Hi, I’m Shawna Wilson, one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met in your life, hiding one of the most devious women you couldn’t even fully conceive of. Full disclosure, if we’ve met before, I might’ve been responsible for at least one particularly brief moment of embarrassment in your life. Sorry, but not really. If we haven’t met yet, yeah, be afraid, and let the halo fool you.
Why am I this way? Personal heroes, I guess.
Who are they? Smartest question my dumb guidance counselor ever asked me. Was lucky enough that I didn’t recklessly come right out and say “the Joker.” What a weird talk that would’ve been between him, me, and the folks back in school. And oh the questions...
“How long have you had these thoughts?”
“Has it been affecting your school work?”
“Which version of the Joker did you mean?”
And of course the one possibly on all their minds, but would never ask me
“Where are the bodies buried?”
Answering in that order:
“You see any B’s on my report card? Next dumb question.”
“Mark Hamill from the animated series is my OG, but with a dash of Caesar Romero.”
“Replace ‘bodies’ with ‘egos,’.....here and there.”
Jim Halpert from “The Office” was my spoken answer—the most diplomatic one I could’ve thought up, and the truest answer over time. I guess the guidance counselor didn’t expect a young, chunky, black girl to pick a skinny, white, ingenious prankster, hence the reactionary gut-laugh he had to contain the second some of it spilled out of his mouth.
I didn’t take his laugh too well. Go figure.
Figuring out how to hack his computer and make him think he had messaged unflattering things to say about the principal’s poor excuse for a toupee, was my reaction. Almost wished I hadn’t skipped a few grades, just to watch things play out; apparently for the time he remained there, old hair rug never let him live it down, and never stopped checking to see if his hair looked “ok”.
Ever-scheming and loving it, no one was safe from my wrath. Especially not Dane Brooks, or Danish as I saw him since kindergarten; destined to be muscle bound, dumb as bricks, with gullible innocence that altogether landed him on the right side of cute. Makes a girl lick her lips at the sight of him—literally. If I was Jim Halpert, he was my Dwight Schrute. Technically, everyone was my Dwight, but everyone else got off easy, as easy as I got off fucking with Danish.
Yeah, sick puppy and all that, with a bitch’s mastermind streak.
I once got him once to think he was overweight, loosening the screws of his desk to make it wobble or collapse when he sat on it.
There was a stint to his believing his dead grandmother who he hated when living was haunting him; slipping notes from the underworld in his jacket everyday yielded fun results.
Or that time I told him someone had drugged his food at some point with something that would attack his insides if he talked a lot. Forgetful me was quite conversational with him that week. It took a lot to not fall out laughing at him sweating bullets.
Of course, there’s no better mindfuck I could’ve made happen than making us close friends over the years, even enjoying the pranks. We were besties by high school, at least for him.
Okay, both of us.
It’s lasted way longer than I expected, to living in the same apartment building, and up to a 28th birthday. I was on the couch, laughing at my favorite Office (US version) pranks when he walked in my apartment.
“Hey Shawna,” Dane called out to his BBBW (big black beautiful woman) of a BFF.
“Hey Danish,” I called him by his long-time pet name. He looked at me on the couch for a moment, strange smile on his handsome face like he’d forgotten about something pertaining to me, but like the other times they happened, he couldn’t recall what made him stop in his tracks. My next question woke him up.
“Good day today?”
He shook his sandy blonde hair. “Been alright.”
“It’d better be better than ‘alright.’ Which reminds me, your present is in the fridge.”
His head peaked into the living room, looking like the happy lug I always knew him to be, that dumb boyish smile attached to that athletic, muscular body, watching him walk over and bend to open the fridge door. My lips got a good licking again at that stupendous ass.
He reached in to pull out several different brands of chocolate milk, one of several things Dane never really outgrew, or tried to.
“Happy Birthday Danish!”
“How many stores did you have to go to to find all of these?”
