, in her shoulders, when I place my mouth over the hollow of her throat in bed, and lick the space there, breathing warm and softly) and turn to her with what I hope is an expectant smile. She sits up, bends forward at the waist (flexible, yes, flexible enough to pin her feet behind my ears, scrabbling at my arms with her nails as I piston in and out of her, our shouts competing for the last echo in my room), and she kisses me. Her mouth tastes of wine and cloves and water, her tongue snakes slowly between her teeth and then between mine, her hand on my neck (that pulse I feel like the one under my fingers on her wrist, holding her hand as she clutches for my head, begging me to stop and not to stop as she comes in explosive waves), and I fall. I fall into her, into her mouth and her eyes, into her skin and her hair, into her arms and her thighs, into her pussy and her breasts, I fall into her and I beg her never to let me out. Back and Forth Birch loved manipulating time. He was a quantum physicist and looked for every possible way to manipulate time. He was a supreme multi-tasker but also an avid practitioner of Zen meditation. His ultimate goal was to chronicle and master those moments where a pleasurable thing or a frightening sequence of events are perceived in a flash of motion and compression of time, rather than the actual length in which it occurred. The same was true for the opposite, of course. Tedious tasks sometimes seemed to take twice the time passed on the clock, and Birch wanted to master this phenomenon as well. He believed it was all a matter of perception. If one could master this altered perception of passing time, then one could master the altering of time within his or her reality. Time could be shortened or extended at will. This quest to explore new ways of manipulating time led him to speed dating. Speed dating was a compression of weeks, perhaps months or years, of dinners, drinks, and conversations into one four-hour block of time. The rapidity of the chats, the chiming of the bell signaling the moment to switch tables, and the perception-skewing effects of the alcohol all combined to make four hours feel like two. "Uh oh," a woman said. Birch looked up. The signal bell rang. An attractive woman in a blue dress stood at the other side of his table. She had piercing blue eyes and was the first forty-something woman he'd met who could pull off wearing lip gloss. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I'm still dry." He stood up, not knowing what she meant, and wanting to introduce himself before the conversation went further off the rails. His abdomen bumped the table as he stood. The shake knocked over his drink, spilling it across the table. "I'm so sorry," he said, reaching for his napkin. "I've had worse," she said. "The guy at table four belched and then wiped his nose with his hand as I sat down." "Heck of a way to introduce myself, huh?" "Like the tree?" She asked, trying to confirm her suspicion. The question threw him for a moment, but he saw her name tag, which read "Clara," and remembered he had one, too. "Birch. Yes, like the tree. My Dad was a forester." "I must be." He wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. "You must be Clara," he said, answering her, he had decided, playful question. "I do a lot of research," she said, cutting off his next question. "So I don't have a lot of time to date. Why are you here?" "The same thing." "Really? Me too," she said, cutting him off again. "Yes. I'm a quantum physicist, and I must admit I'm using this as part of a research project." "What are the odds of that? Two quantum physicists at the same speed dating night, let alone the same table." "You're a quantum physicist?" "Time, mostly," she said. "Did you know Aboriginal Australians have no words for 'past' or 'future' in their native language?" The slight change in topic left him bewildered for a few seconds. "Yes. They say that their shamans study methods of time travel via meditation." "Yes. I did several years of study in the Outback." "You've met some of the shamans?" "They weren't sure what to make of me at first. A white woman wanting to learn their meditation methods. After a year or so, they figured I was serious." "What did you learn from them?" "I didn't believe it until I saw it. I was in meditation. The shaman was guiding me from across the fire. His voice was this floating song. Then it was everywhere, surrounding me and amplified six times. I felt this weird shift, like I was in freefall. I got scared. My eyes popped open, and there he was. All seven of him." "Seven?" "He told me it was normal to be frightened the first time, and that he could teach me to bridge the gap." "Wait." Birch leaned forward. "Did you say there were seven of him? They weren't other shamans?" "It took me another year to bridge the gap and then another six months to access the other bridges." Birch wasn't sure what to say. He thought maybe he'd missed something, or she was a complete loon. "Have I jumped ahead?" She asked. "I'm sorry." "No, no," Birch said. "I think I got lost there somewhere." "Sometimes I shift when I get excited. You're a cutie, after all, so I think you got me jumping." "Thanks," he said, becoming surer by the moment that she was out of her mind. She looked right. "Oh, there's the