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Guess who!

I've always wanted to say that; I know it sounds cheesy, but it's so fitting. What better phrase is there when someone sneaks up behind you and holds your eyes closed with a soft hand. What really makes it cheesy would be the "guess who" part though, wouldn't it? What's there to guess? You know exactly who this is. If the feel of my delicate hand wasn't a clear indicator, the sound of my voice would be, a voice your body knows too well, more than your conscious knows. And if my voice was unclear, or the shock of my surprise didn't allow you to readily decipher the whom from memory, that deep breath you took through your nostrils gave you all the evidence you needed. While my hand covers your eyes, my perfumed wrist covers, teases the tip of your nose with the gentlest of touches. And that perfume seeps deep into the whole of you, activating your olfactory. Just short of overloading it, but most certainly overwhelming it.

My, such deep breaths you're inhaling now, before I even tell you to take them. It should please you as much as it pleases me to see the progress you're making in your trance training. At some point I told you there'd be something like a pop quiz or surprise inspection coming, to test how easily you respond when you least expect it. Feeling the near-panic in your muscles tells me you obediently forgot that fact, as I wanted you to. Just a second's exposure to that fragrance on my wrist placated you before your body could significantly react to that panic, leaving you calm and malleable, as I want you to be. And you're already breathing purposefully, a long-string of extended inhaling and exhaling, an extra second longer with every breath, until you find yourself in a rhythm that triggers every part of you to be at my gentle mercy yet again, as I will want you to be for this little quickie. Needless to say, you passed this with flying colors.

Maybe one of the few remaining thoughts swimming in that head besides what my voice tells you is what this fragrance is. You remember the incense-smelling candle from our last, most memorable session. I searched for one that smelled so similar to this, one that could still imprint upon you like the candle did, and found one so unbelievably close. When I asked you to sample a few new scents I'd found in a blind test, you have no idea how lovely you looked when you zeroed in on this scent in the middle of the test. It has another name, but like the candle, it deserves to be called 'Submit' if you ask me, and so we will accept it as its real, true title. You lazily took those other scents in, claiming they were nice enough. Submit was the third of five different scent I presented to you, and it was the only one where you positively floated out of your seat and took hold of my wrist to fill your senses with it. Luckily I knew how to get your muscles to become lax against your own will, or I might've been stuck there all day. I bet it feels the same now, as you're arms are trying to reach for my arm to secure it in place, so that scent won't go away.

But, you can't secure it, because you can't reach up for it. You are bound by the silk scarves again, wrists bound like my wrist binds you. You have to wonder if you are actually bound as I say, or bound by the memory of being bound. The fragrance of Submit must take you back, all the way back to that oh-so sensitive night, where your nerves and awareness of what I wanted you to be aware of increased. Cold things became colder, hot things became hotter, simple commands became iron-clad orders you followed. All of it is coming back to you now, as if that night were still going on. I wonder if you could tell the difference between then and now from me. The deeper Submit becomes a part of you, the more then and now blend together, to the point that the perspective of now is rather arbitrary.

It's possible that I just happened to pay you a visit in the middle of the day. Maybe you took a personal day, maybe you decided to work from home, maybe I somehow orchestrated you staying home just for this. You gave me access to your place, and a whiff of submission later, you go back in time to a forgettable, yet ironically most unforgettable night of your life. For all you really, truly know, you're out at work, in the middle of a public place, caught off-guard by a random woman in the street. And in one simple gesture, she holds more importance to you than even your own individual faculties; they plus the whole of you love giving into me. And for all you want to be true, public or private, how sweetly exposed you are feels so very good. Limbs spread-eagle in silk confines, me above you in every way possible, testing your body, acquiring it with all the tricks and per-conceived notions you're already familiar with in a few creative ways. So open and up to believable interpretation, now could be you sitting in a chair or standing with me behind you. Whatever form you have now, it is static, comfortable, and sturdy, able to relax and keep yourself completely as is while listening to me, only allowed to change this stature at my command.

But all I command of you now is to be as you are, comfortable, at a pleasant stand-still, even though everything filling your nostrils is telling you that you're lying on a bed, exposed and unable to move. For all I could allow you to know, this could be minutes after everything we've done that night. You're still spread-eagle, helpless, unaware of the discussion I've had with your mind of future trances, where I'd catch you off-guard in the middle of the day. I could make your body believe your sitting on the couch, or by your window looking out at something outside, and all of your senses now would agree with what I say, because there's more incentive to believe my persuasive fiction than a mundane reality.

