index


Message-ID: <62970asstr$1398838202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: The Bawdy Bloke <john@bawdybloke.com>
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows NT 6.1; WOW64; rv:24.0) Gecko/20100101 Thunderbird/24.4.0
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2014 23:27:34 UTC
Bytes: 9404
Subject: {ASSM} A gift {MF, group, mc}
Lines: 182
Date: Wed, 30 Apr 2014 02:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Please hit me back with feedback or leave it at my blogpost at 
http://bawdybloke.com/flash-fiction-gift/

The mind is the most powerful tool in the arsenal of any gentleman with 
mischievous intentions. The psyche is intensely malleable and is easy to 
manipulate by anyone who has mastered a few basic tools, and can be used 
against people so easily. Anyone can do it.

Anyone like me, who has learnt the art of hypnosis is in for a fabulous 
time if he can find a willing partner.

There's no magic to it; conditioning the mind to respond to triggers and 
suggestions is easy, the possibilities are endless. And ever since I 
learnt the art of hypnosis, I've had a steady stream of friends and 
acquaintances eager for me to work my magic on them.

Sure, I can help alleviate their stresses of everyday life or help them 
beat their addictions, but my rebellious nature kicks in before too long 
and I leave them with a little present.

Take Geoff, for example. Geoff was in a hotel drinking with his 
colleagues at a sales conference; I overheard them in the evening. Tales 
of drunken debauchery at the previous jaunt - in Bournemouth - was 
broadcast to any patron of the spartan bar, and I couldn't resist.

I waited until he went to the toilet, and bumped into him reapplying his 
nicotine patch. "Hi, it's Geoff isn't it?" I expected the blank look. "I 
hypnotised you in Bournemouth a couple of weeks ago. Trying to give up 
the fags? How's the wife?" I asked, looking at the wedding ring. I had 
the air of confidence, and some details. He trusted me instantly. "What 
say we give you a top-up?"

He was on my couch in five, in a trance in fifteen. And sure, I put the 
suggestion that the smell of tobacco would have him retching, but I also 
implanted a few other instructions.

He must only have sex with his wife. He must always give her orgasms. He 
must be honest with her.

Nothing unusual, until I added a few more.

He cannot wear clothes while the sun was set. He must continue to be 
sociable. And then woke him up.

He was startled, thankful, and eager to leave, shedding his clothes as 
he ran towards his room. Stressed minds make fertile receptors for 
nefarious intentions and he was back in the bar inside two minutes.

Naked.

His overweight body standing alongside his colleagues as he ordered 
another pint of lager. They were shocked, but just roared with laughter. 
Unable to suppress their amusement at his rippling fat, peachy bottom 
and the smallest cock I had ever seen.

Tiny. He got teased but never cared, brushing it off with a dismissive 
air. My suggestions were driving his behaviour.

Or Wendy. Not so much nefarious actions but a public service. I met her 
on the station every day as I completed a three-month contract. We 
started nodding to each other, chatting and then confiding. She was 
single, and unhappy with her body. I sensed opportunity.

That's when I did my first session: she had five overall, reinforcing 
the message. She was curvy, sexy and gorgeous. Not supermodel gorgeous, 
but real woman gorgeous. She had an amazing twinkle in her eyes, a 
fantastic smile and squeezable breasts of wonder: very much more than a 
handful.

She was a spitting image of the girl who stole my virginity; slightly 
overweight, but sexily so. Demanding, and passionate. Wendy was twenty 
years after Emma, and my desires had matured a lot since the 
inexperienced fumbling in my teenage bedroom.

But Wendy wanted male attention so I helped. First, I taught her to love 
her body. Secondly, I taught her to love sexy clothes: lacy and silk in, 
cotton out. She adored the new her, but there was more. I got her to 
respond to a click of the fingers with insatiable lust.

And that's what I tried one Monday morning; it was dreary and wet 
outside, a typical Monday morning. One flick of my fingers and it all 
changed. She groaned on the commuter train, gripping her gusset with 
glazed eyes. She didn't understand it; how could she feel like this as 
the train doors closed.

