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Anatomy of a mindfuck


His facebook message was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but unexpected.

“Hi, what’s up?” I responded.

“I was just thinking of you.” …..Ohhhh it’s going to be like that, then, is it?

“Oh?” I said. “tell me more about that.”

“I am missing drinks with you and our dynamic, when it was good.”

“Mmm…. that was really, really good, when it was.” It’s true. I miss that, too. Just not the mind games that came after each session wrestling with who holds power.

“I’m wondering if our paths will cross again.” he said. Huh. I know that he craves me… they just might. God, that WAS really good, when it was happening…

“I imagine they might, in some way….” I lingered. But y’know… this conversation could be fun. I start to relay what I really liked about what we had. How his eyes just dripped with longing when I was standing over him. How his lower lip quivered just… so…. and begged for kisses without saying a word. How when my mood or energy shifted, he was attentive and present to that, in person. How I could hold him on edge, his cock throbbing with wanting, with a few well placed glances and the stroke of a cheek… no matter where we where. God, I particularly loved to do that in the backlit dive bars that leave the mind to wander of dungeons and chains. Oof.

My memories and affirmation of what was spurred his own.

“You were really good at that.” he said.

“I am really good at that.” I responded.

“Shit. Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment. And high. And chatty. I like it. And I’m feeling particularly receptive to some online fuckery these days. So I smirk, and run with it.

“I’m not sure what playing again would look like… I’ve learned and grown a lot since then. And I have a clearer picture of what works for me in a boy and what… can’t.” I said. It’s true. I can’t swoop in and build everyone up and love them hard and rough, though Lord knows I want to. I told him some of that.

“You’re very powerful.” he responded. “You’re a force.” Heh. I know. I start to grin. Love this affirmation seemingly out of the blue and from this one. God, this boy knows how to turn me up and on, still. I dig deeper in conversation.

I smirk as I dangle affirmation in front of him, too. “You were really good at subbing, too, when we played.”

“Oh?” I sense his hope and puppy dog attention.

“Do you want to hear more about that, boy?” There it is. Like a shift in tone and an acknowledgment of what was and what line we’re toeing up against right now, calling him ‘boy’ invites the begging and the beginning of… something.

“Yes, please?” He took the bait. Though I can tell he’s not completely sold on it. Yet. He will be.

I begin the process of building him up– “You were so attentive. I knew your eyes would be on me, drinking me and my power and flesh and attention in. I knew that if I snapped my fingers you’d be there for me, even at the expense of what was good for you. And you trusted me not to abuse that power.”

“I liked that,” he said, and then went on. “The thing that you did…… so well….. that I crave….. is the power stuff— the mind fucking. You’re just… awfully good at that.” He’s swallowed what I’ve offered. I know, now, that I have him again. At least for a moment. I smirk as I type: “I think about that a lot.”

“Me, too,” he says, “and I still feel hooked.”

I go on, knowing this will seal our interaction, today: “Every now and then I still look through the File I have with your name on it.”

I know that his jaw just dropped on the other side of a screen somewhere. I’m laughing, at home, with my glass of wine.

“Oh god.” He says. I keep going: “Yeah– photos, pieces of information– websites… your work phone number. All the things you’ve offered Me, in one place. I like to look through that, and remember.”

“Just remember?” he says, “not… wonder?” …I have him bad.

Smirking, “I remember. I wonder. I think about reengaging, sometimes, for the fun. And then know I don’t have consent to do that. It would be SO much fun, though.” I keep him on edge even in conversation.

“Fuck.” he says. “I’m in trouble if we keep talking like this.” I leave that sit for a moment….. ….he goes on. “But it’s also kind of hot. You have control. In a way that I love and hate. And I have no idea why I’m being so honest tonight.”

“I know.” I said. He loves this feeling…. edging in all the ways… even in borderline conversations. I have a pretty good idea why he’s talking to me about this. He misses me. Our dynamic. He knows that he wants it, and probably can’t have it, because of his current love, and because I’m distant. All those things, and so many more that bring him to his knees with wanting of me. “I know.” I said again.

