(18+!)
Blake Evans is king of the tennis court at Westbridge University...and he's also a prick, a womanizer, a player, and an asshole. He's touted as one of the next stars of tennis, building hype and excitement around the program with every win...
Blake had no idea how long he was under, but slowly he emerged from the trance, his mind feeling like it was swimming through thick, warm honey. He blinked a few times, the remnants of the hypnotic words still echoing in his thoughts. The room came into focus, and he saw Savannah standing nearby, watching him with a satisfied smirk.
"Welcome back, Brooke," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "How do you feel?"
Blake opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. There was a pull at the back of his mind, a deep-seated need to be called Brooke, to be a good girl. The words "I'm Bambi" echoed faintly in his thoughts, but he pushed them away, struggling to regain his composure. "I-I feel fine," he managed to say, his voice shaky.
Savannah's eyes narrowed slightly, as if she could sense the conflict within him. "Really?"
Blake nodded quickly, trying to mask his inner turmoil. "Yeah, just... a bit tired after all that, I guess."
Savannah let out a soft chuckle. "Well, we have plans today." She paused, watching him carefully. "So go get ready."
Blake felt a jolt of pleasure at hearing the name Brooke, but he fought to keep his expression neutral. He stood up, taking a moment to gather himself.
The vanity, and all its powders and lipsticks and colors, called to something in him, pulling him closer..
He turned to Savannah, his voice soft and hesitant. "Savannah, can you help me with my makeup? I...I want it to be..." he couldn't finish the sentence.
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Savannah's smirk widened into a wicked grin. "Oh, of course, Brooke," she said, emphasizing the name. She walked over and took the brush from his hand, her touch sending shivers down his spine. "It looks like the hypnosis really went deep on you, didn't it?"
Blake swallowed hard, trying to hide just how deeply the hypnosis had affected him. "No, I––I just want to try, I guess," he muttered, his cheeks flushing.
Savannah leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "You like being called Brooke, don't you?" she whispered, her voice low and teasing.
Blake's heart pounded in his chest, and he fought to keep his voice steady. "It's... it's fine," he stammered, unable to admit the truth.
Savannah let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "Brooke, you're such a good girl."
The words reverberated through Blake's mind like a jolt of electricity, sending shockwaves of pleasure and compliance coursing through his body.
Good Girl.
The pull of the trigger words was wild and uncontrollable, each syllable latching onto his thoughts and dragging him deeper into the bimbo haze. He could feel his resistance crumbling, his mind yielding to the overwhelming desire to obey and be perfect.
