Message-ID: <868eli$9705231159@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Ole.Joe@poboxes.com (Ole Joe) Subject: RP MKS: Trances by Michael K Smith TRANCES by Michael K. Smith It wasn't that I didn't have a pretty good reputation with the girls in high school and college, but my successes weren't spectacular, either. I did all right, plenty of dates most of the time, two girls with whom I went steady for almost a year -- the usual. I wasn't a jock, or a student government leader, or anything, but neither were most guys. It all seemed perfectly normal ... but that was before my friend Jeff's older brother taught me how to hypnotize people. I was doing my freshman year of college locally, to save money, when Edward came home from one of the big-time universities where he was a senior psych major. His grades were very good and he apparently had an excellent shot at one of the better graduate schools the following year. Edward's particular fascination was the workings of human will power. He wanted to understand the forces that drove people. That meant trying to nullify someone's will power so he could, in effect, take it out and study it, see what made it tick. And, for Edward, that meant hypnosis. To him, hypnotism was a kind of crowbar that he could use to pry the lid off his subject's mind, so he could investigate its innards. He was very good at it, too. He was able to hypnotize his brother in less than five minutes, even though Jeff knew perfectly well what he was doing and probably tried to resist. I know Edward was able to put *me* under in nothing flat, even though I'm ordinarily a highly suspicious and skeptical person. I wouldn't have thought I'd make a good hypnotic subject -- but I have a polaroid of myself, barefoot with pants legs rolled up, and an actual lampshade on my head, capering about in a particularly silly way. That proves it. The odd thing is, being a rather reserved person for a teenager and careful of my dignity, I would have resisted consciously and strongly any attempt by anyone to get me to behave like that, but I can clearly remember being completely aware of my actions at the time. I just didn't *mind* that Edward had me behaving in such an embarrassingly foolish way. It seemed, at the time, that it was all my own idea,... and a very good idea, at that. When I emerged from the hypnotic state (Edward had told me that I would feel not at all resentful, and I wasn't), I was very curious about the old story that you couldn't make someone do something against their will under hypnosis. He laughed. "Well, you can't just tell a subject to shoot someone, for instance. But you could probably tell them they're shooting at a paper target on a firing range -- and if you convince them of it, they'll shoot. Especially if they've been on a range before and know they can't 'hurt' the target. It's not a matter of overcoming the subject's will power so much as doing an end run around it." I thought about that. "This is getting interesting," I said. "Could you teach me how to hypnotize someone?" Edward was reluctant. He didn't want some irresponsible kid poking randomly into things he didn't understand. But I was a serious young man and I could be pretty persuasive myself. He finally gave in and instructed me in the techniques of seducing a person's attention until they had entered a trance state. No pendulum-like pocket watches, no rotating spiral disks, no monotonic chanting, no "tricks" of any kind. It was a matter of focusing the subject's entire attention on yourself, a little at a time (though it actually happened pretty fast if it was going to happen at all), until your suggestions regarding their thoughts and behavior seemed to them to originate within their own mind. It was a technique some people could master easier than others, of course. And it turned out that I was a natural at it -- better than Edward, in fact, once I'd had some practice. My first subject, coincidentally, was Edward and Jeff's kid sister, Sharon. She didn't really know me and she had no reason to trust me. In fact, as a typical thirteen-year-old, she had no reason to put much trust in *any* teenager much older than herself. But I was able to put her under within a few minutes. As a test, I gave her a few pieces of licorice and told her it was dark chocolate. I like licorice, which was why I was carrying it around, but both brothers assured me Sharon loathed the stuff. But she grinned with delight as she ate it, and even thanked me for the treat very politely when I brought her out of the trance! I knew this could be a source of Power, with a capital "P". I had been somewhat interested in psychology already, but when I transferred to the university as a sophomore the next year, psychology became my official major. I also began thinking seriously about pre-med and a career in psychiatry. It seemed a fascinating opportunity to get "under the hood" of the human mind; I was beginning to understand why Edward was so absorbed in the subject. But my new skills at hypnosis also proved to be of more immediate use. Kathy was a cute little thing, a freshman I met during my junior year, who looked closer to fifteen than the "eighteen-and-a-half" she claimed. She was bright and friendly and open -- and trusting. A perfect subject, I thought. I had spent nearly a year honing my abilities on friends and acquaintances, especially those who, like me, lived in the dorm. I had never asked anyone to do anything that could be considered immoral or illegal -- just things they would not choose to do if they were in control of their own actions. Things like a guy putting on a girl's dress and strolling around the dorm completely oblivious to the laughter trailing after him. Actually, I only went that far once, with a subject who was almost universally disliked; he held no grudge afterward (I'd told him he wouldn't) and no one else complained of the little show he had been instructed to put on. More often, I had shy subjects get up and sing bawdy songs and girls recite dirty limericks to strangers: Things that were only mildly embarrassing, and which the subjects probably got a secret thrill from afterward. I also learned the hard way to phrase instructions so as to obtain exactly the results I wanted. One guy in the dorm had a bad nervous habit of biting his nails; his cuticles were frequently bloody. He was willing to let me attempt a bit of hypnotherapy, but I screwed up badly. I told him that when he had the urge to bite his nails, he simply wouldn't be able to. The unforeseen result was that he was physically unable to move his hand to his mouth and he went into a serious panic. Fortunately for both of us, I always left a posthypnotic "back-door," to make it easier to put the subject under the next time, and I was able to calm him down and modify the instructions: When he wanted to bite his nails he would remind himself that it was ruining the condition and appearance of his hands and he would lose the *desire* to gnaw at them. That was much more successful. After a few weeks of aborted hand- to-mouth motions -- which didn't interfere with eating or note-taking -- he had conditioned himself not to bite his nails at all. The desire had gone, the habit had disappeared, and he was delighted. I suspected he would probably adopt some other nervous habit, but I wasn't a therapist yet! Anyway, I was learning, always learning. And then I moved to the university and I met Kathy. My "in" with Kathy was her infatuation with poetry. She loved having her favorite verses read aloud to her, in fact: The classic romantic. So we sat under a tree on campus one Friday afternoon and I read CHILDE HAROLD to her in a quietly dramatic voice. She leaned against the tree trunk, eyes half-closed, drinking in the music of the words. After ten minutes of listening to my voice, she had virtually put *herself* under. When I asked her to repeat a series of nonsense syllables, she did so without hesitation. She was suggestible and I had already worked out what I would do to take advantage of the situation I had created. "Listen to me carefully, Kathy. We only met a few weeks ago, but you're already beginning to have romantic thoughts about me -- and only me. You will find yourself daydreaming about me, and it will happen a little more with each passing day. After a week or so, you will wonder if you're falling in love with me. The sound of my voice will give you exciting little chills, my touch will make you feel warm and loving, you will gradually begin to fantasize about a physical relationship with me. Nothing serious -- sitting on my lap so you can be close to me, kissing me, wanting me to put my arms around you and hold you. All the things you read about in romantic novels. You will be completely aware of your growing feelings and your increasing desires for me, and they will all seem completely natural. They will make you very happy. You will begin to do everything you can think of to win me over to you. "Most important, you will quickly come to trust me in every way, won't you? That's one of the main reasons you will begin to fall in love with me -- because you know you can trust me absolutely and you know I would never hurt you. "Now: You will not remember this conversation and you will not remember that you were in a trance. You've just been sitting here, feeling warm and happy, listening to me read you poetry. Do you understand?" She smiled slightly and nodded. "But you will follow the instructions I've given you, won't you? And you will slip easily into a deep trance state whenever you hear my voice -- and only *my* voice -- say the words 'Dive, Kathy, dive.' Repeat the words that will put you into a pleasant trance when you hear my voice speak them to you." "Dive, Kathy, dive," she murmured, and giggled. I wondered for a moment if she could be faking but quickly realized the giggles were just part of her happy frame of mind. Kathy was just a giggler, and a very cute one. One more little test, though. "Kathy, I want you to repeat the following words to me, softly, but as if you really mean them: 'Fuck me in the ass until I scream for mercy!' Go ahead." She licked her lips and squirmed and her eyes opened wider. She fixed me with a hot look. "Fuck me in the ass until I scream for mercy...!" Her voice was soft but husky, almost smoky. What a turn-on! "Okay, now you'll forget that I ever asked you to say that, Kathy, and you'll forget that you ever said it. I'm going to count backward from five and you will gradually float up out of your trance. When I reach 'one' you will be fully awake again. You will not remember having been in a trance but you *will* follow your instructions." I settled myself again, a polite few inches away from her, and looked at the volume of Byron in my lap. "Five,... four,... three,..." She was blinking and trying to focus. "Two,... one." She looked over at me and I could practically see her mind shifting gears. There were new thoughts in her head, now. Thoughts about me. I continued to read the lines of verse from where I had left off, but she was paying more attention to me than to the words. She licked her lips as before and I thought I saw a slight tinge of pink at the tops of her ears and around her collarbone. She leaned toward me a little without even realizing it. I marked the place in the book with one finger and closed it. "Kathy, I'm afraid I have to get back to the dorm and work on a term paper. Uh, would you like to go out tomorrow night? Maybe a movie? Or we could just go for a coke and a stroll...." I was careful not to act too sure of myself. "Oh, yes! I'd *love* to go out with you!" And she blushed a little at her own enthusiasm. I was in. The next evening, Kathy and I walked down to the multiplex at the shopping center near campus and took in a movie. We held hands and cuddled and I was aware that she seemed to be watching me more than the screen. And afterward, when we stopped at the Baskin-Robbins for a cone, she continued to study me in a bit of a daze -- not a "trance" daze, just an ordinary adolescent one. (The fuzzy pink clouds were almost visible....) When I kissed her under the trees outside her dorm, she didn't hesitate at all but plastered herself against me and kissed me back with exciting eagerness. Perhaps I could have grabbed her crotch through her jeans, but I didn't want to push my luck and I'm not quite *that* crude in any case. I settled for stroking her curvy little bottom, with an occasional squeeze, and Kathy kissed me all the harder. She would blossom under romantic attack much more satisfyingly than from a blunt assault, and it was also a lot more fun. By our third date, she had arranged for her dorm roommate to be out so she could sneak me in for a few hours. We left the lights low in her room and I carefully unbuttoned her blouse as I nibbled on her neck. She was shaking a little from nervousness but there was no fear or hesitation. When I knelt and slid her jeans down her smooth, silky legs, she moaned in the back of her throat and urged me to hurry. Foreplay is pleasurable torture, though, and I had no intention of being rushed. Then she was naked and I sat on the end of her bed, still fully clothed, and smiled as my gaze traveled the length of her body. Her eyes glowed; it was obvious she enjoyed being the object of my attention. "Dive, Kathy, dive," I said quietly. Her expression didn't really change but she blinked and her attention fixed on me absolutely. "Yes," she whispered. "Kathy, what are you feeling right now? What are you hoping will happen here?" "I feel sexy as hell," she said with a breathless laugh. "I'm standing here on display for you and I love it! But only for you...." She licked her lips. "I guess I hope we'll make love." "Are you a virgin, Kathy?" "No,... but I've only had sex with my boy friend in high school a few times. This is different," she added with a Significant Look. "Kathy, your arousal is increasing more and more. Can you feel it?" Her eyelids drooped a bit. "Oh, yes...." Her hands moved hesitantly to her breasts and she shook out her hair. "Please, take your clothes off...." she murmured. "Not yet, Kathy. You want to show off for me first, don't you? You want me to appreciate just how sexy your body is. And it would be *very* sexy if you masturbated while I watched, wouldn't it?" I got up from the bed and moved over to my jacket, draped over her desk chair. Her respiration had increased. "Um-hmmm," she said under her breath as she began to roll her nipples between her fingers and stretch them out from her body. I dug the Polaroid out of my jacket pocket and snapped it open. "Kathy, lie on the bed and jack yourself off for me. Take your time and enjoy it, sweetheart. Your breasts and your cunt will be much more sensitive than usual and you'll really get into this, won't you?" She crawled onto her bed and squirmed around on her back so that her legs were stretched out and her thighs parted. One hand moved down to her already moist pussy while the other continued to massage her nipple. "I'm going to take some pictures, Kathy, but you will ignore that, you won't think about it, you won't even realize I'm doing it. All you'll be aware of is that I'm watching you masturbate and I'm enjoying it very much, it's really turning me on, Kathy -- and that's turning *you* on, isn't it? Tell me what you're thinking, sweetheart." "Oh, God, what would your cock feel like and I love being naked and feeling myself up and you're watching me do it and it feels so good, so good, God, it's so nice, my clit feels like a whole penis maybe and I wish you'd do this to me but I know you like to watch me do it so I like to do it for you,..." She paused for a breath as both hands separated her lips and one finger slipped inside. I took a couple of shots and they came out very well, even in the low light. I had no thoughts about blackmail or anything; I just wanted data for my private studies... and souvenirs, of course. It didn't take long for Kathy to work herself up to a high pitch and I took several more snapshots of her with her eyes half-closed and her mouth twisted with passion. As she hit the first orgasmic crest I used up the remainder of my film pack. She was really beautiful when she gasped and sobbed with her cunt full of fingers and her rigid nipples about to explode. But I didn't want her in a trance when we had sex. "Kathy, that was wonderful! You have no idea how sexy you are when you do that; it really does turn me on. Are you happy about that?" "Oh, yes, that's what I want! I want to turn you on so you'll make love to me -- please?" I was already stripping off my clothes. "Of course I will, sweetheart, I want very much to make love to you! Now, when I get my underwear off, you will come out of your trance -- with no hesitation, no regrets, no embarrassment about jacking off for me, okay? You enjoyed doing it and I enjoyed watching it, and that's all that matters, isn't it?" She responded with another "Um-hmmm" and then blinked and smiled broadly as I held up my shorts and then tossed them on the floor. She opened her arms to me as I crawled onto the bed and we spent a little time kissing and caressing and stroking. Kathy was a sweet girl and if I had conscience pangs they were subdued by the conviction that she had been doing what she really wanted to do, if only she had the nerve. We spent a very enjoyable couple of hours thrashing about on her old dorm-issue bed, exploring each other's bodies with hands and mouths, and finally fucking each other into sweaty exhaustion. She was enthusiastic and uninhibited, which I wasn't sure she could have been without hypnotic encouragement. I knew perfectly well I was using her, but I preferred to think I was also giving her something back. I had Kathy on a string for three months before her increasing dependence on me really began to worry me. I had made myself the most important thing in her life and that had consequences I hadn't imagined. She hung on my every word and thought, she got jittery when she was away from me, and she went to tears if she thought I was displeased with her. She became anxious every time we had sex, gnawing her lip if I didn't display unbridled enthusiasm at her every movement. Moreover, her grades were beginning to suffer, as were her relationships with other people. Her girlfriends began directing hostile stares at me when Kathy and I went out together. I won't say it wasn't fun, though. I could speak a code word to her in public and watch while she enjoyed a small orgasm. And it was kind of nice to have a very cute girl leaning over my shoulder and nibbling on my ear while I had a hamburger with the guys at MacDonald's. Nevertheless, my original instructions to Kathy hadn't been well-structured or properly thought out. And since I had to modify them anyway, I decided to "free" her, to allow her to continue with her own life (and get out of mine). After putting her under, I asked, "Kathy, suppose for a minute that I wasn't in your life; is there some other guy you know -- or would like to know -- who's available and to whom you are really attracted?" She hesitated and seemed a little fearful. "Go ahead, sweetheart, it's okay. You aren't betraying me and I won't get mad; if I wasn't interested, I wouldn't have asked." "Well,... there's Bobby Rinehart, in my Government class. He's really cute and he's not going with anyone. I've seen him watching me in class, too -- but I don't mean--" "No, Kathy, that's quite all right. Now, this is what's going to happen: Over the next week or so, you will gradually come to realize that you and I don't have as much of a future together as you thought we had. We won't have a fight and there won't be any hard feelings from either of us. You will still be fond of me and I will still be fond of you. But we will agree, quite amicably, that we aren't really in love and that we should begin dating other people. You will think about Bobby Rinehart and if you decide -- for *yourself* -- that you'd like to go out with him, you will approach him yourself,... or any other guy you think you might enjoy dating. Do you understand, Kathy? You must not be shy about beginning a relationship with Bobby, or anyone else. You will not remember this conversation, but when you wake up tomorrow morning you will begin acting on your new instructions, won't you?" We had a very nice "last supper" that evening, munching and nibbling on each other. Two days later, Kathy said rather quietly, "We need to talk about us." It wasn't quite as painless for me as I had expected. Even though Kathy had been in a condition of servitude, I found I was going to miss her attentive presence. That was the penance I had to pay, though, for having Kathy in the first place. At least I had arranged it so that we would remain friends. TRANCES -- part 2 by Michael K. Smith The months with Kathy had been an interesting experiment and I had learned a lot. But I had become certain that I had only released feelings in her that were already there. Kathy had already been attracted to me or I wouldn't have been reading Byron to her that afternoon. I had removed her inhibitions, perhaps, but I hadn't convinced her to do anything she might not have done anyway. I needed to find a more naturally resistant subject. I wanted to discover just how far my power extended. And I had my chance when I went home for the Christmas holidays. I had two weeks of down-time before the spring term began and I was mostly hanging around the house, reading and watching TV, and visiting friends. Generally goofing off. Of course, I made a point of dropping by to see my old friend Jeff, who had transferred to a different college. As it turned out, he was off on a Christmas shopping expedition with his mother and the door was answered by his licorice-hating little sister, Sharon -- my