“What is this?” I asked, sipping the scotch my date had just poured me as I perused the décor of her condo.

“That is where I display my special slaves,” she said from across the parlor, as she finished pouring a drink for herself.

Up until that point it had been a very good date, which for me is saying something. A man does not get to my age as a bachelor without racking up a lot of dating experience, and I had not been so turned on by someone I had just met for a very long time. The mention of “slaves” was the first warning sign I had encountered, and it made me turn, just to make sure I had heard her right. Doing so gave me another look at her gorgeous legs and shapely ass, as she faced away toward a sideboard that held her liquor and glassware.

“Huh?” I grunted.

“You heard me right,” she said, turning to favor me with a saucy look from her piercing green eyes. “That is a glass prison for my special slaves.”

I looked back at the curio cabinet I had been admiring. It was a transparent, hexagonal glass structure, internally lit, the shelves of which were arrayed with dozens of intricate crystal and cut-glass sculptures of ingenious shape and design. The whole display was very striking, but I still did not understand what she meant.

“I can see you are confused,” she said. “Let me explain. You see, I am a Domina. A Goddess, really. I don’t take lovers as the other women you have known do. I take slaves. This cabinet contains my favorites.”

A deep groan echoed inside my mind. I had begun to feel such high hopes for this night. I so desperately wanted to get into bed with this woman. But she was obviously crazy. I put a bland smile on my face and resigned myself to playing along until I could make a polite exit.

“I don’t see anyone in here, just crystal,” I replied.

“The crystal sculptures are all vessels. I took each one as tribute from a slave, and trapped his or her soul inside. Part of it, at least.”

I gulped down the rest of my drink and set the glass on a nearby end table. This was getting weirder and weirder. “You trapped souls?” I blurted, unable to conceal my growing discomfort.

She laughed, and looked and sounded so sexy doing so that I couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret that I had to leave. “I’m a hypnotist, you see,” she said. “I use a combination of mind control and Dianic magic to fix a piece of each slave’s soul into the crystal they surrender to me. This way I can be close to my property at all times.”

I knew that I should begin making my farewells, but curiosity got the better of me. “That seems impossible,” I murmured.

“Well…” she sighed in a confessional tone, “I can’t say for sure whether it really works or not. I only know that my slaves all believe it does…or so they tell me.”

I coughed nervously and shuffled in place, projecting unease. She laughed again. Taking a sip of her scotch, she continued, “I can see that you don’t believe me, but that won’t matter.”

“What?” I could hear how thick-headed I sounded, but my disorientation robbed me of speech.

“I like you,” she explained, speaking as matter-of-factly as if she were reading the ingredients off of a cereal box, “we had great chemistry tonight. You might even rate a place in my little prison. Oh, I can see that you are rethinking everything now. You can’t wait to get out of here. But you’ll be back. Let’s see…today’s date is February 5. That means you’ll be back and on your knees by….Valentine’s Day.”

“Look….I…,” I stammered, struggling to begin my valedictory.

“Don’t worry,” she interrupted with an accommodating smile as she set down her drink, “I won’t keep you here any longer. I’ve done all I needed. I have been working on you all night, though you had no way of knowing it. My every word and gesture served to stoke your desire. I am now deep in your head. It’s just a matter of waiting for the seeds I’ve planted to grow.”

She crossed the room swiftly and gracefully, and all of a sudden I was holding her in my arms. My cock bulged involuntarily and pressed against her taught abdomen through my slacks. Staring deeply into my eyes, she caressed my cheek with the nail of one slender finger, drawing my lips down for a kiss. Her taste filled my mouth, her scent my lungs. Then her lips were pressed close to my ear.

“Sleep well tonight, pet,” she whispered, “it will be your last chance for a while. You’ll know what to bring when you finally break.”

I don’t remember much about the drive home that night, but I remember the profound sense of relief when I was back in my familiar surroundings. By the time I was lying in bed, the whole date seemed like a fading memory of a surreal movie. “Smoking hot woman,” I mumbled to myself as I drifted off to sleep, “too bad she is nuts.”

The torment began the next day. I could not get her out of my mind. Had she hypnotized me? No. At least, I don’t think so. But somehow she had etched every detail about herself deep into my consciousness. I could still taste her kiss in my mouth. When I closed my eyes I could picture every mood of her classic face, every delicious curve of her magnificent body. Her breasts. Her legs. Oh, God….her legs. Her ass that curved so beautifully from the base of her spine to the tops of her supple thighs. I couldn’t stop picturing her, yearning to touch her, hold her again. My cock throbbed all day long like I was a teenager.

As the week drew on, things went from bad to worse. My waking fantasies about her became more and more vivid. And they weren’t just carnal. I couldn’t get her voice out of my head. It felt like no music would ever sound as sweet. And her company….I had only spent a few hours with her, but somehow I missed her. Her charm. Her humor. Her playful sexiness and joie de vivre. I began to doubt myself. If she was crazy …maybe I was crazy too?

Then the dreams began. Vivid like nothing I had ever experienced before. In one, I was standing naked in a large, empty ballroom. She was seated on a throne at the far end of the space, inspecting me regally, wearing nothing but a lacy brassiere, panties, stockings and garters. “Have you broken yet?” she asked.

“No,” I answered.

Getting up, she walked toward me, making the marble floors resound with the sound of her stiletto heels. Once she was in front of me she bent down and picked up two items I had not noticed on the floor. One was a small, smooth plastic device shaped like an elongated egg. The other was a jar of lubricant.

“Hold still and relax,” she commanded, fixing my eyes with her emerald gaze.

As I stood mutely she walked behind me, applied some of the contents of the jar to the plastic egg, and inserted the oiled device deep inside my anus, tucking it snugly against my prostate gland. The procedure done, she walked back to her throne and sat back down. Picking up a small remote control, she extended one enticingly shapely leg and said, “If you can make it over here, you may kiss my foot.”

I didn’t understand the nature of this challenge, but I wanted her so desperately that the invitation drove all other thoughts from my mind. I forgot any self-consciousness about my nakedness and strode across the room to claim my prize. As I did, she pressed a button on her remote control, causing the egg lodged inside me to vibrate fiercely.

The bolt of orgasmic pleasure was so intense that it stopped me in my tracks. My legs buckled, my eyes watered, I dropped to my knees. She pressed another button and stopped the vibration. I made to rise, but when I had almost regained my feet she pressed the remote again, laughing, and drove me to my knees.

The pleasure was relentless, but I could see her exquisite foot dangling tauntingly before me. I began to crawl toward her, fighting against the pleasure, forcing my limbs forward. She played with me, turning the stimulation off briefly to allow me to crawl faster, then sending jolts of ecstasy that turned my limbs to rubber. Cum spurted from my cock as I struggled forward, but my desperation to kiss her foot never slackened. As I finally reached her and bent down to place my lips lovingly against her stocking, I awoke to find myself sleeping in a sticky puddle like some adolescent boy.

February 14 found me kneeling on the doorstep of her condo, clinging to the last shreds of my sanity. When she opened the door in response to my knock I shed tears of mixed joy and relief. I held out my hands, cradling the object she knew I would bring: a small crystal statue, cut into the shape of a rose with ruby-red petals.

“Please,” I begged as she smiled down on me serenely, her look satisfied but by no means surprised, “lock me away. I need to be yours. Please…please….” My entreaties choked off as my strength gave way, but she gently led me into the condo and had me kneel before my crystal rose.

I don’t know how long the ritual lasted. It began with her putting me deeply into trance. I vaguely remember incantations and incense. When it was over, and I was fully awake, she bent down and picked up the glittering rose. Opening her glass cabinet, she placed it among the crystal curios given in tribute by her other slaves.

“Rise, pet,” she commanded, stepping back from the cabinet, “Let your pants fall down around your ankles and bend over.”

As I obeyed, I looked at my crystal rose in its see-through prison. The glint of its ruby-red petals dazzled my eyes as her open palm landed on my ass.  The pain was intense, but somehow deeply satisfying. I closed my eyes in surrender to the moment, and was shocked to find that I could still see. My perspective had changed, though- I was viewing myself from inside the glass curio cabinet. The angle was a surprise, but the look on my face as my Mistress thrashed me again was not: it was one of pure love.

The End