“You’ll get the same answer from me as if you asked ‘how much did this cost’—not telling.”
“Had to be like five, I’ve never seen all of these in the same place. You’re the best Shawna!”
My cheeks heated up from the friendly kiss, and from seeing him happy. And from what was coming.
Danish opened the first bottle and start to down the brown liquid. He paused between sips, confused, taking a bit more, stopping by the time the bottle was half-empty.
“How was that one?”
“Good, it was good. Sort of like I remember, but...”
“But...what? Did it taste funny? What’s the expiration d—”
“No, no, it’s fine, really, it’s just...hard to say what it is.”
“Try,” she looked at him purposefully.
“It’s just....it’s not chocolate milk.”
“Are you sure?” the strange smile masked the evil, real one.
“Pretty sure. Just something about it, tastes good but it’s also off.”
“Well, I hope that brand isn’t going to hell. Try another.”
First came popping the cap of the second, then another grimace. Despite his taste buds enjoying what ran across his tongue, logic told him there was something unfamiliar about it. Shawna Wilson logic to be exact.
You might be wondering as well, what’s wrong with the chocolate milk? That’s a two-pronged answer.
The first, diabolical or not, I’ve tried to take comments about my race, weight, or gender in stride over the years; retaliatory mind-fucking for every perceived slight against anything making me a minority would leave me ultimately too busy to enjoy it, lest I become an actual Joker and try to destroy the city or some shit. Stride aside though, there are fun exceptions.
Dane joked weeks ago about someone, referring to them as a cow, with rancid chocolate milk. He tried correcting himself when he knew I heard about it. I gave him an sour stare at first. He wasn’t talking about me, mind you; the woman he meant was also big and black, and rancid was accurate for how rotten she was. He knew I’d been called similar things over the years, so his apology campaign lasted a while as I let him think I was as offended as I looked. A bit was there, but so was a new idea. Danish never grew out of loving chocolate milk, so messing with that had sooooo much potential.
Danish downed the whole bottle this time, in part out of taste, and trying to figure out what was wrong with it.
“It’s delicious, and...not chocolate milk.”
“You sure it tastes fresh?”
That second reason can be summed up in one sentence: Google searches can yield some delightfully freaky shit.
A few years ago, I was looking up new pranking techniques, to keep my skills fresh. “Mind fuck” in the search bracket gave me just that, eventually leading to content I thought you’d get if you searched for “xxx mind control,” or “erotic hypnosis” as it’s known. A happy accident I thankfully didn’t reflexively turn away from.
Watching hypnosis go from cheesy cartoon villain or corny stage show stuff to making the connection of literally getting into someone’s mind and twisting it anyway you wanted put a real spin on decades for me. The more I read, watched, soaked up like a sponge, the more I was hooked, the more I wondered if all these years, what I’d done amounted to some kind of inadvertent mental control. And while I didn’t think I was desperate enough to have to resort to it, I wasn’t about to turn away from a whole new approach to explore and play.
Won’t lie either, the erotic parts really got to me, in multiple ways after finding multiple fetishes that tickled my fancy. We’ve had sex before, casually, an arrangement that worked for both of us. Knowing I could simply snap my fingers and have him ready to do whatever I wanted, or make him beg to do whatever I wanted, shouldn’t surprise you that such thoughts can really give a girl...initiative.
“It’s fresh, and...something else.”
“Ok, now I think you’re playing me...”
“No, I’m not. I know how weird it sounds; wish I could figure this out too.”
“Well, ok, which one tastes the best? The yoohoo?”
As he sampled some more, a feeling started stirring in him. In his head, the worry about the feeling turning into something like nausea went away quickly and was on the happier side of things, like his brain felt a sliver of wanton bliss. He never noticed the smile forming as he downed the bottle.
“Looks like it is the yoohoo.”
My speaking caught his attention, and I let him center himself to make sure that nothing went down the wrong pipe.