very first hypnotic subject. She was fourteen now, a very cute, bouncy little gumdrop with a babyface and a sweet smile, and the moment I saw her I knew what my next experiment would be. "Hi, Sharon -- you've really grown up since I saw you last year! You remember me, don't you?" She blanked for a moment but then recognition appeared on her face. "Oh -- yeah! Jeff's friend! Um, you hypnotized me once, didn't you?" She opened the screen and motioned me in. I followed her into the living room, watching the jaunty twitch of her little bottom beneath the tight denim of her jeans. She was wearing her hair below her shoulders and it bounced and swayed in shiny waves against the back of her pink sweatshirt. God, she was so full of adolescent female energy. "You remember being hypnotized, do you?" "Oh, sure! You don't forget something like that. I was so surprised that I went under so easily. I remember, you gave me some chocolate, too, didn't you?" "Do you remember what a posthypnotic trigger is, Sharon?" She turned as she reached the living room. "A post-what?" "Dive, Sharon, dive," I said quietly. Her puzzled expression slowly cleared and she smiled happily. "Yes...." I learned very early to always leave a back door. "Sharon, I'm going to ask you some easy questions. You know the answers and you will be absolutely honest and candid. And you won't feel any reason to be embarrassed, will you? You know I'm your friend, don't you?" She nodded and cocked her head attentively. "You know I like you, Sharon, and that I have only the best intentions, right?" "Sure." We sat down on the sofa, side by side. "Is there anyone else in the house right now? Is Jeff due back anytime soon?" "Nope, I'm all by myself. I don't expect Mom and Jeff for at least a couple of hours. Why?" "Because I don't want us to be disturbed. Now remember, Sharon -- be honest with your answers and don't be embarrassed, either. You can tell me absolutely anything, can't you?" She nodded again. "Does it usually embarrass you to talk about sex, Sharon?" "Um,... no, I guess not -- not when I'm talking to you, anyway." Very good, I thought. "Most teenaged girls get horny -- right, Sharon? And they masturbate. How old were you when you started doing that? How did you discover it? And how often do you do it?" "Oh, I found out about getting sexy a couple of years ago; I guess I was eleven or twelve. My jammies were a little too small and the top rubbed against my titties and they got tingly, sort of. My friend Debbie told me she got hot when she wore tight jeans without underpants, so I tried that, too. That got me really horny and I started rubbing myself in bed. I guess I get off once or twice a week, now." She sounded very matter-of- fact. Terrific, I thought; the timer was sure ticking on *this* little sex bomb. "That sounds about right, I think. Have you ever masturbated in public? In school, or on the bus, or someplace?" She giggled mischievously. "Yeah, I've done it on the school bus a couple of times. If you put your legs close together and squeeze the muscles just right, you can get off that way! The bus bouncing helps, too." She was even sexier when she grinned. "And I did it once in science class, with my pencil eraser, because Mr. Edwards is really cute! Even if he is almost thirty. All the girls have the hots for him, I think. I know a couple of girls who have used their fingers to jack off in the showers in gym, but I've never done that. People might think I was a lesbian!" She laughed and her hips squirmed -- which suggested something. "Sharon, while we're sitting here talking about sex, you're getting really horny, aren't you? You really want to jack off right here, don't you?" "Ummm, yeah, I really do...." Her voice had lowered in volume and pitch and she squirmed even more. "Can I, uh,...?" "Yes, of course you can, Sharon. Just pretend I'm not here and I can't see what you're doing -- but keep answering my questions." The girl scooted her ass forward on the sofa beside me and her thighs parted as her hand glided down to cup the crotch of her jeans. She began massaging and rubbing the denim between her legs rhythmically but her attention didn't wander from my face, though she licked her lips a couple of times. The side of her knee was pressed against my thigh and I could feel the small muscular twitches as she climbed higher. "Sharon," I continued softly, "close your eyes and picture the sexiest things you can think of, as if they were on a movie screen in your head. The pictures are very clear. What do you see while you masturbate? Tell me what you see, Sharon." She drew a shaky breath. "It's Darlene's brother, Phil. He's two years older than Darlene and me. I'm over at Darlene's house and I go upstairs to use the bathroom, and Phil's bedroom door is open a crack, and I hear these ... sounds. And I can't help it: I go over real quietly and peek in." Her voice was low and she was breathing faster as she relived the experience. "All he's wearing is a T-shirt; his jeans and his shoes are on the floor. I've never seen a guy that old naked before! He's holding his,... his penis. He's, like, jerking off, and his cock is real big and stiff- looking, and I wonder what it would feel like if he put his cock in my-- between my legs. It looks so big -- but it must fit, people do it all the time. And he's moving his hand faster and faster, and I'm getting hot just watching him, I'm getting wet down there, I can feel it...." Sharon's hand was moving in tighter circles and her pelvis was jerking a little. She was sure as hell getting *me* hot! "Go ahead, Sharon -- what happens next? What does Phil do? And what do you do?" "I put my hand between my legs, feeling myself up. And Phil's bouncing on the bed and he's got his eyes shut. And then he comes. I've never seen that before -- God, there's so much of it, all that white stuff! And he shoots it at least a foot in the air, he shoots off several times, I can't believe it goes so far,... and I can't imagine what it would feel like if he squirted all that stuff inside me. But I'll bet it would feel really great!" Sharon's hand was really moving now, and her hips were bucking. I should have had her take her jeans off, I thought -- but this was safer. And then she sort of squeaked and I could feel the trembling in her knee. She let out a long, ragged sigh. "The idea of having sex with a boy kinda scares me, but I can't wait until I'm old enough. And then I tiptoe to the bathroom, real quiet, and while I'm on the toilet, after I pee, I finger-fuck myself. And I imagine Phil walking in on me, because I deliberately didn't lock the bathroom door. And that makes me come -- it's only the second or third time I ever really came, too." Listening to Sharon's sweet young voice describe her experience was intensely erotic and it had my cock as hard as a baseball bat. So I took a pretty stupid chance. "Sharon, would you like to see another guy's cock? I'll show you one, but you must not be frightened by it. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Oh, uh,... I don't know. You mean, like, close up? Oh, wow...." "Yes, close up, Sharon -- very close. I'll show you my cock and I won't touch you. There's nothing to be afraid of, is there, Sharon? It's completely normal for a fourteen-year-old girl to be curious. You'd like very much to see my cock, wouldn't you, Sharon? It's really stiff...." I could see on her face the struggle between aroused curiosity and little-girl uncertainty. "Oh. Well, uh,... I think-- I think I'd like to see it." She licked her lips again and swallowed, and straightened her shoulders. A slight but enjoyable aroma permeated the crotch of her jeans. I leaned back and unhooked my belt, unzipped my fly, and slowly pushed down my jeans and my shorts. My cock sprang up like a Jack-in-the-box but Sharon didn't even flinch. I'd been successful in subverting her inhibitions and fears, and now this was what she really wanted to see. In fact, she leaned closer in obvious fascination and hesitantly reached out her hand. "You can touch it, Sharon, it won't hurt you. You really want to find out what it feels like, don't you? You really want to hold my cock in your hand...." And then her soft, warm fingers had grasped the thickest part of the shaft, near the base -- and her other hand had closed carefully over the head. "Wow... it feels so hard and so soft, at the same time...." She moved her lower hand slowly, lightly, up and down, staring fixedly at what she was doing. She seemed to be trying to imitate Phil but she wasn't sure how. It sure felt nice, sitting there, being jerked off by this cute little teenybopper, but if things reached their natural conclusion I'd probably make a mess I'd have a very hard time cleaning up or explaining. "We'll just do this much, Sharon." I folded my hand gently around hers and moved it upward, squeezing a large drop of semen onto the palm of her hand. "Sharon, you have an overwhelming desire to know what that 'white stuff' tastes like, don't you? It can't hurt you and it doesn't taste bad. Women do this all the time. Put out your tongue, now, and lick that drop off your hand. Taste it slowly and remember what it tastes like." She put out her little kitten tongue and cleaned her palm with a thoughtful expression. Her nose twitched and she smiled. "Now, Sharon, cup your hands over your nose and mouth and inhale deeply. That's it, sweetheart. Remember that aroma, Sharon: That's what sex smells like. It smells wonderful, doesn't it? Do you like it?" She smiled again and nodded happily as she lowered her hands. "Yes, I really like it." "All right, Sharon. You will not remember that any of this has happened. But whenever you feel sexy, whenever you start to masturbate, sometimes you will think about when you watched Phil jerk off -- but more and more often, you will think about me, instead. You will think about what my penis looks like and feels like. Your imagination will call up the visual memories and images of this afternoon. You'll remember the smell of sex. And your imagination will take it from there: You will fantasize about having sex with me, all different kinds of sex, and that will make you very, very horny. All this will happen only when you're by yourself because you don't want to get caught, do you? You will always be aware that it's just your imagination coming up with sexy, exciting thoughts for you to get off on. But you'll also start to have private daydreams about making love with me. You won't know why it's *me* your imagination has picked to fantasize about, but you won't worry about that. And, Sharon -- you will begin to look forward to seeing me again during the summer, won't you? You will begin to think about finding some way to meet me alone." She smiled warmly. "Oh, yes -- I'm really looking forward to seeing you again next summer." She was gripping my cock again and now she gave it a friendly little squeeze before releasing it. All this was so far beyond my spur-of-the-moment expectations, I could hardly believe it. I stood and pulled up my jeans and tucked in my shirttail while sexy little Sharon watched with bright eyes. I reminded her once more that she would not consciously remember what we had been up to and then I brought her up out of her trance. She blinked and I said, "Well, It's been nice seeing you again, Sharon. Tell your brother I stopped by, okay? Ask him to give me a call before we go back to school." "It's nice to see you again, too. Real nice," she added. Her tone and her expression were freighted with new meaning. "Maybe I'll see you again over summer vacation...?" she suggested. She looked hopeful and she was leaving eyetracks all over my body. Who knew what might happen when the seeds I'd planted began to ripen...? I felt kind of like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter. TRANCES -- part 3 by Michael K. Smith After I got back to school in January, I found that the spring room- shuffling in the dorm had landed me with a thoroughly undesirable neighbor right across the hall. His name was George Kaufman and he was an asshole. No -- let's be blunt about this: George was a bigoted, red-necked, right- wing, foulmouthed, coprophagic, anthropoid, odoriferous, knuckle-dragging, homophobic, microcephalic son of a bitch. For instance.... I had grown a beard the previous quarter -- not to make a statement, particularly, but just because I was too lazy to shave every morning and full facial hair looks better (okay, it looks more "deliberate," anyway) than a three-day stubble. The very first time George saw me, he dubbed me "cunt-mouth" -- his idea of sophisticated humor. That's all he ever called me and it carried over to his few friends. I decided I would have to do something about George. I thought about simply knifing him in his sleep, but that would probably get me expelled. No, it would have to be something sneaky, indirect, and untraceable. My opportunity came via a girl named Sandy in my English class. She had a steady boyfriend and she wasn't really my type -- not for dating, anyway -- and that allowed us to become casual friends, minus the usual sexual tension. Sandy was reasonably pretty (I thought) and rather vivacious when she wanted to be, but she seemed to have a poor self-image. I got the impression that her two sisters had been hometown beauty queens and Sandy was the Cinderella of the family; she thought "plain" was the best she could aspire to. Over lunch one day, I explained to her my interest in hypnosis and my therapeutic successes, and I convinced her to let me put her under. She would remain aware of the whole process, which should allay any uneasiness she might have about what I was doing. So I went over to her room that evening and, in the comforting presence of her roommate, put her into an easy trance. Then we had a little talk. I asked Sandy questions about her opinion of herself and found what I had suspected: An assumption of inferiority, constant self-comparison to her sisters, and resignation that she would never be very attractive. I assured her that she was in fact *very* pretty, that she didn't have to be a pin-up to have all the dates she wanted, that she had a warm and friendly personality that nearly any guy -- or girl -- would find attractive. Her roommate clued me in on a few details and I carefully reshaped Sandy's view of herself. It took maybe an hour and that was it. Within a few days, Sandy's roommate called me excitedly to tell me her friend had actually approached a guy she had secretly liked and asked *him* for a date -- and the guy had accepted. Moreover, the date had been a complete success and Sandy was so pleased with herself she was practically in tears. That made me feel good, to know that I could help someone that much by actually doing so little. The following week, before class, I happened to see Sandy conversing with another girl, obviously a buddy of hers. The buddy was immediately joined by my nemesis, George, who put his arm possessively around her. George hadn't seen me and I slipped back into the doorway and observed the three. Sandy's body language seemed to indicate that she wasn't a big fan of George's, which confirmed my judgment of her good taste in men. When she came into the classroom, I asked her who that was she'd been talking to; I thought I knew her from somewhere ... maybe back home? "Who, Cynthia? Cynthia Lewis? We went to high school together, so I don't think you'd know her...." No, I guess I didn't know her, I said; she must simply look like someone I knew. Oh, well. After class, I walked with Sandy over to the Library and as we cut through the little grove of fir trees out front, I said "Sandy, wait a minute." She stopped and looked at me questioningly. "Dive, Sandy, dive." Her expression didn't change, but she said "Sure..." and waited for instructions. "Sandy, does your friend Cynthia Lewis have any bad habits or personal problems that you think she'd be happier without?" "Well, I'm afraid she's kind of a borderline anorexic. She panics if she goes even two pounds over what she thinks is her ideal weight and then she skips meals for days. It's made her sick a few times and her doctor had to bully her into eating. But the worst part, I think, is that she worries and loses sleep over it. She's terrified she'll get 'fat'. You know those charts on public scales, that tell you how much you should weigh for your height? Well, Cynthia takes those things literally; she doesn't realize she's just a large-framed person! She's never going to be a fashion model. 'Normal' weight for her is about ten pounds more than those stupid charts and she looks really good at that weight -- very busty and kind of voluptuous. I worry about her sometimes...." So there was my leverage. "Sandy, I want you to take your friend Cynthia aside and explain to her that you know someone who might be able to help her with her weight problem. You will convince her to get together with me, and I'll try to readjust her sights to a healthier and more realistic weight target, okay? You will stay with her the whole time, so she has nothing to worry about, does she? Tell her all about the session you and I had -- you remember every bit of it -- and how it seems to have helped you. You'll tell her you worry about her and you want to help her. You're convinced of that, so you'll be able to convince her, okay?" A week later, Sandy asked if she could bring a friend of hers around to talk to me about a problem she was having with her weight. Close up, Cynthia turned out to be not at all hefty -- just not a little wisp of a girl, either. She was about five-foot-six, maybe a size fourteen, with large tits and wide hips. Not fat, though. Just, as Sandy had suggested, "voluptuous." She was quite pretty but she had a rather drawn expression, as if she spent too much time staring down at the scales. We sat and chatted for a few minutes. Cynthia wasn't at all sure about this hypnotism thing, but she trusted her buddy, Sandy, and Sandy insisted I had been able to help her overcome her shyness about guys; Cynthia, in fact, remarked on the change in Sandy she had observed herself. I assured her that she would be completely aware of everything that was happening and that Sandy was there to make her feel more comfortable, too. And she finally agreed. Cynthia was not a difficult subject. She was used to deferring to other people and she practically put herself into a trance. "Cynthia, when your doctor has scolded you for not eating, what did *he* say your weight ought to be?" "About 125 pounds -- but that's *way* too much!" "No, it isn't, Cynthia. You're taller than average and you have a larger bone structure than those tiny little girls whom you think are the 'right' size. You must convince yourself that your doctor is right: You, personally, individually, should weigh about 125 pounds. You will let your weight gradually increase to about that level, won't you? You will feel much better when you let yourself weigh what you *should* weigh, won't you? When you go a few pounds over your target, you won't worry and fret about it; you'll just eat a little less for a few days until you're back down to 125, give or take a couple of pounds. You won't rush it, you won't fast, you won't go on crash diets -- none of that is necessary, is it, Cynthia? You know you'll be much healthier, don't you? And your doctor will be pleased with you. You'll look very nice and very sexy at your proper weight, Cynthia. And that will make you much happier. Your friends won't worry about you so much. You're a beautiful young woman, Cynthia, and you have a very nice body, and you must not try to starve yourself for no reason. Do you understand?" Cynthia nodded and actually looked relieved, as if someone had given her permission to do what she knew she ought to do. I said, "Now, pay no attention to anything I say for a minute, Cynthia." Then I turned to Sandy, sitting quietly in the other chair, and said "Dive, Sandy, dive." Now they were both under. I put Sandy on hold and turned back to her friend. "Now, Cynthia, there's something else we need to talk about." She nodded. "How long have you been going with George Kaufman? And why are you attracted to him?" "A couple of months, I guess. I know some people don't like him, and he's kind of loud sometimes, but he's all right. He pays attention to me and he doesn't care that I'm overweight. I mean, I used to be-- I mean, I guess I'm not really overweight, not anymore, but he--" She was beginning to confuse herself so I said, "Cynthia, you're not overweight, remember? No matter what George or anyone else says or thinks. Are you in love with him, Cynthia? You two seem pretty tight when you're together." She laughed lightly. "No, nothing like that! He likes to put his arm around me in public, so I let him. It embarrasses me a little, sometimes, but what the hell. But I'm not in love with him!" "Have you fucked him, Cynthia? What do you usually do in the way of sex play, on dates?" "Uh, yeah, we've fucked a couple of times. But it makes me nervous; I don't want to get pregnant, or catch a disease or something, and he refuses to use protection. So mostly we just play around. He sucks on my tits and that feels nice -- but he sucks too hard sometimes, and leaves a bruise. And we jack each other off in the car. You know." She was a little uncomfortable divulging all this intimate information. "Cynthia, you will not be nervous about telling me these things. I'm helping you with a couple of problems, right? Your friend, Sandy, is right here, keeping an eye on you. You're perfectly all right and completely relaxed, aren't you? Now, tell me about George. What kind of lover is he?" "Oh, he's okay, I guess. His penis is awful small, but--" "Small? Smaller than other guys' penises you've seen?" "Oh, yes -- *much* smaller. I made out with several