bell." It hadn't sounded. He was about to tell her this when she stood up and extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Birch." She gave him a business card. "Call me. I think we could have fun together." The bell rang. He stood up, dumbfounded by the whole scenario. He barely managed to get the card from her hand before she turned away. He wasn't good for conversation the rest of the night. Birch called her the next night. "See you soon," she said upon answering. "Clara?" He asked. "Is that you?" "I can be there in about half an hour." "Really?" The boldness of her offer surprised him. "You don't mess around do you?" "Are you doing anything tonight?" "No, that's why I called. I was thinking coffee and a longer talk than three minutes, but we can do that here." "You get me excited, Birch. I don't know if it's the cute factor you have or the quantum physics or something else, but I see you and me fucking in the near future." He swallowed. "I hope that prediction comes true." "I've been thinking of you a lot, too." "So it seems," he said. "I felt a neat connection yesterday." "I'm glad you called. I've been hip-deep in my research notes from my Australian studies." Her tone had gone from sultry to studious. "I need the break." "Would you like to take a break here at my place?" "Hey, yeah Birch. How are you?" She said it like the conversation had just started. Was she playing with him? Did she have a memory problem? She had been a bit odd during their speed date, but that was part of her charm. Maybe he'd misheard her. He was excited over the thought of sex with her, and his mind had been racing ahead to plans for the night, so he might not have been paying attention. "I'm great," he said. "I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight." "Hello?" She said. "I'm here," he said. "Can you hear me?" The dial tone buzzed in his ear. Had she hung up? Did the signal drop out? Why would she hang up on him after such a tantalizing call? Was it part of the tease or was she just fucked in the head? He replayed the conversation in his mind, now wondering if she was going to show up or not. He decided to tidy his apartment in case she did come over. He remembered the Bears game was in progress so he turned on the TV to listen while he worked. He enjoyed football, loving the fact that clock management, and thus time, was so important. The first thing he heard on the broadcast was "...and the Bears jump ahead by a field goal." He stopped in the middle of the living room as if he'd run into an invisible wall. "Jumped ahead," he said. "She jumps when she's excited." The football broadcast returned. "Green Bay has fallen behind thanks to the Bears' field goal..." "Ahead and behind," he said. His fingers twitched as his mind rearranged conversations. "She was backwards. She was backwards on the phone. She was ahead at the speed date. She's back and forth in time." He rushed to the phone. He needed to call and confirm his hypothesis. She walked out of his bedroom. She was buck naked and smelled of sex. He stood frozen, phone in hand, as she walked past without acknowledging him. She poured herself a glass of water from his kitchen sink and then walked back into the bedroom. He chased after her. The bedroom was empty. The bed was still made. The sex scent was faint. He checked the closet. Empty. He checked under the bed. Dusty. He backed out of the bedroom, shaking with fear. "This is a great view," she said. His head snapped right. She was nowhere to be seen. He was certain he'd heard her voice. He went to the balcony since she'd mentioned the view. Empty. There was no scent of sex. Someone turned on his shower. He heard the water falling in the tub. He ran for the bathroom, knowing he was losing his mind but somehow not afraid of that fact. He yanked the bathroom door open. The room was dark. There was no running water. The tub was dry. The intercom buzzed. He ran for it, wanting to hear a real voice. "Who is it?" He asked. "It's Clara." "Really?" "Of course. Are you going to buzz me in?" He did. "Come on up." Someone knocked. He looked through the peephole. His breath stopped. He opened the door to let her in. She wore a raincoat, high heels, and nothing else. The glow of her skin and her plump breasts grabbed his attention, but only for a moment. "How did you get up here so fast?" He asked. "I took the elevator," she said it like it should've been obvious to him. "But you were up here right after I buzzed you in." "Of course," she said as she stepped inside. "Can't you tell by my lack of dress that I'm not in the mood to wait?" He heard the elevator chime. He looked out the door and down the hall to see her step out of the elevator and turn his way. He nearly shrieked and then slammed the door, making her jump next to him. "Is something wrong?" She asked. "You were already here," he said between deep breaths. "I was?" She sounded more happy than confused. He paced around the kitchen. "You came out of the bedroom, and then you were on the balcony, I think, and then in the shower." "I got started earlier than I thought," she said. "I was hoping to surprise you." Someone knocked on the door before he could ask what she meant. He looked through the peephole, laughed once, and the flung open the door to reveal her on the other side. "Can either of