Max explores and dominates his new friend, then decides to find out what has actually happened to Jessie to make him believe he is under Max’s control. This story is alternately known Dominating Jessie on Literotica.
Warnings for chapter: M/M, D/S, MAGICAL CONTROL, sexual content, dub con.
Find Part One Here – Advised to read first for context if you haven’t already.
Jessie was gasping. His mind was caught in a nowhere land between utter terror and complete and unending bliss. On the one hand he was naked and spread eagled, unable to move; and on the other, the man of his darkest and most depraved fantasies was currently sucking on his cock so expertly that he might, if he’d been able to, have started to cry with pleasure.
It had been two long hours since Jessie had obediently climbed onto Max’s balcony and passed through his open doors. He’d given up trying to fight. He was at Max’s mercy and he’d learned to his cost that the man had very little of that.
He closed his eyes and let the soft moan escape his lips. He couldn’t hide it. He could hold nothing back from his classmate and he hated it. He also, to his utter shame and horror, loved it.
This is a work of adult fiction that contains mind control and as such, dubious consent lies within. Also lesbian sex. If either of these ideas may displease you, feel free to find another story that you’d prefer. If not, I hope you enjoy. Feedback brightens my day.
I’m on the train back home, from yet another pointless ‘networking’ gig for work. I’ve never been to one that anyone actually seemed to enjoy, but this was the worst yet.
There’s only so much you can do when it comes to advertising piping in any case but how my boss thought that I could possibly cross-promote it with top shelf ‘homemade’ cat food is beyond me. Now a top notch cat feeder, sure…but the fucking food? He must’ve been smoking the good stuff to think that was remotely possible.
Though, now I come to think about it, it was more likely a punishment for turning him down, yet again.
When Dean awoke that morning the first, and only thought he had was coffee.
He took one look at the hotel’s pitiful ‘brew your own instant Cappuccino’ machine on the side board and fled for the street. He knew that the English were famous for their obsession with Tea but at least some of them had to like coffee, surely?
To his surprise, Nottingham appeared to have at least one café on every other street corner. Steering away from the big brand chain stores he saw a small family run shop that seemed to offer exactly what he was wanting.
Like a zombie on a mission he headed towards the entrance. The queue wasn’t long and he kept himself occupied by reading the menu, which had been chalked on a giant board behind the shop assistants heads.
It took two and a half hours for Chris to make what should have been, according to Jim’s calculations, a three and a half hour journey. Jim wondered how many speed cameras the man had triggered and was quietly deciding whether or not he should make the fines ‘disappear,’ when he heard footsteps outside the door and a key being roughly shoved into the lock.
Mrs. Spritz opened her door after only three knocks and hid herself from view as Jim walked in, leisurely taking in his surroundings. She lived in a modern apartment complex and hadn’t bothered to repaint the walls from the standard white that every estate agent used throughout the land. Her furniture was plain but looked comfortable and she’d laid out pillows and a single duvet on a side table next to what must be a sofa-bed. He smiled at the hope that lay behind that gesture. He hadn’t quite decided if his teacher would be joining him yet, but he would most certainly not be the one sleeping on the sofa tonight.
That night Jim went to bed early. He could hear his father stumbling around on the floor below and had no inclination towards testing his patience this evening. Tonight was reserved for bigger things. He opened up his laptop and lay back against the headboard of his bed, a satisfied grin stretching across his face.
He’d solidified his plan as he’d walked home. He’d thought about it long and hard and decided that he was going to see just what had been happening to Mrs. Spritz over the last few weeks for himself. He’d instructed her to install Skype onto her home computer and had received a text in reply asking him how old he thought she was? Apparently she already had Skype. She’d followed it up with one that read she charged £40.00 an hour for private tuition. He’d laughed at that.