guys in high school and a couple others in college before I met George, and even the ones with average-sized penises were a lot bigger than George's little thing." Wonderful! I couldn't help grinning. "Okay, Cynthia, this is what you're going to do: Starting the next date you have with George, you will begin telling him exactly what you've been telling me. When he paws you in public, if you don't like it, tell him so, okay? Tell him he's embarrassing you. If he sucks too hard on your tit, tell him to stop doing it, you don't like to have a bruise there. And when you handle his little prick, it will strike you so funny, you won't be able to keep from laughing, understand? You won't be able to stop yourself from making jokes about it, will you? You can do much better than George, you know that, don't you? In fact, after your next date, you should tell all your friends, female *and* male, just how tiny and inadequate George's equipment is, don't you think? Make sure the word gets around about him. He's used you, hasn't he? It's time you got even, isn't it?" Cynthia's smile had taken on a beautifully wicked tinge. I realized she resented George's condescension toward her even more than she had said. I turned back to Sandy, who had been sitting quietly all this time, smiling at her private thoughts. "Sandy, you will forget completely that you've been in this trance. When I count down to five, you will come out of it and not remember you've been under. You're watching me counsel Cynthia on her imaginary weight problem, and that's all that's happened. You'll remind her that her ideal weight is really more like 125 pounds and you'll give her all the psychological support she needs until she gets used to it, won't you? She's your friend and you're glad you were able to help her by bringing her to see me, right? Okay now: Five,... four,... three,... two,... one." I had turned back to Cynthia when Sandy blinked herself awake and shifted position slightly. "Okay, Cynthia, is everything clear now? About your best weight? And everything else we've talked about?" She nodded and smiled. The girls went back to their dorm chattering happily and at peace with the world. A couple weeks later, I began seeing notes scrawled in restrooms on campus: TINY GEORGE, TERROR OF THE BEAVERS! And: LITTLE GEORGE KAUFMAN STRIKES AGAIN! I overheard two guys in the dorm cafeteria laughing about what their girlfriends had told them about George "Little Dick" Kaufman; the news was coming around third- and fourth-hand, now. George himself was red in the face and snarling most of the time these days. There was a scuffle in the hall when someone made a crack behind his back and George made the mistake of taking a swing at the guy, who put him on the floor with one punch. It's amazing how much blood your nose can produce. Sandy had told me, in between giggles, what her buddy had told her about George the day after our session, so I'd already known the "therapy" had taken. Cynthia's weight gradually increased a few pounds and she seemed much more relaxed and much happier with herself. I saw her with other guys besides George and she looked,... well, "fulfilled." I asked Cynthia out a couple times myself, in fact, and it didn't require hypnosis to explore her charms. She had tits like firm sofa pillows: Large but not sagging. Her stomach and legs hadn't a ounce of flab and she was a delightful girl to exchange caresses with. And when, on the second date, we did The Deed in her dorm room, I discovered I didn't need the two condoms I was carrying in my pocket: Cynthia had laid in a stock in the drawer of her bedside table, in all colors and flavors. Oh, yeah -- George transferred to another school at the end of the spring semester. He wouldn't even tell anyone what school it was, apparently for fear someone would call ahead and keep the gossip going. I almost missed him. What good is it, being a hammer, when you can't find a deserving nail? TRANCES -- part 4 by Michael K. Smith I went home for the summer after my third year of college with the satisfaction of a 3.8 GPA and a notification letter in my pocket that I had been awarded a full scholarship for my senior year, including room and board. I wouldn't have to find a summer job that year, except perhaps for a little extra pocket money. I made do with a moped instead of a car anyway, and most of my spare cash went for books rather than fancy clothes or expensive dates. On the recommendation of my faculty advisor, I had put together an extensive reading list that I had to try to get through before beginning my senior thesis, so I was expecting to spend much of the ten weeks sprawled in an easy chair with a good reading lamp nearby. But I wasn't going to ignore my social life -- or my particular physical needs. I'd been home about a week before I got around to calling my old high school friend, Jeff. We weren't exactly blood brothers, but we had always gotten together during vacations and we sent each other oddball Christmas cards and such. It was his brother, Edward, who had gotten me started with hypnosis. Edward was in med school now, on his way to full shrink-hood. I had just about decided not to pursue an actual medical career -- or not an M.D., anyway. The prospect of still being in school when I was thirty was not appealing. But psychological counseling on the strength of a master's degree was a real possibility. Jeff was three years into a political science degree and was trolling for a position in some congressman's office after graduation. We sat out on his big, screened-in back porch, drinking cokes, comparing college experiences, and laughing as we thought up insane career ideas. We were joking about going into business together -- he could select political candidates and I could brainwash them -- when I became aware that someone was watching me. I leaned back in my pine rocker and looked over my shoulder. A dim shape, young and female, stood inside the screen door. I smiled and Sharon gave up her attempt at concealment and opened the screen. She was barefoot and long-legged in her cutoffs and French-style T-shirt. If I'd had any doubts about the efficacy of the long-term suggestions I'd planted in this girl's mind last Christmas, all it took was one glance at her face to know I'd been successful. Little Sharon's hot, smoky stare made me begin to sweat. "Hi, sis," Jeff said. "Listen, while you're up, would you mind getting us a couple more cokes?" He was being perfectly friendly, not demanding, but Sharon quietly replied "Get 'em yourself, man," ... and her eyes never left my face. I shot a quick glance at Jeff, who seemed nonplussed. I said, "Sharon, would you mind very much getting us a couple of cold cokes?" She broke into a brilliant smile. "Sure! Just a sec...!" And she was headed for the kitchen. I turned back to Jeff and his dumbfounded stare. His eyebrows were crowding his hairline. "What was *that* all about?!" he exclaimed. I smiled lazily. "I think your kid sister has a crush on me." "On you? Why?" "Why not?" I replied. "Maybe she's dazzled by my obvious sex appeal." "Hell, she won't even be fifteen for another month!" he exploded. "How would she even know you, anyway?" "Well, she's known me as long as *you* have, actually. Just in the background. Come to think of it -- how much older is your father than your mother?" "About seven years," he said. "But--" "That's more than the difference between my age and Sharon's," I said quietly. It was kind of fun watching ol' Jeff's blood pressure rise. "But Mom was already out of college when she met Dad! It's completely different!" "Calm down, already. I didn't say I was going to take her to a motel, did I?" His eyebrows came down fast. "Hey, now-- She's my *sister*, man...." "Jeff, don't you think some of the girls *you* try to get into bed have older brothers who are just as protective as you are?" "Well,...." He couldn't think of a retort and Sharon banged through the screen door at that moment, a coke in either hand. Jeff looked in her direction and shut up. "Thanks very much, Sharon," I said as she handed me both bottles. I passed one to Jeff, whose gaze was flicking from his sister's face to mine and back. "Well, just watch it," he muttered at me under his breath. When I got up to leave a half-hour later, I'd mollified Jeff at least to the point where he'd decided his sister's adolescent crush did not indicate an imminent elopement. Sharon disappeared about that point, too. I figured I'd have to wait until she called me, since calling her would only arouse her brother's suspicions again. But she was way ahead of me. As I pulled away from the curb in my father's borrowed car, I was startled by a movement in the rear view mirror, followed immediately by a breathy "Hi!" close to my ear. Sharon glanced out the back window and clambered over into the front seat. "A stowaway, huh?" I returned her conspiratorial grin. "Yeah -- I didn't know when I'd get the chance to talk to you again." "And what did you want to talk about, sweetheart?" She hesitated, licked her lips, and took a deep breath. "I'm,... I'm in love. With you." She looked a little apprehensive. I decided to continue to play the game awhile longer. "Why do you think that, Sharon?" I smiled at her encouragingly. "Well,... I think about you all the time." Her hand touched my shoulder and she scooted closer on the seat. "I imagine all kinds of things about us. About--" She glanced at my lap. I very gently stroked her thigh and her breath caught again. "About making out with you," she finished in a rush. "And, uh, other things...." She blushed, just a little. "And it's always you -- never any of the guys I know from school. Maybe they're just too young for me." Sharon was sitting sideways on the car seat, one leg folded neatly beneath the other. Her knee overlapped my thigh and I continued to stroke her silky tan. Her hand had moved to the back of my neck and her slender fingers twined nervously in my hair. She was putting out more heat than a barbecue pit. I had slowed down as I reached the end of her block and now I turned the corner and stopped at the curb, out of sight of her house. I set the brake and turned to face her; she seemed a bit unsure of herself, probably worried I was going to tell her to run along and grow up. But I took her other hand and held it firmly; when I smiled back at her, she sighed happily and tried to shift even closer. "Sharon, could you get away to see me without your parents or your brother knowing about it?" "Yeah, I think so...!" She was all bouncy eagerness now. "My friend, Marilyn? I told her I had a secret boyfriend--" (She shot me an apologetic smile) "--who was older and had a car, and my parents wouldn't approve." She sure had *that* right. "Marilyn thinks it's all too romantic! If I tell my parents I'm sleeping over at her house, she'll cover for me. She has her own phone," she added. "Okay, then why don't you make arrangements with Marilyn for this Friday night, sweetheart? And I'll organize us a place to go where we can be alone, okay? Oh -- one other thing." I squeezed her hand and she gave me her full attention. "Dive, Sharon, dive." It had been six months, but she slipped effortlessly into a deep trance. "Sharon, it's Wednesday now. Tonight and tomorrow night, you will think about me when you go to bed -- even more than usual. Then you will masturbate and imagine it's my hand instead of your own, and that thought will make you even hornier. Over the next two days, your breasts -- especially your nipples -- and your cunt will become more and more sensitive, they will tingle almost continually, and that will make you think constantly about sex and about me. You'll become more and more aroused in anticipation of our date -- and you will enjoy those sensations very much, won't you, Sharon?" A light flush was already rising around her delicate collarbone. Holding her hot gaze, I reached out and brushed her nipple through her shirt with one finger. She twitched with pleasure and arched her back for me. "Sharon, when you come out of your trance, you will feel an enormous desire to kiss me. You *need* to kiss me before you get out of the car, don't you?" "Oh, I want so much to kiss you," she replied breathlessly. I brought her out of it and almost immediately she hopped up on her knees, above me now, and set her elbows carefully on my shoulders. I leaned back, letting my hands slide up and down the backs of her thighs. She hummed softly in her throat as her mouth swooped down on mine. For fourteen years old, little Sharon had a natural talent for lip-work. She twisted her fingers in my hair and made exciting little sounds as she ground her mouth against mine. Her tongue darted in and out and I found it hard to remember that she was supposed to be an inexperienced kid. When she relented a few minutes later, my ears were ringing and I knew I had left finger marks on the backs of her thighs. I was looking forward to Friday night almost as much as Sharon was. Then she was out of the car and jogging barefoot toward the mouth of the alley that would take her back to her house. We hadn't even firmed up the arrangements for our date. On Thursday, when I got home from an afternoon workout at the pool, my mother was muttering under her breath because some unknown person had called twice and hung up when she answered. The next time the phone rang, half an hour later, I grabbed it myself on the upstairs extension. In response to my "Hello?" there was a breathy pause and then a whispered "I just had to hear your voice. Please don't be mad at me...." "I'm not mad at you, Sharon, but you might get in trouble if you keep calling like this." I kept my voice low and one eye on the door; my mother wouldn't understand this conversation. "Just think about what you and I might be doing tomorrow night, okay? Tell me what you think is going to happen, Sharon. Describe it to me." I could hear her take a long breath. "I'm going to hold your penis in my hand. Maybe I'll lick it and put it in my mouth -- and you'll put your finger in my pussy and get me hot. Oh, God...." She was breathing faster. "That's not all I'm going to put in your sweet pussy," I whispered back. Little Sharon was doing things to me. And the only response I got was a throaty murmur. "I'll see you tomorrow night," I said. "Yes, you sure will -- all of me, I'll bet!" She throttled a giggle. "Pick me up at eight o'clock at the end of the alley where I got out." And the receiver clicked. When I pulled up to the curb at 8:02, Sharon was out of the shadows and into the car with a pink gym bag before the wheels stopped rolling. She was wearing dark jeans and a dark sweatshirt, and she sank down on the floor, out of sight, though there wasn't much chance of her being seen. If she wanted to make a romantic intrigue out of this, that was okay with me. Then she got my attention by slipping her warm, slender hand up inside the leg of my jeans. "Where are we going?" she asked. I'd been working on that problem since Wednesday. I certainly couldn't take her home. A nice hotel cost far too much and was much too public, especially for an assignation with a girl as obviously underage as Sharon. And a cheap motel, the kind of place that would ignore her age, was a good place to get ripped off. But by calling around among a number of old acquaintances, I'd finally found a solution. A guy named John Alexander, one of "the gang" in high school and that first year at the junior college, was still single and was now earning a comfortable living selling some sort of electronic equipment to big corporations. He was frequently on the road, either making a pitch or working a sales show at some convention center. He'd been known to lend his rented town house to friends, and this was one of those occasions. He'd left that morning on an out-of-town weekend trip and I now had his door key and his cheerful "Poke her one for me!" John was an unusually trusting guy, especially for a salesman, but so far no one had trashed his place, or annoyed the neighbors, or caused the cops to visit. I intended to be as invisible as possible. There was a spot in the complex's parking lot right in front of the town house door, so I got out and unlocked the place -- and Sharon scuttled in as though the police were right behind her. I looked around as I shot the deadbolt and flicked on a lamp. It was a typical bachelor pad -- lots of leather (well, naugahyde) and tweed upholstery, brass lamps on the oak end tables, and a massive liquor cabinet in the place of honor opposite the front door. I didn't really notice the stereo system at first because it was spread all across one wall, woven in amongst the bookcases. Each of John's speakers was the size of my dresser in the dorm. The small kitchen was full of food processors and other high-tech appliances. Sharon was already hurrying upstairs to check out the bedroom. I heard a smothered squeal of delight and the exclamation "There's a waterbed!" I followed her up the carpeted stairs, smiling at her enthusiasm. She was lying spreadeagled in the master bedroom, pumping and flexing her lithe body to make waves in the bed. Her face was an appealing mix of fourteen-year-old shyness and very grown-up sexual hunger. But I wasn't in any hurry -- yet. "Sharon, why don't we go back downstairs and try out that fancy sound system? This is supposed to be a real date and I'd like to find out what kind of dancer you are." She thumped back down the treads ahead of me and had pulled out some CDs by the time I caught up. I hadn't heard of any of the groups but they didn't look like the sort of thing anyone could dance to at under 40mph. Fortunately, John was also an 'oldies' fan and I found a number of slow-dance tunes that I knew I could handle and that Sharon might enjoy being romanced to. She was a little hesitant, though. "I'm not very good at old-fashioned dancing...." Old-fashioned? "Come on, sweetheart, it's easy -- nice, too." I loaded up The Belmonts and The Platters and slipped my arms around her slender waist. She immediately crossed her wrists behind my neck and moved up as close as she could without actually climbing inside my clothes. I gave her a quick kiss and tucked her head on my shoulder; she hung on like we were in free fall. I had to admit, it was very nice moving slowly around the room with a hot young thing like Sharon in my arms. I didn't delude myself about my preference for young -- or young-looking -- girls. I liked them sweet and slender, inexperienced and eager, fresh and filled with curiosity. Dancing like this was delightful,... even if I hadn't had sex on my mind. Her nose nuzzled my ear, giving me fleeting chills. When I was her age, I had been only casually interested in girls. My first kiss had been awkward and I hadn't known what to do with my nose. If someone like little Sharon had turned her blowtorch on me back then, I probably would have fainted. I had begun to understand why teenage girls often were attracted to slightly older, more experienced guys. Perhaps I still hadn't persuaded a hypnotic subject to do something against her nature; perhaps this was what Sharon had subconsciously yearned for. But that certainly wasn't going to keep me from enjoying myself tonight. My hands slid across Sharon's firm little ass and she strained her hips closer to me. A small whimper escaped her lips as I tucked my fingers in her back pockets and she tried to burrow even closer. After a moment, she moaned in frustration and clamped her mouth to mine. She clutched the back of my head and her tongue assaulted my front teeth. I moved up under the back of her sweatshirt and counted the knobs of her vertebrae. Sharon pushed herself away with a gasp and feverishly hauled her shirt off over her head. She fumbled with the front clasp of her bra and then her small breasts sprang free, nipples pointing over my shoulders. When my hands covered them, I loved the touch of their smooth surfaces and the silky down under my fingers. Her nipples were as stiff and resilient as rubber and when I pinched them lightly her hands grabbed hard at my forearms and she inhaled sharply. Then I had her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and she moved back and pushed them down, kicked off her loafers, and stepped out of them. She reached for the elastic of her thin white cotton panties but I pushed her hands away and knelt; I had been looking forward to doing this myself. When I poked my tongue in her navel, her stomach muscles fluttered and she choked down a nervous laugh. I eased the elastic slowly over her hips and she seized my hair and moaned louder than before. The curls of her wispy pubic hair rose into view and I combed them between my teeth. Then her panties were down and as they fell to the floor she quickly stepped out of them. I stuck my tongue into her crevice as far as I could and she jittered and pushed her crotch forward. Spreading her moist labia with my fingertips, I was able to get my mouth as far as the top of her clit. Her stomach muscles shuddered again and she tried to spread her thighs and bend her knees without falling down. Then I stood and swiftly clutched her buttocks, lifting her off her feet. She squeaked and then giggled as she wrapped her long legs around my hips and hung onto my neck. I walked the six feet to the couch and laid Sharon out on it like a banquet. As I straightened and began unbuttoning my shirt, she struck a seductive, sprawling pose -- shoulders back and tits out-thrust, spine arched, toes together and pointed. She must have been studying PENTHOUSE. Her tongue glided slowly across her upper lip. "Go ahead and start without me, Sharon. I'll be able to catch up... and you already know I like to watch." She grinned and spread her knees so I could observe her middle finger disappearing from view. My shirt