(mf, md, fd, mc, ft?)
The bed lay in a careful state of disarray in the center of a large room; the only light a spot illuminating it, a circle of light in a sea of darkness. It more resembled a pool of liquid mercury than a human pallet: the sheets flowed from the crafted base welling up from the floor. No lines, no wrinkles, no gap between a box spring and a mattress. It flowed upwards, flared sconces capping each corner of the bed, curling upwards from under the bed, then inwards towards the center of the bed. The sconces turned orchid-like at their ends, with ruby crystals surrounded by a ring of gently twinkling fiber optic lights. The center of bed reflected their lights with a gentle, rosy glow, sparkling in the softly folded sheets swirled up in a velvet mound in the center of the unmade bed.
It was state of the art, but which art was the burning question. And the next question was how to introduce it to the world of haute couture. Its creator stood back, head cocked, a half smirk, half pained smile on a face mocking classic beauty. Then turned back to the camera to finish the photo shoot.
Disclaimer: This is adult fiction. That means if you're not an adult, or adults aren't supposed to read this sort of stuff where you live, don't. And fiction means it's not true. If you think you can solve your relationship problems by using hypnosis or drugs, try therapy instead: it's real, and it works.
Thanks to "Simon," to all the writers who've made Simon Bar-Sinister's site an excellent source for mind control, the ASSTR folks who have given erotica a home of its own.
Comments good and bad should be directed to ploni_almoni@mailexcite.com. I live for your letters and with wither and fade into Internet hell without them. Oh, and send cash to asstr-mirror.org; it's their good services that make these stories available for our pleasuring.