Men Mind Controlled
With Leather And Smoke #0022
Created by Oregonleatherboy
The air in this corridor is heavy—thick with the scent of aged tobacco and the salt-sweet musk of polished leather.
Look at the gold leafing on the walls;
feel the sheer weight of it.
It’s an opulence that doesn't just surround you;
it crushes you.
High above,
the chandeliers glint with a cold,
jagged light,
reflecting off the diamond on my finger as I adjust this jacket.
Focus on the pattern.
These blue and black swirls stitched into the hide. They aren't just designs.
They are a path.
Follow the lines.
Trace the spiral inward,
deeper and harder
into the grain of the leather.
As the blue bleeds into the black,
your thoughts bleed into the silence.
*Crack.* *Snap*
*Whack*.
Listen.
*Crack.* *Snap*
*Whack*
The rhythm of the leather whip against my palm is the only clock that matters now.
With every strike,
a piece of your autonomy falls away,
hitting the marble floor like lead.
*Crack.* *Snap*
*Whack*
I’m taking a pull from this cigar.
Watch my mouth.
Gaze at the smoke.
I’m going to blow five rings,
and with each one,
you will surrender
a layer of yourself
to the palace.
*Whack*
Five.
The first ring rises,
perfect and shimmering.
Your eyes track it,
and as it climbs toward
the crystals of the chandelier,
your eyelids grow heavy.
The gold around you starts to glow too brightly, blurring your vision.
Four.
The second ring drifts toward you.
You can smell the rich,
expensive drift of it.
It fills your lungs,
and as you exhale,
you forget the sound of your own name.
There is only my voice now.
Three.
Look at the red swirls on the jacket beside me.
They are spinning now, aren't they?
A vortex of luxury and heat.
Your knees feel weak.
The marble is cold,
but the leather is warm.
You want to be closer to the leather.
Two.
The fourth ring breaks against your forehead.
Your mind is a blank slate,
a white room in a golden house.
You aren’t a man anymore;
you are an ornament.
Objectification
A piece of the collection.
One.
The final ring.
Your head tilts back.
The transition is complete.
Look at you—eyes rolled
back into your head,
showing nothing
but the white,
mindless void of total surrender.
The spark of "you" is gone,
replaced by the dazed,
beautiful vacuum of my will.
Don't try to swallow.
Let the saliva pool.
Let it drip.
It is the physical sign
of your mind finally going quiet.
You are vacant.
You are property.
*Crack.°°°***
*Snap*
*Whack*** °°•. *Crack...°*
*Snap*°*°*
*Whack****
The whip signals
the end of your world
and the beginning of mine.
Stay there,
kneeling in the glow of the gold,
white-eyed
and hollow,
exactly where you belong.
.jpeg "PPPimp Erotic Hypnotic Transgressive Digital Art Created by Oregonleatherboy Activist, Artist, Lover, Philomath, Photographer and Word Wrangler 18+")
*Crack.* *Snap*
*Whack*
T
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