you explain this?" He asked, almost to the point of hysteria. "I was planning on doing this a bit later," said Clara Number Two. "When we were in bed," said Clara Number One. "I thought about tying you up and blindfolding you," said Clara Number Three as she walked in from the balcony. Birch pointed at Clara Number Three. "So you were out there!" "Yes, at one point in time," said Clara Number Four as she came out of the bathroom with a towel around her head and fresh condensation on her skin. "While you were tied up and blindfolded I'd bring in different aspects of me from short distances in time over the course of the night," Clara Number Five said as she walked out of the bedroom, naked and smelling of sex. Clara One took off her raincoat. "I'd pull off the blindfold and you'd have all of us, or rather all of me, fucking you." Birch focused on Clara One. "I thought two objects of the same molecular structure couldn't occupy the same space at the same time." "But we're not," said Clara Two as she slid her hands around his waist and pulled up his shirt. Clara Three sat in his easy chair and began playing with her clit. "We're all different ages." Clara Four moved behind her and pinched Clara Three's nipples. "Even though the difference is minimal, our cellular structure is different due to our ages." Clara Five knelt in front of him and opened his pants. "We can occupy the same space without trouble." "But I've discovered sexual excitement makes my skills jumpy," Clara One said as she knelt behind Clara Five. She sucked on two of her fingers and then reached down to push them into Clara Five's cunt. "That's why you were a couple moments ahead of me at the speed date," he said. "Yes," Clara Two said as she jacked him into Clara Five's mouth. "And why you were talking from the end of our phone conversation back to the beginning," he said. "You were out of phase." "Yes," Clara Three said as she and Clara Four played with her tits. "I'd been masturbating before you called, so I started blinking in at times closer and closer to the time you called." "Of course, masturbation's taken on a whole new meaning now." Clara Four said and then leaned down to give Clara Three a wet kiss. Clara Five bounced on Clara One's hand and slurped drool over his cock. He kissed Clara Two as she jacked him. Across from them, Clara Four had mounted Clara Three's thigh and was fucking her with four fingers. She rubbed her wet hand on her tits so Clara Three could lick them clean. Clara Five stood up so she could bend over the kitchen island. "Fuck me," she said. "Hard and fast before more of me pop in and fill up this place." Clara Two yanked his pants down and off him. He grabbed Clara Five by the hips and thrust into her. All five cried out or moaned around him. Clara One knelt between their legs so she could lick his balls and Clara Five's pebble-hard clit. Clara Two pulled off her raincoat and moved around to grab Clara Five's head. She steered her head to her breasts and Clara Five laughed as Clara Two teased her mouth with her nipples. Clara Five grabbed the sides of the kitchen island for support. She made a deep grunt of pleasure and slammed back into him as she came. Clara Three and Clara Four moaned as they fingered and kissed each other. Clara One pushed him back so she could grab his slippery cock and suck him off into her mouth. His balls pounded as he shot a thick volley down her throat. He reached out to grab Clara Five's tits before he toppled backward from the head rush, but she was gone. They were all gone. The easy chair was empty. He was pantless and alone in the kitchen. Someone knocked. He shuffled, pants around his ankles, to the door. He was almost afraid to look through the peephole. She was there in her raincoat and shoes. "Aren't you going to let me in?" The voice came from behind him. He turned to see a young woman, her hair bobbed short and her body naked apart from a pair of knee-high socks and low-cut panties. She looked familiar. "Who are you?" He asked. "That's the nineteen-year-old me," Clara said behind him, making him jump ad almost trip on his pants. She was in her raincoat on the other side of the closed door now. "So now you're jumping even further back in time?" He asked them. "It seems that way," said Teen Clara. He turned back to Adult Clara. "Wait. How did you get in here?" "You let me in." "No I didn't." She smiled. "I think you're about to." He laughed and, despite being exhausted, opened the door. She was still there, waiting in her raincoat. Her eyes grew at the sight of him, pantless, with two different versions of herself in his kitchen. "Oh dear," the second Adult Clara said. "I'm having a hard time stopping, aren't I?" "I'm still not sure if the original version of you has been here or not," Birch said. "Heck, I'm not even sure there is an original version of you." "We're all original versions of me," they all said at once. "Just from different time points." He looked at the two Adult Claras. "But which of you is from right now?" "Neither," said the first, "because right now doesn't exist." "Time is in constant motion," said the second Adult Clara. "By the time you inquire about right now, the moment has passed." "Regardless," Teen Clara said, "our jumping is out of control." Adult Clara One stepped forward so she could stroke