#stage hypnosis show

[hypnogeek]

[oliversrarebooks]

Fitz's Volunteer Part One: The Act

In which a vaudeville fan volunteers for Phantom Fitz's show, ready to play along with some fake hypnosis tricks. Because magic isn't real. Right?

Masterlist

November 1923

TW: mind control, hypnotic induction, mild humiliation, extremely self indulgent

You've always loved going to the vaudevillle. The songs and sketches, the dancers and acrobats, the comedians and the dramatic actors. It's such a good way to take your mind off your troubles -- of which you unfortunately have many -- for just a few hours and relax.

"...and that was the Astounding Flying Lloyd sisters! Give 'em a hand, folks!" said the announcer. "Up next is the mysterious and charming magician and mesmerist Phantom Fitz!"

You've seen this act before, and it was fun and very interesting. He calls up a volunteer from the audience and hypnotizes them into assisting his routine, teasing them and giving them mildly embarrassing bits of business to do. You know it's either a plant or someone told to play along, of course -- you're no gullible rube who believes in magic.

Still, it seems like it must be fun to be led around the stage, pretending to be in a hypnotic trance. It doesn't hurt that he's easy to look at, with a slightly wicked smile and a cheeky sparkle in his eye. What's the harm in being a bit of a fan of a vaudeville performer, after all?

"Now, I'm going to need a willing assistant from the audience to demonstrate my mesmeric power on!" he declares with a flourish of his cape. "Who would like to find themselves completely and helplessly under my power? Don't be shy. I promise I don't bite, unless you want me to." He gave a big wink to the audience.

Hands go up all over, and you briefly consider raising yours. But you'd be too shy to actually go up on stage and do those things, if you were even chosen to begin with. Fitz is scanning the crowd, probably looking for his plant.

But then his eyes stop right on you. He smiles.

Does he want you to volunteer? Why you?

You're curious now. Before you can think twice, your hand raises.

His smile gets much bigger. "You, there," he says, pointing. "Don't be shy, you're perfect for this. You're going to be a natural at following my instructions. I can tell." He beckons you forward, and with all eyes on you, you leave your seat and walk up the stairs onto the stage. As soon as you step up, he takes your hand. His own hand is freezing cold, but something about it feels oddly reassuring, putting you at ease, making it easier to block out the presence of the crowd.

"Thank you for volunteering," he says. That wicked grin is even brighter now that you're close to him. "What's your name?"

You tell him.

"That's a lovely name. Shame you won't be needing it for this performance," he says, leaving you wonder what that means. He reaches behind your ear. "Oh, you have something stuck in your ear, hang on." 

He's pretending to pull out colorful scarves, one after another, and you're pretty sure they must be coming out of his sleeves, but his fingers are so fast and nimble that you can't even quite tell when you're this close. "Not to embarrass you, but perhaps you should wash behind your ears better," he says, as a rainbow of scarves pools at your feet. The crowd is laughing.

You're not sure how to react, and before you can really say anything, he's pulled the scarves away and is leading you over to a chair center stage. "And now, if you don't mind having a seat, we can get down to the important business of molding you into the perfect assistant for me."

"All right," you say nervously, not sure what you're supposed to do. You had assumed this was a plant. Are you going to have to play-act being hypnotized? You've never been very good at acting, and you're worried you might spoil the act.

"Now don't you fret," he says, standing behind the chair and placing a soft hand on top of your head. "No one is able to resist my mesmeric powers for long. All you need to do is sit back and relax." He leans in closer, and you assume he's going to whisper instructions. Instead, he says, "Do you mind if I touch you like this? I need to keep your head steady in case you start to doze off."

"...No?" you say, surprised. Does he actually think you're going to fall asleep, that his hypnosis will work in truth?

"Good," he says, and produces a heavy brass pocketwatch, which he dangles in front of your face. It's finely made with a pretty face, and it ticks softly and rhythmically as he swings it back and forth before your eyes. "Now just watch the pretty pocketwatch, dear," he says. "Keep your eyes focused as it swings back and forth, back and forth. Focus on nothing else but the watch and my voice."

Wanting to do your best, you let your eyes follow the watch, and you feel something strange, starting at the top of your head where Fitz is holding his hand. It feels warm. Relaxing. Dizzying. Almost like sinking into a warm bath.

"Yes, that's right, you're doing so well," he encourages. "I knew you'd be so good at this. You're already starting to get sleepy, aren't you? So sleepy and drowsy. That's my mesmeric power starting to work on you, dear."

Of course, you're not actually going to start falling asleep on stage in front of an entire audience just because of a pocketwatch and a few honeyed words...

Of course you're not...

"That's it. Such a good assistant. Every swing of the watch making you sleepier and sleepier. So drowsy. So relaxed, so tired, such heavy eyelids..."

You shake yourself out of the daze you're falling into. What's happening? It has to be your imagination, but you actually do feel sleepy. You can't tear your eyes away from the watch, and it feels like Fitz's commands are sinking deep into your mind. This can't actually be working on you, can it?

"You're just so tired and drowsy, tired and sleepy. Your eyelids are so heavy, drifting shut, like they want to stay closed... getting sleepier and sleepier..." The hand on top of your head gently strokes your hair, and the drowsy daze intensifies, your head drooping forward before you catch yourself. "You're so drowsy that you're starting to fall asleep, dear."

It's hard to think through the haze. You can't see the audience very well past the heavy, swinging watch, but your mind is trying to alert you to the fact that you're being mesmerized in front of an entire crowd. It feels so real, so hard to keep yourself awake.

"You're getting so, so sleepy as I cast my magic spell on you," he says, and even though he's speaking loud enough for the audience to hear, he feels so close, like he's only talking to you. "Wouldn't it be nice to shut down those heavy eyes, to relax completely, and to listen sleepily to my voice speaking to you?"

You feel yourself nod. Yes, yes that sounds so nice. You're so drowsy and relaxed and everything feels so warm and good. It makes you feel especially nice to agree with what he's saying. Falling asleep and listening to Fitz just sounds perfect. But --

But -- !

Wait! You're actually falling asleep. You're actually following his commands. He's actually hypnotizing you. It's no trick, it's no act. He's putting you under his control up on a vaudeville stage, in front of a packed theater. Your cheeks flush, and you regain enough of yourself to flinch away from the pocketwatch. You should regain focus before it's too late and you fall completely under his mesmeric influence.

"Oh, dear," he whispers softly in your ear. "It's not the pocketwatch that's putting you under my spell. And I think it's a bit too late for you to resist."

A deep, irresistible drowsiness crashes through you. Your shoulders slump and your head tips forward as you struggle to keep your impossibly heavy eyes open. It's too late -- too late to resist -- you're being hypnotized --

"Shut your eyes, dear," he says, his hand petting you. "It's time to let your heavy, drowsy eyes shut, and remain shut, just like they want to, to relax and fall asleep and listen to me."

Any fight you had left in you has gone, replaced by a hazy feeling of bliss. Closing your eyes feels far too good to fight. Falling asleep and listening to Fitz's voice sounds so, so nice. Why even bother struggling against it? Why not just fall asleep...? 

"Good, good, you're such a natural at this," he says encouragingly. "Your sleepy little eyes want  to stay closed. They're far too heavy to open again. You might want to try, but if you do, you'll find that you can't. It's like they're glued shut. Can you try for me?"

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to open your eyes. Not only are they heavy, but they feel too relaxed to even respond to your commands. It's impossible.

"You can stop trying now and relax. You're doing so well. Such an ideal hypnotized assistant," he says, and you feel yourself practically glowing with the praise. "Now I'm going to have you imagine you're at the top of a staircase. Can you see it? There are ten stairs, and we're going to walk down each one of them, and with every step, you're going to go deeper asleep and deeper into hypnotic trance. Ten... nine..."

You can't believe how it feels to float in a comfortable cloud of sleep and relaxation, absorbing every word Fitz says. You could happily stay like this forever. 

"Five... your hypnotized mind is so obedient... four... it feels so good and natural to obey..."

You don't even need to stay aware of what's happening -- he tells you it's perfectly fine if you're deeply asleep, that you can still listen so carefully while you doze. He's so encouraging and kind and that hand on top of your head seems to just radiate delicious warmth.

"...and you're going to forget you name, dear. You're so deeply sleepy and hypnotized that you can't even remember your own name. It's hidden away in your mind, in a place where you can't reach, and it feels good to forget and sink more deeply into sleep..."

Mmm, yeah, it feels good to forget. Anything Fitz wants you to do is fine with you.

"...and when I count to three, you're going to open your eyes, slowly, so as not to disturb your relaxation. You're going to open your eyes, but you're going to remain deeply asleep and deeply hypnotized, and you're going to forget the audience and focus only on me. Three... remain deeply asleep... two... relaxed and hypnotized... and one... open your eyes."

Your eyes pop open so easily as if you weren't just in the deepest sleep of your life. Or maybe you still are? There's a fuzzy blur in front of you and you're not quite sure where you are until Fitz gets your attention. 

"How are you doing, my sweet little assistant?"

"Very good," you say, eager to please.

He grins, and you feel like a million bucks. "Can you sing a little song for us, just to prove to the audience that you're back in the land of the living?"

Well, of course you can. You can sing the song that's been trapped in your head ever since you heard it on the radio this afternoon. "Yes, we have no bananas," you sing out. "We have no bananas today!"

"That's perfect, dear," Fitz says, laughing. You hear other laughs in the distance, but they aren't important. "Now I seem to have dropped a penny. Would you mind getting on all fours and picking it up?"

You drop to your knees, carefully looking across the stage floor, but you don't see any sign of a penny.

"Never mind, I've already found it. You're very, very good at following instructions, though. I wonder why that is." He winks, and there's another loud laugh in the distance. 