“Yes, Ma’am. Of course.” Annnnd, there it is. Almost like a contract signed, for us— the acknowledgment that he still sees Me in That Role… and wants to. Fuck. My lip quivers with wanting. Online fuckery tonight, indeed. I’m smirking and dripping and looking at my screen wondering what comes next.

“Gah!” he goes on. “Cat’s out of the bag again, I guess. ….. Maybe it was never really in the bag.” It wasn’t.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, though.” I make moves to end the conversation, knowing that he’ll keep it going. “Though…” I pause. “The last few times I’ve invited you to group events, you’ve not shown up.” I raise an eyebrow.

“Oh. That’s because I’m afraid. I’m very attracted to you. I might get in trouble.” Heh. I knew that. I wanted to make him say it, though… I love the thought of him squirming on the other side of the screen somewhere. He continues: “Already your File for me has grown.” HA! I knew he couldn’t leave that be! I settle down into power and play for a moment.

“It has. I probably should look through that, it’s been a while…”

He’s gone someplace in his head. Searching for self-control, for resolve, for something. It dissipates, though, up against conversation with his attraction for Me. Again, power. “I’m in my head…” he tells me.

“Whining at the back of your throat wondering if I’m going to invite you into trouble tonight.” A pause in conversation. “This file is more extensive than I remembered.”

He whines while I go further. “I can’t show you what it is, though, because that probably crosses the line.”

“I don’t even know where the line is with you, but I’m probably already there,” he says, “I’m probably going to have to leave and have some… time for myself.” He means get himself off. I’d say no, if I have a say in the matter. Instead I say, ” Mmm. You’ll think about Me.”

“No comment,” he comments.

“Tease.” I claim.

“HOW AM I,” he says. I start laughing. I’ve got this poor boy on edge again. It’s hilarious. But also true– he’s teasing me…

“Now I’ve gone and looked through this File and I’m remembering when I was involved in that activity… or lack thereof… for you. I’m imaging controlling that…” I drift off.

He whines… “I can’t believe I let someone get a whole File on me.” He can. He loves the attention. “…and then reminded that same Domme that she has it.”

I call him out. “You can. You hate/love it.”

“yeah.” he says.

“Do you want to see something in the file?” I put something on the imaginary table. His choice.

“Yes. No. Yes. No, maybe probably not. Okay, yes. Please.” I wait.

And double check. “are you sure?”

“No. But fuck. Pretty please?” He’s begging. He really wants to. I respond, and send him a link to a .gif of him touching his cock for Me. It’s right above the picture of him holding his driver’s license up to the screen next to his face, but I won’t tell him that part.

“Shit. Shit. You have a link of me jerking off and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Not a thing.” That’s not actually true. If he asked me to get rid of it, I would. But he won’t.

“My belly is flipping.”

“Your hands are twitching towards your cock, too, I bet.”

“And I just noticed my heart is racing.”

“..And that’s only one piece in my File.”

“Fuck…. You have control over me, in some way, forever, as long as you want it. To do whatever you choose with.”

“I know.” I said. I do. I like it. “Don’t be a bad boy.” I leave him with that.

His heart flips upside down. What the fuck does THAT mean!? he wonders, and his cock twitches. I know that he’s going to back away now– it feels too far. He does.

“Well I should probably go now…” trailing off.

“Okay! Good night!” Cheerful and accepting. That will drive him mad.

It does. He prolongs the conversation. “Yeah.” Not saying anything but still wanting my attention. It’s like he doesn’t want to let go of what it is at the moment… or what it was then.

“Yeah.” I respond. “Dream sweetly.”

“Yeah.” he says again, “I’ve got to go.. take care of myself.”

“Mmkay.” I say. “Talk to you when I talk to you.”

“Sure.” he says.

I smirk.

He leaves. I shake my head. Unanticipated online fuckery– mmmm. I do miss this. My heart is racing, my thighs are wet, I’m remembering and wondering and smirking… We’ll see what comes next. Mmmmhmm.