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Grandmother, mother and son.

" 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.

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