Such joy and elation that comes with my voice. My voice insisted on how Submit programs your mind, triggers it. And the rest of your body does the work for me, particularly that olfactory part of your brain. It seems like a fascinating study to me, the sense of smell. I doubt I'll ever get a Ph. D in the field, but just skimming the surface has taught me some valuable tidbits about how our bodies work gives me so much insight to what's going on in that marvelously subdued brain of yours, and how it interprets my power over you. It would be all too tempting to experiment to test things with you. Just think of the endless possibilities.

Oh silly me; you, thinking. Feel the endless possibilities, sense them, smell them. The range of scents where your nose intrinsically picks them up is enormous. I wouldn't even need to directly convince you of being a blood-hound, you'd know you were one if your keen sense of smell was temporarily subdued. It's certainly not anything like experiencing a cold, nostrils feeling stuffed up; none of that applies to you, none of it at all. It's more like your nose is working on a low-powered setting because there's nothing worth smelling, worth investigating, worth engaging. Menial scents cross your path, and they're so easy to ignore, but one whiff of Submit is all you need to create deep interest, heightened sensing, beginning a trail in finding me. You could be in a manufactured maze of various perfumes, some as appealing as Submit, some quite repugnant, many in-between. Only one would produce a sense of purpose in you, every other scent in the background, no more than a momentary distraction to lead you to me.

A crowd of people in the middle of the Big Apple, everyone crossing the street at the same time, producing more smells than a perfume factory, mixed into a concoction of that tourists find an acquired scent, or invisible as a native. Visiting from far off or inhabiting, Submit could be several feet, several yards away, seeking the noses of those who most appreciate it; it will find you, or you will find it, and no crowd or obstruction in existence could keep you from me. If the singing Siren created a pheromonal trail as powerful as any lyric leaving her mouth, that is what Submit is. Plugging your ears does no good, as you breath in nervous breaths, hoping you don't get caught, deeper breaths and you relax and start to feel safe, slower breaths as a feeling of success. Even deeper breaths as feeling of reward, even slower breaths as you wonder and start to investigate what is making your nostrils flare, much deeper breaths as you feel confused, cautious, yet safe all at the same time, much slower breaths as confused and cautious floats away from your head while inexplicable safe and pliable feelings overtake you, consume you, and eventually, define you.

Perhaps once it has a hold of you it leashes and anchors it as well. A thought just struck me of those silly cartoons where a powerful smell, like delicious and irresistible pies or cakes have a smell that actively seek out someone's nostrils, enrapture them, making them think of nothing but the food item with that scent. The draw is so powerful, the victim actually floats along the path the scent creates. Fully conscious or in a deep state like this, I'm sure you could appreciate the comparison. How sexy would it be for me to pull my hand away right now, but just barely graze my wrist over your nose one last time. Something in you just knows you need more, and your body becomes airy and light, whatever it needs to easily follow me. You'd look exactly like a balloon tied to a string or an cute puppy leashed and pulled behind me. You take such deep breaths in your floating state, making that invisible tether to me as powerful as ever, and by extension making my control over you as powerful as ever.

Being a dog on a leash makes the most sense for what I've described to your mind, but I think a balloon tied to my wrist in the wind is so much more apt. You are totally reliant on me; you can't fathom anything more powerful than that tether, other than whom you are tethered to. If it ever loosened, you'd be sucked into the universe of your own sensations, without me to lead you. And you'd never want that; without me, you'd never know that that tether could take shape in the form of, still swinging, yet hanging down. And what's that ticking sound? Awfully faint, but not very far away. It might seem like it's coming at you from different angles, ticking, inching closer and closer. Your left ear picks up the sound, then your right. Then your left, then your right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Back and forth. Back and forth. That ticking transitions left to right as if back and forth, a slow countdown to the retrieving the memory.

The rhythmic sound promoted by your memory.

Your memory promoted by the deep breaths you take.

Inhale for me; Submit is calling to your memories, to your senses that answer only to me.

Take a deeper, more relaxing breath as you find yourself tethered to my fragrance, as we go for a walk.

Doesn't that sound fun my little leashed pet? A stroll down memory lane?

A pleasant afternoon stroll needing no effort on your part; you can leave any feelings and movement to me.

How it might feel remembering a cool, polished surface grazing the tops of warm, excited nipples. How easy it is to feel it swing back and forth, to feel it tick to a rhythm you are set to, like the cadence of my voice. How that sensation must made you take a deep breath, and fill your lungs with a need of Submit.

How it might feel remembering hot wax from a lovely scented candle pours across your belly or back, filling you with fiery need. How easy it is to feel that transfer of heat, like a roaming energy, warming you up on the inside to the voice that bypasses those soft, barely audible, but deep moans. Those soft, deep moans forcing reactive deep breaths, filling your lungs with a need for Submit.

Hot it might feel remembering what it feels like to be touched without being touched, impacted by something simple that cascade over you like a shockwave, or tidal wave of pleasure. How easy it would be to remember what a simple *SNAP* does to you, as pleasure strikes at your skin, your nerves, increasing sensitivity more and more as pure bliss erupts at every *SNAP*. How a *SNAP* *SNAP* at each ear sends a signal into the void of your mind, and the pleasure my *SNAP* exudes springs forth. How each *SNAP* rolls over your senses with pleasure, crashing against another *SNAP* makes you a cavern or canyon, empty, needy and waiting to be filled by the next *SNAP*, which is odd because the more you hear each pleasurable *SNAP*, the more you find yourself sinking into yourself, drowning in your own ocean of *SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP* until the only thing drowning your senses is each word from my lips, each *SNAP* from my fingers, and each breath filling your lungs with a need to Submit.

And as you drift and drown in my voice, in my control, do you know and feel that you are in safe hands? Comforting, cradling, caressing hands. Hands roaming all over your body, supporting it like I support you. You breathe easier in my hands, because it's easier to breathe under my care. And by now, you've inhaled Submit to such a degree that the impossible can be made possible under my suggestion. For example, you could be standing right now, blindfolded by my hand, breathing that enthralling perfume, while also, laying down, wrists and ankles bound by silk, blindfolded by velvet, consumed by scent of candles. How can both be simultaneously? Because I say so.

The pleasure of feeling yourself in both states, knowing you are responsive and obedient to my control is pretty arousing. And in your standing aroused state, all that pleasure inside you is pooling up in your head, kept there until allowed to flow beyond it later. While your binding aroused state allows your erection to stand tall and proud, a monument erected in honor of hypnotic control. Your arousal exists in both states without fail. How? Because I say so.

And in that silken bound state, it's somehow possible to feel your hands restrained, yet freely stroking yourself, allowed with my permission to stroke yourself to deeper arousal in my control with hands that can and cannot reach you. How can such a sultry miracle be possible? Because as I say, so it is done.

So stroke for me, breath nice and slow, bring yourself to an edge for me.

Let the occasional *SNAP* shock your arousal, and cement where that pleasure resides in your standing form.

What each part of you is capable of, bound in boundless control, bound to the orgasm you so need, astounds the conscious mind, too sleepy to fully appreciate what I can do.

*SNAP* Let fantasy become fact, cemented simply by my words, a whiff of Submit, or a *SNAP* that seizes your attention.

Marvel at how easy it was from the start, to cover your eyes and whisk you away, deep into yourself where my power resides. Your sense of smell easily retracing your steps from memory back to where you want to be for me. And that will be all it takes in the future. As easy as a *SNAP*, how you entered this world will become even easier and pleasurable if I repeat this act for you. Covering your eyes, ears, and especially your nose with Submit will take you down.

And just as easily, when I remove my hand and uncover all your senses, you will come back to the world, pleasant, happy, and grateful for a memory you can't quite place. You can't quite place it because I will not allow it to, not until you make it home safely, where you have total privacy.

Repeat what you will do for me.

Very good.

When you're next fully aware and have that total privacy at home, you may *SNAP* your own fingers, and let the pooled up pleasure and memory of this entrancing pop-quiz slowly flow outwardly, revealing what happened and how aroused you are. In your passionate remembrance, after lighting that special candle, you may stroke, remember and relive all that happened to you, strengthening all conditioning I have in place for you.

Repeat what you will do for me once you have total privacy at home.

Very good.

Breathe deep as you stroke yourself to glorious climax, as many times as you want. And once you've rested and recovered, send me a "thank you" text, telling me what an excellent hypnotic subject you know yourself to be.

Repeat what you will do for me after your nice, rewarding release.

Very, very good. You please me so much.

Take one more deep breath for me, and feel yourself coming back to the light, adjusting your eyes, feeling your muscles supporting you, relaxed and at ease. And as you return fully to yourself, let your first thought be "what a breath of fresh air" today has been... & s=view & id=3332426 & s=view & id=4387914 & sTicket=50481_9j846fid


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