was off and my jeans pushed to the floor in a hurry. Sharon stared hotly at my rising cock for a moment, then reached up and wrapped her free hand around it. She squeezed a little and pulled it closer; I had to move quickly to keep from tripping over my pants, but I finally pushed my shoes off and worked my feet free. Then I knelt again, grabbed Sharon's hips, and swiveled her around to face me. She was still on her back, ass off the edge of the couch, and I hunkered down between her legs and pushed her thighs back and farther apart. Her pretty little cunt opened like a pink flower spreading its petals, and as I buried my face in it she jerked her head back and grabbed the sides of the cushions. I had muff-dived on several girls and had thoroughly enjoyed it -- and so had they. But this was different. For one thing, Sharon had almost no "muff" to speak of; the soft strands bordering her cunt didn't conceal a thing. For another,... well, it may simply have been her youth, but the taste of her was exquisite -- sweet and light and fragrant, and definitely heady. So I continued to lap at her pussy, sucking on her clit and swishing my tongue around inside until it became obvious, from her sobs and moans, that she was on the edge of both orgasm and hysteria. I pushed my nose between her labia, shook my head, and growled into her depths -- and she squealed "Oh, Jesus!" and trembled like an aspen in the wind. When her spasms passed, I straightened up to see tears running down her flushed cheeks as she panted for breath. Sharon let her legs drop loosely in temporary exhaustion and held her arms out to me. I bent over her sweating body and slid my forearms under her shoulders, lifting her up to me, and kissed her long and thoroughly. "What did you do to me?" she asked hoarsely when we came up for air and she put her cheek against mine. "I didn't know it was possible to feel like that, especially without..." She continued to breath heavily. "...without fucking?" I finished for her. Her grip tightened and I felt her head nod. I put my hand between her legs and began sliding it along her hot, wet crevice. Her response was to gasp in my ear and clutch spastically at my ribs with her knees. "Oh,... oh, yes,... please -- please do it.... God, fuck me!" she moaned, and her body began to thrash about once more. My cock resembled a heat-seeking missile aimed at the cross-hairs of little Sharon's crotch. But I didn't want to waste this moment crawling around on a naugahyde couch. I stood and held out my hands. "C'mon, sweetheart -- this requires a proper bed." She sat up, which put her eye-to-eye with my anxious cock. She took hold of it and stroked me slowly a few times, then swallowed and opened her mouth. It was obvious she wanted to suck my cock -- or thought she should, anyway -- but she had no idea how to go about it. I could have instructed her, and on another occasion I just might, but it would take some time and would certainly destroy the mood right now. Also, I found my patience had vanished. I leaned over to where my jeans were heaped on the carpet and rummaged in the pocket. "Not this time," I said softly and pulled her to her feet. "I can't wait to make love to you for real." She seemed to go boneless as I bent and lifted her in my arms and climbed the stairs again with no effort. Her arms were wrapped tightly around my neck and she was gnawing at my ear lobe. Then she was lying in the middle of that big bed, arms and legs writhing restlessly. I sat on the edge of the frame and displayed the foil packet in my hand. "You want to *always* use one of these, sweetheart. You don't want to get pregnant and you don't want to pick up the results of someone else's indiscretion." She nodded solemnly and watched as I unrolled the condom over my almost painful erection. As I crawled onto the mattress, Sharon spread herself like a starfish as she had earlier, and this time I was ready. She curled her ass upward as I pressed against her virginal opening and I was a little surprised at the ease with which she accepted me. She smiled at my expression. "The doctor said I broke my hymen a couple years ago when I started my periods and began using Tampax. It doesn't hurt at all, but it feels so wonderfully *big*...." I pistoned in and out a few times slowly and carefully, spreading her plentiful lubrication and settling myself. Then I hooked her trim ankles over my shoulders and folded her neatly in half, knees pressed against her collarbone. That gave me the deepest penetration and I strained to fill her as full as possible. She worked her vaginal muscles, perhaps instinctively, and the effect in that warm snugness was like a python swallowing a rabbit. I leaned forward to get the maximum friction against her clit and started drilling for oil. The surf we churned up in the waterbed helped. Within a minute, Sharon's eyes were squeezed shut as her hands wandered over the backs of her thighs and her own upturned ass. My pumping forced a series of breathy moans from her. She was transported and she was taking me along for the ride. Several times I felt myself approaching a climax and backed away from the brink, willing myself to extend the pleasurable assault. All my senses were open and when I knew she was headed for her second orgasm I speeded up and gave her a push. Her whole body tensed and quivered as she fell over the edge, and I was only fifteen seconds behind her. It had been several months since I'd screwed a girl in cold blood, so to speak -- especially with the luxury of a real bed and private surroundings. As I finished emptying myself into her, Sharon began to relax. She favored me with a sweet, dreamy smile and urged me down to kiss her. I settled my full weight carefully on her, partly because my arms were shaking and partly because I simply wanted to cover her with my body. "Mmmm,... you feel hot to the touch -- like an electric blanket," she murmured. "A *heavy* electric blanket." I pushed her legs together and straddled them, taking some of my weight on my knees and elbows. That also pushed my retreating cock out of her, but that was okay -- it felt like it needed to step out for a smoke anyway. I gently kissed her eyelids and her nose and her lips. I hadn't planned this feeling of affection toward Sharon, though I liked her well enough. She was such a scrumptious little thing, I couldn't help it. Perhaps that emotion communicated itself to Sharon because she finally took a deep breath and said, "I wasn't going to ask this -- I swear I wasn't. But, do you-- well,... do you love me? Even a little?" She immediately covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm sorry!" she wailed. "Why can't I keep my mouth shut?" I slid off of her and peeled off the condom. I propped my head up on my fist while I stroked her succulent breasts and thought about her question. Kathy had been physically and emotionally addicted to me because I had set it up that way -- but she hadn't been "in love" with me, not exactly. She was old enough to have had several crushes and been devoted to at least a couple of boyfriends. But I had deliberately played on Sharon's adolescent romanticism, her need to be "in love," and she was responding *too* well. For whatever reason (maybe even my conscience), I wanted to try to explain her own feelings to her without resorting to hypnosis, if that was possible. "Sweetheart," I wonder if you and I mean the same thing when we talk about 'love'. Are you thinking about marriage and a family?" I smiled at her blank expression. "I love you for what you are, Sharon -- a sweet, beautiful fourteen-year-old girl. I imagine you'll fall in love at least a couple of times before you find the guy you want to marry. If we were to meet again in, say, eight or ten years,... well, who knows?" The way she looked at me, she was steeling herself against an unbearable rejection. Damn. I was going to have to fix this on a deeper level. "Dive, Sharon, dive." Her face cleared and she smiled warmly. "Sharon, you're no longer a virgin now -- you're a woman. You will come to realize, over the next few weeks, that there is a difference between casual love with sex-for-fun and the kind of deep, serious love you come to feel for someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. You must not be afraid of either kind of love, do you understand? It's natural to feel loving and affectionate toward someone you're also physically attracted to, but you know, don't you, that that's not the same as 'capital-L' love?" She nodded with a calm, thoughtful look. I was still caressing her and when my fingertips passed over her still- rigid nipple, she twitched. "Sharon, tell me what you felt when we were fucking -- and how do you feel right now? How do you feel about sex?" "Oh, God,..." Her eyes glowed. "I could feel your penis moving in there, way deep inside, and it felt so strange -- but it felt really great, too! My clit felt as big as my thumb, and I wanted to come so badly,... but at the same time, I *didn't* want to come. I just wanted to go on feeling you rubbing me with your cock so I could get more and more excited. I didn't want to come for *hours* yet -- but when I did, and then you came inside me,... wow! It was like being shot full of electricity!" She paused and I could see her mind replaying very recent events. "I think, when you pushed my legs back -- well, it left me wide open, you know? Sort of helpless, I guess, like you could do whatever you wanted to me. I mean, I could feel the sweat running down into,... into my asshole." Her face was heating up again. "But I knew you wouldn't hurt me so I didn't mind. In fact, it was really sexy and you went in really deep. Jesus...." "And how do you feel about sex now, Sharon?" "I love it! I want to do it again, a lot more times!" She flashed me the lustiest grin I'd ever seen on a girl her age. And I'd never actually fucked a girl while she was in a trance.... "Okay, Sharon, let's do it again, shall we? You will stay in your trance and you will react to everything I do in the freest, most uninhibited way you can imagine, won't you? You feel even more adventurous about sex than you did before, don't you? Let you hands, your whole body, do whatever it wants, let yourself experiment, okay? You know I won't do anything to hurt you, don't you? You feel a tingling in your cunt, Sharon, you're beginning to feel really sexy again, really heated up. Just turn yourself loose, sweetheart." It was like I'd been ambushed by a jaguar. Sharon rose up, bright-eyed, and threw herself on me, grabbing my hand and urging it toward her crotch as she flung one leg over my hip. The anxious mewing sounds she made as she scattered hot kisses across my chest were certainly arousing. She strained against me, digging her nipples into my flesh. She reached back with her other hand, trying to skewer herself on my cock. It was a delightful bit of wish-fulfillment, but Sharon was stronger than she looked and I became concerned about love-bruises. Time to introduce another factor. I let my hand trail down her spine to her coccyx and she stuck her round little bottom out for my convenience. I continued and when my finger stopped over her anus and rubbed in little circles, she pushed back against it and dug her nails into me. All her openings were still damp and I had no difficulty sliding the first joint of my middle finger into her rectum. She had moved upward against me to give me easier access, and my mouth was perfectly positioned to reach her nipples, which I milked attentively. But I wanted to explore that lovely ass more closely. "Sharon," I said, "unwrap yourself, sweetheart, and get up on your hands and knees. Wiggle that hot little butt for me." She giggled and did as I instructed, back bent and ass in the air, squirming provocatively. When I crawled around behind her, riding the waves in the waterbed, I was especially drawn by her fragrance and by the symmetrical beauty of her ass, including the wisps of silky hair framing her pussy. Just above that was her small, star-shaped pucker. I stroked her bottom, marveling at the smooth resilience, and kissed her lingeringly on both cheeks. Then I scattered a series of wet kisses down the crease of her cleft and her ass began to twitch in earnest. I put out my tongue and licked the length of her cunt while she gyrated and balled up the sheet in her fists. Two fingers eased into her depths, still hot and juicy, while I made rings around her asshole with my tongue. She tasted deliciously of dried, salty sweat. Sharon bucked and shook and groaned in mounting passion. "Oh, that feels lovely," she whispered hoarsely. "I wish you'd stick your tongue right up my asshole, that'd be so wild! And you could fuck me from behind, too...." Her fingers were now between her legs, strumming her clit with abandon. I followed her request -- and my own surprised inclination -- and pushed my tongue through her sphincter; I could only reach a few centimeters, but it was the attempt that turned her on. I hurriedly tore open another foil packet and rolled the condom over my resurgent cock. And, getting on my knees and moving up close behind her, I brushed my cock head against the lips of her cunt. She vibrated, spreading her knees farther apart and cocking her ass up even more. I slid into her easily, as if she had been screwing for years. Holding her hips tightly, I thrust into her so hard and fast I bumped her cervix. She went momentarily rigid and gasped, "Oh, God! That's so great! It's like being raped or something -- only I love it, I really do!" After three or four minutes of pounding away, I said, "Let your knees slide out from under you, Sharon -- slowly, so I don't lose you." She let herself slide onto her stomach and I followed her down, keeping my knees on the outside of her legs. The grip of her small, tight ass allowed me to remain buried in her -- but now her clasp was even tighter and it swallowed me whole. I pulled her arms down to her sides and held her close, completing the vulnerability fantasy she had mentioned several times. Her head moved restlessly and I could feel her slender body undulating beneath me as I resumed thrusting into her. "Oh, yes! Hold me down, don't let me move! Just keep fucking me, just like that -- oh, that's so nice!" "Sharon," I said between breaths, "it feels to you like my penis has grown to twice its previous size. Your vagina is completely filled with it, stretched and filled to overflowing, and you feel every movement it makes with great intensity, don't you?" Her reaction was instantaneous. "Oh! Christ! Oh,... oh, shit.... I didn't know your cock could get so huge," she moaned as her ass shuddered beneath my stomach. "God, you're going to split me open -- and I don't care! Just keep doing it,... keep fucking me!" The marvelous part of this was that Sharon wasn't parroting a set of lines I had given her to repeat. What I had done was to establish the circumstances; her reactions to that were her own. And her feedback was something more than I had expected -- as with this little rape-fantasy of hers. Well, I thought, a game was a game. "Sharon," I continued softly in her ear as I rammed myself into her, "what would you think if I were to tie you down to the bed by your wrists and ankles?" She stopped her breathless squirming for a moment. "Would it-- would it hurt?" "No, sweetheart, I told you I would do nothing to hurt you. No, this would be sort of 'pretend'. The restraints are real but very light; they're symbolic, do you understand? That way, it's always *your* choice whether you want to continue." Except for my hypnotic influence, of course. I was aware of a slight increase in Sharon's excitement (if that were possible) as she thought about the suggestion. "Oh, wow, that sounds,... um, it sounds really sexy. I'd be tied down? Then you could do anything you wanted to me, couldn't you? Wow...." Again, I thrust hard into her and her ass clenched as she grunted a little. "God,... so big -- I feel so full,..." she murmured, and humped me back. Sharon's youthful horniness was becoming too much to bear and I picked up speed, ramming into her with increased force. She twisted her hands around, where I had them pinned at her sides, and squeezed the tops of my thighs. With each lunging stroke her body was shoved forward, setting up more wavefronts in the bed which synchronized with the "Uh -- uh -- uh" sounds she was making. After a few minutes, her breath was almost as rasping as mine and from the way her fingers dug into my flesh it was clear she was also nearing another climax. When I hit the final impalement and ejaculated for the second time into the hot focus of her, Sharon's entire body went rigid -- even her toes, which strained against my shins. I wished I wasn't wearing that damned condom. Sure, the physical sensations are all there, but simply *knowing* there's a synthetic barrier between you and the girl you're plowing can be off-putting, at least to me. Ah, well.... It was going to be a little while before I was ready for a third round, though I suspected Sharon could go on having orgasms all night in her present inflamed physical and mental state. Time for play! As we both struggled to catch our breaths, Sharon flexed her internal muscles and gave my overheated cock a delightful squeeze. "You gonna tie me up now?" she asked. I began to wonder if I had created an adolescent monster. "Of course I am, sweetheart." I eased my rather sore and wilting penis out from between her reddened thighs and rolled over to the side of the bed, where I peeled off the condom, tied a knot in it, and set it on the nightstand beside the first used one ... and the other three foil packs, which I hoped would be enough to get us through the night. I hadn't expected bondage games, of course -- hadn't even ever taken part in one, in fact -- so I had no rope or velvet-lined handcuffs with me. When you're desperate, you improvise. I wondered how much John had paid for his neckties. "Sharon, remain face down and extend your arms and legs toward the four corners of the bed; stretch as far as you can. Imagine the sensation of being tied to the bedposts." She obediently stretched her limbs out, grunting a little as she reached as hard as she could. Her red-splotched buttocks quivered in a lovely way with her efforts. Her cunt glistened between her parted thighs; by rights, there should have been a trickle of my semen dribbling down onto the sheets, but that couldn't be helped. I rummaged guiltily through our host's closet, looking for makeshift rope, and finally discovered a small heap of frayed bungee cords -- the sort with rubber-coated metal hooks on the ends of each three-foot length, for tying down suitcases on luggage carriers and such. An obvious accessory for a salesman; I might even tell John later what use I was putting them to. As I returned to the bed, where Sharon was becoming a bit red-faced, both from her exertions and from renewed excitement. "Now, sweetheart," I began, "I'm going to fasten you down. I promise you, it won't hurt. You'll be able to get loose with no difficulty if you really want to -- but you won't want to, will you? This is a sex *fantasy*, remember: You must keep in mind that *you* are the one who's really in control. But since you trust me, and you know you won't be hurt, and you *really* want to try a little kinkiness, you will gladly play the role of a helpless captive, completely at my mercy. Do you understand, Sharon? That's what you really want, isn't it?" "Yes -- that's what I want, I want to be helpless, you can do anything you want to me and I can't stop you...." She trembled and licked her lips in anticipation. Her fingers repeatedly spread and balled themselves into tight little fists. I quickly looped a cord twice around her right wrist, made a loose overhand knot, and hooked the metal ends around the upright of the rattan headboard. The elastic cord stretched enough to keep her arm taut. As I hooked up her other arm, she caught my eye over her shoulder and gave me a sultry smile through a curtain of tousled hair. It wasn't until I turned to bind her feet that it dawned on me that John's waterbed, like most, had no footboard. I hastily grabbed a couple more bungees and linked them together so I could fasten one ankle to the closet doorknob and the other to a chrome stand loaded with exercise weights. Then I stood for a moment admiring my handiwork. Little Sharon certainly *looked* helpless, with her slender, smoking body stretched across the bed. She writhed sinuously, testing her bonds. Her toes were pointed by the angle and tension of the cords, forming oddly attractive creases across the soles of her small feet. I raked a thumbnail lightly across the bottom of one pretty foot and she gasped and tried to curl her foot even further. I slowly licked the sole of her other foot and she began to shake a little. Then, leaning over her without touching the bed, I nibbled at the back of one knee and she jerked and moaned softly. It wasn't difficult figuring out how to push Sharon's buttons. I crept onto the bed between her trembling legs, leaned down, and buried my nose in the aromatic space between her cunt and her asshole. Sharon squealed and puffed, and jerked at her bonds. Her wrists twisted and contorted as if she were fastened much more tightly than she really was. Separating her buttocks with my thumbs, I swabbed my tongue from her gleaming cunt to her rhythmically twitching anus. "G-g-god!" she stammered. I nipped the silky flesh in the depths of her cleft and lapped again at her pussy. She was vibrating like a drumhead. Finally, I slid my middle finger far into her molten vagina and stirred it about to completely lubricate it for its next task. The same finger moved up the slope of her frenzied ass and pushed slowly through her sphincter, the