“Yeah, think so. You know what, I was playing with you. Good chocolate milk, and a great birthday present from the best friend ever.”
“Thanks sweetie!” I hugged and regarded him with equal enthusiasm, knowing his mind was trying to reconcile with his words, and failing.
“Thinking about getting a nap before tonight’s festivities, hope you don’t mind,” I yawned convincingly.
“Sounds like a good idea, I can do a few things before tonight.”
“I’ll see you soon then.”
Watching that tight ass walk out the door felt like Christmas Eve, and impatient me would get their Christmas morning that night.
Dane returned to my apartment a little later, for reasons his mind forgot to reveal, that common mind trick where you have to go somewhere to remember why you’re there. Even though it was my apartment, his reason was obviously me. His mind probably rationalized that he’d left something there, and needed to pick it up before any celebrating was going to happen.
Then he found me, resting on my couch.
Anyone else walking in would just see a sleepy girl dressed in comfortable sweats, like they’d fallen asleep watching something on TV. Dane though, stopped in his tracks, looking at me like earlier, like always. One open eye scanned his looking at all of me on that couch, still trying to remember what made him so happy to see me there, forgetting what he couldn’t remember.
The hidden memory was the first time I hypnotized him, on my couch. Weeks, months prepping for it felt surreal by the time I took him through some breathing exercises I told him I’d learned, that could help him with workouts. We went at that for a while, till he was like a calm pond, exactly the state I wanted. Before he knew it, I’d snuggled next to him with a friendlier than usual tone of
“Do you trust me?”
“Yeah,” his automatic answer.
“Do you trust where I’m going to take you?”
“Where are you going to take me?”
I let his look linger over my face, taking in years of varied feelings for me, fear, attraction, excitement, and in that moment, peace.
“Where you already are,” a soothing voice posed something of a riddle.
“A warm place, a quiet place, a safe place. A place made just for you, where nothing can bother you, and everything just makes you feel good and special.”
My arm around broad shoulders, hand caressing his, breath in his ear and the nape of his neck, feeling my own warmth transferring into him, and his into me, knowing we were sharing that double-edged trance feeling both sides are often supposed to share, with me in-charge.
“This place is always present, just like you are, just like you want to be. You could close your eyes, and find yourself in this place, drifting off in a sweet nothingness, anchored to nothing except this good feeling. You believe in this feeling like nothing else, trust it above all, because it helps guide you to this place. The longer you think about it, the longer you see similarities between you and this place, as if you are absorbing the qualities of this place, as if you are this place. You are this place, Dane. You are warm, you are quiet, you are safe, you are calm. You are this place, just like Shawna is this feeling. Shawna helps you to feel good, Shawna guides you to this place of peace. There’s no one you trust more than Shawna. When Shawna wants you to feel this good, you are warm, quiet, safe, calm, and happy. You trust what she wants, what she wants of you, and will happily participate and follow her requests, so you can feel even warmer, quieter, safer, calmer, happier, and mindless and obedient.”
Hours reinforcing all the programming in him, binding him to me beyond the wildest dreams of my youth; I made sure the common sight of me on the couch where I took ownership of his mind be the key influential reinforcing. At least a few times a week, he’d come into my apartment, get stuck trying to remember being hypnotized, only recalling the good feelings linked to me, rendered ever so pliable nearly all the time.
Add to all that a few chocolate milk’s in him, and his eyes and brain grew a horny brand of dreamy, watching me “sleeping” as he focused on his own fantasy.
He blinked a few times, unsure of why things were blurring around him, or why other things were alit with clarity. My couch looked less couch, maybe more altar to dreamy eyes. It probably looked weird for casual me resting on something so majestic, except he saw a Shawna dressed as majestic as Cleopatra, a little skimpy yet regal number, leaving a little and a lot to the imagination, somehow even sexier in eyeglasses, an expression that stated my awareness of owning every last thing in my domain, including the slave boy helplessly staring and his queen.
