Old Habits

by Isaac Byrne

  “Bark like a dog.”

  I would always have obeyed Master – obviously – but more so than usual, this felt right. “Arf! Arf arf arf!”

  Master patted my head and shushed me. “Tell me why you did those things, Harmony.”

  “I obey Master,” I said automatically. “But also… they were really good ideas.”

  The flashback ended. Right now, I would obey. Blindly.

  I have multiple obedience triggers, I should clarify, as most of my triggers entail some manifestation of obedience. The ones that don’t merely define the limitations on my resistance and compliance. As for the more direct routes to controlling me, there’s one that turns me into a fawning harem slave, another into a simpering housewife, still another into a robot (monotone and all). The hostess trigger was in that spirit, really, though allowed me a bit more autonomy in providing suggestions.

  This, however, was among the most restrictive. Right now, I would follow any command I was given. I didn’t do it with enthusiasm (oh thank you, kind sir, thank you for giving this silly little slut a way to serve you!); I didn’t do it mechanically (command acknowledged; this unit will commence sucking dick in 3… 2…). Here, I would do it as if it were perfectly natural. Whatever I was told to do simply became the thing I wanted to do.

  It was objectively alarming, even if I experienced none of the alarm myself; most of my triggers had me jumping through mental hoops to anticipate and preempt. This, however, was all reactive. Beyond manually input instructions, I wouldn’t alter my behavior or give a man any special treatment. I was still Harmony Reed (aside from quelling any urge I would have had to run like hell)... it was just that Harmony Reed became something of a fluid concept.

  I took a sip of my drink, and continued doing what I was doing – ignoring him. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d just be satisfied with that. At the same time, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I’d get even luckier, and he’d demand the world.

  “C’mon, least you could do is gimme a smile, sweet thing,” the man prompted.

  I was made to be rather literal in this setting, but still, I could tell at the heart of his words was gimme a smile. So I smiled. At him. It seemed like the right thing to do.

  “That’s the spirit. You got a pretty one, ya know.” I gave him a little nod, still not really interested in interacting with this guy, but smiling at him nonetheless. He hadn’t said to stop, and the command didn’t have a logical conclusion.

  It was getting awkward, even for him I think, and he finally broke eye contact. “You don’t talk much,” he said.

  Suddenly, I wanted to talk to him, yet only a little. I didn’t have much to say. “Not really.”

  “I suppose lookin’ like you do, you wouldn’t have to, eh?” He shouldn’t grin so much. He didn’t have the teeth for it. I kept smiling. “C’mon now, tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said automatically, inflecting it as if to tease him.

  “Oh? ‘Cause quiet as you are, it makes a man think you got somethin’ else on your mind.” I braced myself. One crude comment and I would start fucking him right here in the bar. “Dancing,” he said, guffawing at the suspense he’d built.

  I kept smiling. Suddenly, my mind was on dancing. “I like dancing,” I said, keeping my comments clipped. I didn’t have much to say.

  “Well I don’t suppose I could trouble you for one now, could I?” He had the decency to look nervous, probably unsure if his trigger was working yet. But even suggestible as I was, there was no command in that.

  “I’d rather not, thanks,” I said, silently praying he’d feel chastised and give up.

  Again, it was not my night for easily put off men. “C’mon, darlin’, give ol’ Curly just one dance,” he pressed.

  I shrugged my shoulders in surrender, taking to my feet and scanning the bar. “Sure. Which one is Curly?”

  He laughed, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “You’re lookin’ at him! Don’t judge a man by the toppings on the table. Time was when I earned the name.” He took off his trucker’s hat and I saw he was indeed mostly bald, save for a few lonely hairs futilely combed across his scalp.

  “Oh. What kind of dance would you like?” He’d said to give him a dance, after all.

  His grin broadened ear to ear. “Lap?” he said jokingly.

  Before he could brush aside his comment (if he even had the intent to do so), I had turned around and was twitching my butt right at him. The music wasn’t ideal for this, but I had stripper training leaking out of my ears. I made it work, adding a little bit of the honky tonk style to my movements. My dress, I’m sure, was flashing panties at him left and right, but the man wanted a lap dance, so he’d be fine with that.