tight, muscular ring clutching at it all the way, until my palm was flat against the underside of her ass and three joints of my finger were being Hooverized by her rectum. Slowly, I began to finger-fuck her ass, sliding my finger almost all the way out, pausing to build the suspense, and stabbing much more quickly back into her. Sharon tensed just before each thrust and sobbed a little at the end of each. They weren't sounds of pain, but of ever-mounting lust, and I was amazed at their recuperative effect on my cock. I had never in my life screwed a girl more than twice in a single evening, and here I was, going for my third erection in less than three hours. I was becoming very aware that what I really, really wanted to do was to get my cock about fifteen inches up that entrancing ass of hers. Watching that trembling little butt squirm and writhe as it tried to suck in even more of my finger was almost more than I could stand. Sharon was all my most carefully sublimated erotic fantasies come true. It was becoming a matter not of "should I?" but of "can I get away with it?" Could Sharon's young, very tight ass manage my cock? There would almost certainly be a little pain at the beginning, too: Would that pop her out of her trance? "Sharon, I'm afraid I have to leave the room for just a moment. You won't worry and you won't be afraid because you know for certain that I'll be right back; you know that, don't you, sweetheart?" "Yes," she giggled unevenly, "I know you'll be right back -- but what about my asshole?" "Um. Think about what it might be like to have a man's cock in your asshole, Sharon. You've heard of ass-fucking, haven't you?" "Yeah, I guess so. Isn't that kinda weird?" "Isn't being tied to the bed?" She giggled again. "Maybe so, but it's nice, too!" "I'll be right back," I repeated as I slid my finger out of its dark harbor. "Imagine how nice it would feel to have my penis in your ass instead of my finger, okay?" She twitched her bottom and made fists as the pictures moved through her mind. I headed out the door and down the stairs, my new erection bobbing in front of me. Searching the kitchen for some kind of test instrument, I thought of the jokes I'd heard and opened the vegetable crisper in the refrigerator. John apparently liked Polish and Czech food because I found a fresh kielbasa, nearly a foot long and almost two inches in diameter. Even its consistency was vaguely cock-like (I supposed). Back upstairs, I stopped in the master bathroom and dug up a tube of K-Y; I would've been surprised had I *not* found it. Sharon was moaning slightly and her little sphincter seemed to be winking at me. "I'm back, Sharon, and I have a surprise for you," I said softly as I squeezed K-Y along half the length of the kielbasa and rolled it around in the palm of my hand, coating it liberally. I also smoothed a smaller glop of the stuff on and in Sharon's asshole while she twisted and hummed in the back of her throat. "Now, this won't hurt at all, Sharon, do you understand? This is just a sex toy I found -- kind of a fake penis, just to make sure you can deal with being fucked in the ass. I want you to tell me what it feels like, okay, sweetheart?" I was pressing gently at the little brown ridges with the narrow end of my "toy" and she was trying to hump the sausage. Twisting slightly, I worked the end of the kielbasa into her ass an inch or so as Sharon gasped and started breathing rapidly, mouth wide open. Another two inches and her neck was bent, head thrown back as far as she was able. Her toes wiggled slowly and I saw her arm and leg muscles tense and release in turn. At six inches, I began to rotate the meat so its curve changed direction within her; her buttocks seemed to shimmer with tension and her tangled hair whipped back and forth. "Are you okay, sweetheart? How does that feel?" He took her a few seconds to put together a reply. "My God," she whispered hoarsely, "there's a snake in my gut, and it feels like my legs are on fire, and my toes have electricity in them, and I think my nipples are lit up like Christmas tree lights! And it just goes on and on...." Wow, some reaction. I released the kielbasa and looked at it thoughtfully; it was half-buried in her butt and the thicker end traced slow, complex patterns in the air as Sharon's pelvis writhed. Could she take in the whole thing? But if she did,... how would my merely human cock compete afterward? Perhaps I hadn't thought far enough ahead. Oh, the hell with it. I continued to work the sausage into Sharon's asshole, which dilated to accommodate it. I added more K-Y around the wide-stretched ring; it felt strange to the touch but didn't seem in danger of being damaged. I became so mesmerized by what I was doing that it wasn't until I could no longer get a grip on the thing that I realized only an inch or so still protruded from her rectum, like a stumpy little tail. Sharon's back was tightly arched and she was making a prolonged "Unnnnhhhh..." sound. A bright scarlet sexual flush had crept down her neck and shoulders and there was no doubt about her state of arousal -- nor about my own. My cock ached so much I was almost afraid to touch it. "What do you feel like now, Sharon?" "Ohhhh.... You're so huge and long in my butt, I don't believe it! Are you going to come inside me? Are you?" In her extreme excitement, she seemed to have forgotten the kielbasa was supposed to be a "toy." And it was a sure thing that I was going to come somewhere. "I'm going to pull out and then go back in," I replied hastily, and began extracting the sausage, pausing every inch or so to thrust it back into her as if I were fucking her for real. Her moans became louder and her gyrations more athletic at each plunge. As the length of the kielbasa emerged, I was a bit surprised to find none of the shit stains I had expected. That reassured me, though. As the last bit of the sausage appeared, I positioned myself above that lovely little ass. Tossing the "toy" over my shoulder (it made an exhausted sound as it bounced on the floor), I plunged through her vibrating sphincter, burying my cock completely in one thrust. It might not have felt like a lot to Sharon by comparison, but it was exquisite to me. I pulled partway out and rammed into her again and she buried her face in the sheets and sobbed under her breath. I'd thought her virginal cunt was tight but her rectum was unbelievable, and there was no end to it. My balls banged against her pussy and I ran my hands up and down her flanks. My vision was clouded, I was so transported. I could hold out for only two or three minutes before I geysered again, the third time that evening. It felt like I was shooting sperm as far as her kidneys. Sharon's sobbing was louder and she was gasping "Oh -- oh -- oh" between gulps. Neither of us was able to move at all for five or six minutes. Her lovely adolescent ass still held my organ so tightly in its grasp, I was able to stay put for quite awhile. Every few minutes, some internal muscle or nerve would twitch and my penis would spasm in response. I was amazed at my ability to climax so many times so close together, but I knew the tank was empty at last. There was no telling how long it would take my body to manufacture more seminal fluid. But at least I'd had the pleasure of flesh-to-flesh contact that last time. Sharon wasn't likely to get pregnant from having her ass plowed and I knew I was absolutely disease-free, so there were no guilt pangs on my behalf. A most delightful -- and exhausting -- end to my brief jailbait affair. The next question was, what should I do now? Stay overnight in John's bed with my arms wrapped around this cuddly little doll? (And take a much greater chance of her parents discovering she wasn't where she was supposed to be...?) I peered at the bedside clock as I rolled stiffly off Sharon's body; she groaned softly and shifted position. It wasn't quite midnight, though I felt like we had been screwing for at least three days. If we got up now, I could probably deliver Sharon into her friend Marilyn's care by 1:00 in the morning -- not unreasonable hours for a Friday night sleep-over, if the girls claimed they had been out running around. I reached over and stroked her sweat-slick shoulder. "C'mon, sweetheart, we have to get up and take a shower so I can take you to your slumber party." She screwed her eyes tightly shut. "Don' wanna go ... wanna stay here with you...." She looked adorable behind the curtain of tangled hair and I really wanted to keep her -- but I wasn't *that* stupid. "Sharon, pay attention. I'd like very much for you to stay here, too, but I'm afraid it's a very bad idea. Let's go, sweetheart -- up and at 'em." She groaned again in weary satiety and rolled over. She winced a couple times as she sat up and scooted over to the edge of the bed. If Sharon's healthy young body was stiff and sore, I hated to think what kind of condition I was going to be in in the morning. She held up her arms for assistance and I hauled her to her feet. Her arms, naturally, continued to slide around my neck and we glided smoothly into a slow, gentle kiss,... completely unlike our most recent lovemaking. Even used up and worn out, I appreciated the warm softness of Sharon's body pressed against mine as our sweat combined. That might present a problem to the outside world, though. "Darlin', I think we're both badly in need of soap and hot water," I commented as the kiss tapered off. She sniffed and smiled. "We just smell like sex; I kinda like it." I squeezed her tighter. "So do I, sweetheart,... but I don't think your folks would appreciate it. Or your brother." We made out way stiffly to the master bathroom, which had a big shower with tinted glass doors, fake cobblestone flooring, its own recessed heat lamp overhead, and a high-tech, ten-way showerhead. Sharon was still a bit fuzzy but she woke up with a squeal when the first icy blast of water hit her between the shoulderblades. In another two seconds, the water was nearly scalding, though, and she backed into it, wriggling her shoulders with a sigh and twisting her neck from side to side. I began soaping her down and she raised her arms so I could reach her ribs. She gave me a sweet, warm smile as my slippery hands glided over her breasts and down across her belly. "You're still in your trance, aren't you Sharon?" She nodded and cocked her head. "Tell me what you're thinking about right now, sweetheart. What's behind that lovely smile?" She leaned against my chest and tucked her face into my neck. "I'm thinking about how nice it is to be here with you," she said quietly. I was touched to the heart. She seemed to hesitate and then added, "I'm also thinking about being in love." She raised her head and focused on my eyes from two inches away. I opened my mouth but she touched my lips with her fingertips. "I know what you said,... you know, about sex and love. But I'm in love with you now -- tonight -- and I can't help it." She was so earnest in her proclamation, I found I couldn't help it either. "Sharon,... putting it that way, for tonight -- well, I love you, too." She wrapped her arms around my chest and squeezed so hard, I worried a little about a cracked rib. We didn't say much for a few minutes. I rubbed up a thick lather over most of her body, ears to toes. I loved handling every inch of her and she obviously enjoyed being the object of such careful attention. Then it was her turn to soap me up, and she made innovative use of her breasts as bath sponges, grinning when her nipple in my navel made me shiver. When Sharon had rinsed off, we switched places under the showerhead and I watched the gleam from her slick, wet skin as she leaned against the tile with her ankles demurely crossed. She saw the direction my eyes were traveling and smiled at my fixation. Holding my gaze, she cupped her small breasts and pinched her nipples. One hand slid slowly down to cover her pubic mound and her middle finger slipped into her vagina. I couldn't believe she could have the energy to go round again, but it quickly became obvious that she was merely putting on an erotic little show for my entertainment. She turned around and leaned her elbows and forearms against the wall, knees straight, her inviting little bottom jutting out at me. She gave me that hot little smile over her shoulder as she traced a slow track down between her buttocks with one nail. My cock made a halfhearted twitch and gave out completely. So I made the best response I could: I bent over and planted a wet, lingering kiss on the out-curve of one taut, perfectly formed cheek. Sharon wiggled in delight, and when I added a little nip with my teeth, she giggled in a way that gave me chills hotter than the shower. Fifteen minutes later, we were toweling each other down beneath the big heat lamp in the dressing alcove. Sharon insisted on drying me completely, just as she had soaped me -- and, of course, I did the same. We paused several times for cuddles and kisses and it was crowding 1:00 before we finally tidied up the bedroom and made our way downstairs to gather up our clothing. I was becoming concerned about slipping Sharon into her friend's house, but she calmly explained that Marilyn kept the ringer turned down on her private line and that the two of them often conversed secretly about "girl things" in the middle of the night. Marilyn would arrange to sneak her in and no one's parents would be the wiser. I hoped she was right. Sharon sat on the arm of the sofa, casually and beautifully naked, talking quietly to her buddy on the phone. One toe traced invisible patterns in the carpet and she'd wound the cord several times around her fingers, looking for all the world like any other fourteen-year-old girl, except for all that lovely skin. Again, I let my gaze travel slowly over that gorgeous little body as I dressed. I wasn't likely to see her in this state again; the chances of being caught were simply too great. She watched me watching her and smiled intimately as she talked. Then she silently parted her thighs to give me an unobstructed view of her pussy, which appeared as exhausted as I felt. I was a bit surprised to hear her say, "I'm still bare as a baby, Marilyn, and my boyfriend's putting on his clothes. I like the way he's looking at me, like he'd like to eat me for dinner. And I've just spread my legs so he can see almost inside of me. Yeah, really,... but he already knows what the inside of me feels like. Have you ever let a guy fuck you in the ass? No, Marilyn -- it's fantastic! Or maybe it just has to be the right guy...." She winked at me. Hearing her nonchalantly describing her new sexual experiences to another girl her age was a whole different kind of turn-on. I wondered momentarily if Marilyn-the-girlfriend might become available for a three-way party. No -- that would *really* be taking risks! "No, I told you Marilyn: There's no way I'm going to tell you who the guy is! He's so sweet, and I *love* fucking him, and he could get in *really* bad trouble, you know. Besides, you don't know him. He's older, remember? No, I won't tell you how much older, either!" she added with a laugh. "Look, I have to get dressed, okay? I'm leaving pussy puddles on his sofa, I swear I am. We'll be there in about thirty minutes and I'll wait just beyond the kitchen porch light, okay? Yeah, I promise -- I'll give you a blow-by-blow -- or a hump-by-hump, maybe! Oh, Marilyn,... you simply will not believe what sex is like. *Real* sex, I mean, not just kissing and making out. It's just too terrific...." I was dressed now, and had moved to lean between Sharon's knees so I could nibble on her pussy as she talked on the phone. I placed my thumb carefully on her clit and moved it in slow circles. Unbelievably, my little lover's eyes went smoky again and she arched her back. "Uh -- oh -- God!" she moaned into the mouthpiece. "Oh, Marilyn, you wouldn't believe what's happening, what he's doing to me right this minute! Oh, that feels so good...." I grinned and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger. She gasped and moaned again and gave me a wicked look; obviously, some of Sharon's very vocal reaction was for her friend's benefit. "Sweetheart," I breathed in her ear, "I'm afraid you're going to have to dress that gorgeous body so we can get out of here. Of course, I could deliver you to Marilyn's house just as you are...." Sharon stifled a giggle and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "That would be exciting, wouldn't it?! Better not, though, just in case we got stopped on the way...." I was joking, of course, but the image of Sharon's naked body heating up the front seat of my car blazed through my mind. "Marilyn, I've *gotta* go! I'll see you in thirty minutes -- if I can find all my clothes!" she laughed. Then she hung up and pulled on her sweatshirt. (A pretty young girl clothed only from the waist up is a wondrous sight.) She picked up her panties and her jeans but paused and gave me a thoughtful look. "Want a souvenir...?" She dangled the white panties from an outstretched fingertip. She saw the answer in my eyes and carefully wadded up the material and crammed it up between her legs, most of it disappearing into her cunt. She closed her thighs tightly and kind of rotated her hips. When she extracted them, her panties were visibly damp; she waved them close to my face and I inhaled the thick perfume. She leaned close and ran her little tongue over my lips as she stuffed her trophy-gift into my pocket. "I'm sorry I don't have a memento to give to you in return," I replied softly as she nibbled at my ear. "Are you kidding?" she chuckled, and my ear tickled. "I have two tied- up rubbers in my jeans pocket that are full of you." She guided my hand around to her ass, still bare below her shirt. "Plus an extra installment...." One long kiss filled with tongue and then Sharon was almost shyly pulling her jeans up over that naked, lovely ass and jamming on her loafers. Her bra went into her gym bag. She slung her purse over her shoulder and looked around to make sure she'd forgotten nothing. And then we were out the door and climbing into the car, and I found myself very much regretting that my evening (and almost certainly my affair) with Sharon was nearly over. I wasn't sure what remained of Sharon's trance so as we pulled out of the parking lot -- the only car on the street at that hour of the night, as far as I could tell -- I squeezed her shoulder to get her attention and said "Dive, Sharon, dive." When I glanced at her face, I saw the calm, relaxed serenity I'd learned to associate with a successful hypnotic trance. She was under, all right. "Sharon, you understand, don't you, that you must not say anything to anyone about our relationship? Don't even hint at my identity, correct? You can tell Marilyn and your other most trustworthy friends all the physical details about how you lost your virginity and how much fun sex can be, though." I was revising my thoughts quickly. "In fact, Sharon, you *will* tell them all about it -- very privately, of course. You'll tell them in detail how great it feel to be fucked in the ass, and all the rest of it, won't you? But you will be very careful not to give them, or anyone else, even the smallest clue to who I am, all right? Just refer to your 'boyfriend' and leave it at that. Do you understand, sweetheart?" She seemed almost affronted that I would think she had to be instructed. "Yes, I understand; I'd *die* before I told anyone anything that might get you in trouble! I just wouldn't do something like that -- especially around Jeff. And my parents would never understand about sex anyway." She paused. "I wouldn't even trust all my friends to keep their big mouths shut about something this important -- it would make terrific gossip around school. I'll be really careful what I say and who I say it to, I promise." She slid closer and stroked my thigh as I drove through the darkened suburbs. "I can trust Marilyn, though, absolutely. Other way 'round, too, because I even held a little bag of pot for her last year when she was afraid her parents or the maid might find it." She smiled conspiratorially. "We do things like that for each other all the time, you know. In fact,... Marilyn's the one who showed me how to get myself off." She folded her hands primly in her lap. "I didn't know how and I asked her, and so we got in bed together one night, and she played with her pussy and I watched. She even came!" she giggled impishly. "Hmmm. Sweetheart, have you and Marilyn ever touched each other's pussies?" "Noooo.... I think she wanted to once, though." "Okay. Don't you think it would be a good idea if you and your friend got really cozy and masturbated each other? Girls can make love with other girls, you know; sex is sex. Would you enjoy that? Would Marilyn?" "Yes," she replied slowly, "I think she would. She's really, really interested in everything about sex. And it sounds like fun...." I had a feeling little Sharon's social life was going to heat up considerably. "Sweetheart, I want you to be sure to write to me at school and tell me what happens in your sex life with Marilyn, with other boys, all of it, okay? And give me all the other news about your life, too, because I'm very interested. Be sure no one catches you writing or mailing letters to me, Sharon; that could land us both in a lot of trouble. But you will be explicit and completely honest in what you tell me, do you understand?" And I had her memorize my post office address at school. Our parting was almost anticlimactic. I turned off the headlights as I rounded the corner onto Marilyn's block and eased to a stop at the curb across the street and several houses down. As I killed the engine and switched off the dome light, I looked toward the house Sharon indicated and was sure I saw the