Birch's cock, which was already swelling from the sight of Teen Clara's perky tits and supple neck. "It all started when I thought about fucking you, Birch." "The first batch of you disappeared upon orgasm," Birch said. "So you need to fuck the jumping out of us?" Adult Clara Two asked as she took off her raincoat. "Sounds fun," Teen Clara said while kicking off her panties. "But won't the excitement bring more of us?" "I'm surprised more of you aren't here already," Birch said. Adult Clara One got on her knees. "I guess we'd better get started, then," she said. Adult Clara Two joined her on the floor. They jacked his cock into each other's mouths before Teen Clara pulled him to the floor. She crawled over him, stopping to let him nibble on her tits and then her clit before she mounted him to face the older versions of herself. Birch groaned at the tightness of her cunt as she bounced hard on him. Her bony ass clenched as she squeezed him. She braced on his thighs and snarled at her two older selves. "Are you two going to help me get off or not?" One of the Adult Claras knelt over his face. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down so he could lick from her clit back to her ass. He felt someone's mouth on his balls. He could hear Teen Clara ordering the others to pinch her nipples and lick her cunt. Teen Clara clamped onto him and then relaxed. She did it again, and then again and again in rapid succession. He felt cool air on his cock and no weight on his pelvis. She was gone. He was ejaculating into thin air. The Adult Clara between his legs grabbed his cock and caught some of his come on her tongue. She jacked him onto her face as the Clara above him shivered. "Oh fuck," she said. "Is that what I look like with a face full of come? Fuck, that's so hot and nasty." She came hard on his face. He barely felt her washing over him before she disappeared. He groped at the air above him as Clara laughed with his cockhead in her mouth. "What's so funny?" He asked. "I think you'd better answer the door." The knock came. "You're going to kill me," he said. "You know that?" He got up, filled a pitcher with cold water, opened the door, and threw the water onto Clara, who stood in the hall holding her raincoat open. The sultry look on her face vanished and she sputtered as she tried to talk. "I'll explain later," he said. "Give me an hour break at least." He slammed the door. END Back and Forth Caitlyn leaned over the edge of the couch, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the way Philip's eyes suddenly tried very hard to be looking anywhere but into the valley of her cleavage. "Want to see my new necklace?" Philip stiffened slightly. He also tensed slightly. He tried to hold eye contact with her, determined not to give her any hint that he noticed her breasts (her extremely large, well-shaped, pendulous, hanging almost in his face breasts...) but his plan was stymied by the fact that she was looking down at his crotch. Awkwardly, he shifted in an attempt to make his half-erection a little less obvious. "Um, no. No thanks. I'm sure it's nice." Caitlyn curled her lip in a mock pout. "You haven't even seen me put it on yet, Phil," she replied in a hurt tone. "I think you'll find it's very...attention-getting." That's what I'm worried about, Philip thought to himself as he squirmed on the couch. Out loud, though, he simply said, "Um...so what did you say you and Jane were doing tonight?" He wanted to get up and flee to his bedroom, but until his cousin got back from her boyfriend's house, he was stuck playing host. Social pressure held him in his seat as firmly as if he was tied there. Caitlyn shrugged. "I dunno. We hadn't really made plans." Caitlyn giggled, her laughter making her chest heave in disconcertingly interesting ways. "I just figured I'd find something fun to do until she got back, like last time." Philip tensed up even more. "I, um...I'm sure she'll be back any minute." It was a bluff and they both knew it. Philip might be living in Jane's apartment while he was in America, but she spent every second or third night over at her boyfriend's house ever since the two of them started dating. She might not walk through that door until tomorrow, maybe not even until the next day, and Philip couldn't help feeling like Caitlyn had known that when she came over. It wasn't that he wasn't...or that he wouldn't...that is, it wasn't like he was saving himself or anything...it was just that, well, she shouldn't...that is, not that she shouldn't, because women could nowadays and there was nothing wrong with wanting to...but she shouldn't the way she did because it wasn't that he wouldn't but he always felt like if he didn't want to he wouldn't be able to tell her she couldn't because she wanted to so much that she wouldn't let him. Or something like that. Caitlyn always threw Philip off-balance, that was the problem. She was nothing like the women back home in Yorkshire. She made him feel like he was powerless to stop her from doing whatever she wanted, even before... She reached into her pocket and took out the necklace. It looked like a chunk of polished malachite, with swirls of bright and vivid green standing out against the dark green of its surface. It hung from a simple leather cord, and Caitlyn tied it around her neck without