Master loved it when Louisa was drowsy like this. “My dream girl,” he called her, and he was so very right. Between ten-hours shifts and night classes and studying, she came home on Friday so tired she barely knew how to walk in a straight line. And Master knew exactly how to play with her sleep-fogged brain in a way that made both of them very happy.

First he hit her with the trance trigger. Louisa no longer remembered what the word actually was–after months and months of constant conditioning, it just sounded like music in her ears, a snatch of a tune playing in the back of her head over the sounds coming out of his mouth. But it always worked so wonderfully well, and took her so wonderfully deep. She swayed on her feet, her eyes heavy and her lips parted in thoughtless bliss. “Good girl,” he always said to her. She loved being his good girl and he loved reminding her exactly how good she was. “Now strip.”

This was his favorite part. Louisa liked it too, at least the parts she could remember. She always began to pull her clothes off…but the suggestion, so well-concealed by her own subconscious, always began to kick in right around the time her skirt hit the floor. The more clothing she removed, the sleepier she became. The sleepier she became, the more aroused she got. The more aroused she got, the more she wanted to take off her clothing for Master. The act of stripping sent her deeper and deeper down the spiral of suggestions in her mind, making it harder and harder to move with every drowsy tug on her clothing…

Until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Until she couldn’t move anymore. Until her head lolled on her shoulders, her body half-undressed and somehow so relaxed that she couldn’t even twitch yet still upright. Until she was a dreamy, drowsy, perfectly relaxed sleepy statue for Master. Almost completely asleep, but so horny that all her dreams were of him.

And the dreams and the reality were identical. She dreamed of Master, walking over to her and caressing her helpless body. She dreamed of his fingers tracing the curve of her breasts, playing with her nipples, kissing and licking her tits until she let out a sleepy moan of desire. She dreamed of his hands teasing their way down her belly to find her exposed pussy, insinuating their way into the gap between her skin and her half-removed panties and rubbing her just the way she loved to be rubbed. She dreamed of being his obedient, docile fucktoy, and the dream was the best kind of dream because it was really coming true.

And then he helped her sleepwalk to the bed, peeled the rest of her clothes off and laid her down for a blissful fucking that shaded into sleep so gradually that the orgasms melted into dream-babble and the pleasure turned into waterfalls of stardust and little pixies nuzzling her clit with their tiny bodies. She always woke up on Saturday morning better-rested than she had all week. Which was good, because Master always had plans for her on Saturday morning.

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