Rich eyed her outfit lecherously. Mary squirmed on the couch – at least, she tried to. It came across as more of an excited wiggle. She bit her lip, hand sliding down to her legs, thighs clenching together.
Jesus, she thought, how did he do this to me? Why can’t I stop myself?
Ever since meeting Rich, she’d had no control. He so much as looked at her and she felt her panties get damp. He’d told her once that he thought she’d look good in a skirt – that night, she threw out every pair of pants she owned. He complimented her hair and she started wearing it down all the time, growing it out.
She’d tried to explain it to herself at first as some kind of crush or something, but that was never really very convincing. She was out of control. More specifically, she had no control. She was quite literally not in control of herself. It was frightening. It didn’t seem to matter what she thought or felt or wanted. When it came to Rich, Mary acted completely independent of her own logical thought process. She just… acted.
Once, when she was at Rich’s place, hanging all over him like she couldn’t keep herself from doing, he made a comment. She was telling him something – who knew what, she tended to just babble like an idiot around him – and he said “Baby, you talk too much.”
Just like that, Mary changed. It was like turning off a ceiling fan – she kept talking, but slowly, over time, things wound down. She found it harder and harder to string together full sentences. Words of more than two syllables felt difficult. Then words of more than one. Within two days of Rich saying that, Mary suddenly found it all but impossible to communicate anything through words. She was relying on giggles and nods, ‘ummmm’ and ‘uhhh’ and simple body language. And she wasn’t in control of her body.
So now, here she was, sitting on the Rich’s couch, unable to even begin to say what was going on inside her mind.
“Are you excited, baby?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
No, she thought, I’m terrified. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, and I can’t stop it. I’m throwing my life away to be some trashy little plaything you fuck with for your amusement, and I can’t even figure out why I’m doing it!
She tried to scream that at him. Instead, she bit her lip and nodded eagerly with a smile.
“Yeah? Are you nice and wet for me?”
I fucking hate it, but yes. I can’t help it. I’m always wet around you. My body betrays me. I can’t stop it. If I was in control I’d be running out of that door and probably calling the cops.
She slid her hand a little further up her legs, nodded slowly, and batted her eyes at him.
Rich unzipped his pants with a grin. “Good,” he said, “come over here.”
Mary stood up, a wide smile on her face. Rich held up a hand. “Ah ah ah…” he said, smirking. “On the floor.”
Oh jesus. You can’t be serious. You asshole. I can’t believe you’re making me do this.
Mary blinked slowly. “Ummm…?” she said, and slowly sank to her knees. When she saw Rich’s look of approval, she smiled, and crawled over to him, slowly. He opened his pants, his hard cock standing at attention. “Oooooh…” Mary cooed softly.
Stop. Just stop. Get up and leave, Mary ordered herself as she crawled. You don’t have to do this. You’re in control. He doesn’t own you. You’re not a slave, not his slut, not some bimbo whore like you’ve been acting. Just stop! Run!
Mary knelt between Rich’s legs, sitting up to rub her cheek against his cock. “Mmmm…” she purred. She giggled.