Fitz offers a hand to pull you up, and you feel so wonderfully lovely as he does. "You've been such an excellent assistant so far, simply perfect," he says, letting you bask in the pleasure. "But I have to apologize, because I seem to have forgotten your name. Could you remind me?"

Of course you --

The word dies in your throat. It's at the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you can't produce it. What is your name? You want to tell Fitz, but it's a complete blank. How could you forget your own name? Just as you feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, he smiles and cups your face so gently. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay that you forgot your name. I don't mind at all. You can just relax and not worry about it."

What a relief! Another wave of sleepy, soothing calm washes through you.

"I'm just going to call you dear anyway, is that all right, dear?"

"Yes."

"So agreeable! Folks, you can't just find good help like this. You have to make it yourself." He releases you and steps back. "Now, just to prove what a hypnotized little thing you are, I would like you to do a trust fall. I'm going to stand here, and on the count of three, you're going to feel all your muscles give way, and you're going to fall backwards right into my arms."

"A trust fall...?" you say, a little apprehensive.

"You trust me, and you want to fall for me, don't you?" he says, with a wicked smile in your direction, and despite your overall relaxation, you can feel your heart flip. "Now then. Three... two... one."

It's so easy. On the count, your body just falls backwards entirely on its own, right into his strong, cold arms. He smells like fancy soap and floral cologne and stage makeup. Some part of you wouldn't mind staying pressed up against him longer. But he sets you upright to the sound of cheers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, my assistant is now utterly, helplessly at my command. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Yes, Phantom Fitz," you agree.

"I'm going to have you help me with a few magic tricks. You're such a good assistant that you won't need to think about any of them with your conscious mind. You can just relax and let me direct you, and with every command, you'll feel more deeply asleep and more deeply hypnotized."

You nod drowsily, and let him take you by the shoulders and direct you over to a card table. It feels good to be near him, to listen. He calls up a few more people on stage and you're shuffling and holding cards while he does some tricks you can't quite follow. It's so easy to follow his directions. So easy to focus and listen. 

"Can someone from the audience suggest a pose for my wonderful assistant?" he says. You hear shouts, but you can't take your attention from Fitz. "Oh, that's a good one. Yes, why don't you pose like you're a pretty ballerina?"

You stand on tiptoe and put your arms up in a circle over your head, doing your best to imitate a dancer. He looks you over, appraising you as if you're a statue, adjusting you here and there with a light touch. Finally, he laughs, picks up the line of scarves from the floor, and drapes it around you. "A brilliant work of art, don't you think?" he says to the crowd with a flourish. "This is the kind of statue that you can only see in the finest galleries of Paris, but I've brought it to you right here."

He bows, and then touches your arms so gently. "You can relax now, dear. You've made an excellent statue."

He then has you lay down on a table, his hands pushing your shoulders down gently, and you feel yourself being levitated in midair. There's some kind of platform underneath you and you stay absolutely still just as Fitz ordered. He waves a hoop around your body, and then gently brushes the hair from your face as you lay there, dazed and immobilized.

You look up into his gray-blue eyes. You're so helpless, entirely at his mercy. And that smile makes you feel weak.

You're lowered back onto the table, and he helps you to stand again, your knees feeling wobbly. He holds you up discreetly as he bows to the audience. "Please give a round of applause to my hopelessly mesmerized little helper!" he says, gesturing to you, and you can just see the crowd beyond your lidded eyes as they cheer.

Fitz takes you by the shoulders and is standing oh-so-close. "I'm going to wake you up now so you can go back to your seat, but you're still going to feel drowsy and hypnotized, and you won't quite know why," he whispers, barely audible over the noise of the audience. "Once the show is done, you're going to come find me backstage. You won't remember these commands, but you will act on them. Do you understand, dear?"

You nod. You feel so lovely that you really don't want to be woken up, but you like the idea of getting to see Fitz again. 

"And now you're going to wake up from my mesmeric power when I snap my fingers in one... two... three..."

He snaps his fingers near your ear, and the world snaps back into focus. A whole packed audience of people, men, women, and children, are laughing and cheering for you. You remember the things you did and said, how completely entranced you felt and how powerless you were to resist Fitz's commands. How you couldn't even remember your own name, and how you let him put his hands all over you...

"You feel fine after all of that, don't you?" he says with a smile.

Your momentary humiliation fades, but you're still so woozy, like it's hard to think straight. "Fine. Good, really. Like I've had a really good night's sleep," you say uncertainly.

He leans in to whisper in your ear. "You did an excellent job playing along."

"Playing along?" you can't help but blurt out. He can't possibly think that -- he must know what he did, what he's capable of --

"Here, let me help you off the stage."

You're not sure why, but you let him take your shoulders and guide you to the stairs as if you're a docile little lamb. You're so dazed, nearly tripping over your feet as you stumble back to your seat. 

"What was that like?" says the stranger in the seat next to yours. "It seemed so real. Did he actually have you under?"

You don't really want to admit to a perfect stranger that you were under an actual mesmeric spell. She'd think you're making it up. "No, it was just pretend," you say.

"I figured. You did a good job with it! I don't think I could pretend to do all those things if I were on stage."

You nod. You don't think you could, either, not if you actually were pretending.

Playing along...

You weren't, were you? It felt so real. You can hardly remember most of it, and you genuinely felt that you were in a deep, entranced sleep. You remember that all you wanted to do was agree with Fitz and obey his orders. Wasn't it actual hypnosis? Or are you just so weak-willed that you fell under the fake spell of a two-bit vaudeville performer...

Fitz has picked up his props and gone offstage, and a couple of comedians are doing a bit now. You watch without paying the slightest bit of attention. You're so tired after all of that excitement. So sleepy.

There's something you need to do after the show, but you can't quite remember what it is. You hope that you can remember when the show ends.

Masterlist >> Part Two

Thank you for volunteering for Phantom Fitz's show. Next time, we'll see what happens to our victim volunteer as they go to meet him backstage.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity

[akkivee]

we have three people who’ve been affected by the true hypnosis mic and two of them, nemu and kuukou, have physical items that represent their bonds, kuukou’s matching bandana and nemu’s aohitsugi bracelet

sasara’s the odd man out so i wonder if it’s smoking that represents the mcd bond????? but the fact that sasara’s trying to quit instead of already sober is striking me as strange, like the bandana and bracelet are notably missing but sasara’s is still lingering???? 🤔

[bawdybooster]

Play

The curtains pulled back, and the stage erupted in a spectacle of performance. Actors and Actresses transformed into their characters, Stagehands scurrying about behind the scenes, Lights erupting into beautifully mesmerizing displays! All parts made for an enthralling show!

All… but one.

SNAP!

The world seemed to freeze at The Director’s beck and call. She approached the theatre’s lone audience member, glancing at the pleading look in their eyes.

Eyes that weren’t hypnotized yet.

“From the top,” she ordered, as her mesmeric production reset once more. How could this be the Perfect Show if it couldn’t fully captivate its audience?

[blake078]

Woman from the audience hypnotized to see flies and swarm of bees

[formulawolff]

america's princess - t.w.

pairing -> popstar!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 3.1k

warnings -> age gap relationship, cursing, slight angst (mostly online hate), toto is completely down bad and would do anything to make reader content, yadayadayada

a/n -> this fic was inspired by this ask! i hope you enjoy this one babe! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, i may consider expanding the au :p

"it appears that i have one more guest tonight. abel, would you please join me on the stage?"

in that moment, the sound that floods your ears is deafening.

abel tesfaye, also known as the weeknd, strolls onto the stage, bearing a dazzling grin as he approaches you. donning his signature sunnies, he pulls you in close, wrapping you tightly against his chest.

you can barely hear the words as the crowd roars. the flash from the phones is blinding, fans desperate to capture what was to come.

"i am so proud of you, pretty lady."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"th-hank you," your voice falters, threatening of tears as your head swivels, surveying the arena.

never in your life would you have predicted that you would be standing here, performing for a sold out crowd of tens of thousands of people.

people who banded together for one sole purpose.

to watch you perform.

and although you were on the verge of completely coming undone, the humility crashing over you like a tidal wave, you were well aware one thing.

the show must go on.

no matter what.

swiveling on your heel, your fingers curl around the microphone, bringing it to your plush lips, "i think you guys will like this one."

shooting a wink, you hold you breath as darkness swaths the stadium. all around, there are hushed murmurs, brimmed with anticipation. there are a few shouts here and there, but you remain still, your chest heaving as the adrenaline pumps in your veins.

a singular spotlight illuminates the stage, showering you with a silvery glow.

almost as if you were bathing in moonlight.

abel lingers to your left, remaining in place. in your peripheral, you catch him dipping his head, flashing a brief thumbs up.

this was it.

now or never.

as the notes begin, fans scream. in the first few rows, you can make out a band of girls of girls jumping in place, jostling with excitement. never in your life had you seen so many phones raised in the air, each of them pointed at the stage.

"i had a vision," your voice, oh so tantalizing, overcomes the stadium, the crowd growing silent. almost if as they were in a hypnosis, completely and utterly entranced by the scene unfolding before them.

"a vision of my nails in the kitchen. scratching counter tops, i was screaming. my back like arched a. my position couldn't stop you were hitting it

and i shouldn't cry, but i love it, star boy. and i shouldn't cry, but i love it, i love it, star boy."

as you move across the stage, twirling about, abel starts in, maintaining eye contact, raising an arm as he points.

"i just want so see you shine 'cause i know you are a star, girl."

inhaling a breath, you join in, the euphoria only growing more and more intense as it builds in the pit of your stomach.

"i just want to see you shine' cause i know you a star, girl."

with each note hit effortlessly, you finish the song, beaming as the stadium erupts. abel strides toward you, bringing you in for one final embrace before the lights dim. you feel his lips press against your cheek, and he murmurs something you can't quite decipher.

you wish you could make out what he said, you really did.

but you were too busy riding that high.

that feeling that left you buzzing, your fingers and toes trembling as you take a step forward, to the center of the stage. clearing your throat, you scramble to formulate a coherent sentence as the crowd chants, begging for just one more song.