even standing up. "What do you think?" she asked. Philip tried to look anywhere but at the necklace. "It's lovely. Please put it away now," he said urgently. "Why?" Caitlyn asked in tones of mock confusion. Then she put a finger to her lips in a show of sudden understanding. "Oh!" she said. "Surely you don't think I might hypnotize you again!" Philip swallowed. It took a surprising amount of effort. "I...um, the thought had, um." He licked his lips nervously, his mouth too dry to wet them effectively. "Briefly occurred to me, yes, but...I mean, I'm sure that this time, now that I'm...on my guard, it wouldn't..." He caught a glimpse of the pendant swaying gently between Caitlyn's hanging breasts, and for a long moment he forgot what he was talking about. "Um, affect me," he said at last. "I'm sure it wouldn't," Caitlyn said, rocking gently from side to side as if dancing to unheard music. "I'm sure you'd never let yourself get lost in the gentle motion, watching as it goes back and forth, back and forth...the slow, endless, easy rhythm, back and forth." Her voice sounded like thick honey might taste. "Well, no, I wouldn't, but I-" Philip tried to look straight ahead, stare at the wall or the floor or the ceiling or anywhere but at Caitlyn's pendant, but he kept spotting the motion of the pendant out of the corner of his eye, and it was just instinct to want to follow a moving object with your eyes. He looked away for the third time. "Exactly," Caitlyn said, reassurance dripping from her words. "So this time, you won't need to worry about watching my pendant move back and forth...you won't feel like you did last time, gradually losing control of your thoughts as you watch it sway back and forth...you remember what that felt like, don't you, Phil?" "Not...um...really..." Philip realized he'd stopped trying to look away, and refocused his energy on not following the pendant with his eyes. Focus, that was the key. He remembered that from last time, even if he didn't remember all that much else. He remembered how sure Caitlyn had sounded when she'd said she could hypnotize him, almost smug about it. He remembered the feeling of dizziness...no, not dizziness. Giddiness. Lightheaded, like he was about to fall. It felt strangely terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time, like that strange attraction you got when you were close to the edge in high places. As if you weren't fully in control of yourself... "That's okay, Phil," Caitlyn said, breaking into his train of thought. "I'm sure you'll remember. Just look at the back and forth motion, the back and forth sway and I'm sure it will all come back to you." Philip felt his body shudder involuntarily, although he wasn't quite sure why. He wasn't afraid of Caitlyn; she wasn't going to hurt him. But something in her eyes...there was a hunger there, just like last time. He felt powerless to resist that hunger. He didn't want to feel powerless like that and yet it felt so exciting to know that what he wanted didn't entirely matter right now. But it did. Philip blinked rapidly, trying to clear the cobwebs from his thoughts. Focus, he told himself. That was what had gone wrong last time. He'd listened too much to Caitlyn's soft, honeyed voice, and let her lull him into watching the necklace slowly swing in front of his eyes as he followed it back and forth, back and forth- Abruptly, he realized those were Caitlyn's words and he was mouthing along with them. "I'd like you to take the necklace off," he said thickly. His voice sounded muzzy and dazed in his ears. He fought off the slow, lazy exhaustion he felt and focused on staring straight ahead. "Why is that?" Caitlyn asked. He could hear the amusement in her voice, like she was watching someone make a clever move in a chess game, but one that only put off the inevitable checkmate by a few moves. "You said yourself that you were on your guard. That I couldn't hypnotize you with it like I did last time." The way she said 'last time', purring the words out as if she was caressing each one with her tongue, made Philip's dick harden even more. He was suddenly, dimly aware of how much his erection had grown while he stared at Caitlyn's necklace. "I'd still like you to take it off." It took so much effort to speak. He felt the strain of keeping his eyes from following the pendant, almost a physical pain, but he stuck with it. He just needed to stay focused a little longer, until she took the necklace off and he was safe again. "It's okay, Phil," Caitlyn said. Her hand reached up with what felt like agonizing slowness, towards the knot in the leather cord. "I know that you don't want to follow the necklace, and I'd never do anything you didn't want me to do." Philip shivered at the words; he believed them, but at the same time he knew that part of him wanted her to do things that he would never actually let her do if she hadn't switched off the part of him that didn't want to do the things he wanted her to do. And he knew she knew it too. "So I'll take off the necklace," she said, slowly undoing the cord, "and you'll know that you can trust me completely because I did just what you wanted me to do." Philip stared grimly ahead, refusing to follow the motion of the pendant, putting all his willpower into avoiding its swaying, seductive dance that last few