  I was settling into his lap backwards, humping softly against his growing erection, when he finally became aware of all the attention we were drawing. “Hey now, I was just joking! C’mon, give it a rest, darlin’.” I stopped, standing back up and turning to smile at him. “Damn, you don’t play hard to get at all, do ya.”

  I sure didn’t. I glanced around the bar, thinking how little it would take for these men to take me home with them. I didn’t like to make them work for it. I was so, so easy. I wondered if he knew how ready he’d just made me to jump into bed with his competition.

  But then, Justin was there, and Hannah. I couldn’t tell which of us they were scowling harder at, me for dancing like a slut or him for being the recipient of it. “Harm, what the hell are you doing? Jesus, you’re going to get the cops called on you,” she scolded.

  Right on top her, Justin was rebuking Curly. “Hey pal, why don’t you leave our friend be? She’s had a lot to drink, and she’s ready to go home.”

  “You wanna take me home?” I said, elated, and a little surprised my gay friend would be the one to claim me as his prize.

  Justin gave me a weird look. After all, my friends assumed I’d only give my attention to this guy because I was blitzed. Maybe roofied. Still, Curly wasn’t ready to give up his prize. “She ain’t neither drunk. She and I were just having a good time, weren’t we miss?”

  “We sure were!” I said. It had been so fun, embarrassing myself by giving him a lap dance.

  “See? Now tell your people there to back off, baby girl.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, we were just having some fun, guys. Leave us be.”

  Justin eyed me sternly. “Look, I don’t know what this guy slipped in your drink, but you need to come with us. Now.”

  I was about to agree – I don’t like to play hard to get, after all – but Curly spoke up first, his tone remarkably indignant for a guy who’d just triggered me into being his sex slave for the evening. “Hey, I didn’t slip her nothin’. I bought the lady a drink, and she threw herself at me. Ain’t my fault she can’t get enough of yours truly.”

  Mmm, I sure couldn’t. Lucky for me, there was so much of him to go around. I plopped back down in his lap, taking his arm and wrapping it around my waist. I suddenly wanted his hands on me everywhere. “Leave us alone, you guys. We’re just having fun, OK?”

  “The hell we will,” Hannah thundered, hands on hips.

  “Hey, your friend’s a free-spirited woman who can do whatever she wants,” Curly rebutted. My mind suddenly dumped all of his pre-existing comments. I was free. I could do what I wanted. I wanted very much to leave with my friends. But before I could so much as remove his sweaty paw from my mid-section, he dashed my hopes anew. “And what she wants is to go spend some quality time with yours truly. Tell your friends farewell, then let’s you and me get out of here.”

  “Bye guys. I’ll talk to you later.” I took Curly’s hand and tried to leave, but they stayed in our path. “Sorry, when I said ‘bye,’ what I meant was ‘get out of my way.’ I’m leaving.”

  “Harmony, c’mon. With this guy? No fucking way,” said Justin, glaring at my country western lover-to-be.

  I looked to him for support. “Don’t hold back baby. I promise you I won’t
neither.” He chuckled, and I giggled at his innuendo. He was going to fuck me like crazy. I knew what quality time was code for. I couldn’t wait.

  I narrowed my eyes at Justin. I had to get out of here with Curly, and I wasn’t going to pull punches to get him the hell out of our way. “What, you jealous? You can’t have his cock for yourself so you won’t let me have it either?”

  “What? Harm, he’s–”

  “–taking me home with him because you’re not my dad. You’re not my brother, and you’re sure as hell not my lover. You have no say in this.”

  “Well I sure as shit do,” said Hannah, hackles rising. “I don’t know why you’re dead-set on slumming with this jerk, but nuh uh. Not on my watch. You’re coming home with me, end of story.”

  “You’re not the boss of me!” I said, realizing how childish I sounded and adding a “bitch” to try to up my game.