"thank you, new york city. thank you for having me! madison square garden, you will forever be my favorite! from the bottom of my heart, thank you! be safe getting home! and remember to pick up after yourselves! goodnight!"

shifting your body, you begin to exit the stage. your crew flies forward, swarming you with congratulations as the stadium lights fill the venue, affirming the end of the show.

shaking your head, you graciously accept a bottle of water from your manager, nearly downing it. furrowing your brow, you can't help but notice the expression plaguing her features.

"come on hun, let's get you to the dressing room."

"what about abel?"

"we'll call him later," your manager waves a hand, almost dismissing the fact that you just performed with one of the largest artists in the world, "he let me know that he was on a tight schedule anyway. i'm sure he'll have some free time later on."

"are you--"

"i'm sure," she interjects, "come on now, let's go."

as she leads you down the maze of hallways, security in tow, you can't help but sense that there something slightly off. the energy all around was bursting with electricity. yet, it wasn't tense.

it was almost as if she was bursting with a secret she could no longer keep the way her cheeks were dusted pink. it didn't help her case that she was swaying slightly, almost fidgeting.

the walk to the dressing room felt like it was an eternity, the hallways never-ending. it was one turn after another, but you finally made it. however, before you can enter the room, your manager darts forward, her hand wrapping around the knob.

"allow me."

"is everything okay?" your heart is racing, thudding against your rib-cage as she nods, a little too fervently.

pushing the door, the two of you enter the room. however, your manager leaves the door propped open, rather than closing it shut. taking your hand, she almost tugs you toward the array of couches.

"okay! now close your eyes."

pursing your lips, you cock your head, "can you please tell me what the fuck is going on? you're acting really weird. are you sure everything is okay?"

"y-yes! there's just one last surprise for you! and i can't contain it anymore! i'msorrybutijust--"

"what is it?" you press, "you can't just say something like that and not--"

there's a tap on your shoulder, a brassy yet familiar voice rumbling from behind.

"some performance you put on tonight, miene liebe."

spinning on your heel, you nearly collapse at the sight before you.

toto wolff, team principal of mercedes amg petronas, and well, your boyfriend towers over you, an exquisite bouquet in his grasp.

a sob rises in your throat, and you can't help but melt into his arms. scooping you up into his embrace, he nearly crushes you against his chest, a hand cupping the back of your skull. nuzzling into his polo, you catch the scent of his cologne, tears streaming as strands of german roll of his tongue.

"h-how did you get here?"

a chuckle rumbles in his throat, "i pulled some strings. let's just say it was a work perk."

"i'll give you two some privacy," your manager clears her throat, "just text me in you need anything, hun. we'll let you know when it's time to board the bus."

as she darts out of the room, you raise your head, ensuring that the door was closed. toto hangs onto you, his hands beginning to roam. blinking, you almost study him, the realization that he was actually there starting to sink in.

tonight, he was clad in a dark leather jacket, a crisp white polo stretching across his toned chest. as always, he left the first two buttons undone, a chain glittering as it rested against his collarbone. khakis stretch down his legs, the team principal opting for a pair of loafers.

his brunette locks were swept up into their typical messy updo. he wore a silver watch on his wrist, the piece screaming luxury and wealth.

god, he always dressed so simple. but it was classy, put together. the look of a man with status yet graced with humility.

and that was the type of man toto was.

there was no elaborate story on how the two of you met.

you were introduced to toto wolff through a mutual friend.

and that mutual friend was none other than lewis hamilton.

it was a warm weekend in austin. a brand had invited you to attend the united states grand prix. at the time, you were on the uphill slope of your fame. you were a household name, an opener for the 1975. well-known but not large enough to sell out stadiums. it was a unique tour at the time, as your sound was a tad bit moodier, teetering on that line separating alternative and pop.

little did you know, that weekend would change the entire trajectory of your life.

at first, you were apprehensive about attending. you did like formula one, as your dad was a lifelong fan. yet, this was the first time in your life you were presented with the opportunity to not only watch a grand prix, but witness it from the paddock.

it was an offer you could not refuse.

so, naturally you accepted. the only stipulation was that the brand had to provide two more passes. one for not only your dad, but your mom too. they deserved to experience the weekend just as much as you did. after all, they were the reason you existed.

they were the ones who ignited your passion for music. they were the ones who supported you when you were just throwing together tracks in your bedroom.

so, the three of you flew out to austin. in the airport, you received a notification, from instagram. it was a message request. but not just any message request.

a message request from lewis hamilton.

in the message, he expressed his excitement that you were attending the grand prix, as he was a "big fan." he shared that he hoped to get a moment to introduce himself and show you around the mercedes paddock.

what sort of twenty-one year old would refuse that?

as fate would have it, you got your opportunity to meet with lewis. he showed you around the paddock, providing a full, in-depth tour of the garage as well. of course, you were a flustered, giggly mess.

never in your life would you have dreamed that you would be on lewis' arm, cracking jokes with the seven-time world champion.

and that is when you met toto wolff.

that weekend, he was a tad stressed. mercedes was not quite performing to their caliber, and the press was churning out headlines left and right. and with max verstappen completely dominating the track, the dream of another constructor's title was slipping away with each passing day.

the team principal was deeply invested in a conversation with his engineers when this giggle filled his ears. it was airy and light, reminiscent of a summer breeze. it only grew louder and louder, toto figuring that lewis was wooing another model.

however, as she came around the corner, toto realized that he was fucked.

completely and utterly fucked.

you were wearing a pair of light denim jeans, paired with a plain black short sleeve shirt. the material was smooth, hugging your frame in all of the right places. it was slightly cropped, as he could see the soft skin of your abdomen whenever you raised an arm or waved.

your hair was put together in a simple do, one for comfort and long-wear. from where he was, he could pick out the gleam of jewelry, with numerous rings on your fingers. you were wearing a plain pair of shoes, opting for comfort.

you were wearing makeup, the tones and hues accentuating your striking features.

and god, when you turned, facing him, toto swore he was done for.

however, it would be weeks before the team principal could even muster up the courage to ask lewis for your number. well, he had to do some eavesdropping at the grand prix to make sure lewis had your number in the first place. once that was knowledge was secured, he decided to act.

at first, the british driver was intrigued, confused on why his boss wanted his new friend's number. it didn't take very long for lewis to register what was happening. well, the way toto was stuttering and blushing did help.

however, across the ocean, you were working on an ep.

not just any ep.

an ep produced by the weeknd.

following austin, lewis was able to provide you with some connections. who knew that a formula one driver had so much access to the industry? regardless, you were extremely grateful for lewis' help.

and from there, the rest was history.

well, at least the fame.

coined america's princess, it was difficult for toto wolff to avoid you. he saw you nearly everywhere. on social media. in advertisements. at the paddock during race weekends.

since you were so close with lewis, you were starting to make more appearances in the mercedes garage.

which worked out in toto's favor.

although he did have your number saved in his phone, he wanted to get to know you first. the real you, in person. not over text. so whenever he was given the chance, he would strike up a conversation with you in the garage. sometimes he would take an early lunch just so he could catch you in hospitality.

then there was the night in brackley.

during a slight break in your tour, lewis invited you over to brackley for a weekend away in the countryside. you were a little burnt out, aching for some change in scenery. the nights on the bus were growing a little too long. the days were starting to blur together.

you ended up booking the quickest flight overseas, ready to just spend some time away from it all. it only took eleven hours and you were at the mercedes headquarters, laughing harder than you imagined possible. lewis introduced you to george, the two of you hitting it off instantly.

who knew that a popstar and two formula one drivers would be such a good mix?

before you knew it, lewis was suggesting drinks. george was on board, goading you to join them for a few rounds at a local pub about twenty minutes from the headquarters. it would just be a few shots, something to take your mind off things.

one thing lead to another, and you somehow ended up in the passenger seat of toto's luxurious coupe.

well, lewis and george were there too. the team principal did not expect to spend his night babysitting, but it was better than waking up to a tabloid headline in the morning. the team principal drove all three of you straight to his sprawling mansion. he ordered the boys to the guest rooms, while he helped you to his bed.

well, it was more like he carried you to his bed.

he maintained his distance, although every fiber of his being desperately wanted to touch you. to finally relish the softness of your skin. to hold you close. to feel you against him.

he maintained his composure. actually, he was quite proud of himself for keeping it together.

that was until you uttered those four words.

"stay with me, please."

it only took two steps until he was right there in that bed with you, burrowing under the covers so that you could nestle into chest. you fell asleep instantly, your lips parted ever so slightly.

and in that moment, toto had never seen anything so beautiful. so ethereal.

and that was how your relationship started. it was not an easy feat, as social media speculated. fans lurked, attempting to snap photos of you with your mystery man. the internet was full of sleuths, and they went to great lengths to puzzle the pieces together.

of course, there were a few moments in which you both slipped up.

every grand prix was excruciating. you couldn't even be in the same room as toto without the fans spreading wildfire. you had to be careful about what photos you posted. you had to dance around questions in interviews, the reporters desperate to divulge the truth. you were constantly hounded by the public on whether or not you were in a relationship.

who was he? what did he look like? how old was he? what did he do for work? was he in the industry? was it abel? or lewis? the two of you were pretty close. maybe it really was him all this time.

yet, you wouldn't share those private details. not until you were ready. there were people who knew, but it was only a select few. only those in your inner circle.

one day, the world would know who america's princess was dating.

sure, you were ready to share. you were chomping at the bit, actually. you wantd the world to know that you were dating toto wolff, team principal of amg petronas.

but were you ready for the storm that would follow? could you handle all of the press? the accusations on social media? the way people would talk about you?

would you lose your crown?

as you lay your head on his chest, toto's fingers dancing along your jawline, down to your neck, you can't help but shake this nagging sensation.

someone had to have seen toto at the show.

you didn't know who, but someone must have spotted him. there was no way you could miss him.

