(Originally posted as a $3/story exclusive to my Patreon on March 12,
2017. Check out the link for dozens of early-access photo captions and
“Master!” Ivy cooed when I
paid her a visit. Her usual leotard made of leaves rustled and then withdrew,
leaving just a few vines trailing over her luscious, naked body.
“Nice,” I said. “I
didn’t know you could do that.” Mentally I noted her leotard was made of living
leaves she could control.
“How can I serve?” she
asked, voice sultry, posture clearly indicating exactly what kind of service
she was hoping to provide.
In response, I triggered a burst of
arousal and pleasure in her brain. “Oooh…” she sighed, squirming
deliciously and eyes half-closing as she savored the sensation. I pulled her to
me and ran my hands over her smooth green skin, triggering still more pleasure
and arousal as I did. Ivy melted against me, murmuring incoherently into my
skin as her lips sought my neck and her fingers found the buttons of my shirt.
The immunity to toxins she’d shared
with me conferred invulnerability to her pheromones as well, but Ivy had never
relied on pheromones alone to seduce her prey. Her fingers dancing over the
bare skin of my chest, her hips pressing against mine, the low, breathy moans
in my ear, they were all calculated to excite and arouse, to make me want her.
The only difference with me was that Ivy wasn’t doing it as a distraction or a
means of control, but genuine desire for me.
It worked. By the time she slid to
her knees, taking my pants and boxers with her, I was rock-hard. But I had been
working my magic, too, steadily increasing Ivy’s arousal, the sensitivity of
her skin, and her pleasure response. She was practically trembling as she
stroked and kissed my cock, her own control on the verge of breaking.
“Master…” she breathed.
“Lie back, slave,” I
ordered, and she hastened to comply. As I slid into her, I raised her pleasure
and arousal to the verge of climax–and blocked it. With every thrust I wound
her tighter and higher, but blocked her from release.
Within moments her control was
broken. She clutched at me desperately, thrashing and moaning with each thrust,
panting feverishly, her hair flying and tangling as she tossed her head in the
throes of passion.
“Who owns you?” I demanded
as I pounded her.
“You! Master!” she managed
to pant out.
“Who controls you?”
“What are you?”
I could see in her mind how much she
needed to cum, along with the knowledge that only I could make that
happen. She was helplessly, hopelessly, inescapably enslaved, and what’s more,
she knew it–and loved it. When I pulled out of her and brought my cock to her
face, she took it in her mouth eagerly, unable even to consider the idea of
disobeying, of placing her own pleasure over mine.
I rewarded her by mentally linking
the nerves of her mouth and cunt, so that as I facefucked her, she felt my cock
in her snatch as well. She clutched the sheets, tensing and squirming as she
surrendered to the impossible sensations, until at last I came down her throat
and released the block on her orgasm.
She screamed around my cock and then
collapsed. Half-conscious, as I left she was staring at the ceiling, still
shuddering in the aftershocks of pleasure, slowly murmuring my name over and
over: “Master…. master… master…”
Model: Iryna Stevens
Photographer: Jim Carter
Photo Manip by Mr-Mxyzptlk