Tranced Into BBC

Brenda Brainjack

Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Brenda Brainjack

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The First Virtual Session

Lila Voss sat alone in the cramped office at the back of the house, the only room with a lock that actually worked. It was almost eleven. Jerry was downstairs, pretending to care about hockey, but she knew he was really just waiting to hear the click of her mouse and the chime of the video call. He always listened now, desperate and pathetic.

She angled the webcam to show her from the shoulders up. The silk camisole stuck to her tits, nipples poking through because she hadn't bothered with a bra. She liked the way the fabric teased her, made her nipples hard just from the air. Her hair was down, her face still red with the kind of shame that never really faded. Her lips were full, the kind men wanted to fuck, parted as she breathed out.

She clicked “Join Meeting.”

The screen flickered. Amar Moran appeared almost immediately, centered perfectly in frame, wearing a charcoal button-down with the top two buttons undone. His shaved head gleamed under warm studio lighting. His skin was a deep, rich brown that seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it. When he smiled, it was slow and deliberate, the smile of a man who already knew every secret the person on the other end was trying to hide.

“Lila,” he said, voice low and resonant, the kind of timbre that seemed to settle inside her ribcage. “Thank you for being punctual.”

She swallowed. “I… I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“You never do.” He tilted his head slightly. “Is Jerry nearby?”

“He’s downstairs.”

“Good. Please put him on speaker. He needs to hear this, too. It’s part of the process.”

Lila hesitated only a second before she reached for her phone, tapped speaker, and set it on the desk. She raised her voice just enough. “Jerry? Can you come up? He wants you on the call.”

A long pause. Then the creak of the stairs. Jerry appeared in the doorway wearing gray sweatpants and a faded band T-shirt, his brown hair mussed, eyes already wary. He didn’t speak, just stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Evening, Jerry,” Amar said smoothly. “Sit where Lila can see you. You’ll be participating tonight.”

Jerry dragged the spare chair over and sat beside her, close enough that their knees almost touched. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers already twitching.

Amar leaned forward slightly, elbows on his desk. “Lila, why don’t you start by telling me—in as much detail as you’re comfortable with—why you booked this session?”

She licked her lips. The motion was automatic, a tiny tell she hated. “I… I can’t stop thinking about cock. Not just thinking. Needing. It’s all the time. I’ve tried everything. Therapists, hypnosis CDs, those stupid fake dildos that squirt fake cum. Nothing works. The second I’m alone, or even when I’m not, I start fantasizing about a hard dick in my mouth. The weight of it. The taste. The way it pulses when it’s close. I’ve… I’ve ruined appointments because I ended up on my knees instead of talking. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Jerry fidgeted next to her. He smelled like sweat and cheap detergent. She almost wanted to grab his cock through his sweats, just to feel something hard and real, but she kept her hands in her lap. He was already half-hard, desperate for any attention.

Amar nodded slowly. “And when you imagine that cock, what does it look like?”

She exhaled through her nose. “Big. Thick. Darker than… than Jerry’s. Veiny. Heavy. The kind that stretches my lips and makes my jaw ache in the best way.”

Jerry made a small, involuntary sound in his throat.

“Interesting,” Amar murmured. “You didn’t always describe it that way, did you?”

“No,” she admitted. “It used to just be… any cock. But lately the fantasies have changed. They’re more specific. More… intense.”

Amar’s gaze never wavered. “Let’s explore that. Close your eyes, Lila. Just for a moment. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Good. Again. Feel your shoulders drop. Feel the chair under you. Feel the air moving across your lips. They’re sensitive tonight, aren’t they?”

She nodded, eyes closed now. Her breathing had already slowed, deepened.

“Imagine a cock in front of you,” Amar continued, voice dropping even lower, almost a caress. “Not Jerry’s. Not the ones you’ve known. This one is thicker. Longer. The skin is a deep, beautiful brown, almost black at the base, glossy where it’s already leaking. The head is wide and flared. You can see the ridge, the way it would catch on your lips as it slides in. Can you see it?”

A soft whimper escaped her. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you feel when you look at it.”

“My mouth waters. My tongue feels heavy. I want to… I want to taste the salt at the tip. I want to feel it push past my teeth, fill my cheeks, hit the back of my throat until I can’t breathe right.”