  As a mother, Hannah had long since developed an outrage reflex for sass. “What did you say to me?”

  “C’mon, really let ‘em have it. They’s slowing us down,” Curly said in my ear.

  I should have been horrified by what happened then, but instead, it felt exactly right. I laid into my friends, using every insult, slur, vulnerability and bit of dirt I had on them. I called Justin a faggot, told Miguel he was just as big of a pussy for sticking up for him, accused Vivian of being an airhead who was only pissed because I’d finally found one of the men she hadn’t yet slept with, told Hannah that just because she’d ruined her life by being a teen slut didn’t mean I was going to follow in her footsteps.

  Miguel made one final last ditch effort to stop me, grabbing my wrist and spinning me to face him. “Harmony, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but don’t do this. If this guy’s… blackmailing you, or whatever it is, we’ll help you. Stay. I – we care about you.”

  Then, after a nod from Curly, I looked into the wounded, concerned face of my best friend in the world. “Touch me again and I’ll call the police.” His jaw dropped, and when he recovered from being altogether stunned, he released me.

  By that point, they were only too happy to see me go. They’d never seen me drunk enough to do a random hookup before – I’m usually pretty protective of myself, for obvious reasons – but tonight, I showed them I could and would do whatever the hell I wanted.

  And tonight, what I wanted to do was a heavyset redneck named Curly.

  His hand was on my hip as we exited the place, my friends still glaring daggers at my swaying backside. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get out of there with Curly. “Thanks,” I said. “I really wanted to get out of there with you.”

  “Yeah, I could tell. Mighty bossy friends you got. Let’s flip ‘em the bird before we go, shall we?” he said. I could tell he was joking, but I didn’t differentiate. I turned and looked to where they were watching us through the front windows and extended both middle fingers at them.

  “I was just kidding girl, damn,” Curly said as he opened the door of his rather antiquated pickup for me. I didn’t get in yet; all he’d told me to do was get out of there, and I’d done that. Maybe he’d slip up next and I could go beg my friends’ forgiveness.

  “Sorry. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “You keep on doin’ whatever I say like that and you’re gonna start giving me ideas.”

  Precisely what I didn’t want to do, but then, what I wanted no longer mattered. “I’ll try not to,” I said, knowing full well my trying would be in vain.

  “Well hell, if it gets me another lap dance, don’t you bother trying.”

  I considered; it was unclear what that suggestion connotated. So like the brainwashed fuck toy I was, rather than ignore it, I asked. “Does that mean you’d like another one?”

  “Well who wouldn’t!” His smile faded, and he looked me over for a moment. With that ambiguous reply, I still didn’t feel quite compelled to resume grinding on him. “Look now, I ain’t totally delusional. Girl like you and a feller like me… I been around the block. You gotta make a living, I understand. So let’s negotiate.”

  “I’d love to negotiate. What are we negotiating?”

  “Don’t be coy now. You tell me what a reasonable rate is, and I’ll decide if I think you’re worth it.”

  “Happy to. A reasonable rate for what?” What I intended was a simple, innocent clarification of what he wanted. I knew, of course, but he had to say it. Otherwise, in my triggered state I’d try to sell him my jewelry, or babysit his kids.

  What he heard, however, was a request for an itemized price list. “Look, I’ll be honest, there ain’t a scrap of you I ain’t at least intrigued by. So walk me through, piece by piece, what you charge.”

  I considered. He wanted reasonable rates, but who decided what was reasonable? Was that according to his wallet? Or according to my value? I decided on the latter.

  “My mouth is four hundred, my pussy’s five, and my ass is eight. Or you can go all-inclusive for an even thousand for the night.” Steep? Sure, but I was a good-looking young woman, and one who was an expert in the use of every last orifice and extremity on her body.

  He whistled through the gap in his teeth. “Damn, girl. I’m sure a piece of tail like you’s worth every penny of it, though… give ol’ Curly a discount?” he said.

  “Sure,” I immediately replied, prices vanishing from my head. “How much do you think is fair?”

  “Well after I bought you that drink, you oughta give me a freebie.” He chuckled.

