“Close your eyes,” I commanded. “Imagine a room. A dark, cold room where the only light is the glow of my skin. In this room, you are nothing. You are animals.”
I could see their breathing sync up, their chests heaving. I began to describe the scene, weaving a tapestry of filth. I told them how they were nothing more than holes for my satisfaction, how their only purpose was to serve my every whim without question. I used the hypnosis to amplify their shame, turning it into a powerful aphrodisiac.
“Imagine my hand wrapping around your throats,” I whispered, leaning down to lick my son’s ear. “Imagine the feeling of being completely powerless while I use you. You’re just pathetic cunts, aren’t you?”
“We are… pathetic cunts,” they echoed in unison, their voices shaking.
I reached down and ripped their pants open. Their cocks were rock hard, leaking pre-cum onto the carpet. I didn’t touch them with kindness. I slapped my husband across the face, the sound echoing in the room.
“Who owns this cock?” I barked.
“You do! You own it!” he screamed, his eyes still closed, lost in the hypnotic haze.
I moved to my son, gripping his hair and pulling his head back. “And this little prick? Who does this belong to?”
“You, Mistress! Please, use me!”
I laughed, the sound cold and sharp. I began to describe the act of their total degradation, telling them exactly how I would ruin them. The suggestive storytelling was working; they weren’t just hearing me, they were experiencing it. Their bodies were reacting to the mental images, their muscles twitching in anticipation of the abuse
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