Who's dating my dad?

“Becky? What are you doing here?” I asked as my ex-roommate opened the door to my father’s house. I did not hide my displeasure at seeing her, the last time we’d been in the same room my boyfriend was tearfully confessing to having slept with her.

“Your daddy’s at work,” she said.

“That doesn’t answer why you’re here,” I pointed out still holding the key that I had been about to open the door to the house with. I’d planned to come by and grab a few of my old things to move them to my new apartment and had not expected anyone to be at my childhood home during the day.

Becky winked, “Men get lonely.”

I wanted to strangle her, both for clearly fucking my father and for the annoying way she spoke. She had always been like that, talking in circles and riddles. Answering questions with questions, or non-answers.

“So you’re sleeping with my dad, great. I can’t wait until that wedding, should be fun,” I said pushing past her and into the house.

She closed the door and followed me in with a grin on her face. Her stupid face.

“I promise to give you all the love and affection a mother can,” she said. I didn’t take the bait, instead of climbing the stairs to the bedroom that I’d grown up in. A faded poster for a boyband that I used to like was on the wall, and the globe that I’d had since I was six sat on the dresser. A stack of boxes was already in the closet ready to go.

One had been opened. I folded back the top to see which it was and saw that it was my old diaries from high school and undergrad. A number of them had clearly been disturbed from the careful way that I’d arranged them. Someone had read them, and my father would never do that so…

Becky was leaning against the doorframe, smirking, “I get bored, wanted to see what was in that brain of yours. A little perverted, but then that’s the best kind of diaries to read. Lots of dirty thoughts, if not dirty deeds.”

“Don’t talk to me about dirty deeds,” I said angrily.

“Oh, Jack? Come on, you’re clearly a lesbian what do you care about some college dickhead?” she asked, “When really you just wanted a strong woman to make you into a hypno-whore.”

I stood up ready to hit her. I expected her to back away as I stepped towards her, with my fists clenched. Instead, she grinned even more and then opening her hand let a gold object fall out of her grasp. The object fell about six inches then stopped, dangling on a gold chain. It was a pocket watch. My pocket watch.

“I found this in those boxes too, and when I read how you bought it at a mall kiosk and would spend hours staring at it wishing it hypnotized you,” she said raising it up so the watch was at eye level to me, “Well I knew just what I’d do with it.”

It was true. I had bought the watch from a mall watch kiosk. I’d felt myself blushing when I did as if the young man working there would know I bought it because hypnosis turned me on. I’d spent hours laying on my bed, dangling it in front of my eyes imagining being hypnotized. Writing erotic hypno-kink fiction.

My eyes locked onto the watch as it began to swing.

“Hours, years, hypnotizing yourself. You even wrote down a phrase, to put you right into a trance. You used to pretend that it would let anyone control you,” Becky said, swinging the watch.”

“Yeah,” I said, watching it. Back and forth.

“Sleepy Sarah,” Becky said.

“Wai…” I began but didn’t finish. My eyes shut and I felt myself falling forwards towards Becky’s waiting arms.

When I awoke Becky was laying on my high school bed, naked. I realized I was naked too, and dripping wet. She looked at me from her back and gestured towards her, “Come on Sarah, be a good girl and please your Mistress.”

Mistress? My mind reeled at the phrase and the whole situation, but my body responded. Climbing onto the bed I leaned in, moving between her legs and beginning to explore. Drawn to her, feeling weak and obedient.

Feeling my fantasy come to life.