  “Sounds good,” I agreed.

  He paused. “Wait, serious?”

  “Of course. I’m free to you. Total discount.”

  “Are… are you all right? Like, in the head? Tell me honest now.”

  “I’m actually pretty fucked up in there,” I confided. “Right now, I feel like I’d do anything you told me to do, no questions asked.”

  He eyed me a moment, then glanced around the lot as if to look for hidden cameras or Ashton Kutcher. “This some kind of practical joke?”

  “Nope. Anything you tell me to do, I’ll do.”

  He looked me over. “Stand on one foot.”

  I raised a foot in the air, balancing precariously on my remaining stiletto and hoping a breeze didn’t come along.

  Just to check, he then had me spin in a circle, say the ABC’s backwards (took me a minute, but I got it), and hand him all the money in my purse. $48.35 was thankfully all I had on hand. Each command I obeyed cheerfully, certain what I was doing was a good idea.

  “Show me dem titties,” he said finally, folding his arms across his chest as if certain this would be a bridge too far. He was the one who’d triggered me; how could he doubt?

  So standing right there in the parking lot, hoping and praying my friends weren’t still watching me, I unzipped the back of my dress, slid down the straps off my shoulders, and tugged my dress down to my stomach. I was wearing a strapless bra, but that just got in the way of Curly seeing my titties so I took it off too, tucking it in my purse for later.

  As he stared at my perfect rack, I just smiled. It felt perfectly normal to show these to him. This was what I wanted.

  “Get in the car.”

  He drove us to a motel, a sleazy-looking dive in a disreputable part of town. The whole way, I left my titties out (a much more natural word for them, I thought), and occasionally I invited or tried to entice Curly to look at them. I really wanted to show them to him, and he was happy to let me. He had me cover them with my arm as I walked into the motel room, but then immediately had me reveal them again.

  “Can’t wait to see you without that dress on,” he said, eyeing me in the flickering fluorescent light of our room.

  “I’ll bet,” I said. “For now, do you wanna look at my titties some more?”

  He chuckled. “So it’s like, a literal thing with you, huh? You need to hear the words? Fine. Take your dress off, darlin’.”

  “I’d love to!” I exclaimed. I pulled the zipper down the rest of th
e way, but he stopped me right off.

  “Do it like a dance. A strip tease.”

  “Would you mind? I’d actually really prefer to do something sexier like that.”

  “Be my guest.”

  He sat back in the motel room’s chair while I shimmied out of my dress. When that wasn’t enough, he had me continue to dance for him. I knew a good many, and he didn’t tire of them soon. His cock was out in his hand, slowly stroking, for more than an hour of watching my highly trained body wriggle and undulate for his viewing delight. There was no music, just the sounds of our bodies, each of our skin against our own.

  “OK, you can stop now,” he said at last. I stopped dancing, bending over to catch my breath. “How you feelin’, darlin’?”

  He’d told me before to be honest, and I couldn’t imagine he meant that for just the one response. So I gave him the full truth. “Physically, I’m equal parts tired and horny. I’m horny almost all the time, but more so than usual. Mentally, I want to go home and call my friends and tell them I’m sorry.”

  “Well you shouldn’t. The show you’re putting on, you should feel proud. They’re damn selfish for trying to keep you from the world.”

  I smiled at that. My friends were such assholes, always trying to keep me from stripping and dancing naked for strange men. They pissed me off. I was proud of my talents. “Thank you. I really liked dancing for you.”

  “Bend over and show me your cunny,” he said.

  I turned around and bent down, my breasts sinking down almost to my chin. With my hands, I pulled my ass cheeks apart so make sure he got a good look. “You got a nice one. If you asked me real nice, I just made give it a little treat.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  He chuckled, cock still in his hand. “Yeah, guess I gotta be more specific, don’t I. Ask me real nice.”

  After his last comment, I couldn’t pretend not to know what he wanted me to ask. “Would you please, pretty pretty please, fuck my cunny?” I batted my eyelashes at him upside down between my legs.