It started with a wrong number.

“Hello, pet,” the woman’s voice cooed into my ear. “I have been thinking naughty thoughts of you.” It was only ten words, but they sent chills down my spine and warmth through my loins. Becoming so turned on so quickly gave me vertigo, I lost my bearings.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, “is this Fred’s Garage?”

The voice on the other end laughed, a sound which again stoked a furnace of desire inside me.

            “Well,” she answered in a mischievous tone, “I’ve been known to do the occasional repair to a man’s chassis, but no, this is not Fred’s Garage. More’s the pity…you sound cute.”

“Um….uh….I’m sorry,” I blurted, unable to maintain my composure. “I must have dialed the wrong number.”

Another laugh. “Yes, pet you must have. Though from the sound of it this number is very right for you. Yes, very very right. But I’m sorry, as you might have guessed I am expecting another call. Mwah!”

With an audible kiss she hung up the phone, leaving me stunned. Without thinking I hit “redial,” but the number was busy. I went about my business for the rest of that day. By nightfall I had largely forgotten the incident, though I heard snatches of her voice pass through my mind just as I drifted off to sleep.

The next day the torment began. I have read many stories and novels in which the protagonist is “haunted,” but this was my first experience of it. The memory of her voice progressively crowded out more and more of my thoughts, perceptions, and feelings. I became distracted and clumsy. I lost the thread of conversations at work and had a few near-accidents in the course of my brief commute by car.

The worst aspect was the constant arousal. As soon as the memory began playing in my mind, my cock became painfully erect. My sexual agitation became so great that I had to skulk off to the men’s bathroom at work and rub out an orgasm, closing my eyes while the the words “I have been thinking naughty thoughts of you” played involuntarily on a loop in my mind. As I came my inner ear heard the sound of her parting kiss.

Jacking off provided only temporary relief. Soon the haunting continued, even more intensely. I tried calling back the number, but there was no answer. I realized that my misdial had distorted the area code- she was hundreds of miles away from my Connecticut home, on the west coast of Florida. She thus might suspect any unknown call coming from my state as being spam, and not pick up. She had only answered my first call reflexively, because she was expecting a call at that moment.

As days went by my desperation became more intense. I had to talk to her again. I  needed to meet with her face-to-face. One way or another something had to give. Either I would break the spell she had cast on me, or give in to it altogether, and beg her to be with me.

I booked a flight and got a hotel room within the area code range of her phone. I knew that this could still be miles from her location, but I would be able to call her from a local number, and was willing to drive any distance to meet her.

“Hello?” her voice answered, sending my pulse racing, when I called her from my hotel phone.

“Hi….um…this is rather strange….” I stuttered, rendered incoherent by arousal and embarrassment.

“You’re the wrong number from the other day!” she interrupted, punctuating the sentence with a musical laugh.

“Yes….I…I’ve come…that is…” I continued, floundering.

“You haven’t been able to stop thinking about Me, and have come to Florida in hopes of finding Me,” she volunteered.

This rendered me silent for several moments, too shocked by her lack of surprise to think or respond coherently. Eventually I recovered, only to be even more shocked at how effortlessly she agreed to meet me. Before I could really register what was happening I had agreed to meet her that night, at a bar about a twenty-minute cab ride from my hotel.

The bar itself wasn’t fancy, but was tastefully decorated. On a weekday night it wasn’t crowded. I arrived ahead of our appointment and chose a quiet table where we could have some privacy, but where she would not feel nervous about being secluded with an eccentric stranger.

I knew who she was as soon as she walked in the door. Her appearance rhymed with her voice. Blonde hair touched with electric pink highlights cascaded around her regal shoulders. The curves of her breasts, hips and thighs drew all eyes and set all pulses racing.

More than her appearance, her aura worked magic. A sexual magnetism radiated from her that was instantly palpable to everyone in the bar. The entire atmosphere in the room changed as she entered. She projected the air of one who knew that she generated desire all around her. My body responded instantly to her presence. My heart pounded. My cock throbbed.

Glancing around the room, she deduced who I was before I made any move or sign, and walked slowly to the table where I sat. As she sat down I caught my first glimpse of her deep green eyes. I could see that she is older than me, older than any woman I have ever been with. But as her emerald gaze swallowed mine I could think of nothing but what it would be like to touch her or taste her lips.

“Hello, pet,” she breathed. Hearing her voice again made my stiff cock to weep in urgent need.

“Hello,” I forced myself to say, “thank you for meeting me.”

She only smiled knowingly in response to this courtesy. After a waiter had taken her order for a glass of white wine, I blurted, “I realize I don’t even know your name. What is it?”

“You may call Me ‘Goddess.’”

This unsettled me. Not because she refused to give me a name. Because her insistence I call her “Goddess” turned me on even more. Everything about this woman disoriented and aroused me. I could feel myself losing my grip. My desire for her was so intense that I knew it could overwhelm any capacity I had for dignity or equilibrium.