"something on your mind? you're rather quiet."

his voice breaks through the silence, grounding you back to earth. you shake your head, clearing your throat.

"i'm fine. just tired from the show, that's all. i'm not ready to leave you either."

"i know, my love," toto exhales, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, "we'll be together soon. only a few more weeks."

as the words fade in your ear, there's a ding on the table. licking your lips, you sit up, reaching for your phone. it was more than likely a text from your manager, or a message from your mom congratulating you on the concert.

however, as the screen lights up, your jaw goes slack, the phone nearly sliding out of your grasp.

it was a notification from X, several of them actually.

your fingers tremble as your eyes scan over the post. sensing your distress, toto straightens up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"what's going on? tell me what's -- oh fuck."

the post was a photo of the two of them. it was grainy, but it was no use. all of the evidence was there.

it was a photo of the two of you after a night out. a series, actually. you couldn't quite distinguish where you were, but you could make out that it was you. with him.

your bodies intertwined, back against the passenger door of his car. one hand was shoved underneath your shirt, the other wrapped around the base of your neck, the world crumbling away as your mouth found his.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[hypnogeek]

[flesh-and-fangs]

Y'all, I hate to say it, but no, Nandermo did not "go canon", in an "alternate universe" or through "implications" or otherwise. They were making fun of us. That was the point of all the little nudges and open questions that were quickly squashed. That was the point of the hypnosis ending. The point of that hypnosis was quite literally "Here, let's give the perfect fake wish-fulfillment ending to parts of our fanbase" (which is why there were three. They're fake. That's the point. The point is that they are supposed to be fantasies to appeal to people's hopes for the show).

Having Nandor and Guillermo as a classic sitcom couple set to a laugh track in a universe where none of the other characters exist was a jab at shippers who wanted Nandermo to be canon and cared more about that than the other characters or the premise of the show. They were making fun of "and they lived happily ever after" type fanwork. They were making fun of people who, in their eyes, ignored the irreverence and violence and black comedy of the show in order to make fluffy slash content. They were explicitly saying: "This is how we see you, and this is how we see what you want from this show, and we are telling you that it won't happen and we in fact have contempt for the very concept."

Why do you think they kept baiting the ship until the literal last lines of the show? They were making fun of us. They were saying "Ha! You still thought this would happen? After years of us saying it won't, to your face? Idiots." It's a comedy show, and they were making shippers the butt of the joke. They've been doing it for seasons now.

This is literally what Supernatural did back in the day. And nobody said that they made Destiel canon when they had an in-universe/alternate-universe stage play where the actors "explore Destiel". Fans back then recognized that it was a joke at their expense. That's what this is. Same as what happened in BBC Sherlock that one time, where in-universe conspiracy theorists said that Sherlock was in love with Moriarty (a ship the creators deliberately baited, mind you, same as they have here), specifically for the purpose of laughing at and making fun of that theory.

I'm so sorry, guys. I know you wanted to hope. I know you wanted to believe that the things the writers said at that con weren't true, but they were. I know because I wanted to hope too, even when I knew full well it wouldn't happen. They've been plain about how they feel about the ship for years. They saw it as a joke, one that drew in viewers, but was objectionable at its core. And they've followed through on that by baiting and jabbing up until the very end.

[akkivee]

i love how dice’s role in this episode was to be rio’s hype man and to show that he’s essentially immune to subliminal stimuli, a well known form of hypnosis lmao

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Mesmerized.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 0.8k.

TW: Hypnosis, Unhealthy Relationships, General Lose of Autonomy, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]

“You’re getting crueler, brother.”

Lynette watched you stir at the sound of her voice, nearly identical to that of your dearly beloved, but you slackened as soon as you realized it was only his sister, melting back into place against Lyney’s side. Your expression was one of vacant bliss; all glassy eyes and careless smiles, worry only visible in the dark circles laced under your eyes, the pained creases folded into either corner of your mouth. A poor imitation, altogether. You looked more like yourself when you were angry.

Lyney hummed, resting his head on your shoulder. As if trained to, you cooed softly and raised a hand, carding your fingers through his hair as he spoke, self-satisfaction heavy in his voice. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Is it cruel to want to spend time with one’s dearly cherished?”

“Father said not to let the public see them until—”

“—until we’ve fallen in love,” Lyney finished. It was a clipped summary, to say the least. In reality, Lord Arlecchino’s order had played more closely to the tune of ‘until you’ve collared your pet properly’, but admittedly, Lynette might’ve missed something. She and Freminet had been listening from the other side of a steel door, and Lyney hadn’t been eager to discuss their conversation after her lecture ended. “And I’m sure, if you bothered to ask, you’d already know that we’re quite in love. Aren’t we, beautiful?”

“Quite in love,” you parroted. There was something strange about your inflection, as if you were trying to speak in a language you hadn’t yet mastered, but Lynette chose not to dwell on it.

“And I’d hardly call this the public,” Lyney went on, when Lynette made it clear that she had yet to be impressed. He made a quick, sweeping gesture to the rest of the backstage area – as if the technicians and stage-hands rushing between lighting rigs and half-assembled props were no more real than the silhouetted figures painted onto the set dressing they were hauling into place. “Think of it as… a trial run, to see how much we’ve improved. If everything goes well tonight, perhaps we’ll be able to attend Father’s next banquet together, too. I’ve been dying to introduce them to the rest of our family – preferably without all the screaming and biting, this time.”

That, Lynette could admit, would probably be for the best. She still had a bruise in the shape of your teeth on her left wrist from the day she’d met you, but Lyney still claimed it’d been one of your better first impressions.

“I’ve always wanted to see one of your shows.” You were cupping Lyney’s face, now, using your thumb to draw tender circles into his cheek. “I’ve always loved the opera. You’re playing the male lead, right?”

Lynette pursed her lips, her eyes widening slightly as she turned her attention pointedly towards her brother. He looked away. “I’m still working out the kinks. By this time next week, it should all be right as rain.”

Reluctantly, Lynette let her attention shift back to you. Your sleeves were long, dense with lace and tulle, but a patch of reddened, raw skin where the shackle had been wrapped around your wrist was just barely visible underneath the frivolous material. There was a slight tremble in your stiff shoulders, and when she looked closely, she could see that you were swaying; your legs weak from disuse, barely able to hold your own weight. Her brother, on the other hand – she could remember the last time she’d seen him smiling so widely. He been in a state of pure, untethered euphoria since the moment you were dragged, kicking and swearing, into one of the Fatui’s lesser-used underground holding facilities, and she rarely saw him without a glint in his eye and a light flush painted over her cheeks. It was almost upsetting, to see a face so much like her own so distorted. If she hadn’t been so used to his sudden flurries of passion, she might’ve been disturbed.

“It can’t last.” Lyney straightened, but she didn’t give him a chance to cut in. “The—the trance, I mean. You’re a magician, not a hypnotist. It’s going to wear off, eventually.”

“I’ve always hated stage magic,” you muttered, dreamily. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I hate feeling like I’m the only person who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It doesn’t need to last forever, just long enough.” This time, it was Lyney who caught your chin in his hand, pulling you just close enough for a quick, shallow kiss. Lynette looked away before she could be forced to endure yet another unabashed show of affection, but she could still hear him far too clearly when he spoke seconds later, his voice now nearly distant as your own.

“Until we both manage to forget how we could ever live apart.”

[laurentidal]

Leave It Open

Tiffany walked out of the hypnosis show, mind still reeling. Her friends were howling at all the things that the hypnotist had managed to make her do. She'd clucked like a chicken. She barked like a dog. She'd even done a pole dance without the damn pole.

Or so they said.

Tiffany herself had no real memory of the event. She remembered her friends goading her into volunteering for the show. She remembered walking up on stage and watching the hypnotist swing his watch in front of her eyes. She remembered that feeling as her mind got slippery and began to slide away from her control. The last thing she remembered was the hypnotist telling her that no matter what she needed to be open; she needed to open her mind to him and leave it open. Then she woke up back in her seat, groggy and confused and the center of attention.

They walked to the bar down the street as her three friends' laughs about the displays died off and the conversation moved to other things. Gina's ex-boyfriend drama and Molly's job. By the time they had sat at the bar, the topic of Tiffany's performance was all but forgotten. She handed her card to the bartender when she ordered her first drink and he asked if she wanted to just order the one drink or leave her tab open?

Something fluttered in the back of Tiffany's mind and for just a second, she wasn't Tiffany anymore. "Leave it open," she said automatically. The sentence was so short and the effect so minimal that no one noticed the change that had come over her, herself included.

One drink became two became three. The girls got a little drunker and a little louder and a little more animated. Tiffany stretched and a button on her top popped open, exposing more of her cleavage. Molly blushed slightly and gestured to Tiffany to rebutton her top. Tiffany looked down and felt that flutter again.

"Leave it open," she muttered softly as she waved off Molly dismissively.

The night dragged on and Molly ordered a ride for them. But something in the back of Tiffany's mind wasn't ready for the night to end. Nothing triggered her enough to bring the words to her lips, but when the car arrived to get them, Tiffany decided to stay at the bar. Her friends gone and the bar emptying out little by little, Tiffany took to chatting with the bartender who'd taken her card. Another of Tiffany's buttons had "accidentally" come undone as the chatting had turned to flirting. He wasn't as pure-of-heart as Molly was. He didn't suggest she cover up.

Finally, the curfew came, and the bartender locked the door, leaving the two of them alone.

"Leave it open," Tiffany said as the lock clicked, and he smiled.