No hesitation when ushered over, taking in all of me, eventually centering on my breasts, beholden to them like an explorer beholden to the land he wants to trek explore to the hilt. He the explorer desired above all else to scale the mountains, the hard peaks that leave their adventurous hearts hungry, or in slave Danish’s case, thirsty. The queen in me let him trek, but soon guided him straight to the mountain top, straps pulled down and letting him enjoy the peaks of victory, drunk on the success of a goal reached, overcome with bliss wiping out every other thought.
After months of working towards and hoping for the lactation fetish and output I always wanted sans childbirth, with breast pumps and many physical stimuli sessions, well-programmed hands properly coaxed well-programmed queenly, heavy breasts and nipples in giving nourishing, brainwashing milk. The tasty fruit of his labor was interpreted as perfection on his tongue. Interwoven love of breast worship and hypnosis grew even stronger when combined. He suckled with half-open eyes, and fully open ears as there were things to do that he should be aware of, yet not. The words made him smile, drink deeper, feel harder than he ever remembered he could be, and before anything could happen, he’d forget about...
Senses slowly let go of the blurry, peaceful sensations filling his head. The closer he came to full consciousness, the more he felt his senses clinging to the dream, gulping a pleasant taste on his tongue. Even with faculties informing of things to do and places to be, he struggled to keep hold of what he lost seconds later. Details cursedly evaded his memory, only left with how it made him feel good, whatever it was. He sighed even harder as memory fully kicked in for what was ahead.
He wasn’t really opposed to birthday surprises, but he wasn’t looking forward to potentially being pranked. And his friends were smart, ensuring last minute that he couldn’t back out, and promising harsh birthday licks if he tried. By his guess, if they had their way, he’d be going hog-wild with someone’s breasts soon. Some of his closer friends being women left him cold to that idea, including Shawna chewing him out if she ever knew, so he would hope to avoid whatever they were planning.
He made it to the pulsing, crowded club, unable to see any sign of them, hoping they couldn’t see him at all. Sneaking inconspicuously from the entrance to the bar, he was set on avoiding their plotting. Dane waved to the bartender, and the frequent patron got a friendly wave back.
“Give me a milk. Chocolate.”
Dane recited his usual pop-culture reference that they both were old enough to understand and laugh at, as his fresh bottled drink slid a ways across the bartop. He downed half the drink in one go, trusting the bartender with his choice his he only ever picked a few things. This time he tasted chocolate liquor, a delicious flavor to it, like a Yoohoo but with something else. He let it linger on his taste buds and the aroma on his nose for a moment before taking another sip. Nostrils honed in on that the bottle’s rim something like a fragrance, a substance, stronger than from the rest of the bottle. He smelled and licked, and felt his brain light up with guesses.
“Chocolate milk?” went off in his head. Desperation for more grew immediately, while letting the little bit enhance what was already in the bottle. Dane thought about asking the bartender for more, but he decided to wait to see how strong the liquor was. He needed to be on guard for the coming prank anyway.
The full dance floor concealed his friends well, but highlighted their plan for him. About as much a breast-man as the next, knowing they were to be emphasized soon is what made him stare at the sea of cleavage. Which set might be used to tempt him the most? Which set might tempt him more than the rest? That first glass left him on the verge of tipsy, even horny, and he let himself enjoy it. Looking away proved difficult, worse if he got any more intoxicated. He tried excusing himself through the crowd to the wall to rest somewhere; terrible timing since the next song to start booming through the crowd was one of his favorites.
He let loose to the beat, shaking his head, then shoulders, then hips in time. His feet remembered with ease how silly dancing to the song was, and how of all songs, he really didn’t care. The liquored capacity became refocused to the music, loving that a crowd opened up to give his body the space it wanted. He sang along to the song as if performing it. And at the refrain, most of the crowd sang it back to him.
