Rose sits on her four-post bed, hugging her knees, when you enter.
Her room is surprisingly feminine given her proclivities and strident activism: the walls are cherry pink. Her dresser is lined with lace and stacked with fluffy stuffed animals. A silk veil hangs over her bed. She actually has a Tinkerbell decal on her window, long-faded -- probably left over from childhood.
"I guess you're going to rape me now," Rose says, voice dripping with loathing.
You crawl onto her bed on all fours, approaching her like a jaguar approaching prey. She tries to pull back, but she's already sitting against the headboard: nowhere to go.
You clasp her chin in your hand and force her to look you in the eye.
"I think it's time for something different," you tell her.
"Wha...?"
You kiss her deeply and tenderly, lightly brushing her shoulders and her hair. When you pull away, you run more tender kisses up and down the nape of her neck.
And just like Whitney said, Rose melts like butter in your palms.
She arches her back and sighs. "What... what are you doing?" she mewls.
"What can I say? You inspired me..." you plant another kiss on her forehead, breathing deeply, and caress her all over with gentle touches. "Make love, not war."
You unbutton Rose's blouse and pull it away. Her bra and skirt quickly follow. fluttering to her carpeted floor with soft 'pwahs'.
"You can't do this--" Rose says, squirming against you. "This is still rape... you can't..."
You knead her bare tits, your palms sinking into the soft, warm flesh. As you kiss her and explore her breasts blindly, you happen to run your thumbs over the pert, pink nipples. She tenses underneath you, and then quivers, as if shocked.
"You say no-- but you're already like this..." you run a hand south, feeling her smooth and puffy mound through the fabric of her panties. She's soaking wet. Her hole pulses heat lewdly against your probing digits.
"I hate you-- I hate you so much--" she moans weakly, but you drown her protests in more kisses. Kisses that she returns hungrily. Your tongues swirl over one another's, each one fighting to be on top.
"Why do you do this to me?" she asks dreamily, breathing hot against you. She clutches your collar in balled-up fists, seemingly uncertain whether to pull you closer or push you back. "Why do you make me feel this way..."
You tug at the waistband of her underwear. She lifts her plump little butt off the bed to help you pull them off. You toss them unseen in the a corner and slip a finger inside her. It enters easily. She winches and writhes, apparently still sore from yesterday's rough treatment, but she lets you do as you please. Her pussy is pliant and fleshy, just like the rest of her -- a warm, wet little slit nestled in a prominent pubis. No onahole could ever compare to this softness.
As you work her over, Rose's shaking hands find their way to your jeans and unzip your pants.
"I thought you didn't want this," you say with a smirk.
"Shut up. Just shut up. Just-- just shut up..."
You lay atop her in a true missionary position and seat yourself inside her. She lies beneath you as you fuck her, without resisting -- completely willing -- and wraps her arms around your neck.
The most violent thing you do for the next twenty minutes is nip at her neck a bit, and from the way her pussy convulses around your cock every time you do this, she enjoys it.
As much as you'd like to fuck her completely, pushing your dick all the way inside -- you refrain from thrusting into her so far that you bottom her out.
As you pump her, she wags her hips back against you on every in-stroke, and together you find a rhythm that allows you to enter as deeply into her welcoming, velvety insides as you can without hurting her.
"Yes-- yes--!" she pants. "I-- I lo-- I love-- I love--- ugggh!"
You cut her off with a kiss. She goes abruptly limp, and you pull up far enough to take her hands in yours.
You interlace your fingers in hers, feeling her entire body shake, and fill her with cum.
All she can do is slur your name, over and over and over again, as she accepts your seed. And then you both collapse in a sweaty heap.
"I hate you..." she sobs as you lie atop her in post-coital bliss. "I hate you... I love you... I hate you..."
"Have you ever heard of Palau?" you ask her, your cock still mated inside her and drooling.
"Palau... I don't understand."
"Nothing. Go to sleep, Rose."
"Will you still be here when I wake up?"
"No."
She doesn't say anything in response, but wraps her legs around you as if trying to force you to stay. A few minutes later, she's asleep.
You extract yourself from her embrace and open her window. You whistle into the cool night air. A few moments later, Whitney props a ladder against the side of the house and climbs up, into Rose's bedroom.
Whitney finishes drilling the pin-sized hole into the ceiling above Rose's bed and places the almost-microscopic speaker inside.
"So you're sure this will work?" you ask.
"Three hours per night between the hours of 1:00 AM and 4:00 AM. Like clockwork. It can't fail!"
"Let's see how it sounds," you say. "I want to make sure it's not too loud."
Whitney clicks the button that remotely activates her special message.
From the speaker, the hypnotic sound of Whitney's recorded voice plays out. The volume is almost imperceptibly quiet-- you have to strain to make out any words at all.
"Rose Mallory. You've been a bad girl. You need to stop resisting. You will Alabaster Soliloquy as your only master. You are his pet. You are his loving and compliant pet. You want to service him every second of every day. You want to lick his cock and drink his cum. You want your womb to fill with his seed. You want him to fuck you until you can't stand anymore. When he isn't fucking you, you feel empty. When he uses you, you feel complete..."
The recording goes on and on like this.
"In just a few days... she'll never think of disobeying you," Whitney avers.
You watch Rose's snoozing form and wonder if she really needs this hypnosis treatment at all. And whether it will work. But it's worth a try.