seconds until it was safely out of his sight... The pendant dropped. Philip continued to stare straight ahead. "There you go," Caitlyn whispered. "No more necklace, and now you can relax and trust me completely as you watch the back and forth motion, Phil." Philip blinked slowly, his thoughts moving sluggishly as he tried to process what she was saying. "So easy to watch, so sexy to watch, just like you remember." Philip tried to remember, but it was so difficult to think while she was swaying from side to side like that and her breasts were moving... "Back and forth, Phil, and you know you're such a good boy, doing just what you were told, letting me know when your deepest self was so totally enthralled by my hypnotic breasts that you didn't even need the pendant to distract your waking mind anymore." Philip didn't remember Caitlyn telling him any such thing, but the warm glow he felt when she called him a 'good boy' swamped all his efforts to recall her words. He slowly lowered himself onto his back, enjoying the sensation, as his eyes followed the gentle swaying of her dangling breasts. "That's right," she whispered again, her voice carrying perfectly in the stillness of the apartment. "Deeper and deeper, back and forth, more and more relaxed, more and more helpless." She climbed up over the arm of the couch, crawling over him, straddling his body. Her breasts hung almost directly into his face now, her cleavage encompassing his whole field of vision. For a moment, it stilled as she pulled her top off, but then her tits swung free and their motion captivated him all the more. "You love my tits, don't you, Phil?" She leaned down slightly, letting the tips of her nipples brush against his chest through the fabric of his shirt. "I..." Something of the panic he'd felt earlier rippled to the surface, some tiny shred of resistance that stilled his tongue for a moment with the knowledge that she could do anything to him when he was like this. She pulled his shirt open, scattering buttons carelessly across the living room, and brushed her nipples across his chest again. This time, they touched bare skin, and terror at the thought that she could do anything to him transformed itself into excitement at the thought that she could do anything to him. "You love my tits, don't you, Phil?" she said again, desire transforming her whisper into a growl. "I love your tits," he husked out, no longer trying to resist. "You love the way they sway back and forth, don't you, Phil?" She dangled her pendulous breasts right over his face, and his eyes moved helplessly to follow them as they moved. "I love...the way they sway...back and forth..." Every pause was accompanied by a dizzy, swimming sensation in his head, as though he was drunk on the nearness of her. His cock pulsed and throbbed in his jeans, and he could feel the damp and sticky patch where the precum had soaked the fabric. "Even the words 'back and forth' remind you of the way they sway, Phil. Those words make you helpless all by themselves, because they remind you of my tits." She ran a finger over the curve of her breasts as he watched, tracing their slopes with a lazy, seductive smile on her face. "You'll always see my tits, Phil, in the back of your mind, every time you're around me." She reached down, her fingers fumbling impatiently with his fly. "They erode your resistance, make you helpless to refuse me, make you ache to obey me..." Her fingers wrapped around his cock, tugging and stroking in time with the back and forth motion of her breasts. "Your waking mind won't remember how powerless you are, it might even try to fight but you know, deep down, that my tits are too sexy to resist." "Too sexy," he moaned, unable to form complete sentences now. She shifted, and he felt her settle onto him in a single smooth motion. She was so warm, so wet, so soft and he groaned in mindless ecstasy. "That's right, so hot and powerful and you want me, your deep self has always wanted to...ohh, to fuck, yes, fuck me, you're always going to let me hypnotize you because you know it means I'm going to fuck, fuck, fuh-fuh-fuhhhhckkk..." Her words dissolved into a hiss of animalistic pleasure as she bounced up and down on him, her tits moving up and down and holding his eyes perfectly as she came. "G-g-good boy, good boy," she panted, not stopping, and Phil felt her clench around him as she rode the first orgasm into a second and the second into a third, but he waited to cum, waited because he knew it would feel so good if he waited until she told him to. She controlled him, and Philip knew that he wanted that so much it frightened him. But not when he was like this. Finally, she slipped off of him, sliding down until her head was down by his crotch. But instead of taking him into her mouth, she gathered together her cleavage into a warm, soft nest that enveloped his cock. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, the slickness of her sweat and her juices lubricating the motion until her skin felt like oiled silk. "Cum for me," she whispered at last, and Philip let out one final strangled gasp of pleasure as he shot his load onto her tits. "Good boy," Caitlyn whispered. "Now, listen to me..." Philip listened, but he wasn't really thinking about what she was saying. He was thinking about her breasts. THE END