Her Turn

By Tom Tame

Christine and Tom had a deal. Christine submitted to him for a year as his slave. Now it's Tom's turn, but what Tom couldn't count on was how far Christine was willing to take him. He knew she was a brilliant psychologist, but he never expected she would whip out every weapon in her arsenal to manipulate him.

Hypnosis, conditioning, emotional manipulation . . . all lead Tom down a rabbit hole that is so intense and seductive, he may never be able to return. Even when she confesses she is changing him not into her slave boy as he'd assumed, but into her slave GIRL, she need only snap her fingers to wipe the knowledge from his mind.

This story contains mind control, feminization, BDSM, cuckolding and other sexual content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Tame
• Release date: Aug 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310785719

Tom Tame

I'm a nice guy who lives in Austin, TX and loves women. I'm straight (not that you asked), but I've always found great interest in genders and how we use them to identify ourselves and relate to one another. I write as a hobby, because I love it. I'm always interested in good stories and great authors. I'm always interested in being a better story teller and being a better author. I'm pretty friendly and can be reached at [e-mail]

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1HER Turn

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[e-mail]

©2014 by Tom Tame

Smashwords Edition

Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Part I

He gazed down at her, naked and folded neatly under his arm, enjoying the sight of his own hand resting on her plump breast. Her cheeks were still flushed from sex; her body was still burning. He let his voice go deep, let it rumble on purpose, feeling her slender body tremble. Let me get this straight.

She smiled and snuggled closer. Hmm?

You're going to submit to me for a whole year?

She bit his chin, then lifted her lips to his mouth and replied, A whole year of me being your perfect slave girl. Your perfect wife. Your perfect slut. Your perfect everything. She gazed into his eyes like a lovesick teenager; that always made him smile.

He narrowed his eyes with good natured suspicion. What does that mean exactly?

She laughed. Men. They always needed everything spelled out for them. It means, you tell me what you want and I have to do it. It means, you're the boss. It means-- She licked her lips and swallowed deeply. --I have to be obey you.

He nodded and winced when she bit his nipple. Yes, but what are the limits?

She thought about it, then thought about it again. She shouldn't do this. It was an impulse, a whim, but the temptation was too great. Just the idea of it made her weak all over. Her nipples twinged, her breath caught in her throat, choking off her speech; her heart thudded in her chest. None. She could barely say it; hearing the quiet submissive tone in her own voice caused delicious shivers up and down her body. She slipped on top of him, his chest mashing into her soft breasts, his erection growing and pressing into her soft mound. No limits. Anything you want, Tom. I'd be yours completely.

Even he was shocked by it. Are you sure? Anything?

He began to grin; it swallowed his entire face, lit desire in his eyes. She wished she could share in his grin, but it was all too much. She was overwhelmed by it. His. I'll be his. Really his. What am I doing?

Finally, she nodded, cheeks burning, eyes watering, unable to meet his gaze any longer, leaking like a faucet between her legs. I'm your slave, Tom. You can do anything you want to me.

What if I wanted to make you get implants, change your hair? What if I wanted to lock you up, make you wear slutty clothes? What if I ordered you to fuck someone else, pick up a guy or something?

She found the courage to meet his eyes once again. Tom was alarmed by the utter sincerity in her eyes. What had gotten into her? She told him in a quiet voice, I don't have a choice, Master. Even though I wouldn't like it, I'd have to do as you asked.

His jaw dropped, but his grin never faded. Jesus, Christine, are you sure you know what you're saying? You know . . . His voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. There are things I've always wanted to do to you. You know that, right?

She sat up, straddling him. His cock was fully erect now, laying flat against his hairy belly, pink and purple and leaking from the tip. She slid her pussy over it, her lips were swollen and hot and as wet as a waterfall. It would be so easy to prop it up gently and put it inside her, so deep, so filling, gliding up inside her, ramming into her. She nodded, bowing her head, overcome by a torrent of emotion. It was all too much to bear. There's a catch.

He chuckled and sighed. There always is. Okay. . . .

Her eyes twinkled. They were like blue diamonds, full of mischief. It's only for a year.

He eyed her suspiciously. And then?

She smiled sweetly at him. Her little miss innocent expression always worked wonders on him, even when he resisted. And then we switch.

All traces of his smile vanished. She watched his throat bob. You mean . . .

They'd traded expressions. His grin was on her face, broad and delicious. Her excited, uncertain, submissive expression was on his. After a year-- she said.

His throat bobbed again. He repeated her words like a quiet chant. After a year. . . .

She ran her fingernail down the length of his nose and gave the tip a little flick. You're mine.

Uh-- He swallowed and looked worried. You mean, without limits?