Jerry was breathing hard now. She heard the fabric of his sweats as he grabbed his cock, trying to hide how turned on he was by her filthy confession.

“Open your eyes, Lila,” Amar said gently.

She did. Her pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed.

“Look at your husband.”

She turned her head. Jerry was staring at her like she was a stranger who had just walked into their house wearing someone else’s skin.

“Jerry,” Amar said, “stroke yourself. Slowly. Through the fabric. Don’t take it out yet. Just feel how hard you are listening to your wife describe a cock that isn’t yours.”

Jerry obeyed without a word. The outline of his erection was already visible, straining against the gray cotton.

“Lila,” Amar continued, “tell Jerry exactly what you just told me. Look him in the eye while you do it.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m imagining a big black cock, Jerry. Thicker than you. Longer. The head’s so fat it would stretch my lips wide. I can almost feel it sliding over my tongue, pushing deeper, making me gag a little. I want to choke on it. I want to feel it pulse and shoot straight down my throat. I want it so bad I’m shaking.”

Jerry groaned low in his chest. His hand moved faster for a second before Amar’s voice cut in.

“Slow down, Jerry. Edge. No coming. Not tonight.”

Jerry’s hand stilled, trembling.

Amar smiled. “Very good. Lila, your pussy is wet right now, isn’t it?”

She nodded, thighs pressing together under the desk.

“Touch yourself. Just lightly. Over your panties. Tell me how it feels.”

Her hand went straight between her legs. The camisole had bunched up, her tits out, nipples hard and obvious. She pressed her fingers against her soaked panties and let out a gasp.

“Slick,” she whispered. “Hot. Aching. Every time I think about that cock, my clit throbs.”

“Keep touching,” Amar instructed. “But don’t come. Not until I say.”

The next fifteen minutes were pure torture. Amar made her describe everything: being on her knees in a cheap hotel, a huge black cock in her face, a stranger's hand in her hair, shoving his dick down her throat until she gagged and drooled. He made her talk about the taste, the smell, how her jaw ached from the size. Every filthy detail stripped away her self-control until she was panting, grinding her pussy against her hand, eyes glazed over with need.

Jerry sat next to her, leaking precum into his sweats, hand clamped on his cock, face red and pathetic with frustration.

Finally, Amar leaned back. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Lila made a broken sound of protest.

“You’ve done beautifully,” he said. “Jerry, open your banking app. You’re going to send the payment for the next ten sessions. Right now. While you’re still hard and aching.”

Jerry fumbled for his phone. His fingers shook so badly that he almost dropped it. When the confirmation chime sounded, Amar nodded.

“Good boy. Now here’s your homework. Every night until our next call, you will edge to the custom audio I’m sending you in just a moment. You will not come. If you do, you will tell me immediately, and we will discuss consequences. Understood?”

“Yes,” Jerry rasped.

“Lila,” Amar said, softer now, “when you go to bed tonight, you will not let Jerry fuck you. You will let him watch while you touch yourself and think about the cock you just described. You will come thinking of it. Not him.”

She whimpered again, nodding.

Amar’s smile was almost tender. “I’ll see you both in three days. Sleep well.”

The call ended.

Silence filled the office.

Lila turned to Jerry. Her lips were swollen, eyes wide and hungry. She kissed him, slow and dirty, making sure he tasted how wet her mouth was from talking about another man's cock.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “I feel different already.”

Jerry just stared, his cock still hard and useless, trapped in his sweats, knowing he wasn't getting any relief.

She stood on unsteady legs, walked to the door, and paused with her hand on the knob.

Downstairs, her phone buzzed. A notification.

She glanced at the screen.

A new contact was automatically added.

Angus King.

The profile picture showed only a torso—dark skin, carved abs, and the unmistakable heavy outline of an erection straining against gray boxer briefs.

Lila’s breath caught.

She glanced back at Jerry, eyes shining with a hunger he couldn't satisfy, something dangerous and filthy lighting up her face.

“I think… I think I need to message him.”

Jerry made a strangled sound.

She gave him a small, hungry smile and walked out, leaving the door wide open behind her, not caring if he watched her go.