"Can't do that, love." He walked over to her, her legs spread wide on the barstool. He placed his hands on her thighs, stepping between them. "You can leave these open, though."

"Leave them open," she echoed, just a little too robotically. Suddenly, the repeated phrase he'd been hearing all night from her and the conversation he'd heard from a couple other patrons about the hypnotist down the street seemed to click in his mind. He reached up and pulled open her shirt, exposing the lingerie underneath. It wasn't hard with how few buttons were still holding it.

"Do you want to cover up?" he asked, testing his theory.

"Leave it open." He swore he could see the light blink out of her eyes for just that moment.

He pulled on her chin lightly, causing her mouth to drop slack. "Leave it open."

"Leave it open," she said, slurring through her stuck-open lips. Drool began to leak slowly and seemingly unnoticed. Each time she repeated it, less of her seemed to return. Finally, he touched her forehead with his finger.

"Leave it open."

Her eyes finally went completely blank. Her eyelids drooped. Her arms went limp, causing the top that was hanging open to fall completely to the floor.

"My mind is open, Master."

The bartender let his eyes and his hands wander across her body. He'd been hoping he could take her home tonight since the minute she walked in. She'd been planning on letting him. But this made things just so much more interesting.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[please1mistress]

WARNING Flashing IMAGE and HYPNOTIC COVERT language

Inductions

Hypnosis, a fascinating and complex phenomenon, has captivated human interest for centuries. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People often think of hypnosis as a deep sleep or unconsciousness, but in reality, it's more about a trance-like state where the individual is actually in heightened awareness of suggestion. Often used for therapeutic purposes, hypnosis can aid in various issues such as stress, anxiety, pain management, and certain habits like smoking. However, it's not a magical cure-all; its effectiveness varies from person to person.

Hypnosis can also be a form of entertainment, where stage hypnotists perform shows that demonstrate the power of suggestion. Despite its many applications, hypnosis remains a subject of debate among scientists and psychologists. Some view it as a powerful tool for mental health, while others caution against its potential to create false memories or its use in recovering memories, which is a controversial area within the field. It's important to approach hypnosis with a critical mind and understand that it's a complex interplay of psychological and physiological factors. If you're considering hypnotherapy, it's crucial to seek out a qualified and certified professional to ensure a safe and beneficial experience, someone like me.

You find yourself reading these words and as you read they seem to take on a life of their own, almost like magic. Your mind slows as you red larger more complex words and you may feel a soft tingle of arousal as you FOCUS on my words and feel dreamy. It's quite fascinating how the complexity of words can influence our cognitive processes. When we encounter larger, more intricate words, our brains need to work harder to decode the meaning, which can sometimes slow down your reading speed. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; it allows for deeper processing and understanding of the messages I am pushing softly into your mind. It's easy to relax and follow the words you read. It's easy to feel dreamy as your mind accepts that it wants to drop deeper.

Dropping deeper feels good, as you touch yourself and keep reading you can let go of any inhibitions or control. it's so easy to sink into a light trance, after all entering a light trance can be a simple, yet profound experience. It's a state where the conscious mind takes a step back, allowing the subconscious to surface and express itself more freely. This can happen during various activities that engage the mind in a repetitive, rhythmic manner, such as listening to music, meditating, or even during a long drive. In this state, people often find their thoughts flowing more smoothly, their creativity heightened, and their stress levels reduced. It's a moment of introspection and connection with the inner self that can provide clarity and insight. While in a light trance, the mind filters information differently, prioritizing internal dialogue and sensation, which can lead to a deeper understanding of one's thoughts and feelings. It's a natural and accessible state that can offer a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and a gateway to greater self-awareness.

You are not even aware of how deeply into the trance you are, your fingers stroking your arousal for me as you read and feel a dreamy warmth spreading from your fingers into your whole body. Aware but unaware that you could stop at anytime, but you don't want that, you want to keep reading and sinking deeper and deeper as you feel arousal growing more for me. It just feels so good to give in, the very act of giving, whether it's time, resources, or kindness, has a profound impact on your well-being. It transcends the material value of what is given and touches the very essence of human connection. When you give, you're not just passing on a physical item or a piece of advice; you're sharing a part of yourselves, creating a bond that reflects your shared humanity. This act of generosity can be deeply satisfying, as it often brings joy and relief to others, which in turn enriches your own life. It's a beautiful cycle of positivity that reinforces the best parts of being a good submissive.

Giving has been shown to activate regions in our brain associated with pleasure, social connection, and trust, creating a warm glow effect. It's no wonder that the phrase "it's better to give than to receive" has resonated through the ages. This isn't just a moral suggestion; it's backed by science. Studies have found that giving to others can increase our happiness more than spending money on ourselves. This might be because when we give, we feel a sense of purpose and meaning, knowing that we've made a positive impact on someone else's life.

Moreover, the act of giving doesn't have to be grandiose to be effective. Small acts of kindness can ripple outwards and have unforeseen positive consequences. Just as a pebble creates waves when thrown into a pond, a simple gesture of generosity can spread far and wide. It's the intention behind the act that matters most, the recognition that even the smallest offering can make a significant difference.

In a world that often emphasizes individual achievement and accumulation of wealth, it's important to remember the value of generosity. It's a reminder that our interconnectedness is a source of strength, not weakness. By giving, we acknowledge that we are part of a larger community, one that thrives when its members support each other. It's a powerful acknowledgment that we are not alone in our journey through life, and that by helping others, we are also helping ourselves.

So, when we say it feels good to give in, it's not just about the act of giving up or surrendering; it's about embracing the joy of generosity. It's a celebration of the human spirit and its capacity for compassion and empathy. Giving is an affirmation that, despite the challenges we face, there is goodness in the world, and we have the power to contribute to it, one act of kindness at a time. It's a simple truth that enriches our lives and the lives of those around us, creating a legacy of goodwill that can endure beyond our own existence. Indeed, to give is to receive a gift of immeasurable value—the happiness and satisfaction that come from knowing we've played a part in making the world a little brighter.

You want to give in more deeply, message me and tell me how much you need deeper brainwashing NOW!

[malleleothreesome]

Stage Sex - Fellow Honest x Fem Reader (Part One)

🌟 summary: Fellow convinces you to become his latest star, taking your virginity shibari style in front of a live audience. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: afab fem reader. Porn with plot – if the plot is him convincing you to partake in the porn. I didn't write this with the intent of it being dubcon (in my mind, reader is a willing participant, and I never describe her as otherwise), but please err on the side of caution if you're sensitive to that. It's starring Fellow Honest, after all – he comes prepackaged with manipulation skills. He does use a bit of his UM after reader already consents, and I refer to his magic as hypnosis, playing into the fact that you're obedient to him and he can use you as he pleases. There is a MAJOR VOYEURISM theme to this. He calls you names like "good girl", "slut" and "whore". In part 1 he helps bring you to clitoral orgasm for the first time while he jerks himself off. Also a few lines of cunnilingus and some fingering. Shibari bondage starts in part 2, additional warnings will be listed there. Please let me know in the comments if I missed a warning or tag idk I haven't written something of this caliber before. ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 7.2k words because I'm DERANGED ༶༶༶ 🌟 song: Carousel - Melanie Martinez "And it's all fun and games... 'til somebody falls in love"

Fellow Honest’s tail swung back and forth. He had certainly done his research, and all of that hard work would finally pay off. He watched as you entered the theme park, skulking in the shadows behind the rest of the students. You struck him as an outcast—no friends, no family. A beautiful girl from another world, with a figure that would make even the Gods themselves lust after. The only magicless human girl at the all boy’s magic college. Nothing to lose. How perfect.

“Hello, Miss…?” Fellow’s eyebrow raises as he tilts his head, leaning towards you on his cane. His calculated, fox-like eyes drink in every inch of you. Extending his right arm out to you, he welcomes your hand into his.

“Y/N,” you answer, a bit startled at his overt friendliness. Yet, you allow his white satin glove to grasp firmly around your hand. 

“What a lovely name for such a breathtaking woman.” He bows forward to kiss your hand, maintaining fierce eye contact. In one swift motion, he turns toward his amusement park, wipes his mouth clean of your touch, and proudly waves his arm in the air to show off his property. 

“Miss Y/N! Welcome to Playfulland!” he boasts. He turns back toward you, weaseling his way deeper into your personal space. “It is an incredibly rare occasion to welcome someone as beautiful as you into my humble little park.”

You dismiss his praise with a flick of your palm and a shake of your head, desperately hoping not to blush. “Oh, no need to be so modest, dear. A shape like yours could make any man fall in love. I doubt the students at the college are the only ones that appreciate it.” A sly smile is plastered on his face while his eyes continue to look you up and down with intention. Your mind runs wild as you try not to absolutely melt into his praise. “Are you sure you’re not a talking doll? It’s a marvel that a woman so flawless could exist.”

You smile softly and look to the ground, cheeks burning. You tuck a strand of hair awkwardly behind your ear, stalling for composure. How are you supposed to respond to a handsome, magnetic stranger saying all the right things? Not a single soul has spoken so highly of you since you found yourself trapped in this world, forced to attend Night Raven College. Your growing ego leaves you no choice but to soak it all in.

“Tell me, Miss Y/N. Have you ever thought about becoming a performer?” He doesn’t pause to let you answer. “Why waste your valuable early 20’s by studying and attending lectures and surrounding yourself with pathetic boys? Women as blessed as you are don’t need a degree. Surely a wealthy man can care for you far beyond a measly degree. And while you wait for him, why not fill your days with fame, riches, and adoration from performing on my stage?”

You stand in a stunned silence. This guy isn’t holding anything back, is he? Charm and charisma ooze from each syllable, making your heart race. It feels a little wrong, basking in the praise of a stranger like this. But you feel beyond lonely and underappreciated at NRC. You long to feel wanted and cared about. Why not give this attractive, complimentary man a chance?