It was a dangerous game they were playing, and they both knew it.

She waited a long time for him to give voice to the decision he'd already made.

* * *

For a year she was whatever he wanted. Whenever he wanted her. However he wanted her. She was his doll. He dressed her, controlled her, fucked her and whipped her by his whim. He filled her with pleasure and pain.

She fulfilled his every desire.

It didn't take long, however, for her to miss being in control. She began to crave it. All of her outlets had been removed. She had even been forbidden from touching herself. Her fantasies of Domming him, suppressed as they were, grew to dizzying levels.

It was all she could do to finish the year.

On New Year's Day, she brought up their bargain.

So, he asked, that's it then?

She grimaced. His hands were on her nipples rolling them, pinching them. He liked to play rough with them. She liked it, too, but she'd been used and then some and now they were sore. That was our deal, wasn't it?

He nodded and rolled on to his back. I'm thinking about all the things I did to you.

She rested her chin on his chest, eyes twinkling. Yes?

His eyes fell to meet hers. I'm going to pay for all that, aren't I?

She grinned.

He shook his head. Damn! I should've made you go first. I was actually taking it easy on you.

That surprised her. Easy? It hadn't felt like he'd taken it easy on her. He'd been ruthless.

Now it was her turn.

* * *

Tom was a fool. He knew it. He had topped her for a year, but he paled in comparison as a Dominant. He had to work at it to find her hot buttons, and over the last year he hadn't worked that hard. In fact, it was safe to say that for the last six months, he hadn't bothered. He had taken her submission for granted. He had taken what he'd wanted, and put little thought into her needs.

He was a fool, all right. It was finally dawning on him how foolish he really was.

Tell me the truth, he whimpered. How much trouble am I really in?

She grinned. Her eyes sparkled, too, but it was the grin that worried him the most. She patted his cheek and grinned with her eyes nearly closed out of sheer delight. You have no idea.

He started to wonder: had he doomed himself on purpose? He was a switch, all right, but he had always leaned subby. She was a switch as well, but she'd always leaned Domme.

It was a new day in a new year and he'd promised to be her slave for all of it.

He waited in dread and excitement.

He'd always known something he'd never said outright: Christine was a brilliant psychologist. She knew human behavior. She knew people. She knew him backwards and forwards.

On the first day of the year, she invited him out to dinner. He dressed as she requested, tie and coat. Her favorite tie. Her favorite shirt. Her favorite shoes and slacks. He was dressed for her. He wore her favorite cologne.

She was setting the stage for his downfall.

He was going to fall hard, and to make matters worse, he was going to like it.

They dined. They danced. At every turn, he did his best to romance her. There was lots of touching, lots of sweet, soft kisses, lots of longing stares. They made it home early.

She put him on the couch, didn't ask, didn't request, drew him by hand and placed him there. She straddled him and ran her nose around his neck, enjoying how his sweat mixed with his cologne. She kissed him, but didn't let him take control. Her lips commanded his.

When he was ready, aroused, wanting her in the worst way, pants nicely tented, she withdrew and slipped into a nearby recliner.

He blinked. Did I do something wrong?

She grinned. No, baby. It's time.

He took a moment to adjust his erection which had twisted into an uncomfortable knot. I can't say I disagree.

Her grin broadened. No, Tom. I mean . . . it's time.

He swallowed. His face fell. Oh.

Her grin enveloped her face. Her cheeks flushed until they were pink. She had thought about returning her hair to its original color. He'd made her go blonde at first, then a few months later ordered her to go red. She'd gotten used to the red, and had decided to keep it. She would get it cut though. He liked it long, but it was too long and it wasn't his decision anymore.

He didn't make decisions anymore.

She laughed. Look at you. It's not a death sentence!

He turned red. I know, but I'm nervous.

Why?

Because, he swallowed again and shrunk. What are you going to do to me?

Her eyes softened. Her smile sweetened. Lay down.

He licked his lips. He was reluctant, but he followed her wishes. She wanted his shoes off, his tie loose, his coat tossed aside; she got what she wanted. It would be a year of her wishes met, her desires realized at his expense.

Okay, he said, now what?

Close your eyes.

He swallowed again. What are you doing?

He could hear the grin in the tone of her voice. You know what I'm doing.

He took a big breath of concern. She'd asked a thousand times before and he'd always refused. They'd argued about it. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. He was just afraid of someone mucking around in his mind, but he'd agreed as she had . . . no limits.

Don't you? she wondered.

After a long silence, he admitted, Yes. I know.

I've always wanted to put you under.

Quieter, he said, I know.

And now I can.