“Play that funky music, white boy, play that funky music right. Play that funky music white boy, play that funky music till you die.”
Ladies interested in the uninhibited man with broad shoulders and an obvious love for a good time started dancing around him, vying for attention. He danced along, part of his brain wondering if any of the perfumes they wore resembled the ones linked to his drink. Nice as the girls and their tops were, maybe one or two were anywhere close to the scent. Some tried being really suggestive, in his face, mouthing the lyrics. Women of all looks and shapes took their shot, with come-hither stares and accentuated chests, rating to Dane as ‘nice enough.’ Unbeknownst to him, he lingered on those with darker skin and wider busts. They incentivized him to dance on, writhing in the rhythm, bathing in the club spotlight, until he noticed it moved away to the booth section.
Everyone dancing seemed to look toward the woman the spotlight descended on. Dane’ breath caught seeing his dream goddess; a sparkling champagne gold deep v-neck gown, shoulder-wide straps, gold-glittered skin, princessy tiara and gold wrap over an afro ponytail, custom-colored Converse sneakers to match, glitter shimmering mostly across her breasts. She shook her shoulders, rocked her hips, and swayed her sneakers to the song from the comfort of her booth seating, and Dane eyes were fixed on the golden goddess urging him closer with her aura, and a whiff of the scent he’d been looking for. His libido kicked into high gear as the song went on longer than expected, as if part of it was on repeat, and transitioning to a sensual remix of sorts.
She sipped champagne luxuriously as he approached seductively, channeling his inner Chippendale dancer, trying to make her pleasantly-entertained smile slip to a ‘fuck me,’ lustful one. Pushing the booth table aside made the crowd cheer for the show taking place. He never questioned how the drink she handed him was the exact kind consumer earlier. Glasses clanked, and their contents mutually swallowed. He was less gracefully as he let the chocolatey contents spill down his chin and stain the shirt with provocative abandon. The smell at the rim of it intoxicated him more, just like her perfume. Dark chocolate skin, especially the breasts, seduced him right back, trying to up the ante with gyrating hips. The glistening creature as a whole blinded his thoughts will her brilliance. He lowered his face to hers to share a look, mouthing the lyrics to each other at the slower pace of the remix.
He didn’t know when he’d ripped his shirt captioned “my birthday present; be gentle” off to entice the woman below him with hard, chiseled pecs, but he seemed to enjoy the response, less the crowd’s jeers and more that golden lady’s biting of her lower lip as she sucked in a sharp breath, glasses somehow not foggy.
Every bicep and chest muscle was flexed in front of her, inciting her to join him, moving closer. But her hand gestured a bit for him to back up, not to stop, but to get a better look at the whole of him. Dane complied, giving her ample view of all his dance moves, briefly stopping at a sudden rush of something cool. He turned to the goddess to see a super soaker in hand. He saw brown liquid running down his chest, taking a drop into his mouth; it tasted of Yoohoo and chocolate milk to his tongue. Groaning to himself, he moved closer to her, knowing every step would mean more liquid sprayed onto his body. She reveled in it like he did, the cool splashes almost matching the heat of his dance. He arched his back as she expertly hit both nipples, driving the crowd wild as he tweaked his own nipples and licked the contents off his fingers. She gestured for a face-to-face again, and Dane was ready to move in for a kiss. Eyes closed, his confidence was shaken at lips kissing the barrel of her chocolate milk gun. She waited for his eyes to open before firing into his mouth. A stream hit the roof of his mouth and fell to his taste buds, and he closed his eyes, savoring the taste, sucking on the nipple-shaped barrel as if he could suck more out of it; she was more than happy to supply the illusion with more sprays. The gun emptied all over his body and mouth, his pants seemed as stained as her panties.
Music winding down, the nearly straddled goddess made a pulling motion, like she was pulling at a chain collar wrapped around Dane’s neck. Obligingly, Dane’s desire made him feel the pull and brought him close to dazzling cleavage, ready to bury his face there, or so everyone thought. Before he could dive in, Dane’s ear was graced with strange advice.
