Rosewater

I'm lying on the couch, reading a trashy fantasy novel when I hear the knock at the door. "Hang on, I'm coming!" I shout, tossing aside the adventures of Anita Blake and hopping to my feet. I'm not expecting anybody, but I'm not not expecting anybody either; most of my friends know I'm at home today, and they all know me well enough to know I never mind company stopping by.

Sure enough, when I glance through the peephole I see Manisha on the other side of the door. She's wearing the red sweater I lent her along with a pair of black slacks that accentuates the curve of her hips. She's carrying a reusable grocery bag, and her face is lit up in a smile of anticipation as she waits patiently in the hallway. I'm suddenly smiling too-seeing Manisha always makes my day a little better.

I open the door and say, "Nisha! How have you been-" Before I can get any further, she pulls a small plastic spray bottle from the grocery bag and squeezes it, releasing a spray of mist into the air right in front of my face. I take a step forward without even realizing it, and suddenly my nostrils are filled with the sweet, floral scent of rosewater.

The smell of it is instantly familiar to me, bringing back warm summer afternoons in Manisha's kitchen as I watched her boil rose petals to distill the delicately scented liquid. It brings back other associations, too-I feel my mind soften, my thoughts going smooth as a liquid rush of arousal hits me. My whole body feels suddenly warm, and I feel my eyes getting heavy as my face melts into a dreamy smile. It's like I'm being massaged all over with gloves made of pure silk, all my will stroked away as the rosewater scent fills my lungs and makes me dreamy and submissive and deeply aroused for Manisha.

"That's right, Courtney," Manisha says. She steps inside and closes the door. I sigh happily, taking in deep breaths of the rosewater mist and letting it soften my mind even further. It always feels so good, these first few moments when the scent hits me and I remember all over again just how easy it is to inhale the aroma and sink deeper. It feels so nice to let my thoughts scatter into a pleasant haze, not so much blank as simply loose and pliable. I can think. I just don't want to. Manisha can do all the thinking for both of us.

She strokes my arm gently, and I shiver as a current of bliss runs up my arm. I'm always so sensitive when I'm in my rosewater trance for Manisha, and it always makes me so vulnerable to be so sensitive. Manisha only has to touch me to make me melt for her, and she loves it when I melt. She gives me another squeeze of the mist, then two more in rapid succession. The gentle droplets of floral water settle onto my face, my hair, my dress, and I know that I'm going to be submissive and muzzy all afternoon until that scent finally fades.

Sometimes when Manisha comes over, she uses so much that the rosewater scent doesn't fade for days. I come home from work and slip into a soft, warm haze where I don't really want to do much around the apartment except drift on a warm cloud of fuzzy pink happiness and play with my pussy. Even when I remember that I have to be a good girl for Manisha and go to my job on time, it usually takes about half my bus ride to come down from my endorphin high.

Other times, she's sneakier about it. She brings over little cakes, and it's not until I take a bite that I realize they're soaked in rose syrup. By the time the syrup has coated my tongue with silky, sticky sweetness, I'm feeling so dizzy and dazed and aroused that I can't stop myself from letting her feed me bite after bite of sweet rose-flavored cake and licking her fingers. And once I start licking Manisha, I can never stop with just fingers.

And one time, she gave me a post-hypnotic suggestion to visit the bookstore and browse in the most secluded spot I could find. She came up behind me with a rosewater-soaked cloth and pressed it to my mouth and nose. Before I could do anything more than gasp in surprise, the scent was making my thoughts go hazy and my pussy get wet, and she whispered in my ear, "That's right, good girl," until I melted completely into her control. I was so deep I didn't even know who she was, and I didn't care. I just wanted to obey her. She took me back to her apartment and fucked me senseless. I still masturbate just remembering it.

I realize loosely that I'm already so hazy that I'm not really thinking about anything but the ways Manisha likes to hypnotize and fuck me, but all those thoughts are so nice that I don't really mind. Manisha just keeps petting and stroking my body through my clothes, making me unbelievably grateful that I wore a light summer dress today. Her eyes are hooded with arousal, but I know her well enough that she enjoys teasing me too much to end this right away.

"That's right," Manisha purrs, flicking my nipples back and forth with her thumbs until they tent the fabric of my dress. Her eyes drink in the sight as I shudder in arousal at her touch. Her familiar words sink into me on a primal level, reminding me just like always that I have permission to be a good girl for her, that I'm doing so well at going deeper into trance, that everything we do together is just perfect and I don't need to be ashamed of any of my desires. "That's right," she says again, and I'm so primed to respond to those words by now that I quiver before she even touches me.

She runs her hand down my dress, and the material is so thin that I can feel the heat of her hand as though I'm wearing nothing at all. I feel her pressing against my pussy-not grinding, just cupping it firmly and letting me feel the warmth of her touch as she says again, "That's right." I inhale sharply as she squeezes just a tiny bit, and I get another hit of rosewater bliss as I breathe in. She loves to do this to me. She loves to make me gasp, because every time I do I suck in more of her scent, more of her power. I melt more and more into a dreamy, aroused, submissive trance until I'm nothing but a docile, horny good girl for her. Just the way she wants me to be.

My eyes are only half-open, but I can see the smoldering heat in her gaze as she stares at me. I remember the first time she looked at me like that, back when the smell of roses only reminded me of springtime. It was the first time I ever really thought of myself as beautiful. She stared me right out of my clothes that night, stripping me naked with nothing but the way she looked at me every time I revealed another part of my body to her, and I've never been able to resist those eyes ever since. When she suggested using hypnosis to spice up our love life, I was already so lost in her gaze that it was almost redundant.

I've never regretted it, even for a second. The only thing better than making love to Manisha is making love to Manisha while my thoughts drift in an endless fog of floral bliss. She sets down the bag so she can pull off her sweater, then discards her bra in a single swift motion to reveal a pair of beautiful, pendulous tits that I've never been able to get enough of. I stare helplessly at her nipples, dark brown against her light brown skin, and I know I'm drooling but I don't care. My hands twitch, desperate to curl around the swell of her hips and pull her close, but I'm a good girl. Good girls allow their owners to set the pace, and I allowed Manisha to own me years ago.

She takes my hand and draws me close for a kiss. I feel the heat of her body like a fever through my dress, and I suddenly can't stand to be wearing clothes at all. I just want to feel her, skin against skin. The thought is like a beacon in my mind. "...please..." I whisper, unable to transform my urges into anything more coherent than helpless pleading and knowing it's all I need to say anyway. "...please!"

She smiles like a Cheshire cat and sways her hips from side to side, teasing my nipples against hers. I know she doesn't really have much more willpower than I do when it comes to sex, but I have so little right now that she seems to possess an endless reserve to tease me with. "That's right," she whispers in my ear, my obedience by now so ingrained that all she needs to say is those two words. I already know how to obey perfectly. She's just letting me know that I'm doing it.

I sag into her embrace, and she lets her hand move away so that my pussy can press against her thigh. I don't grind-I know Manisha too well, she wants to be the one to play with my cunny-but I do rub a little. Just enough to get nice and wet so that when she stands me upright again, I'm soaked clean through my panties and my sheer dress is clinging to my crotch. She likes to see what her rosewater trance has done to her good girl. And I like to show it off.

"That's my pretty girl," she whispers, letting her pants drop around her ankles to show off her own clinging panties. She peels them away from her soft skin, revealing a dark thatch of pubic hair that frames her sensual pussy lips. My eyes are focused more intently on her cunt than they ever could on a pendant or a pocket watch, and I feel myself leaning toward her as though her body has a gravity all its own. Only when she physically pushes me back upright do I stop myself from falling face-first into her crotch.

She takes a moment to pose me, pressing me down to my knees with my arms straight up above my head. Then she reaches down and grabs the hem of my dress, pulling it up and off in a single swift motion. "There we go," she says, unsnapping my bra and slipping it off. "Doesn't that feel better?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say. I shiver at the dreamy compliance in my own voice. I always love the way that hearing how deep I am sends me even deeper. I always love going deeper for Manisha. I love being guided by her, and I love melting into blank obedience to her will.

And Manisha loves melting me even further. She hits me with another blast of rosewater spray, and my eyes roll back in my head as I breathe in the thick, heady aroma that she's conditioned me to associate with trance. I feel my pussy leaking as wave after wave of arousal washes through me with every breath, and I can't possibly fight them all. I'm practically panting with desire now, and of course the more I pant, the more aroused I become. It barely takes a minute before I'm whimpering in shameless lust.