He listened to her shifting body, the rustle of her clothing. He wondered what she was doing.

Can't I? she asked.

He swallowed. There was no escape. I guess so.

He could see her eyebrows raising in his mind's eye. 'Guess'?

He took another deep breath. Okay. You can.

Just relax, Tom.

He was afraid of doing just that.

She spoke quietly and soothed his concerns. He had never heard her use that tone with him before. It was both soft and commanding. It was as confident as it was calming.

She did the usual: had him focus on relaxing each part of his body; had him visualize stairs and counted backwards as he imagined his feet taking them down one by one; had him open a door and enter a blank, white room; had him sit in a chair in an elevator and counted down the floors as he descended.

He didn't know how long they'd been at it, but he was feeling as if he'd melted into the sofa cushion. She had him try moving his arm, but like she said, not only was it too heavy, he just couldn't find the will. She had him try moving his hand, but the switch in his head to move it was nowhere to be found. She had him try twitching a finger. . . .

He felt himself getting heavier and heavier, until he couldn't make out his own thoughts. He could only listen to her voice and her voice was both lazy and somehow crisp. The sound of her lips and tongue clicking on the T in That's right sent him spiraling down.

After a long time, she asked him to open his eyes.

It was a struggle. He had to find that switch in his head to make it happen. He finally got his eyelids raised, but it wasn't easy. He took a deep breath and turned his head to look at her. She was smiling softly.

How are you feeling? she wondered.

It took him awhile to get his lips to move. Heavy, he told her.

Her smile sweetened. Sleep.

There was a moment of surprise as he remembered she had suggested that, as he remembered he'd lazily agreed to it, as the thrill ran through his body. Then he was sinking down into the cushion, his eyes too heavy to keep open.

She intoned with her lazy, deep, soft tone, Deeper this time. Deeper than ever before. This is where you want to be. This is where you love to be. This is where you are in total peace, just listening, just letting me think for you, letting me put thoughts in your head because you find it exciting to let me put thoughts in your head . . . thoughts like 'deeper' and 'down' and . . . 'sleep'.

After an eternity, she asked him to open his eyes again. It took him a long time, longer than before. This time he didn't turn to meet her gaze, but stared blankly ahead at the ceiling, still plagued by a powerful heaviness in every part of his body.

She spoke, and he heard her and he responded and he heard himself respond, but after each word it seemed to just vanish. He had no idea what she'd said or how he'd responded.

Then she said, sleep and he was lost again.

After an eternity of floating and listening and sinking, he listened with a focus that was both lethargic and intense. He felt like his mind was wide open, unsaddled by worries, concerns, shame, guilt or stress. Just open and blissful.

Now, Tom, she whispered, I'm talking to your subconscious now, because your conscious mind is far, far away, floating high in the clouds like a blue balloon in the blue, blue sky, so far away and drifting farther away. Just a speck in the sky now, so far, far away. I'm talking to your subconscious and your subconscious can respond now. It can speak easily without your conscious mind knowing or needing to know. She waited patiently, counted to ten, then continued. Can you hear me?

Tom's lips moved, but nothing came out. She repeated her question and was finally rewarded with a response. Yes.

That's so good. You're so good like this. While your conscious mind drifts even farther away now, I'd like to talk to you. I'd like to play a little game, but I can't do it without you. You're so important. I'd like to play a little game with Tom, and it's okay for Tom not to remember. It's okay for this to remain between you and I. It's okay not to remember anything I say from now–

* * *

Tom blinked his eyes and rubbed his face. He was groggy. He was warm and his tongue felt like it had been resting on parchment. Christine had a glass of cool water waiting for him. He held the glass for awhile before it dawned on him it was still in his hand. He sat up and blinked for a long time before he finally took a deep breath and glanced over at his grinning wife.

He smiled at her. Shit.

She raised her eyebrows. Hmm?

It worked, didn't it?

Her eyes melted until they were glassy with pleasure. Mm-hmm.

He repeated his thought more to himself this time. Shit. After a long sip of water, he added, What did you do?

Her smile stretched into a grin.

He frowned.

She softened her gaze. Relax, Tom. We're having fun with this.

He nodded. You always wanted to get inside my head.

Her smile stretched again, her eyes sparkling. And now I am.

Yes, he said, but how deep?

As deep as I want. You're my slave, remember? I'm making sure you keep that promise.

He swallowed. I'm not sure that answers my question.

She moved from the recliner to the couch, sitting beside him. He could smell her perfume, the scent of her hair and it made him happy. It turned him on, too, but he was still busy trying to wake up. You love me, Tom, and you trust me. You love me and trust me. You love me and trust me, Tom. That means you're able to let me in to a certain degree. You also feel a sense of obligation. You agreed to this. That gets me in a little farther, and last, but not least, you have more than a little guilt about how you treated me over the whole last year. I won't go into details, but I won't lie. I used that guilt to get deep down inside you.

He felt the heat rise in his face. He knew his entire head at probably just turned blood red. So, I'm all enslaved now? For real? Not like a game, but with you working your mind control magic on me?

She frowned a little, but her eyes still sparkled. As long as her eyes still sparkled, he knew he was okay. Was last year a game for you? The whole year of having me at your beck and call?

He sighed heavily. It started out that way.

But it felt pretty real to me by the end.

He nodded, eyes downcast. Yes, to me, too.

She held his hand and a pleasant wave of peace washed through him. I'd like you to do something for me.

He turned to meet her gaze. What?

She grinned. Count to ten.

He laughed. She giggled. He wondered what she was up to. He was about to ask why, but this was his life for the next year. He was her slave and he wasn't supposed to question her. One, two, three– He paused, his eyes shifting. He blinked. –five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

A grin broke out on his face. Some part of him knew something was a little odd about that, knew she was up to something, but couldn't pinpoint it. Again, she said, but backwards.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five– He paused again, searching. –three, two, one.

Good, she said.

He eyed her suspiciously. He opened his mouth to ask her a question, but he never got the chance. The last thing he heard before the thrill shot through him, before his eyes dropped, before his body was overwhelmed with heaviness was her soft voice saying, Sleep.

He sank back, feeling himself slipping down, his body getting heavier, his head lulling to the side, lying on her shoulder, his mind releasing. She talked him down, spoke to him in her hypnotist's voice, soft and soothing but insistent, both lazy and confident. He listened to her, but soon he was drifting again, up in the blue, blue sky like a blue balloon, far, far away.

She was talking with him, with a part of him, and a part of him was talking back. They were agreeing on things, both happy and getting happier, having fun with their conspiracy.

Then he was blinking his eyes again and rushing up, hearing her say the number 5, and he was taking a deep breath and sitting up straight. He stretched, rubbed his eyes and got a sense of himself again before glancing at her. That's happening a lot faster now.

She grinned. Will you try counting again?

He smiled. He laughed. He eyed her suspiciously. This time it was quick, with no hesitation. One, two, three, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

She had him do it backwards. She had him do it quicker. She had him do some simple math. If he got any of the answers wrong, he didn't notice, but every now and then, she grinned. He couldn't quite figure out why.

Finally, she seemed satisfied, and gave him a quick kiss before standing. Not bad for a first session.

He teased her. So, am I your hypnotic slave now?

Her expression was alarming. It was not humorous in the least. She was dead serious as she replied, Not yet, but you're on your way.

He gulped.

Oh, she said, that reminds me. Can you tell me your name?

He laughed, giving her his best really? expression.

Humor me, she urged.

He laughed again. Okay, it's. . . .

It was gone. It was there somewhere, but not accessible. His eyes fell, shifting as he searched his memory. He had a glimpse of her technique, a little flash of memory, a little recall of how she had phrased the suggestion. He remembered her asking him to recall a time when he'd forgotten something. Not just anything, but a certain time, when he'd entered a room to get something or do something and had gone blank, failing to remember what he'd gone in there to do. He explained under trance and vividly recalled that his solution was usually to head back into the room he'd just left, hoping to trigger the memory again. She liked that, had been very pleased by that. She'd used it on him and now he couldn't remember his name. Only, he didn't have a room to return to reclaim it.

He was at her mercy.

He laughed. Cute.

She grinned. She snapped her fingers and the word burst from his lips like water through a dam. Tom!

She giggled. Very good.

He blushed and shook his head. Well, if all you're going to do me is mess with my head a little, I might be okay.

Her grin soured slightly, not unhappily, but with a tinge of power. He'd seen the glaze of pleasure in her eyes before, especially when he was feeling very submissive, but this was different. I'm doing a lot more than that. This is just the beginning.

He swallowed and suppressed a shiver.

* * *

A week had gone by and Christine hadn't exercised any power over Tom. He received no orders, no chores, and to be honest, he was a little disappointed. He voluntarily washed the dishes once, did some general clean up in the kitchen and did a little laundry, but there was no excitement in it.

Christine didn't bother to thank him. In fact, Tom was wondering if she'd even noticed. When he hinted at what he'd done, hoping for a little gratitude, she noted with bored disdain that he hadn't mopped the floors, cleaned the toilets or done any dusting. The carpet hadn't been vacuumed, the sheets hadn't been washed, and the list continued.

He hemmed and hawed. But, you didn't tell me to do any of those things. Was he supposed to be a slave or wasn't he?

Her grin appeared again and a strange sensation washed through him. The more her eyes sparkled with secrets only she knew, the dumber he felt. The more derisive her grin became, the more a little chatter ran behind his thoughts. I'm hopeless. I'm useless. He felt naked before her. He felt as if she'd placed him on a stage in front of an audience of women and placed a ruler beside his penis only to come up short. He was struck by the image. Had she put that in his head? If she had, it was terrifying effective.

He realized suddenly he was gazing at the floor, the turmoil of shame and excitement churning in the pit of his stomach making it impossible for him to meet her knowing gaze. With one finger placed delicately beneath his chin, she lifted his face and told him in a whisper, You don't know what it's like to be an enslaved housewife . . . yet.

He nodded slowly, lost in her eyes. They were green; they were deep; they contained all of the secrets of the world. He felt utterly blank, standing, staring.

But, she continued, if you want to know what it's like to be truly enslaved, to be a good little housewife . . . just nod.

There was a vast empty space where his thoughts had been. Without realizing it, he nodded once.

Her grin stretched. Good boy.

If he'd been disappointed about his lack of orders before, he wasn't during the next week. She gave him a verbal list, speaking quickly and without hesitation. He had trouble keeping up with her. When he instinctively reached for a pen and paper, she slapped his hand and wagged her finger at him. If you're busy writing, you're not listening.

He shook his head. No, but--but I can't remember--

I could care less about what you can and can't do. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds and there was a small grin perched in the corner of her lips which sweetened her expression. I only care about what you will do.

That small, useless feeling washed through him again. He nodded and felt like crying. Was she doing that to him? Had she put that in his head somehow? He couldn't tell. I'm--I'm sorry. I was just trying--

You did ask to be my good little housewife, didn't you?

Had he? She had asked and he had nodded. Why had he done that? He blinked at her with a wide-eyed expression. Y-yes, I. . . .

Her grin was back, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. Good boy.

That was the second time she'd used that phrase. It wasn't just demeaning; it was insulting. He wasn't a dog. He was her husband. True, he'd promised to be her slave for a year, to obey her utterly, but did she have to call him that?

Over the next week, he struggled to remember and comply with her long, hastily spoken list of demands. He folded clothes, but they weren't straight and neat. Why hadn't he bothered to fold the fitted sheets? He'd just tossed them into the closet in a pile on the shelf. He hadn't swept the away the cobwebs near the ceiling. He hadn't vacuumed properly. He hadn't hung up her clothes properly. He'd missed an entire counter in the bathroom, which was still sprinkled with his hair particles from shaving.

As the week progressed, he felt lower and lower, actually falling into a pendulum of emotions: so hopeful, so eager to please her only to plummet into despair when she noted everything he'd done wrong, everything he'd forgotten.

His slavery was turning out to be less fun that he'd hoped.

He was putting the plates away when she came home. She sent him scurrying for a glass of wine. She sipped at it and watched him at work, chatting about some of the problems she was taking care of at work. She got the feeling he was only half-listening, but that would change soon enough.

After awhile, feeling the warm glow of the wine coursing through her body, relaxing her shoulders, warming her lips, she wrapped her arms around him and turned her face up for a kiss.

He gave her a squeeze, a soft kiss on the lips and an even softer one on the forehead, whispering I love you.

She smiled and felt his love blossom in her heart.

She noticed an odd look in his eyes. Yes?

I was just wondering, he said.

She withdrew from his arms and reclaimed her wine glass. Her face turned to stone. Just like that, her love and affection was pinched off. About what?

His forehead furrowed. It seems like all you've done is make me do chores, forget my name and make me count.

She grinned. Is that all I've done?

He laughed. Well, yes. I can't decide if you're not comfortable taking control of me or if you're being especially devious about it.

Well, she said, holding the glass of wine up to her lips, if you're curious, it's the latter.

He laughed again, his eyes narrowing. You're not doing anything but having me perform a few silly tricks. Forgetting my name? That's kind of hot, I'll admit, but it doesn't add up to much.

She nodded, wearing her therapist expression again. It said, That's interesting in a cool, calculated away as if she were busy dissecting him on the spot. Doesn't it? she asked.

He shook his head. It doesn't seem to.

Okay, she said and placed the wine glass on the counter, what's the last thing you remember from trance?

He took a deep breath and thought about it. Well, let's see. That was days ago. I remember the whole stair, elevator, chair thing. I remember feeling really heavy–

Days ago? she wondered.

Her grin was back. His eyes shifted, searching for the meaning of that enigmatic, devious grin. "Yes. Sunday. You