The cheers and jeers included laughter as the dancing stripper immediately came off his high, trying to realize what had happened and how he got there. A 30 year old adult had flashbacks of grade school stage embarrassment, arranged by a cunning encourager disguised as a helpful friend. Past exploits had nothing on his chocolate milk soaked chest though. Just like back then, nervous smiling was a weak facade for the bewilderment and downright self-consciousness post-performance, broad arms trying to cover his chest in laughable modesty; the regal goddess spit-taked champagne with laughter. And instead of the natural reaction of excusing himself to the nearest restroom, his feet took him to the club’s exit, across admirers reaching out to discover those ripped, slick muscles first hand.
Conveniently for him, there was a limo outside and a driver kindly holding the door open for him as he hid himself from public view. The scene outside seemed a conundrum for those noticing his hasty retreat, until the golden goddess arrived at the limo minutes later, strutting to it like she owned it, and the occupant. She, or rather, I would’ve been right behind Dane, but it took a while to accept all the birthday greetings. And I had to give special thanks to the DJ and bartender for helping to make it a special birthday for me. I originally wanted Lose Yourself by Eminem to play, but the DJ’s choice worked better for the show Dane “planned” for her.
Out at the limo patiently waiting for me, I thanked the driver, reminding him the goings on in the back were nothing important, no matter the sights or sounds; fortunately he was a successful attempt at more practice for instant inductions. Wide eyes inside the limo took my towering golden form in, scooching over at my posh gesture to make room for me. I entered, never taking my eyes off him, moving to invade his vulnerable space, knowing he was just waiting for me to do whatever I wanted.
Pulling off and intentionally driving in the slow lane around the city, I spent precious minutes just stroking his chest, like the club women wished they could. His hairless torso felt liberally stroking palms, and manicured champagne-colored nails that scratched here and there. Not a word was spoken between us; none were needed as he just took my seduction wholly, gripping the leather seats, knowing he was unable to move. The closest he came to any words was when his nipples found themselves in a vice-like grip between soft fingers, nearly as painful as sharp nails gripping them. Whatever he may have moaned in despair or pleading, it didn’t deter me, pulling him to the wide limo floor to his knees, playfully tugging at one harder than the other every few seconds, making him dance like puppet on strings. Once off the seat, I laid my whole body across, similar to how he found me in my apartment earlier that night. I saw the realization creep back into his eyes as to who I really was; that’s when I finally spoke.
“Really? ‘Chocolate milk’?”
A stinging slap to his face was taken in experienced stride, all the way down into a deep, programmed trance. Another great fetish I learned about after erotic hypnosis was called impact play. Questioned it as a kink, and never expected to like or use it like this, but it felt destined to be in my arsenal. The slap gracing his face was so loud, I’m sure other cars passing by could’ve heard it, but I bet the sound never registered to Dane at all, just the pain, then the warmth of the pain, then the absence of it, then just warm pleasure, looking forward to the pleasure of obeying Shawna. I kind of hate and love how the smile as a result of the pain I inflicted just made me wetter, which made me backhand him, which could’ve turned into a vicious cycle if I didn’t keep whatever else I wanted to do in mind.
“You’re so lucky your golden goddess is just a little more creative than she is vindictive. Do you remember the last time we were really intimate with each other?”
I’d always considered having a title attached to my name, but the way he said my name when deep under, the bottomless reverence in his voice, that was more than enough for me.
“Why don’t you give that last time some deep thought, remember everything that you felt then, how good it was, how unbelievably sexy you found me, willing to do anything to have me. We’ve now come to a little later than that, where the passion is still high, and we’re living it up in a special limo ride. Add to that that a while ago, you remember me hearing about your ‘chocolate milk’ comment. You’ve apologized, and I’ve been forgiving, but the nervousness lingers, maybe for good reason. When you have all those things in mind, say ‘yes Shawna’ again.”