white lace curtains move in an upstairs dormer window. Sharon saw it, too, and grabbed her gym bag off the floor. "I'd better be going -- I should be there already when she opens the kitchen door, so she won't have to wait." She quickly opened the door and seemed about to leap out and disappear. Suddenly, I was unprepared for her departure. "Sharon--" I grabbed her shoulder and she looked back at me. Her face softened and she moved back, close up against me, leaving the passenger door ajar. I kissed her and then hugged her more tightly than I had intended. "Sharon, when I count down to one, you will no longer be in a trance and you will forget ever having been in a trance, but you will remember everything I've told you. And you won't forget to write regularly and tell me everything, now, will you? And I want you to remember something else, sweetheart, because it's very important." I held her face in my hands and stared hard into her eyes. "Always remember that you're a special person, Sharon. Very special." Her beaming smile was dazzling. "Five,... four,... three,... two,... one." She blinked and sighed deeply. Gathering up her bag again, she slid back to the half-open door but paused halfway out and looked back at me steadily. "I don't care: I still love you," she said softly and with great conviction. "I think I always will." And then she was out and sprinting silently across the street as the car door clicked shut. I could make out the upper part of Marilyn's kitchen door over the surrounding shrubbery and I sat and watched as it swung open and closed again. I imagined the two girls tiptoeing upstairs, Marilyn whispering excited questions at her friend and my little lover displaying that knowing grin in reply. What a sweetheart she was -- and what a sweet fuck. I let off the brake and coasted fifty yards past Marilyn's house before I restarted the engine; the headlights remained off until I'd turned the far corner. All the way home, I thought about the evening's unbelievable events. I hated to have to give up Sharon, but safety came first. Relative safety, anyway. There were lots of other hypnotic subjects out there, and I already had a couple of interesting experimental candidates in mind. I awoke after 10:00 the next morning with a partial erection. I couldn't remember my dreams but I was sure I knew what they'd been about. I attempted experimentally to masturbate but stopped almost immediately. My cock was as sore as if a dump truck had run over it -- twice. When I finally climbed out of bed, I groaned because of the stiffness in my lower back. Sharon was probably feeling even more wasted, despite her youthful resilience, but I knew she didn't regret it. I had to wonder how she might have behaved through all this had I simply removed her overriding inhibitions and not added all the extra guidance. Would she still have been such a hot little girl? It was impossible to know. My quest for someone who could be shown to have done something under hypnosis that they would never have done otherwise was still incomplete. But this had certainly been a delightful experiment! TRANCES -- Part 5 Fall of my senior year was interesting. Loads of work, but interesting. All my coursework now was in psychology and pre-grad counseling and I was starting on my senior thesis -- the subject of which was (of course) the theoretical aspects of hypnosis. My advisor was Prof. Andrea DiMucci, a very attractive woman in a Mediterranean sort of way. About forty, I guessed, probably under 120 pounds, perhaps five-foot-three in her stocking feet -- which probably none of her students had ever seen, since she favored heels of significant height. The heels didn't seem to go with her dresses and suits, which were of conservative cut though they concealed what I estimated was a very nice, almost voluptuous figure. Her gleaming black hair was always up in a restrictive knot atop her head. Dr. DiMucci was a very knowledgeable and very professional instructor, but that didn't keep her male students from exchanging speculative looks when she came out from behind her desk to pace back and forth across the front of the classroom as she lectured. She didn't wear a wedding ring, either, and the scuttlebutt was that she'd gone through a messy divorce a few years before and simply had no interest in dating -- or so a couple of the younger single male profs had confided. Dr. DiMucci was also rather conservative in her attitude toward the therapeutic uses of hypnosis -- not that she'd had any personal experience with putting people under, but the dogma of whatever school of psychology she subscribed to had a low opinion of it (so there). This meant that I was forced to spend several afternoons in her office, perched on an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of her obsessively tidy desk, trying to explain my interest in hypnosis and the possibilities my reading and experience had suggested -- and without giving away my personal experiments. Late one Friday afternoon in September I was leaning against the wall in the hall outside her office, waiting for the good professor to show up. I'd received a letter from little Sharon, telling me how much fun she'd had with her friend Marilyn. "She put two fingers up inside me and it really felt nice!" she'd written -- and all the I's were dotted with tiny hearts. I was imagining the scene and smiling when Dr. DiMucci arrived and murmured an apology for being late. I watched from behind as she tried to get her key to work in the door lock; this involved shifting her compact weight from foot to foot and jiggling her hips just enough to keep my attention focused. Sharon... DiMucci... Why hadn't it occurred to me before? Would it be possible to prove the validity of my graduation thesis by putting my advisor into a trance? "Professor," I began as I settled into the familiar hard chair, "how would it be if you allowed me to perform a little demonstration to prove my point about hypnotism?" She raised her eyebrows and shot me a calculating look. I knew she had a pretty good opinion of my academic abilities and she generally considered seriously anything I had to say. "What did you have in mind?" "Well,... if I were to hypnotize you, for instance...." She stared at me and then broke into a musical laugh. "Me? You think you can 'abracadabra' me into a hypnotic state? Not a chance, sir!" "Then you shouldn't object if I at least attempt it, right? If I'm wrong, I'm the one embarrassed by failure. You have nothing to lose, have you?" Her smile became more serious. "Look -- you're an excellent student, you're very people-savvy, and I have no doubt you'll become a first-rate psychological counselor. I have no interest in causing you embarrassment, really." I took a deep breath and jumped in. "Dr. DiMucci, I have the greatest respect for your knowledge and abilities,... but I have to say that hypnosis is one subject in which I'm pretty sure I have more practical experience than you have." If you're going to hang yourself, you might as well tie the noose good and tight, I always say. I could practically see the thought process spinning around in her head. If I failed, I'd have to drop the subject of hypnosis in favor of a topic she approved of. And she was an experienced professional psychologist: As far as she was concerned, there was no way she was going to be affected by some musical hall mumbo-jumbo. And she was genuinely sympathetic to my enthusiasm -- she just hated to see it misdirected. "If I let you attempt this ... experiment,... where and when are we talking about? Here and now?" Well, it was getting late and the halls were quiet. Most of the other faculty offices were dark and locked. Prof. DiMucci seemed tired from the long week, so her defenses were probably low. And, of course, she was absolutely confident of her own resistance to my "powers," which gave me an additional edge. "Yes, here and now would be fine, I think. Professor,... are you willing to trust me in this? I mean, I *will* need your cooperation, whether you buy the idea or not." "Sure, I promise, I'll cooperate. Besides, I'm your senior advisor -- and that gives me a certain amount of authority where you're concerned, and I know you're not stupid." I wouldn't do anything I ethically shouldn't if I ever wanted to receive *any* degree from *any* university, was what she meant. She smiled again and I decided not to worry about it. I stood and looked around the small office. There was an unused desk lamp on a bookcase in the corner and I retrieved it. I switched it on and turned off the overhead, aiming the lamp off to one side to provide only a dim background illumination. Moving around in front of her, I could see her pale face highlighted by her glossy black hair. She was a much greater challenge than the kids I had worked with; I had to make her feel relaxed. "Would you mind taking off your earrings and your wristwatch?" She complied as I contemplated the neatly buttoned high collar of her blouse. "Umm, could you also undo that top button? Also the buttons on your cuffs?" She looked at me for a moment, then nodded agreeably and did as I asked. One last thing. "And would you slip off your shoes, please?" Off they came, no questions or complaints. I considered asking her to take out her contact lenses -- being a little out of focus would help her concentrate on my voice -- but I decided that would be pushing it. "Now, professor, just look off in that direction; don't focus on anything in particular." I gestured toward the far side of the dim office. "In fact, you won't think about what you're seeing,... you'll only pay attention to my voice. You're thinking this is all a bit silly though you're willing to be tolerant of it. But that's not necessary, because you're already allowing yourself to slide off into that comfortable, warm, relaxed place in your mind where you have nothing to worry about, nothing that has to be done right away, no phones ringing, no student papers to read,... just you in your favorite chair at home, lights turned down to a comfortable level, sipping a glass of your favorite wine--" (I was taking a chance there, but not much of one, not with a woman named "DiMucci") "-- listening to your favorite music playing softly in the background...." I edged around in front of her again so I could see her face. Her posture had dissolved and she slouched in her desk chair, eyes half-closed, a peaceful, serene expression on her face. "Professor, I imagine your friends call you 'Andrea,' don't they?" She murmured her assent and the expression on her face never changed. "Has anyone ever called you 'Andy'?" "Not since I was a little girl; my uncles used to call me that, to tease me. When I got older, I insisted on being called 'Andrea' because it was more grown-up." Her tone was calm and unsurprised that I would ask such a question. The Eagle had landed, as someone once said. Twenty minutes later, I was the only person in Dr. DiMucci's adult life with permission to call her "Andy," at least when we were alone. She would always be absolutely candid and honest with me. And I had established a back door and given her certain instructions. Then I told her to forget she'd been hypnotized, but to remember what she'd been told, and I brought her out of it. When she blinked and took a breath, I was again sitting in the chair across the desk from her. She gave me a small, sympathetic smile. "I guess it didn't work, did it? Well, I told you it wouldn't. I'm sorry you had to find out the hard way." "That's all right, Andy. But would you write out a little statement on your pad there?" She didn't even blink at the name. "Please write 'Hypnotism doesn't work.' And if that's a true statement, sign your name below." She scooted up to the blotter and wrote out the three words. But when her pen moved to add her signature she paused and looked blankly at the paper. "That's odd. How the hell do you spell 'DiMucci'...?" She looked up sharply and the machinery in her head cranked up again. Carefully, she scratched out "doesn't" and printed "DOES" above it, then signed her name: "Andy DiMucci." As she reread what she'd written, her eyebrows popped up into her hairline and she shook her head slowly. "Well, I will be dipped!" That got a smothered laugh from me. "I beg your pardon, professor?" "You did it, didn't you? You put me under! Damn -- I don't believe this, I just don't believe you did it. No pendulum, no drugs or anything, just your voice; you really did it!" She leaned back in her chair and eyed me with new respect. "Well, what can I say? You go ahead and write that senior thesis, mister, and if it's as impressive as this little demonstration, I'll guarantee you a very high grade." She smiled and shook her head again. "I just realized: You called me 'Andy,' didn't you? Let's keep that between ourselves, shall we...?" "Of course, professor. I was just making my point, you know. Oh -- one other thing..." She gave me her attention. "Dive, Andy, dive." And she was under again. "Andy, did you know the guys in your classes think you're a very attractive woman? Especially for someone twice their age? You do know how pretty you are, don't you?" "I guess so.... Walter always told me how beautiful I was, and I loved hearing him say that -- but then he treated me like shit. How you look has nothing to do with who you are, I found *that* out all right." "That's a sad thing to hear, Andy. Your students and the younger male faculty members have a lot of respect for you as a teacher and as a psychologist -- but they also think you're a lovely woman. They believe it's possible to be both. So do I. I think you should begin to change your mind about that, don't you?" I rose and strolled around the office, noting the squash racket in a worn case in one corner and the running shoes peeking out from under one side of her desk. "You keep in good shape physically, don't you? You get plenty of exercise?" "Sure. I play tennis and squash, I jog when the weather's nice, I swim a couple times a week. And I have an exercycle in my bedroom that I ride while I'm watching recorded soaps on my VCR. It's good for you, especially when you're in the classroom most of the day." "Oh, I agree entirely. But regular exercise also means you've kept your body looking young. I think you should show off some of the results of all that exercise, don't you? I think you should begin wearing fewer drab suits and more flattering dresses and skirts. Stand in front of a full-length mirror naked, Andy, and look closely at what you see. You look very good, especially for a woman of nearly forty, and that will give you pleasure and satisfaction. You should share that pleasure with the men around you. You don't have to come on to them, or strut in front of class, or behave in an unprofessional manner -- just let people share the pleasure of looking at you. Take it as the compliment it is, okay?" "Maybe you're right.... I *am* in good shape. And 'nearly forty' isn't quite accurate, I'm afraid, though it's nice to hear. I'm really forty-two. Yes, I should dress a little more frilly, the way I did when I was a teenager. I have good legs -- that's why I wear heels so often -- but shorter skirts wouldn't hurt, either.... You're right: Why should I give a damn about Walter?" I assumed Walter was her ex-husband, but she was on a roll and I didn't want to inquire just then. "One other thing, Andy. You have beautiful, thick, dark hair that goes with your dark eyes. Why don't you try wearing it down? Let it swing freely, let it bounce when you walk." Her hand moved up to the "Gibson Girl" topknot and she got that thoughtful look. In fact, she was so agreeable about my suggestions, I took a bit of a chance. "Have you ever gone out in public without a bra, Andy? When you were younger?" She chuckled sexily. "You bet I did! When I was in college, I used to wear tee-shirts and sweaters with no bra, and the boys noticed, too! But I haven't done that in twenty years. You think I still could?" She seemed almost hopeful. "Well, take a look in your mirror. I'll bet you don't have much sag, not with all the exercise you get. What the hell -- take a chance, Andy!" Dr. DiMucci's first class on Monday morning caused quite a stir. I took my usual seat at the window-end of the first row and observed both the professor and her effect on her students. She was turned out in a rich forest-green wool skirt that ended four inches above the knee and she wore the sheerest dark gray hose I'd ever seen. Silver-gray heels showed off her lovely legs and a wide belt emphasized the narrowness of her waist. Above that was a snugly-fitted burgundy cashmere sweater with long, tight sleeves -- and it was obvious from the way her bustline shifted in several directions at once that there was nothing between her nipples and the wool. She'd had her hair done and it cascaded over her neck and curled around her ears, glossily reflecting the light from the windows. Large silver hoops shimmered at her ears and her lips shone a dark, luscious red. Her dark eyes were already large and riveting but she'd even improved on that by thickening her long lashes even further. More than one undergraduate sat with his mouth open, mesmerized by Andrea DiMucci's re-invention of herself, and even several of the girls stared in fascination and envy. She was obviously aware of the class's electrified reaction and basked in the attention even as she took up the day's lecture. There was a clatter of pens and a rustle of paper as students unfroze and hurried to get their notebooks open, but many of them continued to steal glances at their instructor. Dr. DiMucci stayed out in front of the desk for the entire lecture period, strolling up and down, consciously posing with one leg stretched out, and occasionally leaning back against her desk with her back slightly arched. The longer I watched her subtle performance, the more I began to consider the possibilities, and the hornier I got. The other guys in the class could fantasize, but I might be able to fulfill my growing fantasies. Two days later, I stopped by Dr. DiMucci's office -- "Andy," as I now thought of her to myself -- to drop off my revised thesis outline. She was conferring with another student and I waited discretely for my turn, leaning against the outside of the doorframe. When the other guy left, she motioned me in and shut the office door behind me. "Did you see me in class the other day?!" she squealed under her breath and grinned broadly. I could only grin back. "I wasn't sure I could go through with it, but I *loved* it! I haven't had boys look at me like that in a long, long time. You're responsible because you made the suggestion - - and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that!" She was wearing a thin red silk blouse with a short, straight black skirt, and I was extremely aware of her swaying nipples beneath the fabric and the shifting of the flat muscles in her thighs. She did a slow pirouette, arms raised above her head. "How do you think I look? Seriously? Not too young-ish, not trying too hard?" Was she kidding? "Andy, I think you look absolutely gorgeous. You sure don't look forty-two anymore, but not too young, either. You look like you've rediscovered yourself." "Maybe I have. The self I've tried to bury for too long. Well, that's over: Andrea DiMucci's back!" She giggled -- a sound I wasn't used to hearing from mature women, but she did it very well. I sat and handed her my outline. She scanned it for a few minutes, made a couple of notes, and then began asking questions. *Lots* of questions. Having discovered that hypnosis wasn't just a joke, she was suddenly and intensely interested in everything she could learn -- and I apparently was the only practitioner she was acquainted with at the moment. When she asked about my previous hypnotic subjects, however, I became cautious. And I reminded myself that I still hadn't proved to my satisfaction that I could convince someone to do something they were dead- set against. Now-or-never time. "Professor, how would it be if I came over to your house some evening this week? We could discuss my thesis in more comfortable surroundings...." Dr. DiMucci had been relaxed and friendly -- "mentor mode" -- but at my unexpected suggestion she shifted instantly to cool, steely academic superiority. Her back stiffened, her gaze narrowed, and she radiated disapproval. "Certainly not! That would be unproductive, not to mention quite unprofessional; it would also be a very bad idea personally, for both of us. In fact, you're being rather presumptuous." Her frown made me uncomfortable. She looked away and I scrambled to recover my wits. I hadn't really expected such a strong reaction! "Dr. DiMucci..." She glanced back. "Dive, Andy, dive." It took perhaps thirty unnerving seconds longer than the last time, but finally she was under. "Andy, I sincerely apologize for making such a suggestion; am I forgiven?" She looked at me thoughtfully, apparently deciding to go with youthful stupidity, and smiled slightly as she nodded. "Very well," I continued, "since it *was* such a bad suggestion, you will now forget completely that I ever made it, won't you?" She nodded agreeably and, from the change in her expression, I could practically see the incident disappear from her mind. Now, I would need to probe a little. "Andy, when you were in your early 20s, say, recently out of college,... was there some one guy you absolutely had the hots for? Someone you practically dragged into bed, or tried to?" I was interested in mature female lust, not adolescent passion. "C'mon, now, Andy; you know you can tell me absolutely anything and it won't go any farther. In fact, you *want* to tell me, don't you? You *need* to tell me all about the one guy you were really, uncontrollably horny over. If there was ever such a guy. Was there?" I thought I already knew the answer to that one: Dr. DiMucci had begun turning bright pink around the ears and she seemed to be gazing hungrily at someone who wasn't in the office with us. "Yes, there was someone like that -- Dr. Evans. Sam Evans, who was in charge of us residents at the clinic. I was twenty-four and he was thirty, I think. God, just listening to him talk nearly made me wet my pants." She licked her lips and squirmed a little. "It's funny, too: He wasn't really a hunk or anything, though he was good-looking. Only a little above average height, wore glasses, had ordinary sandy brown hair -- not very different from a dozen other guys I'd known and sometimes dated. But there was something indefinable about Dr. Evans...." Andy sighed deeply and gave me a rather shaky smile. "The very first time we were introduced, I fell all over my tongue because this... this big cannonball of lust hit me square between the eyes. I wanted to rape him right there in the office. 'Course, I didn't know yet that he was married." She paused, apparently replaying old memories. But I wanted to share those memories. "Tell me what you're thinking about, Andy. Tell me about Sam Evans. Did you have an affair with him?" "An affair? No, never. But not for lack of trying. Every other married man I've ever been physically attracted to, I've been careful to avoid that sort of thing. I'm simply not capable of deliberately throwing a monkey wrench into someone's marriage. I couldn't sleep nights if I did that, I really couldn't. But Dr. Evans was the exception. I would have fucked him breathless in the middle of the dining hall if that's what he'd wanted." She shrugged helplessly. "I met his wife a few weeks after I first met him. A very nice woman named Cheryl, only two or three years older than me. He obviously loved her, and vice versa. But that wouldn't have stopped me, not with him. She was a nurse supervisor, sometimes had to work Saturday evenings. After about six months, Dr. Evans and I had gotten acquainted well enough that I took a chance one of those Saturdays and invited him to a chamber music performance at the university -- just for the company, I said, and since his wife was tied up with work. All a lie;... God, I wanted him! So we went and we enjoyed the music, and that was all. I tried every way I could think of -- subtly, of course, because I didn't want to repel him entirely -- to let him know that I was available. Either he didn't catch on or he was being diplomatic. I probably should have just grabbed his cock in the car and climbed onto his lap! I ended up going back to my quarters in a state of sweating frustration and I masturbated and cried for several hours...." I was fascinated by the good doctor's revelations. I'd been privy to assorted adolescent female fantasies under hypnosis but this was the first "older" woman who had divulged such things to me. Her nipples were invitingly stiff and elongated beneath her blouse, and from the way she moved restlessly in her desk chair, it seemed likely she was flexing her thighs below an increasingly damp crotch. But there were still people about out in the hall and I couldn't risk taking a peek. "So you were never able to satisfy your desire for Dr. Evans?" "No. My residency was up in January and at the Christmas party, I got desperate and brought my own mistletoe." She smiled at the memory. "No kidding, I really did. Dr. Evans was the person who really galvanized me, who convinced me I could really *make* it in this profession; a marvelous and inspirational teacher. And then I cornered poor Sam in a stairwell and dangled that little green sprig over his head. He kinda laughed -- we'd gotten to be good friends and colleagues as well that year -- and he gave me a friendly sort of peck on the cheek. Then I grabbed his face and kissed him on the mouth, and... well, all that pent-up sex boiled up and I pushed myself against him -- I think I was moaning by then -- and he reacted,... but only for a few seconds. God, it was so great while it lasted. I was hanging around his neck and he finally pulled me off, almost roughly, and whispered 'Andrea, this is not a good idea!' I literally wanted to haul up my skirt and make him screw me right there, standing up against the wall on the landing. I can imagine what my face looked like. The poor man took one look and practically flew back up the stairs to the party...! I sat on the stairs and felt miserable. "I was sure he'd denounce me, unprofessional conduct or something, but he seemed to take the blame himself. He avoided me for a couple days, and then he tried to apologize to *me* -- as if it was him doing the coming-on. I'm ashamed to say I let him go on thinking that; it sort of guaranteed my own safety. And then I finished my residency -- with an outstanding report from Dr. Evans, I might add -- and went off to a good counseling position. I had several brief affairs in the next year or two, and every time I was fucking some guy, Sam Evans's face would appear in my mind and I'd go into unbelievable orgasms. Then I'd feel guilty about the guy who actually had his cock in me, but I couldn't help the fantasizing. Then I met Walter and after a few months we were married." I wasn't concerned with Walter right now. "Andy, if you were to meet Dr. Evans again tomorrow, and he was divorced and free for the taking,... how would you feel? Would you still be interested in him? Would you still want to fuck him? He's only about five years older than you, remember." Her expression went blank for a moment and then she answered slowly and thoughtfully. "They say you can't ever go back -- but I think I'd want to find out if he still affected me as strongly as he did when I was younger. God, that would be fantastic, wouldn't it?" She shivered a little and smiled. "I could make him sorry he didn't take his chance when he had it, back at the clinic. Not revenge--" Her eyes sparkled. "But he'd sure regret missing that opportunity if I fucked him good and proper now. I know a lot more about sex than I did then. Wow...." It startled me a little that her "wow" sounded so much like Sharon's, but that was just what I wanted to hear. "Andy, during the remainder of this week, you will think about Dr. Sam Evans at random intervals when you're awake, and you'll dream about him when you're asleep. It won't interfere with your teaching or driving or anything like that, but your memories of that year in his company will drift back at unexpected moments and you'll think of all the things you might have done together -- especially with the knowledge and experience you have now and the youth and enthusiasm you had then." Her face had brightened. "This Friday night, you will dress very sexy indeed. You won't wonder why you're doing it -- you simply will want to. You won't make any dates, obviously, and you will avoid visits by anyone -- except me. I'll knock at your door about 9:00 and you'll invite me in. It won't seem unusual or unprofessional to you. It will just be a friendly visit. But when you close the door behind me, Andy, and lock it, you will look back at me again and you will see Dr. Sam Evans as he was when you were a resident. And you will be twenty-four again. And you will be even hornier for him than you were originally -- but this time you'll be absolutely convinced that he's equally aroused by you. Do you understand, Andy?" Her respiration had increased and she was visibly excited. "Yes, yes, I understand. Oh, Sam...." I admit to being a little nervous as I walked up Andrea DiMucci's front walk that Friday night. This wasn't like putting the make on a high school or college girl. If I got this one wrong, it would basically be the end of my career before I'd even got started. I rang the bell and Dr. DiMucci must have been waiting with her hand on the knob because it opened instantly. "How nice! You know, I had a feeling you might stop by this evening. C'mon in!" She smiled broadly and stood aside as I entered. She was wearing a blue jersey micro-mini that barely concealed her crotch and instead of hose, I saw sky-blue, lace- topped thigh-highs above silver heels so high I was amazed she could stand upright. Her white, off-the-shoulder chiffon blouse was cropped short, shimmering above her bare midriff. On top of everything else, Prof. DiMucci had a very sexy navel. "I've looked over your thesis outline." She looked away as she closed and latched the door, and then turned back to me. "I believe the only area that needs work is perhaps more source material for the historical practice section; you need to beef that up a little, but--" She stood frozen, staring at my face. Her pupils dilated like stereo camera lenses and she sucked in a deep, shaky breath. "Dr. Evans,... you came after all. I waited and I kept trying to get you to notice me, but you never did." Her voice was fifteen years younger, throatier, hungrier, but less sure of herself. "I noticed," I said softly. "I just couldn't do anything about it. But Cheryl and I broke up a while back and I can do as I please now; there's no guilt involved. I wanted you all along, you know. I still do, Andrea." She blinked and moved closer. In those high, high heels, she was only two inches shorter than me. I set my hands carefully on her bare waist and she pressed up against me with a long sigh. Her arms slipped around my neck and she shifted slightly into the classic silver screen kissing position. I accepted the invitation and lowered my mouth to hers. At the first touch of our lips, she moaned and pressed harder, grinding her body against me, clutching at my neck, pushing her knee between my legs. My cock was already climbing the inside of my chinos. This woman's touch -- even as her younger self -- was much more practiced and assured than I was used to and she already had me breathing hard. I realized I was gasping and took a long, slow breath for stability. "Tell me what you want, Andrea. I want to hear you say it." "Are you kidding?" she purred. (I'd always thought a woman "purring" was just a rather cliched metaphor ... until I heard Andy DiMucci doing it.) One hand unfastened itself from my neck and glided between our bodies to stroke my cock through my slacks. "I can tell you *exactly* what I want, Sam. I want you to put your hands and your mouth on my breasts. I want to suck your cock, cram it completely into my mouth. I want to feel your fingers in my pussy and on my clit. I want to feel -- oh, God! -- I want to feel your lovely cock sliding into me, far, far in, filling me up. I want you to fuck me in every position ever invented, slow and gentle, hard and fast. I want thunderous orgasms until we both pass out. I want enough of your semen in me to last me a year. And, Sam -- I want it now!" She growled her last demand softly in my ear. Jesus God. My hands were trembling. What could I do against such insistence? Not that I had any intention of resisting, of course. My hands moved from her hips down over the swell of her ass and cupped her firm cheeks through her tiny skirt. She plastered herself against my front, moving up and down against me as she nibbled at my neck. When I slipped my hands up under the back hem of her skirt, I was surprised to find only smooth, warm flesh; she chuckled throatily as I realized she was wearing only a very slender thong. I squeezed her ass and she flexed her muscles in response. It was a little astonishing -- or perhaps I was just more naive than I realized. I'd expected an unavoidable bit of flab here and there on Dr. DiMucci's body, no matter how well she maintained it, but throughout that evening I never found a square inch on her frame that might not have belonged to someone my own age. It might have been partly because she'd never had children -- I don't know. But with the throttle wide open and the governor off, that steaming body ran like Casey Jones's express train. All I had to do was hang on. During the two or three seconds it took me to think those thoughts, Andy had yanked her chiffon top off over her head and stood half-naked, back arched and nipples extended. My hands went to those earth-mother tits like magnets and when I cupped them and squeezed she let her head loll back and closed her eyes. I led her over to the sofa and sat with her straddling my lap, her breasts pushing into my face, and I feasted, sucking and nibbling one tit and then the other. Andrea clutched at my hair and murmured "Sam, Sam,..." and I felt no guilt at all. After an infinite few minutes, my own shirt was gone and she was lying sprawled across my lap, licking and sucking at *my* nipples. That was a new experience -- at least they way she did it, slurping and tugging with her teeth -- and small electrical jolts ricocheted across my ribcage. Her miniskirt was a rolled-up band around her waist and I kept one hand busy stroking her thighs and caressing that smooth, silky ass. She hunched her pussy at me but I was trying to take my time getting around to that. She finally abandoned my chest and nearly broke my zipper getting my pants open and pushed down. My cock bounced up and she grabbed it like she was piloting a Spad XIII. Then her face was burrowing in my lap and my cock was disappearing down her throat. I hoped I'd get it back; the combination of enthusiasm and expertise was almost more than I could take. The very last thing I wanted to do around this tigress was to climax too quickly so I finally wrestled my penis away from her clutches and more or less fought my way to my feet. Andy grinned and adjusted herself on her back on the sofa while I pushed my slacks and shorts off. I walked around to the front of the sofa, though, staying just out of reach. She gave me a puzzled look ... until I grasped her ankles and hauled her down the sofa toward me. She got the idea almost immediately and draped her legs over the sofa arm, her bare ass jutting up over the edge. When she spread her knees, the dividing strap of the shimmering blue thong nearly vanished between the lips of her pussy. She still wore the sky-blue hose and the silver heel, and the image from my point of view was much sexier than if she had been completely naked. I squatted and buried my face in her crotch, licking her labia on both sides of the crotch strap as I eased the thong down her thighs and off her legs. Then I spread her pussy with my fingers, her creamy skin set off by the inky curls of her thatch, and dived in, sucking at her twitching clit and poking my nose far down into her fragrant depths. Hooking my arms around her thighs, I scooted her up even farther until her glistening cunt pointed straight up -- the only full professor I'd ever seen in that position. Spreading Andrea's legs wide, silver heels waving in the air, I crouched over her crotch and resumed my feast. She was almost sobbing and I wondered if she was capable of tearing the sofa cushion in two behind her head. My cock was straining so hard it was beginning to ache, but I still wasn't ready yet to fuck Dr. DiMucci. Instead, I moved into a more-or-less sixty-nine position, kneeling on the sofa behind her head. When I leaned forward, she tilted her head back and again stuffed my penis into her eager mouth while I went back to sucking on her clit. Her hands roamed over my butt as I thrust down her waiting throat and felt my balls jiggle against her nose and eyelids. In fact, Andy turned out to be such a talented cocksucker that I was soon fucking her esophagus as vigorously as I would have her cunt. Finally, she made a kind of tossing motion with her head and I was hazily aware that she had engulfed the entire Trinity within her lips. Her mouth clamped down just a little and I experienced a jerking spasm while her nails dug into my rigid ass muscles. I was half afraid she was going to choke but she didn't struggle to escape -- quite the opposite. And when I came a half-second later and shot what felt like a quart of cream down her throat, I also sucked in her clit and bit down a little harder than I had intended. Andrea went as rigid as I was -- she had no way of producing a sound but I knew she would have moaned rather than shrieked -- and we lay like joined marble statues for several long seconds. Then I took a deep breath and levered myself up, and my penis and balls slithered from her mouth as she gasped for her own breath. She lay panting while I milked my cock and dripped sticky white threads across her face in artistic patterns. "Oh, Sam," she whispered hoarsely, "that was wonderful. God, I've wanted you for so long...." That brought me around in a hurry. I'd nearly forgotten I was supposed to be someone else. "Raise up, Andrea." She curled up out of the way so I could sit down (before I fell down) and then snaked her way around so her upper body was draped across my lap. Her dark eyes gazed up at me adoringly and we both ignored the drying semen in her lashes and eyebrows. "Andrea, tell me what it was that happened between you and your husband. Would you confide in me?" She sighed and grimaced. "I guess I need to tell someone, don't I? And who better than you, Sam?" She shifted to a more comfortable position and I lightly traced my fingertips across her breasts and around her nipples. She smiled and cuddled closer, and sighed again. Walter seemed like a good catch at the time," she said. "Or maybe I was just getting desperate. God only knows why I thought I had to 'catch' someone in the first place. But he was really nice-looking and he flattered me with attention. I couldn't have you, Sam, and he was available, so I took second-best. But he wasn't even that, of course, and I lived to regret it...." She shifted uneasily and I stroked her hair. "Things went okay, I guess, for maybe a year. But Walter was in sales, not an especially educated man. He got annoyed because the books I read at home were generally beyond his comprehension. He began to feel threatened by me, unable to compete intellectually. So he got even in the traditional, 'acceptable' ways." She laughed rather bitterly. "He complained if supper wasn't ready when he got home -- even though I'd been teaching all day. Or if his laundry wasn't done. Eventually, he went from complaining to pure ugliness. Especially when it came to sex. He demanded that I accommodate him whenever he happened to feel horny -- like at 3:00 in the morning, with him drunk and me exhausted. Or it might be just as I had finished getting ready for work in the morning, so he could mess up my clothing and makeup. Finally, he became ... physically abusive. A couple of times -- well, basically, he raped me." Her voice was so low now I had to strain to understand her. "But, Andrea, you're a psychologist! Didn't you see what was happening?" "Not for quite awhile, no. That sounds odd, perhaps, but a psychologist is seldom the best person to analyze her own problems." She gave me a quizzical look and smiled slightly. "You know that, Sam: That's why shrinks go to other shrinks." I reminded myself to stay in character more carefully. "So? What happened? You finally just had enough, I hope." "Oh, yeah.... I had more than enough -- but I was unwilling to accept that my marriage was a failure, afraid to admit I'd married the wrong person entirely, and for the wrong reasons. I've never handled personal failure very well, Sam." And she gave me another Significant Look. Dr. DiMucci was beginning to depress me. I'd had no idea her marriage had been so traumatic. Moreover, I was beginning to feel guilty for having rejected her all those years ago -- and I wasn't even who she thought I was. "Andy," I said, "it's time to stop beating yourself up about Walter. You were the victim, not the abuser; it wasn't your fault that it happened and it's not your fault that the marriage fell apart as a result. I know you understand that intellectually." I remembered her acid tone when she talked about her ex in her faculty office. "Emotionally, though, it sounds like you're still blaming yourself. Pay attention now, Andy: The only mistake you made was in not getting out of a bad marriage sooner. But you're out of it now, so just put it behind you. A 'learning experience', as they say." She gave a ladylike snort and patted my chest. "That's the line I use on my students when they groan about a research assignment. But I understand what you're saying, Sam, and I know you're right. I have to stop being bitter and just get my life back." She leaned her head back against my shoulder and gave me a very searching look. "Are you going to be part of that life, Sam...?" If I wasn't careful, this was going to get too complicated. I felt sorry for my professor's unhappiness in her marriage, and I understood (now) her desire to reclaim the one man she had really desired in her life, but still.... Well, there was always an escape hatch: "Dive, Andy, dive." She twisted around on my lap and gave me her full attention. I took a deep breath while I thought quickly through what I wanted to say. This lovely naked woman who had sucked my cock and swallowed my semen was nevertheless a fully-tenured professor and a major factor in my life just then. One false step and my life as I knew it was over. "Andrea, listen to me carefully. Your ex-husband, Walter, is still too great an influence in your life. Rationally, you already know you have nothing to feel guilty about regarding Walter. Little by little, over the next year or so, every time you think about Walter, your feelings of guilt will give way to professional comprehension. After awhile, Walter will no longer seem especially important in your life, do you understand? The time you spent with him will lose its trauma and you will come to regard your marriage to him simply as a mistake, Andrea, a mistake you've since corrected. "Your marriage did not *fail*; it ought never to have taken place at all. You and Walter should