Which is when Manisha guides me back to my feet. "You won't need these, good girl," she says, pulling my sticky panties down to the floor. My shaved pussy is absolutely sopping wet, and she takes a moment to run her fingers over the smooth skin and feel the slickness coating my pussy lips. I'm not allowed to have hair down there like Manisha is. It's a sign of my submission-even when we're both naked, I'm more naked than she is.

She picks up the bag again, then takes my wrist with her other hand and guides me to the bathroom. I feel like I'm floating behind her like a helium balloon, tethered to her touch and drifting in trance. She brings me inside and helps me climb into the tub. "Lie down, pretty girl," she says, helping me down until I'm on my back. The porcelain feels cold against my feverish skin, but I warm it quickly. I shiver in anticipation, unsure of what Manisha plans next.

"Here we are, pretty girl," she whispers, pulling out a different bottle from the grocery bag. It's a squeeze bottle this time, made of clear plastic and filled with a light pink liquid. "Open your mouth for me," she says coaxingly, and I obediently part my lips as she dribbles out a jet of fluid from the bottle onto them.

The taste of rose syrup fills my mouth, and my eyes slip shut as I feel the sweetness hit me like a drug. She's made the rosewater into a syrup before, even used it to hypnotize me, but she's never drizzled it onto my face like she is now. I can feel it, soaking into my skin as she squeezes out more of the sticky pink goo all over my lips, my chin, my throat. Her fingers follow right behind, caressing my syrup-slick skin and brushing at my already hypersensitive flesh until I shudder under her touch.

"That's right," she says, pouring spirals of rose syrup onto my breasts and massaging it in with slow, maddening caresses. I've never felt anything so erotic in my life; the smell of roses swamps my senses, and Manisha's fingers glide across my slick, sticky skin to tease my nipples until I moan. I've never felt so wet, and I don't just mean the syrup all over me.

"That's a good girl," she coos, slowly and meticulously coating every inch of my skin in sweetness. I'm openly trembling now, unable to control my arousal even a little as she finger paints my body in pink. I feel her hands sliding over me, slippery with syrup against my slick flesh, going back over my erogenous zones with the kind of precision only years of familiarity with another person's body could produce. The pleasure is so intense I feel tears at the corners of my eyes. But Manisha isn't done yet.

"Roll over, good girl," she says, and I'm helpless to resist her commands. I feel my body slipping and sliding against the surface of the tub, and I find myself rubbing back and forth against the porcelain to enjoy the delicious sensation on my tits. But it doesn't distract me from Manisha's hands, now gliding over my legs to coat my ass in sweet rose syrup. I'm saturated with roses now. The fog in my mind is practically solid, and my arousal feels like a furnace in my cunt.

Manisha gives one last good squeeze, spattering my body with a random coating of syrup before she climbs into the tub with me. I'm once again indescribably grateful that my priorities when finding an apartment weren't exactly closet space, because I can't imagine anything better than the way Manisha feels rubbing up against me right now. She's so slick and I'm so slick and all I can feel is slippery wetness everywhere we touch, and I moan again but it's swallowed up by her mouth as she kisses me hungrily. She even tastes like roses to me now.

And then we're grinding into each other, breasts against breasts and cunts against cunts, squirming and shifting to get just the right rub as we give up on all the teasing and just fuck. We're in animal space now, all her command and all my submission forgotten in the sheer mindless desire to cum, and I can't think of anything at all except the heat in my pussy and the tingling in my breasts and the slick, slippery wetness all around me and inside me and then I'm over the edge and cumming so hard, so fucking hard, the orgasm pushing every last thought out of my head in an explosion of blank and mindless bliss.

And then I finally come back from the edge, out of the timeless realm of pleasure into the dreamy bliss of Manisha's rosewater trance. I'm a little bit more together than I was-cumming always takes the edge off a bit-but the scent filling my nostrils still leaves me very much a sexy, scatter-brained submissive girl. Just the way she likes it. "We're gonna have to clean up," I say, my voice slurred from an afterglow I won't really come down from for hours.

"Well, good girl," Manisha says, her voice alight with laughter, "that's the nice thing about fucking in a tub." She starts the water running, and I feel her slowly and sensuously washing me with her bare hands. "You can get clean and dirty all at the same time."

I feel myself already starting to fade into obedience again as the water slowly turns pink...

THE END