Blended emotions swirling over his face made me appreciate the several minutes it took for him to reach the point I wanted, coming to 90% smiles, 10% fear.
“Good, then wake up to the now.”
A few blinks and puppy-dog head shakes later, the delicious Danish I wanted had appeared.
“Hey Sweet Treat.”
He chuckled boyishly at being referred to as food.
“Quite a date night, huh?”
“Uhh...yeah,” he tried to figure how a date night got to this point, but the blinding passion he thought up was a convincing cover.
“Hell yeah,” confidence seeped in his voice.
“Like nothing could ever ruin it, right?”
The corners of his smile slipped downward, indicating how well he knew me.
“For some reason, ‘chocolate milk’ came to mind tonight.”
I reached over to get a glass of champagne for myself, and a Yoohoo for Dane. We clinked glasses again, and he still wondered why it tasted so different, while he fixed his eyes on my breasts being pressed together between my arms.
“I’m not one to kill a hot moment, but it wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t talk about.”
Meanwhile, my words didn’t keep anything I was doing from making things hotter. A thigh peeked out of the slit of my dress, my hand caressed the valley between my cleavage. A smarter, more aware man might have complained about the manipulation, but a good boy like Dane just took it, which was a sign of “smart enough,” earning him the right to be there.
“I’m not going to get angry about it, I think I’m past that. But I think I’m at some new weird phase with it on my mind. The ‘Sacred Cow’ phase.”
It did sound crazy when it came out of my mouth; keeping my composure to explain it and not laugh was hard. One slip and we both would’ve devolved into a giggle fit for the rest of the ride.
“Sacred Cow. Call it me looking at the bright side of something not necessarily pleasing. You have to admit, there is some accuracy there too. I know I’m practically a diva in your eyes, the reason your eyes shine, and get glassy.”
“Well...” he started as if trying to defend his position.
“Well, what? You saying I don’t shine brilliantly in your eyes?”
I let him linger over every glimmering inch, from tiara to toes, moving any which way I thought would shine the most in his eyes.
“No, you are very shiny and brilliant.”
“Yes I am. And don’t you find yourself thinking about, or just worshiping me, revering me out in the open, a few notches above chivalry?”
My hand raised his chin up to meet my gaze before he could lower his, tickling under his chin, giving him a smug look that told him he was mine.
“Always,” his words were as naked as half of him, something I reconciled right then.
“Me telling you to take your pants off would be far from an unreasonable request, right?”
I scratched a little more under the chin, not breaking skin, but definitely for him to feel it more, and respond quickly, unsheathing the rest of that Adonis body.
“I didn’t think so. So, the idea of ‘Sacred Cow’ makes sense now, right?”
“Yeah...but you’re not a cow,” he tried to clarify, sincerely wanting to ensure he never meant as such with me again.
“...who said I was the cow?”
“Oh, the misunderstanding,” I told him with a few gentle, tsking slaps to his face.
“’Sacred Cow’ isn’t me; it’s us.”
I let him try to makes sense of it and fail.
“Sacred,” placed a gentile hand on my chest.
“Cow,” my husky whisper matched his hardening dick being pumped vivaciously, then yanked hard downward till he was on his hands and knees.
“Or kow-tow, if you want to get technical,” I let a quick evil laugh loose. “So let’s clarify, Sacred,” pointing to myself again. “Cow,” my sharp nail teased his bellend.
“Shawna, Sacred. Danish, cow.”
“Shawna, revered. Danish, resigned.”
“Shawna, worshiped. Danish, milked?”
Goosebumps arose seeing wide, hopeful, glassy eyes from a sexually-charged trance, cause even I didn’t know then if he was going to be denied or not. His hand reaching for his dick wasn’t stopped, so he started to pump at a speed I’d commanded him to use before. Good subconscious memory.