But her lingerie was as wet as the weather, as she started to disrobe. 
Commuters looked up from their free newspapers; a mixture of disgust and 
shock as her coat was flung onto the seat and her blouse was ripped open 
to reveal her gorgeous orbs, encased in a pale blue bra.

It was guttural and raw, desperate and uncontrolled. Clothes being 
shredded from her body as she undressed in the commuter carriage. A 
couple tried to reason with her, but there was no hope as her blue bra 
was pinged across the carriage, and her fingers plunged into her sodden 
knickers.

"Allow me," I offered, and suggested that the young man staring at her, 
would probably enjoy some oral attention. She was too drunk with lust to 
disagree and snatched at his jeans buckle to free his erect cock tenting 
his trousers.

Her lips clamped over the young man's glans, as my finger slipped over 
her bud to probe her gushing pussy. My suggestions had really worked, as 
her hand bobbed furiously up and down the student's cock, sucking, 
slurping and savouring his taste.

Every rub of her clit had her groaning with debauched lust, every swish 
of her tongue had him mewing with satisfaction and every second was 
filmed by his mate.

But neither her nor I cared, she was too far gone sating her desperation 
my words had caused. And blowing the student, and his mate didn't cure 
it. Or being fucked by myself and a dozen other men in the cabin as the 
shuttle ambled towards the town.

Nothing satisfied her, and I had to drag her to a cheap hotel for a day 
of fun to try and get her arousal to wear off. I couldn't leave her, 
like that, and it took eight hours of fingering, fucking and cunnilingus 
for her body to collapse exhausted and her control to return.

I heard she had some fun on a speed dating event when someone clicked 
for the waiter.

But my favourite was Susie. She was stroppy, sceptical and sexy. She was 
employed as my secretary at a big city firm, but claimed she was 
overqualified. She had a degree in Art but had to find work where she could.

I adored her from the moment I met her. The disdainful attitude towards 
the other members of our team - most of them recent graduates - and 
aggressive nature had to be addressed.

So I suggested a bout of hypnosis may help her in the job market. She 
disagreed, but I convinced her, and one night after work, she stayed 
behind on our leather couch as she slipped into a trance.

It took ten such evenings, and I did help her. I removed a lot of the 
hostility and attitude, as well as her inhibitions: she had to create 
challenging art. But my masterpiece was her instructions for the 
Christmas Party.

The venue? A stately hall.

The clothing? Minimal. A short, sheer dress with no underwear.

The attitude? To apologise to every member of our team - properly.

The creation? A semen stained dress entitled "Testament to a bad girl."

I am not sure if I really knew what I had unleashed, but the young lady 
turned heads as she entered the building and tented dozens of trousers 
as she danced. Her coquettish moves and suggestive thrusting drew ire 
and admiration in equal measure.

Eyes followed her everywhere; mine especially as I knew what I had 
programmed to happen. She cared not that she had an audience as she 
grabbed the first cock presented to her in a secluded room. Her lips 
closed over the head as he throat-fucked her.

No love, of course, nothing genteel or calm about it but a visceral, raw 
fucking, ramming his cock past her gag reflex. She loved it. Her fingers 
toyed with her cleft, parting them for her second cock to thrust into 
her maidenhood.

Susie was insatiable; muffled groans snuck past the cock in her throat 
as she was spit-roasted into a state of constant orgasm.

The only rule she had was that the cum had to land on her dress, and 
waves of pearlescent goo streaked like paint splatters over her body. 
She barely realised, as spent cocks were replaced. Everyone from college 
interns to octogenarians had their fun with her as her body was ravished 
by my instructions and her lust.

She is now an internationally renowned artist.

So, while it might seem I have helped people, and I suppose I have done, 
there is no magic nor secrecy to what I do. Just a few skills I've 
picked up, a bit of luck and plenty of mischief.

And a prominent politician has asked to employ my services for the run 
up to the election. Did I say election? I meant erection.

At least that might be what happens when he hears a particular trigger word

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+