“Um….my name is…,” I began, feeling obliged to answer.

She held up her hand in a gesture of command, silencing me.

“I’ll decide what to call you,” she said as the waiter set down her wine glass. Taking a sip, she continued, “Do you know who I am, pet?”

“No,” I said, blushing intensely at how incredible such an admission was, given the circumstances.

“I am a hypnodomme,” she explained. “I use mind control to make men My slaves. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, I think I do,” I avowed. If it had not been true before, my recent experience had given me some context for her words.

“Well…” she sighed, holding me coolly in her emerald eyes, “You are extremely cute, and I could use a new pet just now.  But since you seem to have fallen this deeply under My spell by accident, I feel obligated to play fair. If being My slave frightens or offends you, let’s part with no hard feelings. Get up from the table and leave now.”

In reply I could only gape at her, confused.

“Shoo!” she said, making a brushing gesture with both hands. “Git! Go back to your hotel and don’t look back.”

Though I understood her meaning, I could make no answer. I opened my mouth in an attempt to speak, but could make no words come out.

“Look,” she said, taking her cell phone out of her handbag and putting it on the table in front of her. “Let Me be perfectly clear. I am going to give you two minutes to decide. If in that time you walk away, that is fine. Go back to your hotel room. Masturbate a few times while fantasizing about Me. You can tell your friends about the mysterious woman that you chased all the way to Florida, I can tell mine about the cute thing that I cut loose while I had him wriggling on the line. Both of us will go on with our lives. But if you are still sitting in that chair in two minutes, I am going to hypnotize you and turn you into My slave. At that point you will have no free will, and I am going to do whatever I want with you.”

As soon as she stopped speaking, she picked up her phone and began tapping its screen. Turning it so that I could see its display right-side up, she set it down on the table between us. She had called up the “timer” app, and set it to run for two minutes. I watched, transfixed, as her exquisitely manicured index finger set the timer running.

We sat in silence, facing each other as the timer ticked down. Her features were set in amused indifference. My mind was a clamor of feelings and impressions. I tried to collect my thoughts, but I could not look away from her. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her hands. Her breasts. Desire and arousal crowded out reason and deliberation.

The timer chimed. “Last chance,” she whispered.

I glanced at the door and back at her face. “I…I can’t leave,” I softly moaned.

“Listen to My voice, pet,” she began, “I know how much you love the sound of My voice….”

I don’t remember the next half hour clearly. My mind dissolved, I could feel my will being swallowed by hers. My next certain memory is of saying the words, “I obey Goddess Marquesa.” As I spoke this sentence I exploded in ecstasy. My cock sprayed cum like a firehose. Every muscle spasmed, every orifice twitched and sang. It was an orgasm like I had never experienced in my life, made more remarkable by the fact that my cock remained untouched inside my pants, now marked by a huge, quickly spreading stain.

All through this cataclysm my eyes and mind remained fixed on Goddess. I had never had an experience of Beauty so transcendent or pure. My whole being was filled with the desperate need to work for her and make her happy, and I knew that the earth-shattering pleasure of my climax and the need to serve Goddess were one and the same feeling. Obeying her was ecstasy. Pleasing her was paradise. This realization made me quake and shudder with catharsis. Energy drained from me until I collapsed from my chair and lay trembling on the floor, drool pouring from the corner of my mouth.

“My friend has had a bit too much to drink,” the Goddess said, addressing two burly men seated at the bar. “Could you gentleman help Me get him to My car?”

As they carried me like a wet rag doll, following the Goddess’s lead, into the parking lot, I should have been terrified. But all I could feel was yearning for the Goddess’s legs and ass as she walked before us. They threw me across the back seat of the Goddess’s car. I raised my head weakly and tried to speak, though I can’t remember what I tried to say. Perhaps, “Thank you.”

“Sleep for Me now, pet,” the Goddess commanded. And so I did.

My next clear memory is of waking in a police station in Nashville. The officers explained that they had found me unconscious in an alley a few miles away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. My wallet had been found on the ground nearby, with all of my credit cards, ID, and cash inside. The police were very curious about my recent whereabouts. I had been missing for two years.

I told them that I could not remember where I had been for that time, and this wasn’t entirely a lie. If I concentrate hard, I can bring forth blurry images. I remember being on my hands and knees, cleaning. Or working at a stove. I can hear my own voice, begging the Goddess to continue spanking my ass. I can see the Goddess’s pussy descending onto my prone face, and hear her richly velveteen voice command, “Open your mouth, slave.”

Of course I still feel haunted, like Ronald Colman in Lost Horizon. But I have no regrets. Of the thousands she has enslaved around the world, how many have had the opportunity to serve her in any way but remotely? No, I’m one of the lucky ones. And when occasionally I do get to feeling sorry for myself, I remember and take solace in the credo she taught me that first night we met: “I obey Goddess Marquesa.”