“See? You get it. What is Shawna?”
“And what is Danish?”
“Yuuuup...” I felt then I was close to that plateau myself.
“Put that other hand to good use,” I told him while opening my thighs a little. I felt seasoned fingers enter my treasured cave, trusting him to satisfy me. My assumption was right as I came much quicker than expected, convulsing onto his hand despite the slow build-up phase he was on. His mind took the hint from my pleasure that it was his turn. I grabbed his hair and told him to bend down quickly, making him spurt on the towel he rested on, because I didn’t feel like hypnotizing the driver, his boss, and future customers to disregard cum stains. Bitches can be mannerable too, you know.
We were breathing heavily, mutually surprised we’d come so hard, despite the build up going on all day. His face landed in my chest, lips kissing and more glitter being licked off hot flesh. Recovering under revered stimulation made me sigh. I sort of felt like I was capitulating by undoing the straps behind my dress to unleash the secret object of his all-day obsession. I had a stern look planned, to make him question if he was even allowed to even be at my breasts, let alone go to my nipple; eventually he’d cave, but not before I’d enjoy his doubt. Danish was running on pure instinct and didn’t even look at me as he felt the dress come undone, slipping all the way to my rocky nipple.
My beauties were lactating well lately, so he got a taste of me quickly, and that was all it took for waves of realization to come over him, one after another, to realize he’d finally found the pure, unfiltered, mind-numbing chocolate milk he’d wanted for “his” birthday. That first taste got him to suck harder, trying to drain me dry right away.
Another slap to the face corrected him.
“Gently, sip on it. Don’t rip into to me, dummy.”
Lips calmed and breathing slowed as he savored each slip and swallow of my mind-numbing, cock-hardening lusty tit potion, made with natural ingredients, fortified with the power of suggestion. The goofiest smile on his face I’d ever seen, with the glassiest eyes as the limos lighting made the glitter he hadn’t licked off of my chest sparkle, making his aura of worship more dazzling. That day’s life’s mission complete for him, his excitement knew no bounds. How quickly his own erection recovered, born of mammary milk and pleasing Goddess, surprised even me.
“Sacred Cow” I whispered in his ear again, deepening the horny hypnotism, and he took hold of his dick and started stroking my wet folds again. The added sensation at my breasts got me to speak my mind he went at both of us.
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
He tried to say it while sucking; it felt like a bite and tickle. Telling him to repeat in his mind with a fresh slap quelled that.
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
He came hard again on the third or fourth saying, as did I. He would’ve stopped for a breather and to recover naturally after that, but I decided he wasn’t done yet.
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
He went at the neglected breast at my insistence, and stroked himself after he thought he was wrung out of enough sperm.
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
He thought wrong.
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
“Chocolate milk in, white milk out.”
Not sure how many times I made him cum, but I know I’d stopped us when I was satisfied. We were two hot messes by the end, perspiration all over my face, golden glitter all over his from licking my cleavage. Tears of joy and exhaustion filled his eyes, with just joy in mine. I knew we’d carry each other into someone’s apartment, and then bed soon to cap the night off right. Before that, a new evil impulse came, and I accepted its proposal. Once fully awake, I offered more milk before asking him a simple question.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Joking about chocolate milk like that when a butt of that joke owns you, bitchboy?”
Daggers shaped like sharp, angry whispers pierced his brain. Such sweet deception, reducing him to a demeaned child under a livid parent. Danish recoiled in horror in a couple of ways: not having a good answer for his poor joke, not having enough blood in his brain to think of a good lie, not able to quell at all the fury of the woman who’s been above him and shackled him to her his whole life. Soon he’d get another slap, a natural follow-up to such fury, producing magical happy trance, followed by some nicer play and amicable amour. Till then though, a delicious showcase highlighting the most sound of deeds—taking my toy early, and never letting go.
I licked my lips and smiled on the inside.