Before you know it, the fox beastman's arms are wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer to him. "Oh, how rude I am!" he exclaims. "I haven't even given you my name."

"Allow me to properly introduce myself." With a quick spin of his heels, he steps back and bows, taking your hand once again. "The name's Fellow Honest, owner of Playfulland." He lifts his head, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "But please, you're welcome to call me whatever you'd like." He winks.

You could have sworn you felt a physical spark. Suddenly lightheaded, you pull your hand from his grasp, heart pounding in your chest. You can't take your eyes off him. You can't tell if your nervous system is trying to tell you to run towards or away from him. The longer you stare into his fire-orange eyes, the weaker your knees feel. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of his body—is his perfume made of magic? 

Something inside of you urges you to step away and re-evaluate. "Uh... I should probably get back to my friends," you stammer, trying to get your legs to move. "I'm sure they're wondering where I went. Thank you for the, uh, offer, though. I’ll think about it."

Fellow's arm is suddenly around your waist yet again, his fingers pressed firmly against your lower back as he pulls you close. Your eyes widen and your breathing hitches as you make contact with his chest. You feel his lips brush against your ear, and he whispers, "I have to insist, my dear. My employees are quite skilled, but you'd be the best thing that has graced my stage in years. It would be an honor to have someone of your caliber work for me."

His proximity. His hot breath on your ear. His possessive touch digging into the soft skin of your back. You feel a familiar flutter deep in between your thighs—you like this. You want to protest, to push him away, but the electricity between you is hypnotizing. His aroma—sweet wine and fresh roses—only adds to the spell, drowning out all logic and giving way to your body’s desperate pleas to take the lead.

"I have an office inside the theater where we can discuss this further, if you'd like," he purrs, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "And please, take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay the night. We have luxurious rooms available—a small taste of the lifestyle you’d have if you make the right choice. I'll have someone escort you back to campus if you change your mind."

Your eyes dart around, desperately looking for a familiar face—a way out. Where the Hell did Ace go?! What about Leona or Trey–surely your upperclassmen should have stuck around to make sure the only magically defenseless student isn’t being taken advantage of by any sexy, suspicious strangers. Not to mention the fact that you’re the only girl at school. Chivalry must be extinct in Twisted Wonderland. You feel your heart drop: maybe they never cared about you at all.

Fellow's tail flicks in excitement as he watches your expression. Your eyes are wide and panicked, and he can sense your desperation. He smothers his own smile as your body language slowly indicates defeat. How utterly effortless! He has you right where he wants you. You're his to play with, and no one is there to stop him.

"Come now, dear, it won't hurt to indulge a little," Fellow coos sweetly. Your brain short circuits, blocking all thoughts unrelated to the electrifying feeling of his slender fingers dancing along your waistline. "You're already here! Why not stay and have some fun?" His lips find their way to your neck and you let out a soft gasp as a pulsing warmth radiates from your cunt.

"Fine," you finally whisper.

Fellow chuckles victoriously against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. "I knew you’d be such a good girl." He spins you around, the sexual tension forcibly dissipating as he rips you from your lascivious thoughts and begins walking you down the cobblestone path. His hand rests on the small of your back, and his cane taps merrily against the concrete as you go. Your mind is still reeling from the shocking exchange, and you can barely match his pace as he escorts you to the grand theater. 

You stifle a blush as you hear park goers whisper amongst themselves, eyes glued on you, mouths falling open. "Who is that? Is she a celebrity?”

“She looks like a supermodel,” a woman chimes in, her tone covetous. 

Fellow would never waste an opportunity for free advertisement. He turns his head toward the group as you both keep walking. “Stick around ‘til after dark and you might just see this beauty show it all off on my grand stage!” He shouts, waving his cane in the air. 

The two of you enter the theater and Fellow wastes no time leading you up the stairs toward a private hallway. His hand never leaves your waist. You pass several doors before reaching a pair of large, heavy wooden doors, which Fellow opens with ease.

You can't help but gawk at the size of his office. A massive, ornate wooden desk sits in the middle of the room, flanked by shelves lined with books and trinkets. There's a fireplace and two plush leather couches, as well as a small bar in the corner of the room.

"Please, make yourself at home," Fellow says as he closes the door behind him. He makes his way over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine with two glasses. You perch on one of the leather couches and he joins you, placing the wine and glasses on the table in front of you. As you inspect his office, you can't help but feel drawn to a mannequin adorned with a gorgeous bejeweled brassiere and matching pants—if there’s enough coverage to even call them that. Your faces heat up, and you quickly turn away.

"Beautiful, isn't it? One of my favorites," Fellow says, following your gaze. "Unfortunately, no one has had the pleasure of modeling it just yet." He furrows his brows in disappointment. He pops the cork on the wine bottle and begins to pour. "Maybe tonight will be the night. How lucky for me that I have the perfect model."

Something is starting to feel very exciting about all of this. You’ve never had an opportunity to wear such a costume. After being enrolled in Night Raven College only because Crowley didn't know what else to do with you, being here is starting to feel quite freeing. And the way Fellow looks at you… you’ve never felt more attractive. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, gifting you the courage and desire to be exactly who he believes you to be.

"Would you like to try it on?"

The question catches you off guard. He's now looking smugly at you. Your cheeks flush red, but you hold eye contact.

"Wh-what?"

"The outfit, Darling," Fellow says, nodding his head toward the mannequin. "You can try it on if you'd like." You take a long sip of red wine, savoring the smooth fruitiness. It immediately goes to your head, and you can't help but down the rest of it.

"Come now, Love," Fellow says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We both know what you want."

You stare at the outfit and then back at him. Your whole body feels like it's on fire. This is a bad idea, right? Or is it?

"Okay," you say, almost surprising yourself.

Fellow claps his hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Don't worry, I'm a gentleman—I'll look away while you get changed."

You make your way over to the mannequin, wobbling a bit from the alcohol. The bra is a dark purple while the jewels are varying shades of blue, making the whole outfit glitter like the night sky. The "pants" are a matching, dark purple lace thong, with ribbon and jewel embellishments. There is a sparkling, sheer miniskirt attached, more of an accentuation than actual coverage. You reach out to touch the fabric, marveling at how silky it feels. It's so sexy. Imagining yourself wearing it on stage in front of thousands of people, with everyone staring at you, craving you, makes you a bit wet with excitement. Maybe you do want this.

You look at Fellow one more time to ensure he’s not peeping.

Reader, take note that Fellow is, in fact, peeping—through his pocket mirror that he is blocking with his body. He’s far too good at this. 

Feeling secure, you unbutton your uniform blazer, letting it slide off your shoulders and onto the floor. You undo the buttons of your shirt next, slowly exposing your bare chest. 

Fellow bites his lip as he stares into the mirror, watching in awe as you undress. Your body is even more incredible than he could have imagined. 

You slip off your shorts and underwear next, leaving you completely naked except for your bra. Your hands fumble a bit as you unhook the costume, letting it fall to the floor. 

Fellow feels his pants tighten. 

You can feel yourself getting more aroused, the excitement of being naked in a room with a stranger—soon to show off a revealing costume—starts to go to your head. You grab the brassiere off the mannequin, throwing your arms through the loops, eager to see if you look as good in it as you hope you will. 

Fellow takes his sweet time watching in the pocket mirror. He grins, pleased with your inexperience, watching carefully so that he can see every inch of your struggle, savoring in it. “Oh, how easy this is,” he thinks.

After finally finding the right combination of hooks and clasps, you manage to get the brassiere fastened. You gasp softly, feeling the cool jewels press against your nipples through sheer fabric. You can't help but feel like it was made specially for you. The way it pulls your boobs together to create perfect, plump cleavage gives you actual pride. You shimmy the panties on next, loving the way the lacy fabric rubs against your clit as you pull the thong taut against your hips—a tingling reminder that your body is desperate for any sort of friction that may be interpreted as pleasure. You give your ass a little shake as you put on the skirt, reveling in how good the material feels as it brushes against your bare skin. Engrossed in your own experience, you’re completely unaware that you're giving Fellow quite the show. 

He can't help but lick his lips, reaching down to massage his groin through his slacks. 

You spin around and strike a pose for your imaginary crowd, feeling powerful. 

"Are you ready, my love?" Fellow asks, startling you out of your daydream. 

He pockets his mirror and adjusts the front of his pants, trying to disguise his erection as best he can.

"I'm ready."

"Show me what you've got," he says. You both turn around to face each other and he gasps, his eyes widening and mouth falling open.

"My goodness, darling," he whispers. "You're exquisite."

The way he's looking at you makes you feel like the sexiest woman alive. You take a step forward, heart pounding in your chest. Fellow stands up, taking his cane in his hand. He walks over to you and stalks circles around you, gazing up and down as though inspecting merchandise. You yelp as his cold, hard cane smacks your ass.

Finally he stops directly in front of you, meeting your gaze once again. "Oh, Darling, you're an absolute vision." He cups your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb across your lips. He wears a sinister smile, and you feel your mouth run dry as you finally realize how sharp his fangs are. You're almost certain he can tell how turned on you are right now.

He pulls away to replenish your wine glass.

"I can't wait to see you dance, my dear. You're going to be a star." He gazes dramatically into the distance, waving his hand like he’s envisioning your name written in dazzling lights. He hands you the full glass and you gulp it down greedily, eager for the liquid courage. You don't even care that this man is a total stranger—it actually makes it hotter.

"Oh, one more thing," Fellow says. He stands up and walks over to the mannequin, opening a drawer next to it and grabbing a matching set of lacy thigh highs. He kneels down in front of you, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he slips the stockings onto your feet. He repeats the process on your other leg, taking his time to run his hands up and down your thighs.

You bite your lip and look away, feeling embarrassed by how wet you are. He's so close to where you want him to touch you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stand this before giving in and doing something you might later regret.