never have married to begin with, you understand that now, don't you? Day by day, month by month, your natural common sense will take over when it comes to the subject of Walter. It will be a natural healing process -- your own training will tell you that - - and you'll not only accept it, you'll welcome it, won't you, Andrea? Within a year, Walter will be a fading memory who means very little to you. You'll have difficulty remembering his face or the sound of his voice. And you won't care. Right?" She smiled in relief. "Right.... What do I care about Walter -- the bastard...." It would take awhile, obviously, but I was sure I could rid Prof. DiMucci of at least the memory of her bad experiences with her ex-hubby. I wanted to do that much for her, in exchange for being her "Sam" for the evening. Speaking of which.... "Andy, what sexual act have you always speculated about but never performed? Maybe something 'kinky' that embarrassed you or made you uneasy, but that you were still curious about?" She licked her lips. "Anal sex, I think. All kinds." "All kinds?" (How many kinds could there be?) "Well,... ass-fucking, of course. I've seen that in, ah, porno films -- you know. It looks like a real turn-on ... but it also seems unhygienic. Probably painful, too -- at first, anyway. There's also 'rimming', which looks like it could be exciting to have done to you,... but I don't know if I could de it to someone else." This sounded promising. "You've never done any of those things, then?" "Uh,... no -- not really. Sometimes, when I masturbate, I put one finger up in, uh, up my ass. I wiggle it and it feels really sexy, but it's kind of awkward." "Wal-- Your ex-husband never tried any of this with you?" "Sure, he tried -- several times. But to him, anal sex was just another way to try to degrade me, Sam. I didn't like it because he was about as gentle as an alley cat and I always pushed him away...." She glanced at my face surreptitiously and a bit hopefully, I thought. "Do you think you'd like to try some of those things with me, Andy? You'd trust me to do it properly and gently, wouldn't you?" "Of course, Sam -- I'd always trust you." She was still deep in her trance. I thought about continuing out fuckfest right there on the sofa but screwing my professor in her own bed suddenly seemed a lot more interesting. "Andy, what color sheets do you like?" Her eyes lit up and a moment later I was being led by the cock toward the back of the house. The sheets were zebra-striped. And she began to remove those sexy heels and blue hose, but I insisted she leave them on. Besides, from her hip- swinging gait, I was sure she felt more wanton in them. I whispered quiet encouragement to her all the while we were arranging ourselves in another 69 on our sides. Andy sucked lustily on the head of my revived penis and then licked it like a lollipop. Her labia had become extended from her arousal and I sucked the soft, damp flaps into my mouth and teased them with my front teeth. Then I buried my nose in her fragrant cunt and sucked hard on her rigid clit, which was protruding like a tiny red cock. She moaned and squirmed and began to lick my balls. After a few minutes I upped the ante, getting my middle finger nice and slick in the depths of her pussy and then rubbing it across the tight pucker of her asshole. She shivered and when I eased my finger into the snug opening she squeezed my cock and poked her butt out a little more. She sucked at her lower lip and continued to moan throatily while her rectal muscles tugged at my finger. I wiggled it about and she jerked slightly and croaked "Gawd...!" She was still entranced so I began making suggestions. "Andy, your anus is very sensitive now; it feels like it has ten times as many nerve endings as usual, doesn't it? Now, you'll copy everything I do until I tell you to stop, do you understand? You won't worry about it and you'll feel extremely sexy. You'll follow my suggestions because they'll seem so obvious and so erotic. Start with your finger in *my* asshole -- gently, though!" She did as she was instructed, working her slender middle finger up into my ass and licking at the head of my cock at the same time. When I wiggled my finger again, she wiggled hers, and we both shivered. "I think you're ready to try rimming, Andy, but I don't think we can both do this at the same time, so I'll go first." I nudged her hips around and buried my face in the cleft of her ass but it was too awkward in that position. Finally, we untangled ourselves and I got Andy up on her knees, her lovely bottom jutting upward at an interesting angle. I spread her cheeks to expose the puckered brown target, took a deep breath, and began running my tongue round and round the ridged muscle. Andy quivered and sobbed and made fists in the sheets. When I stabbed into her waiting anus, she jerked and smothered a cry. A half-dozen additional incursions and her hips were shaking, her knees bouncing spasmodically on the bed. Without warning, I shoved two fingers into her dripping pussy and she jerked wildly and went rigid for a moment. Andy finally rolled loosely onto her back and stared at me for a moment with glowing eyes. "I've *never* like that," she whispered hoarsely. "Now, get up on your knees, Sam! I'm gonna get even...." It was a strange and highly vulnerable position for a heterosexual male to find himself in, but I got up on my knees with my ass in the air. Andy smiled and licked her lips as she moved around behind me, out of sight. First, I felt her hands, fingers spread, moving lightly over my butt. Then her fingertips traced a vertical path across my asshole, as I had done to her. She teased the opening a bit and I felt my rectal muscles flutter. That was followed my her soft breasts; she breathed more rapidly as she rubbed her erect nipples against the opening. Then there was a pause of a few seconds and I suddenly became aware of a soft, warm, wet something mopping and swabbing my anus. An exquisite sensation. Andy's increased respiration suggested she was getting off on this, too. As her tongue explored, her hands crept between my parted thighs, one grasping my rigid penis and the other lightly squeezing my balls. Her tongue finally began poking into my asshole while she tugged my cock back between my legs. I found myself balling up the sheet in my fists, just as she had. Perhaps her tongue was longer and stronger than mine, but she seemed able to drill much deeper than I had,... or maybe it just *felt* deeper. She stroked my cock and squeezed my testicles alternately and I could feel the internal pressure building. I was pretty sure that if I climaxed again so soon, I'd never be able to manage what I was beginning to think of as "The Test": Fucking Dr. Andrea DiMucci in her professorial ass. "Andy, whoa!" I fell on my stomach on the bed to escape that electric tongue. "I think we're ready for the next step. And you're really looking forward to having your ass plowed, aren't you?" (Reinforcement of hypnotic instruction never hurts and the crudity was calculated.) She looked a little less certain as she nodded her head, but she evidently was still willing. I got her up on her knees again and moved around behind her. I slipped my rigid cock into her overheated pussy, stroking in and out a few times for lubrication. Then I told her to relax her muscles and began pressing the head of my cock against her sphincter. She kept tensing and then self- consciously relaxing; she was trying hard to go through with this -- partly for herself and partly for "Sam." And that uneasy situation, in fact, was exactly what I wanted. I was convinced that Prof. DiMucci, her curiosity not withstanding, almost certainly would not submit to being ass-fucked by anyone other than her beloved and trusted Sam. This was, I thought, the ultimate test of my control over a hypnotic subject. Could I convince Andy to do something she ordinarily would be loath to do -- especially with one of her students -- by doing an "end run" around her conscious self? I'd never been sure about my previous subjects; I'd always felt I'd merely loosened social and psychological inhibitions that kept them from doing what they really *wanted* to do. I hadn't made them go against their fundamental grain. But my earlier subjects had all been more or less my own age, or a good deal younger, like little Sharon. At that age, they probably could be expected to open themselves up to sexual adventure with very little prodding. Dr. DiMucci was another story altogether. I realized I was holding my breath. Andy whimpered and bit her lower lip as I slowly but relentlessly eased myself into her rectum. "Think of this as losing your *other* virginity," I said softly. "It may hurt a little the first time but it'll feel so good afterward, you won't mind...." (Of course, I wanted this fuck to hurt a *little*, since I was deliberately "pushing the envelope.") Her ass wasn't as tight as those of the very few younger women I'd done this with, but it was tight enough, and smooth and warm besides. It took several minutes, but I eventually was buried in her completely. My balls pressed against her crotch and my pubic hair seemed to sprout directly from her anus. "How does it feel?" I asked. "Big. God, it feels huge. And very strange." She took a shuddering breath. "Please be careful, Sam...." "Tell me what you want me to do, Andy?" "I... I want you to fuck me, now, Sam. Go ahead, I can do it, I'm sure I can...." I withdrew a couple of inches and pushed back into her. She groaned but held her position. My pre-ejaculate helped moisten the passage and I increased the tempo a bit, fucking harder and deeper. She made mewing sounds in counterpoint but she didn't protest. I had to exert enormous self-control to keep from coming before I was ready. A dozen strokes, then twenty, and I was pistoning nearly all the way in and out of her, clutching her hips to keep from losing my balance. She was breathing loudly through her mouth and gulping air every few seconds. This was the crucial moment. "Andy, I want you to imagine that it's not Sam fucking your ass but one of your undergrad students. Tell me how that makes you feel!" "No! God, no! I'd *never* do that, Sam! Don't ask me to believe that!" "It's important, Andy -- tell me how you would react if you knew this penis belonged to a twenty-one-year-old student whose senior thesis you were supervising. His cock is slamming into your asshole, Andy! What's your reaction?" "God, I feel so ashamed! I'm so embarrassed -- no, I'm mortified! It's not only completely unprofessional, Sam, it's disgusting! Why are you saying these things?" she wailed as she tried to pull away from me. "No, Andy, listen to me! Dive, Andy, dive! Dive, do you understand? It's me, Sam! That was just a little psychological experiment, Andy. I'm sorry, and you will forget I asked you to imagine those things, won't you? You'll forget all about them and concentrate on the enormously sexy sensation of feeling my penis in your asshole. Just think about that, Andy, okay?" She stopped pulling away and her tears ceased. Her breathing became heavier and she began thrusting back against me. That was all I could stand and I geysered deep into her. I doubted she could feel my semen but she could certainly register my pelvis jerking and contracting, and that set off her own orgasm. We ended up stacked two-deep on the bed, my cock still buried in her ass, both of us gasping for breath. I was done for the evening, in every sense, and now I had to make as unobtrusive an exit as I could manage. "Andy," I whispered close to her ear, "I want you to doze off now. You're exhausted and you'll sleep for a few minutes until you hear my voice again, do you understand?" "Yes, Sam,... g'night...." And her eyes were closed. I pulled out of that lovely ass without awakening her and padded into the master bathroom to wash off my sticky cock. Then I went downstairs and dressed, making sure I had everything I'd come in with. I gathered up Andy's scattered outfit from around the sofa, took it back upstairs, and laid it out on the end of the bed. Her shoes had come off during our last pounding encounter and I set them neatly side by side on the shoe rack in her closet. I unrolled the blue stockings down her sweaty legs and stuffed them the net washing bag in the bathroom, which already had several sets of underwear and hose in it. Back at her bedside, I stood for a minute and thought carefully about what still needed doing. Kneeling beside her, I spoke softly in her ear again. "Andy, you came home very tired and rather edgy today and you stripped down and lay on your bed for a nap. Do you hear me, Andy?" She mumbled an affirmative. "In a few minutes, you'll wake up, look at the clock, and realize you've slept much longer than you intended. But that doesn't matter, does it? You were tired and you obviously needed the rest. But you will remember *nothing* about my being here this evening, will you? It will all be just a wonderful, romantic, nostalgic dream you had during your nap, do you understand? You know better than to think Sam was really here, don't you, Andy? You're a professional psychologist and you recognize an unfulfilled dream fantasy when you have one. It will amuse you and you won't feel sad about it. You have only nice thoughts about Sam, even though you regret you were never able to make him understand your feelings about him. But he was never here -- no one was here this evening. That's impossible, isn't it? "You will get up from your nap and go into the bathroom and you will sit on the toilet and take a long, satisfying shit." (I didn't want my semen oozing out into her underwear on onto the sheets.) "Then you will take a hot, soothing shower and that will relax your tense muscles. When you get out of the shower, you'll feel much, much better -- in fact, you'll feel kind of hungry. You'll put on whatever you ordinarily wear around the house, you'll go downstairs, and you'll fix yourself a little something to eat,... whatever sounds good, okay?" "'Kay," she muttered and smacked her lips. "Then, you'll relax with the TV or a book or something for an hour or two. You'll get really sleepy while you do that and you'll decide to go to bed for good. When you come back up here, you'll hang up the outfit that's lying on the bed -- and you won't wonder why you got it out, will you? You'll sleep soundly and undisturbed tonight, won't you, Andy? Maybe you'll dream about Sam again. But you'll awake in the morning feeling much better, very refreshed, and you'll continue with whatever you had planned for the weekend. Do you understand all that, Andy?" My sexy professor, who had done with me what she was convinced she would never do -- and certainly not with a student! -- rolled over on her side and sighed. "Sure,..." she murmured under her breath. I left the bathroom light on and pulled the door halfway closed so she wouldn't wake up in the dark wondering where she was. Then I slipped quietly out of the bedroom and down the stairs and out the front door, making sure it was locked behind me. I hadn't even taken a souvenir polaroid. Ordinarily, I had complete confidence in my ability to plant posthypnotic suggestions, but this was a very different situation. I spent Saturday and Sunday anxiously wondering if I had tempted the fates one time too many. On Monday morning, the male psych professor who taught my first-period class passed me a sealed envelope with my name typed on it. My stomach started to churn. I went to the last row of the room, sat down, and took several deep breaths before I could make myself open the flap. It read: "Would you please come by my office this afternoon at the usual time? There's a little matter I'd like to ask you about. Andrea DiMucci" It was a very long day. I went through three Alka-Seltzers and half a bottle of Pepto-Bismal. Dr. DiMucci's last class was over at 3:30, so at 4:00 that afternoon I tapped on her office door, wondering what the academic equivalent of a court martial would be like. She opened the door personally instead of just telling me to come in, and went behind her desk again while I felt as wooden as the chair I sat down in. She cleared her throat and said, rather seriously, "First things first. Your senior thesis outline is not only acceptable--" (She broke into a broad smile) "--it's bloody excellent! I have every confidence your full research and writing will live up to it. It better -- I expect perfection, you know!" My intestines were unknotting with relief and I discovered I'd been holding my breath. She continued, "There's something else I'd like to discuss with you, though. I've looked at your full transcript and it doesn't surprise me that you will probably graduate next spring with honors. If you don't already have plans for next year, I'd like to offer you a Research Assistantship in this department next fall, contingent on you beginning a master's degree in psychological counseling. What do you think?" She looked at me expectantly and then laughed musically and added, "Don't you think you'd better pick up your jaw? I think this is the first time I've ever seen you at a loss for words, sir!" "Yes, ma'am! I'd like an R.A. position very much! Uh, can I ask what brought all this on so suddenly? I mean, the research and teaching jobs aren't usually offered until summer, are they?" "Yes, that's true,... but I just have a feeling about you. You remind me of an excellent psychologist under whom I did my clinical residency -- about the time you were getting out of diapers, I imagine! I had rather a special relationship with him--" She stopped and looked away and I was sure I detected a blush around her earlobes. "In any case," she went on, "he did me a good turn and I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I think I owe him a return favor,... by giving you the kind of boost he gave me. Simple as that. But don't think I won't work you till you drop, sir! I promise you, you'll earn that measly stipend the department pays." She smiled again and I couldn't help smiling back. It was going to be a good year after all -- a *really* good year. In the event, it took me a year and a half to complete my M.A. and another six months to pass the state exams and be licensed. The following fall, two things happened: First, I joined the staff of the university's student psychological counseling center and began thinking seriously about doing my Ph.D. after all. Second, little Sharon, recently turned eighteen, entered the university as a freshman. I'd kept in touch with Sharon irregularly but carefully. She wrote me periodic affectionate letters and included lengthy, steamily detailed accounts of her sexual maturation. She had even called me at school a couple of times for advice about one thing or another -- and I'd always had the feeling that it wasn't my advice she wanted so much as just to hear my voice. I certainly enjoyed listening to her. And we were careful not to let her brother, Jeff, discover our long-distance relationship that had previously been very close-distance indeed. But I hadn't actually seen Sharon for nearly three years when she came knocking at my cubicle door in the Counseling Center office. I looked up to see a tall, graceful girl with long, wavy blonde hair and large violet eyes. She was wearing tight chinos and a sleeveless knit shirt that emphasized her long limbs and small waist, and she was watching my face with a solemnly mischievous expression. She was such a knockout, I actually didn't realize who she was for several seconds. I just stared. Then she lost it and had to smother a giggle. "You should see your face!" I stood up so fast I almost knocked over my chair. "Sharon? My god, I don't believe it! I used to think you were the cutest thing around, and now you've gone and turned beautiful on me...! I mean,... wow!" She had intended to make an impression on me, of course, but I'm sure I exceeded her expectations. There was a subtle shift in her expression. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was watching and then took two quick steps forward and flung her arms around my neck. "Oh, I've missed being with you so much!" she breathed in my ear. "Did you think I'd forget that evening we spent in your friend's townhouse?" I hugged her tightly, both delighted to see her and bedazzled by the radiant young woman she'd become. I think that hug relieved her of any doubts about her re-entry into my life because she placed her nose an inch away from mine and licked her lips before continuing. "Do you remember what I said just before I got out of the car at Marilyn's house? I said I thought I'd always love you. Turns out I was right. I don't care if you have a girlfriend or a fiance or what: I *do* love you. And I'm eighteen now, so we don't have to worry about Jeff or my folks or anyone interfering, either." She hesitated, then added, "I'm here if you want me; do you?" That was six years ago. Sharon's married now and teaching elementary school. She's also four months pregnant. I see her every afternoon, actually,... except when she has to stay late for a teachers' meeting, in which case *I* have supper waiting when *she* gets home. The frame on my doctoral diploma is still shiny but I have excellent prospects in the private practice I share with Dr. DiMucci (whom Sharon and I have asked to be godmother to our firstborn). We use hypnosis quite a lot in dealing with the problems of troubled teenagers. Andy also found herself a new love interest a couple years ago -- a law professor who moved here from California -- and though she's still resisting a second marriage, they have a close and loving relationship. Funny how things work out.... THE END (whew....!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright 1994 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /