Homecoming Hypnotism
Chapter Three
“Pacta Sevanda.”
Ah, it was all coming together so beautifully, so very beautifully. Mark smiled as he sat back in the chair that had belonged to his father, a glass of whisky in the correct glass clasped lightly in his hand. No longer did he feel the need to hold it so tightly that his fingers shook for fear of dropping it and angering his grandmother: those days were long gone. How strange that she had thought that she deserved anything of the right to control him even when he was of that age, the age when a man could take a glass of liquor at his leisure and no one else would have ever said anything at all to him. If he dropped it now, he knew and understood just who he would be instructing with no more than a casual flick of his fingers to clean up the resulting mess.
It was good to be the king.
Of course, Helga was unsure about that but her eyes glazed over as she slipped under his control too, the German maid with her head bowed, dress simple and not at all like the fetish kind that he imagined for the real maids of the household now. She would still care for what she did best -- he didn’t have any intention at all of doing her out of her job -- but there were others now who could do more in her stead, allowing her to come back into herself just a little. And he only needed her on his side, her lips sealed against what she saw happening in the household, regardless of what she thought of it.
“Do not speak of anything you see here,” he said quietly, eyes boring into her blue ones, blonde hair neatly and smartly tucked back in a prim bun. “No underwear. And that dress... See to it that something more fitting is donned. A French maid’s costume of the appropriate style and fabric for durability too should be easy enough to procure.”
He planted the image of the dress in her head easily: a skin-tight ensemble that was nothing like the cheeky, frilly outfits that may have otherwise have been worn to bounce and flirt through a job or even to tease a lover in the right circles. No, this one wouldn’t cover the luxuriously short and soft curls adorning her crotch at all, leaving her bare for his attention and it would all very much be attention that she’d love too. Neither would her breasts be covered and even Helga, under his influence, rocked back onto her short, professional heels and giggled lightly at the image, eyes glittering and dancing with all the mischief to come.
Not everyone needed to be so serious all of the time, after all.
But Mark had somewhere to be and was already dressed for the occasion, leaving his study after finishing his fiery beverage to accompany his grandmother and mother to the opera. They looked as stunning as he hoped they would, Sarah in a floor-length red gown and his grandmother in a similarly elegant purple one that shimmered into swathes of silver, colours shifting in the fall of the fabric. Although he would have normally have ordered a chauffeur to drive them to such a grand event, he took the wheel himself gallantly for the ladies in his harem, the first of many, the opera awaiting them.
The opera hall was as splendid as he remembered it to be, heart pulling fondly for the memories held there, watching enraptured by the figures that danced and spoke from the stage, ballet and theatre coming together night after night. The opera singers, of course, were the ones that took centre stage at the end of the night, however, and he still remembered the thrum of their powerful, vibrant voices searing through him like a physical force, rendering him a mere spectator to something more.
But now he was the one in a position of such power too in a high-up private box surrounded with velvet curtains, thus positioned so that no one else could see into their private abode. The ladies had barely seated themselves when he turned to them with a smile on his lips, their mind control leaving them nothing more than attentive servants, sweetly so, before his might and power.
“Check your purses.”
Mark smiled as they moved to obey instantly, not a single flicker of hesitation in their expressions. On the contrary, his mother looked eager as she dug into the purse she had brought along with her, a larger pouch than what she may have usually have carried merely for show. It was always the man, regardless of the event, that paid for events like the opera and she had no real reason of it as it did not carry any feminine products either for touching up one’s make-up in the intermission either as she may have normally have thought to bring. No, little flaws and discrepancies like that in her appearance would only make everything all the more real and sweeter in their execution as she exhaled softly, lips parted, and withdrew a fat, pink dildo from her purse.
Victoria unearthed a similar one in a fleshy tone, veins depicted and standing out lightly from the smooth ‘skin’ of the faux phallus, balls bulging at the base for grip and, of course, to ensure that the toy did not disappear inside its intended playmate. It was rather too long for something like that to be a threat to a woman but there were always incidents with anal play to take note of and Mark had not gotten so far without knowing and understanding just a few of the things to avoid. His grandmother let out the tiniest, most exhilarating, little moan as she eyed it, lower jaw slack as if she simply could not believe what she was holding. And even Sarah could not contain herself as the heat of the moment intensified, notes from the opera powering through, closing in on them from all sides to herald their intoxicatingly erotic tryst.