Fellow stands up, his hands gliding up your legs as he does. He gently grabs your chin and tilts your head up so you're forced to look at him.

"What a naughty little minx," he whispers. "You're practically dripping." He smirks, once again bearing his fangs in the process.

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink.

Fellow laughs. "Oh, there's no use hiding it, love. I can smell it." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal. "It’s heavenly."

God dammit. You can't help but throw your head back in frustration from being outed so easily. Never underestimate a beastman's sense of smell.

He lets go of your chin and steps away from you. You let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Don't worry, darling," he says, making his way back to the bar. "I'll make sure you're properly taken care of." He refills his glass and downs it. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to wait until he's inside you.

You try to get back on track to a more... professional topic. "So, is this the type of outfit I would wear if I were to perform?" You try to sound as innocent as possible.

Fellow laughs a slow, deranged, almost maniacal laugh that makes your skin crawl. "Oh, no, darling. Outfits like these are reserved for the backup dancers. With the plans I have for you, you'll be wearing far less." He sets his wine glass on his desk and opens one of the drawers, pulling out a roll of thin, dark brown rope. Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks toward you, unraveling the rope as he goes.

You stumble backwards instinctively and even in your drunken haze, you start trying to take note of your surroundings and look for the exit. "Is this a joke?" you ask, trying to sound as calm as possible. "You know you don't need to tie me up if you want me to stay, right?" You try your best to reason with him and hope to God you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way.

"Oh, I'm not tying you up to get you to stay, Miss Y/N." He puts on his most pleasant and agreeable facial expression, lips contorting into an innocent cat-like smile, eyes crinkled as he feigns benevolence. "It smells to me like you'd do that all on your own. Am I correct?" He tilts his head toward you and gazes into your soul with piercing, knowing eyes. 

He makes a show of walking over to the door and opening it, waving his hand through the open air of the doorframe. "Make no mistake, I'm certainly not forcing you to stay here. You are welcome to leave right now. I'll even let you keep the outfit, if you’d like." He gives you a knowing smirk and continues to hold the door open.

You gulp, feeling the familiar heat between your thighs grow stronger. Your mind is racing, trying to think of every possible rationalization to feel safe staying—anything to get your pussy the relief it deserves. If he really was a predator—you try to reason with yourself—you'd probably be dead by now. And he was right, you do feel like you could get off, just from being tied up. Your body seems to be the decision-maker here, and it’s telling you to stay.

You shake your head at his offer. "No, I'm good."

"Wonderful," he purrs, his expression darkening. He slams the door shut and turns the lock, letting the thud of the door ricochet through your body. "Now then! The reason I am tying you up is for your performance. Just a few short hours until showtime!" He steps forward, closing the gap between you. He runs his fingertips down your bare arm, stopping to wrap them around your wrist. You shiver at his touch, your body instinctively leaning toward him, yearning for more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment and arousal. You don't understand how he's able to turn you on so easily.

"You see, my dear," Fellow begins, his voice soft and seductive, "I'm not the only one who's been watching you hungrily." You feel his hot breath on your neck as he brings his lips close to your ear. "Believe me, Doll, they're going to love what they see." He takes your hand in his and places it on the bulge in his pants. His cock throbs beneath his clothes and your eyes widen at how big he is.

"I'm not just a magician, but a master of hypnosis as well," he elucidates. 

He's never before been so forthcoming in his whole career, but there's just something about you that makes him want to be upfront. 

Truthfully, he hasn't had to use any hypnosis magic at all to persuade you. No, you wanted this on your own. Despite your innocence and reluctance—you wanted him. His cold heart skips a beat at the thought. He releases your hand and once again cups your cheek. He pushes a thumb past your lips and forces you to suck on it. A deep moan escapes his lips as the sensation of your soft tongue against his thumb runs straight to his aching loins. Removing his thumb from your mouth, he slides it down your chin, tracing your jawline before moving to your neck. You arch your back and press your body against his, feeling the tip of his thumb press along your jugular, sending chills down your spine.

"And I can assure you that by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect little hypnotized whore." You shudder as his tongue traces the side of your neck—it feels so good. He continues to drag his tongue up to your ear, and you moan loudly as he suckles your earlobe. Your knees are giving out, so you wrap your arms around him for support. "That's the beauty of my magic, love. No prior experience necessary. I'll ensure you put on the show of a lifetime. Simply allow yourself to enjoy the ride." You whimper softly, unable to form coherent thoughts or speak intelligibly, too caught up in the way he's pleasuring you.

"But don't worry, Love," he says, his voice low and raspy. "You'll still remember everything when we're done."

Your head is dizzy, trying desperately to process his every word. You can't stop yourself from moaning as his hands continue to explore. As far as the current circumstances go, nothing matters, as long as he’s making you feel this damn good. He takes his time groping and squeezing wherever—and whatever—he can get his greedy hands on, relishing in the opportunity to touch your perfect frame.

Looking into your eyes, he's suddenly overcome with emotion—unusual for him. This isn't something he's ever done with his employees, but there is a twinge in his chest willing him to do it. Perhaps—just this once—he can deviate from the script. Fellow hungrily crashes his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. You melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him entry. You feel yourself losing control as he dominates your mouth, exploring every inch with his tongue. You grip onto his hair, pulling him closer. His fangs lightly graze your bottom lip and it makes you shiver. The way he kisses you is so possessive and needy, and it's driving you wild. You've never been kissed like this before. His hands travel down your body and grip your ass tightly, causing you to yelp. Your hands claw at his blue coat and green vest, desperately trying to remove his clothes so you can feel his bare skin. He growls into your mouth before breaking the kiss.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips.

You nod in response, gasping when he suddenly pulls away. Seeing how needy you are, he smirks, delighted at how much you want him.

"Oh, Darling. Why don't you save that for the audience?" he teases. "You're going to put on a good show for them, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll do my best. I promise I'll make you proud," you gasp, feeling even more aroused by his words.

"That's a good girl." Fellow paces the room, circling you like a vulture. You can feel his eyes on you and can't help but squirm under his gaze. He grabs the rope from earlier, stopping right in front of you. His cane appears in his grasp, seemingly out of thin air. "Such a perfect little slut, so eager to please. I bet you'd do anything I asked you to, wouldn't you?" he asks, spinning his cane with the flick of his fingers, utilizing his hypnosis magic for the first time that day. He needs to ensure your loyalty lies with him.

"Yes." You answer without reluctance.

Fellow's cane magically disappears from his hand. "Such a good little whore." He takes a strand of your hair in his fingers and twirls it before gently tucking it behind your ear. "Now, a few more formalities before we get you ready for the stage. Shall we?" You flinch at the sound of him smacking the rope against the floor, like he's trying to command a circus animal.

Your mind is fuzzy, body practically burning with desire—you don't even notice him guiding you to his desk. He bends you over the hard wood, your breasts and stomach pressing against the cool surface. He presses his body against yours, his erection grinding between your ass cheeks, and you can't help but moan. Fellow rips off his gloves, tossing them aside. His right hand snakes around your body and reaches into your panties, his fingers rubbing against your wet clit. He slips a finger inside you—finally.

"My, my…" he whispers. "So wet for me already. You’ll look so beautiful when you're on stage for everyone to see. My precious little toy."

Your breathe heavier as he continues to fuck you with his finger, tantalizingly slow. Just as you open your mouth to beg for more, he slips his finger out of you and slams a contract on the table in front of you.

"I need you to sign this first. Standard contract," he says casually. "This is a business, after all." He drops a pen within your reach. All the while, he continues grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against the sheer fabric of your panties, further tantalizing your throbbing clit. "Go ahead, Darling. I can't wait to show you off."

You sign your name on the dotted line, quickly dismissing what seems to be the final roadblock in your path to pleasure. There's nothing else in your psyche than how badly you need him to fuck you. Your pussy aches with desire—you can't wait any longer. "Please. Please, fuck me," you whimper, begging him to give you what you want.

"Oh, Darling," he purrs. "All in due time."

Fellow leans in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I wonder how many people will come tonight just to see this pretty little body of yours?" he asks. "How many men and women will stare at you, touching themselves as you writhe in pleasure? I bet you can't wait for them to see how much of a needy little whore you are. You were born to be a star." His voice is soft and seductive as he plays on your desperation.

"Now. Let's get you out of these clothes." He expertly unhooks your bra with a single hand. With a swift yank, it falls to the floor, revealing your perfect tits, hard nipples on full display. "Beautiful. So deliciously plump and round, my flawless doll." 

You're still bent over the table as his fingers snake into the elastic waistband of your skimpy skirt and thong. He pulls it taut, ready to tear it right off of you... but he hesitates, remembering its one-of-a-kind value. Squatting slightly, he gently pulls your skirt and panties to the floor, utilizing the opportunity to bask in the aroma and view of your now-exposed pussy. He grabs your thighs where the stockings are and, quite impatient, rolls them down as his fingernails trail lines down the flesh of your legs in the process. He guides your feet out of each leg hole, revealing your full nudity. Seeing your juices glisten makes his eyes light up, mouth curling into a grin. His mouth waters and he inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent. He can't help but lean for a taste, his tongue gliding against your folds and lapping up your essence. Your knees buckle as his warm, wet tongue explores your deprived cunt. Nothing has ever felt so good. Your entire body trembles and you cry out in pleasure. He keeps his hands firmly planted on your ass, holding you in place as he continues to lap up your pussy. It feels so good, it's almost painful. He pulls away after a moment and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"So, tell me, Love. Are you a virgin?" he asks with a sneaking suspicion. He traces his fingertips down your spine, awaiting your response.

You shudder, the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin is so tantalizing. "Yes," you answer, unable to hold back your excitement.

Fellow's eyes widen, surprised by how easy it was to get you to admit that. He smirks, continuing to caress your back. "Ah, perfect," he hums. "What a privilege it is to deflower you." He reaches for his phone on his desk and utilizes the speech to text feature to say one thing: “We’ve got a virgin.” He clicks the display off and gives you a wink. "The marketing team will start advertising for a very special show tonight. I wonder how many people will come to watch me break in a virgin? I'm sure we'll sell out! An incredibly rare specimen indeed."

His words send a chill down your spine. The thought of thousands of people watching you lose your virginity excites you even further, and you find yourself becoming increasingly aroused. Your whole body is hot—you can't help but squirm as your juices slowly drip down both legs. You shudder, picturing an entire audience getting aroused, their attention rapt on you. Just the thought of how many people will want you... all of those horny people, with their eager bodies and impatient erections at the sight of you losing your innocence. A hot sensation pools deep in your belly and your clit throbs with need. You roll your hips back toward him, wordlessly indicating your desires.

He pockets his phone, delighted that the plan is progressing so flawlessly. "Tell me, my dear, have you ever orgasmed before?" You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you shake your head. He grins, leaning in closer, his tail swishing between his legs and up onto your throbbing clit. It tickles so good. "Have you ever touched yourself?" Your body heats up, and a wave of shyness washes over you as you attempt to suppress a groan. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you to surrender yourself completely. "What a beautiful thing, modesty…" he muses. "Tell me, Dear. No need to be so shy." Your face is turning a dark crimson, and he's never found something so appealing in all his years.

"No. Not successfully," you answer softly. You've never been able to get yourself off. Your hands would wander as you'd lie in bed, desperate to find some sort of relief, but it never came. You've never had that pleasure before, and you were starting to think you may never experience it.

"Oh, Darling, you poor thing. I'll have to take care of that for you. I know all the tricks.” Hearing the zipper of his pants, you gasp in anticipation. He takes his cock out of his boxers and you feel the flesh of his hardened tip slide over your wet labia. He takes your hand in his and guides it to your clit, teaching you how to circle your fingers around it in the perfect motion.

"Just like that, Love," he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "You're doing so well. Doesn't that feel good?" You moan softly as he continues to guide you, his free hand on his cock, sliding up and down its length, using your never-ending juices as lubrication. He bucks his hips slightly as he starts to jerk himself off, letting out a quiet moan, teasing himself and rubbing his cock head against the sopping wet folds of your untouched pussy—knowing he has to save it if he wants a fruitful show. The way your face contorts and your lips part with desperate pleasure, he suddenly has to fight himself not to lose control and break your hymen right then and there.

Knowing that Fellow can’t help but touch himself to you amplifies the pleasure even further. Your fingers continue to dance over your clit and for the first time, it feels amazing. Every nerve in your body is electrified, your breath coming in short pants. Your hand feels like it's floating through space as he moves you like a puppet, directing your motions the way that he wants you. He rubs himself a bit faster as he watches you writhing, becoming more desperate and vocal than before. His own lust becomes insatiable. He’s sculpting you into the perfect masterpiece, just the way he likes it—his own custom sex toy.

"Just imagine all those people in the audience," he murmurs. His hand quickens on his cock and he groans. His hand over yours speeds up to match his pace, and he adds more pressure to show you exactly how to pleasure yourself. "All of those hungry eyes on you, craving every inch of you…" His hips jerk slightly and he moans, losing himself to his own dirty thoughts. Your clit is throbbing so painfully that tears begin to form at the edges of your eyes. He has never seen anyone become so intoxicated with the simple idea of him before, and you don't even realize how loud and desperate your moans and cries have become. His face flushes every time you scream his name, and your beautiful expression fills him with the greatest satisfaction, an image forever imprinted in his brain. The sight of you, so eager to please him—he knows now that he'll never let you go.

You feel yourself approaching explosion—the very first time—and your muscles tense in response. "Oh, fuck, every single one of them will be touching themselves, getting off to the sight of you, desperate to be where I am right now. And here you are, moaning my name as I prepare you, just aching for me to bring you to your first orgasm. You'll look so beautiful when I pop that sweet little cherry of yours." 

He groans and bucks his hips, jerking himself off faster and faster. Your clit throbs, ready to explode. "You want to cum, don't you, darling?" His voice is low and husky, and he pants heavily. "Cum for me, darling, cum for me. I want to hear you scream for me." Your toes curl, knees buckling in ecstasy. He guides your hand even faster over your clit. "That's it, Love, just let go." His voice is the sweet encouragement that pushes you over the edge, almost on command. You feel a strange electricity ripple through your leg muscles, a release that exceeds every single thing you thought you knew about pleasure.

Your first true orgasm rips through your body like a tornado, tearing apart any inhibitions and preconceived notions about reality. Everything around you turns bright white as euphoria sweeps through your body, wave after wave leaving you moaning and shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Your legs feel like jelly, and it becomes impossible to hold yourself up. His fingers leave yours, transferring their tight grip to your hair, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he fucks himself furiously to the sight of you. You were like putty in his hand, melting and molding according to his wishes—a perfect, brainwashed, fucked-out little slut.

Fellow lets out a strained grunt as he orgasms, painting your ass with his seed. He can't help but sigh in pleasure as he gazes lovingly at the blank and pliant expression on your face as he drains the rest of himself onto you. He sighs as his last spurts dribble from the tip of his cock, admiring how much he's marked you as his. You're still shaking and whimpering as you come down from your high, your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes glazed over and staring into nothing. You look absolutely fucked out, and he takes a moment to admire your blissful expression before finally releasing you from his grip. He gives you a small push, causing you to fall forward onto your hands. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork—your thighs are soaked with your own cum, and your ass is dripping with his.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You did such a good job for me. You're going to be the best performer I’ve ever had. It's about time we take you to the stage to get you set up, my dear. You’re better than I could have ever imagined.” You can only gasp, too wrecked from your pleasure to respond in words. Fellow grins with satisfaction, memorizing the sight of his seed glistening all over your back, chuckling to himself as he wipes it off with a tissue. He tosses the tissue into a random corner of his office and then helps you find your footing again.

Gently lifting your chin, his gaze softens, mouth opening to form a gentle smirk. His thumb brushes against your trembling bottom lip, a caring and fond expression overtaking his features. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you begin to question the warmth in his smile and his affectionate gaze. Is your body's chemical response misreading signals, or are you witnessing evidence that Fellow perhaps has a bit more going on than simply taking sexual interest? A new, deeper desire to understand the mysterious man behind the curtain of your own experience begins to bloom in your mind. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your cheek. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips and you return it, savoring the way his soft lips feel against yours. It feels so intimate, like a lover's kiss, and your heart flutters in your chest. You pull away and look into his eyes once more, trying to figure out what he's thinking, but you can't read his expression. His face is completely unreadable, granting you no indication as to whether you're making any progress in decoding him.

He takes off his coat and helps you put it on, wrapping you up to ensure your modesty is protected for your short walk to the stage. He takes your hand and guides you out of his office, your legs still shaking from climax.

You walk together in silence, hand in hand, your head still spinning as you try to process everything that just happened. You can't believe how incredible your first orgasm felt, and you're already craving another.

"What are you thinking about, Darling?"

"I'm thinking about how I’ve never felt that good before," you admit, blushing slightly.

Fellow chuckles. "That's very sweet," he says. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll be sure to give you many more orgasms in the future." His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing for him.

You continue walking in silence until you arrive at the stage. Fellow stops in front of the stage door and turns to face you.

"Are you ready, Love?" he asks, his voice gentle. He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. His carnelian gaze holds yours, his hot breath dancing across your fingers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Your heart swells and you feel yourself melting.

You nod enthusiastically and squeeze his hands, hoping he doesn't pick up on your nervous, pounding heartbeat. "I'm ready," you affirm, gazing intently into his beautiful, half-lidded eyes, feeling braver and more confident than you have all day.

He flashes a subtle smile. "Wonderful." He gives you one last peck on the cheek before turning to open the stage door. He places his free hand on your lower back and guides you onto the stage, leading you towards the center, where the lighting crew are busy at work. He introduces you and makes a show of presenting you to the crew—holding out your arm like he would for a debutante entering a ball, a prince presenting his chosen partner to a ballroom dance. The crew whistle and holler as you walk onto the stage. All you can do is stand there with the distinct smile of a hypnotized-yet-willing participant in the world's most eccentric 18+ theater. Their ogling is the furthest thing from your mind, as your attention remains firmly rooted on the charismatic manager in your grasp.

"Sorry, Boys. This one is mine. No one can have her but me." He places his hand on the side of your arm and pulls you close to him, draping an arm over your waist possessively.

As you glance up, your breath catches and your heart skips a beat; your adoring, hungry gaze is returned by his, a mirror of your own emotions shining through in his flaming irises. There's something strange about his stare—there always is. His face betrays some of that vulnerability again, an instance where he's truly letting his guard down, a crack in his meticulous and calculated visage. It’s a warm hint of softness that signals what he said to the crew might ring true outside of these walls as well.

Fellow turns back toward the crew as a new scene is placed before them, and within a split second, he resumes his demeanor of a business-oriented gentleman. "One hour ‘til showtime. Make her shine, People! We want the audience drooling the second she gets on stage!" He holds out his hand, his cane reappearing like magic. "Have fun in makeup!" He winks at you, the flick of his head gesturing you away.

Stylists appear behind you, and you reluctantly release your hold on him. He flashes a reassuring smile as you are guided away, a bewitchingly charming smile settling onto his lips. You head backstage, and he turns to get back to business.

Damn, if you made it all the way down here... wow. Thank you so much for spending this time with me. If you enjoyed this, that means a lot to me because this is pretty much just a self indulgent fic I started writing as soon as Fellow dropped without really knowing too much about him. I haven't begun writing part two, but I have my general ideas of where I want it to go. If you have suggestions for part two, please comment or send me an ask, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome