Anya placed herself in my hands during the day’s apartment search, and was so trusting that it almost hurt. The trusting nature came naturally to her, I decided, but I hadn’t played fair, reaching into her mind to illuminate a special halo around my head. I was Saint Michael in her eyes, a man who could always be trusted to do the right thing. Strange, then, how Saint Michael had adrenaline-pumped fidgety hands, because he was about to combine two volatile chemicals — hypnotized Anya and hypnotized Coral — without knowing whether they might explode on contact.

As it unfolded that afternoon, it wasn’t exactly a slow-motion train wreck, nor did it reach the level of a science experiment gone horribly wrong. Bringing Anya home was a nerve-wracking event, however, posing certain dangers. As long as Coral didn’t come down the stairs naked, though, I thought I could manage things between them. I was wrong in some ways, right in others — but that assessment was terribly short-sighted and incomplete, because I didn’t understand how their meeting would cause other events to follow.

I think that of the two, Anya was the more stunned when I made the introductions. Because I’d spoken about her and even described her a little, Coral had expected Anya to be exceptionally beautiful, whereas Anya appeared blindsided, her face flushing red the instant their eyes met. Anya might still be denying that she lusted for women, too, while Coral was well along in accepting that her pussy often called the shots. I thought I saw Anya’s lips move in those first few seconds, and I’d bet money that she summoned a silent prayer to calm herself; or to make the flush of sudden genital excitement go away.

I was relieved to see Coral wearing actual clothes, not some porn version of nursing attire. The relief drained away when I read the blue capital letters being stretched volumetrically upon the chest of her bright pink T-shirt: R-E-A-L. Yes they were real, and hardly needed the advertising, given the way they powered out under the thin cotton. Coral was wearing a bra, which I would have thought a good thing. The bra, however, must have been designed in the 1950’s, because it harnessed her oversized tits into twin projectiles like you see in vintage photos or paintings of pin-up models. My wife had been “thoughtful” enough to exchange pornographic for retro-cantilevered, but cantilevered on Coral was almost beyond pornographic. It made her look like a brazen fetish object, and by association probably made me look like a full-throttled fetishist. Whether that tarnished my halo in Anya’s eyes I didn’t know, but I could see that she was thrown off-balance from the first moment.

They hugged — not for long, not a steamy wet-on-wet “my hypnotized pussy loves yours” kind of embrace, but it was first contact, and in it I found my nervousness completely justified. For Anya it was a shy embrace, whereas Coral might as well have given me a wink-wink before extending her arms. She hid her intentions well, I had to give her that, but she must have known what the effect would be, turning her breasts into torpedoes. With the height difference, there was a moment where the tops of Coral’s harnessed tits acted as resting platforms for the bottoms of Anya’s more rounded pair, and I could only imagine what it stirred in Anya to feel so much woman from a much smaller woman pressing into her rib-cage. I made a point of not staring, but it didn’t matter — the briefest of glimpses had gone straight to my cock, and I could swear I heard a crackle of electricity when their boobs disengaged. Static electricity, or had the entire house suddenly become infused with energy?

It was like that even over iced tea and finger snacks on the shaded deck at the back of the house. Coral was barefoot in khaki shorts, the crossing and re-crossing of her legs intended to draw Anya’s gaze through the glass tabletop. Anya was a vision herself in a mostly turquoise batik sundress that showed plenty of leg while accentuating her curves. I’d found myself drinking in deep eyefuls of her figure behind her back as we toured apartments, imagining in advance what sex would be like between Anya’s voluptuous physique and Judith’s athletic one.

Anya recounted the details of our apartment search to Coral, describing The One we’d found for her — a spacious two and a half bedroom with a sun porch and a gigantic claw-foot bathtub in the bathroom. She had put down a deposit and signed a lease on the spot, and as she’d been engaged in the paperwork, I had stood in the bathroom by myself for a good fifteen minutes, seeing it filled with exotic erotic plants and glowing candles, the pungent scent of Judith’s obediently overflowing cunt as thick as steam.

I had the sense that both women’s pussies were sending demanding signals to their brains even when discussing the most innocuous of subjects. Anya peppered Coral with questions about the city, about clothing and furniture outlets and other necessities for setting up a new home. Casually, without even a trace of the “wrong” sort of interest, she asked Coral where she bought such intriguing underthings, letting it be known that she liked the way my wife had turned her tits into weaponry. Coral complimented Anya’s figure in an understated way, and promised to take her shopping sometime soon.

A stranger or an idiot might imagine that there were no hidden agendas being passed through the humid August air, no cunt-opening signals leaving one altered mind and entering another. It was fascinating, observing the interaction between two women who had no idea of the other’s hypnotized condition. Each believed the other to be normal, to be themselves — hell, except for a bit of hypnotic oral gusto that Coral had requested, both women believed themselves to be completely normal.

Tea gave way to cold beers, and as Coral brought her sweating bottle to her mouth, I began to notice more and more mischief creeping into her expression. She had her eyes fixed on Anya’s long neck as they spoke, to a degree that I began to look at it, too. Was it a particularly good throat and jaw to paint, or was she thinking several steps ahead, seeing Anya’s neck disappearing inside the unbuttoned front of a skimpy white nurse’s uniform? She began to speak about teaching at the university, and as she did so her eyes wandered a bit lower, taking in the expanse of Anya’s considerable bosom. Perhaps she imagined Anya’s breasts pushed up and out as hers were, in ridiculous Red Cross bras in every color on her painting palette.

A real nurse, I imagined I could hear Coral thinking. A beautiful and extremely shapely nurse, dropped right into my lap. No need for a model to assume the role, not when the fantasy had come to life, and just might be exuding more than a hint of tit-to-tit interest.

I began to focus more on Anya, trying to intuit her thoughts, and whether she could feel the intensity of my wife’s focus. I thought she might be partially blind to Coral’s state because she was overwhelmed by her own, my immersion suggestions still new and fresh, gnawing at the familiar hesitancy or religious guilt, upsetting her interior narrative about who she was.

Knowing how Anya must be struggling inside made me hard, which I expected. Unfortunately, nature began to call as well — it was the beer on top of the tea — and I tried to ignore the pressure for a time, afraid to leave the parts of this science experiment unsupervised. When my nervousness turned to outright physical fidgeting and I couldn’t take any more, I pardoned myself and met Coral’s eyes, trying to fill mine with the subtlest of hands-off reminders. She smiled, the blue of her eyes beaming in a way that gave no assurance.

I wanted to be angry at Coral for showcasing her breasts so brazenly and flirting, even when she knew it put me in an awkward position. The energy of the emotion clashed with the knowledge that she was only being what my interventions had allowed her to be — it wasn’t that different from setting the steering wheel of a car in a particular direction, then blaming the car for going that way. I made an effort to pee in record time, but when I returned the conversation had already hit upon the dangerous ground of Coral’s art.

“Her work is…” I began to speak, intending to say “In a new and somewhat fragile place”, but Coral stepped over top of my response, and Anya’s attention went, as it should, to the one her original question had been addressing.

“It’s funny you should ask,” Coral beamed. “I’ve actually begun a series of drawings and paintings about nurses.”

“Nurses? Like hospital nurses, or…”

“I followed Michael for a time while he worked with his patients, and the nurses working with him began to capture my interest. They had a quality of giving that I wanted to explore, and I was also interested in the way others responded to them. They seemed to represent a reality that was saturated with potent symbolism — care-giving real nurse versus thrill-giving fantasy nurse, I suppose you could say. I sketched them in action, and began to imagine a series where the nitty-gritty of the profession collided with societal fantasies. That’s what I’m doing right now — trying to juxtapose real nurses with somewhat… exaggerated versions, sometimes blending them into the same world.”

I watched Anya’s mouth open to ask something, but then it closed. I could swear I heard the unspoken question in my mind — “What does a fantasy nurse look like?” — and she had swallowed the words, realizing the answer: A fantasy nurse, duh, probably looked exactly the way she looked. Blonde, beautiful, extremely shapely — she’d always known the effect she had on some of her patients, but had never thought all that much about it. Until now.

I thought I saw her begin to blush, but it might have been a different sort of physical reaction. “Being in the field, I’d love to see these paintings sometime,” Anya spoke quietly, her gaze either upon the table or Coral’s bare legs down below. “Professional interest, as well as…”

“Second floor,” Coral interrupted, standing. Anya smiled and we both rose from our chairs, but a hand gesture from my wife sent the message that I was not invited. “This is a guests-only viewing,” she said breezily. “Gotta be careful about allowing therapists into the studio process too quickly,” she joked to Anya, and I had no real choice but to back down.

Coral promised that they wouldn’t be long, and I put on an easy-going face, and watched the two women and their sex-stirred psyches disappear into the house, to do… well, I really had no control over what they would or would not do in private.

Funny, wasn’t it, that I could poke my wishes inside a woman’s mind and stir, but unless the subject was naturally obedient like Judith, I couldn’t actually control them. Which was probably a good thing, most times. Other times, like right now…

I waited, wishing I’d hypnotized Coral into behaving a particular way — a sedate way — for this meeting, then dismissed the wish as unworkable. Did I really desire a robotic wife, a wife who lived to please me and carry out pre-programmed instructions? On one level the answer must be “yes”; in reality it must be “no”. There had to be a reason why a stubborn free-spirited woman like Grace had become my best friend — independence and intelligence had always been a prerequisite for a relationship, and that had never changed. An obedient fuck-slave like Judith had certain merits, certain thrills, but I was willing to pass her compliant cunt on to someone else, which said plenty. I wanted to be served and adored and thrilled, yes, but creatively, so that I didn’t know what was coming next, keeping everything fresh.

Which sounded like the very definition of Mira, didn’t it? Sitting on the deck all by myself, I felt strangely empty, longing for… What? Mira’s incomparable torso and the pussy that had begun this entire journey into HypnoLand?

Impatient, antsy, I went into the kitchen and popped the top of another bottle of Corona. For some reason the calendar on the wall called out to me, and it occurred to me that it had been a year and a half, almost to the day, since I’d returned from Switzerland brimming with anticipation about using my newly acquired talent. It had all been about luring Mira’s pussy my way, but had become so much more. Eighteen months, and I was married, still trying to appear like a well-adjusted member of society while totally immersed in a world of underhanded sexual intrigue. I had some women safely under control — Rosita, at a distance, and Judith. Though I’d gone the farthest with them, manipulating their psyches with Machiavellian gusto, they presented the least danger to me, because they were so obedient. Others, like Mira and my wife, were infected by my desires but not at all predictable in their behavior, creating certain perils.

Was it a question of deciding between more or less headstrong natures to interfere with? If I planned to continue abusing my skills — and I did, I’d already surrendered any good boy fantasies about controlling myself — did I need to make more intelligent choices about the type of women I fucked with?

I thought about Rosita — she hadn’t been nearly as submissive as Judith, but I’d been able to pick at her brain and body every week during her therapy sessions, turning baby steps into large cunt-dripping strides. By the time I’d placed her on a shelf, she had been nearly as controllable as Judith. I could make her do anything, because she always allowed me access to her mind.

That was what I needed to keep life running smoothly — regularly scheduled tune-ups with every woman I wanted to fuck. It wasn’t always possible, though — I’d never been able to coerce Mira back under my control. I’d tacked in that direction again just last night, holding out the lure of heightening her orgasms when the subject had come up. She always turned me down, though, opening her body to my touch, but no longer her mind. As for Coral, I’d continued to hold back with her, not wishing for an automaton as a wife. I didn’t want a super-obedient wife, did I? I didn’t — probably — although at a time like this, with Coral doing God knew what to Anya upstairs…

Maybe a little, just to instill a bit of order. The way things were going, she might need a tune-up every now and then just so she could walk out the door with her clothes on.

As the minutes ticked by, I kept imagining the worst about what might be transpiring up there. I hadn’t seen Coral’s paintings, and wondered whether Anya was being treated to images of me hypnotizing a half-naked Judith, or outright fucking her. With that close-up lens in the equation, my cock could be filling an entire canvas, or graphically parked inside of Judith or Coral’s mouth.

Or what if it were even worse? What if Coral had her small fingers inside of Anya’s pussy right now, her tongue teasing a big fat nipple? I imagined Anya’s sundress torn in half, her full lips twisting and trembling as my wife’s tongue burrowed past wet fleshy folds quivering with the shock of lesbian yearnings and vanished guilt.

I kept waiting, and my fears began to turn to something closer to real anger. Coral could be jeopardizing my career by aiming her twin titpedoes at a colleague’s hypnotized pussy. She might even be ruining my plans to get Anya and Judith together in just the right way.

After forty-five minutes I went upstairs, noisily passed the studio door and climbed the extra flight to my office. I had imagined bringing Anya up here, where she would see the couch and ask whether I ever brought my work home. I would have pretended that I didn’t know where she was going, playing innocent until she asked me directly to place her in the immersion state again. She would have claimed professional interest, or the wish to have the diet and exercise suggestions strengthened yet again. Anya probably didn’t need additional programming to fall for Judith as planned — the trap was already set, Anya’s future “victim” hell bent on causing her downfall — but I would have acquiesced, because there was more to life than setting psychic traps. Maybe I just enjoyed seeing those ripe lips parting as though to take in my soothing voice like she might take my eager cock. And maybe, without really planning that far ahead, I’d unconsciously intended to give my hard cock a little halo of its own in Anya’s mind. Maybe she needed one last desperate fling with a man, with a good man who always did the right thing, his saintly dick giving her something sturdy and strong to cling to as she battled her drives to turn Judith into her obedient love-slave.

I grew so hard at that, which led to even more frustration about how none of this was likely to happen now. I didn’t like feeling this way — helpless, obstructed, while a woman might be making decisions or taking actions that denied me the outcomes I’d planned. Something about that thought chimed just right — it was a selfish way to think, but it was completely true. Why should any beautiful woman be able to thwart my sexual needs when I had a potent tool like the immersion technique to get exactly what I wanted? To sit around hoping for the best was passive, even pathetic, when I had such a powerful instrument at my disposal.

My beer was history at the one-hour mark. With no sign of the women emerging, I went online, not exactly sure why. Without really thinking about it, I surfed to Rosita’s website, and studied her touring schedule. She was already on the road, and wouldn’t be here for weeks. Coral wanted the two of us to attend a performance, and I imagined that she lusted for a more private encounter backstage, or perhaps in a hotel room nearby. She’d probably want to photograph Rosita’s titanic breasts spilling out of some skimpy nursing attire, tasting “Rose Bloom” pussy with me dutifully capturing the moment through a viewfinder.

I wasn’t so certain that I felt like waiting three weeks to get my hands on Rosita’s now-famous knockers. I missed her. Or, to be more precise, I missed everything that I could do to her. I had the sense of being somewhat out of control as I checked fares and flight times to and from some of the upcoming cities on Rosita’s schedule. I wasn’t even sure whether I was checking travel plans only for myself, or for Coral, too.

With the sound turned off, I watched Rosita’s most recent video on the computer. Without the sound I couldn’t be sure whether she was pretending to be a phone-sex operator, or whether the story line had her picking up the phone and masturbating to the voice of a long lost lover. As with any of her videos, the narrative was nearly irrelevant, serving as the sketchiest of frameworks for the camera to worship Rosita’s body, which she gradually began to uncover and pleasure. As always, I was freshly shocked by just how stupendous her rack was, and the way her tits undulated when she gave herself an energetic fucking with a dildo. I hit “pause” a few times, pleased with certain camera angles that coincided with memories of taking her from behind. It wasn’t quite the same on film, because my arms weren’t reaching forward to squeeze her tits, and my dick wasn’t part of the picture. My dick needed to be in that picture again — it wasn’t even a question.

“Knock-knock,” I heard Anya’s voice at my door.

“It’s open,” I called, quitting the porn site and composing my expression.

She stepped inside, with her sundress intact and no obvious cunt-smears on her face. I found myself breathing in deeply, and realized that I was trying to sniff out the aroma of an overheated pussy.

“We really didn’t mean to abandon you for so long,” she apologized. “It’s just that we really hit it off, and things happened. I knew you’d have a special wife, because you’re such a special person. But Coral is simply amazing. And her paintings! My God, what a talent! It’s almost unfair, that one person should have so many gifts!”

I agreed with a shake of the head, smiling. What else could I do when I had no idea what Anya had seen in there? Were these gifts all related to art, or might they include a phenomenal set of nipples on a phenomenal set of knockers? I even had to wonder if one of these “gifts” might be my erect cock, depicted in brushy living color.

“They’re really brave paintings,” she went on, “and it’s obvious that your wife couldn’t make them if she wasn’t completely comfortable with herself. They’re challenging, even daring, and… moving. I didn’t expect to see anything like that, even after she described them. I mean, you just don’t think you’re going to be confronted that way, by such extremes. I think I’m still shaking. You probably know how I feel.”

Probably not, which did not make me happy.

“What Anya is trying to tell you is that she bought one!” Coral announced, bringing in a tray with glasses and a bottle of Champaign. “Let’s celebrate! I’m in Anya’s collection!”

They beamed and I faux-beamed back, accepting a glass of the bubbly. I shot a quizzical glance at Coral and she laughed.

“No, no, of course it isn’t finished. We’ll deliver it to Anya in a week or so, and help her hang it in her new apartment.”

“I’m so excited!” Anya gushed. “I already know exactly where I want to hang it. The painting will make the apartment!”

Her face was so open, her blue eyes shining so brightly that she almost looked like a child at a birthday party. She was a beautiful woman, I’d known that the instant I saw her, but here, like this, she radiated so much vibrant pleasure that it almost took my breath away.

“Here’s to the Muse,” Coral proposed, lifting her glass to toast. “And to anyone who’s crazy enough to buy my paintings.”

“Where’s to… nurses!” Anya exclaimed, clinking our glasses.

Here’s to parking my dick inside of a never-ending chain of hypnotized beauties, I silently intoned. The sudden arising of this thought, unusually vivid and charging my entire body with buzzing energy, came as a shock, and I took some of the Champaign down the wrong pipe. Coral patted me on the back, while Anya, trained to soothe and heal, placed a warm hand on my shoulder, staring at me with concern and affection.

“Try to relax and just cough it out,” I heard her say through the involuntary spasms. “You’ll be back to normal in a couple of minutes.”

But I knew that wasn’t true, even though I simultaneously knew that I didn’t understand what that meant.

We were together again on the deck, the sunlight gone, crickets and other insects beginning their calls.

I had given up any chance of hypnotizing Anya that day, because she had to catch her train. As it turned out, however, she had completely changed her plans, and she ended up changing mine.

She wanted to rent a car and stay for a few days, explaining it as a need to paint some of the rooms in her new apartment before moving anything in. This might have made sense, although I suspected I heard her real reasons for staying when she asked whether she could begin her training the very next morning as I made my rounds.

“You’d be ahead of the others,” I spoke with genuine concern, although it wasn’t about that. I silently weighed how this might change my strategy regarding Judith. Depending on how quickly Anya absorbed the subtleties of the technique — and I knew she was highly motivated, more motivated than she even knew — she could end up taking control of Judith much faster than I had imagined.

“Please?” she said in a little girl’s voice, batting her eyes.

“How can you say ‘no’ to someone like that?” Coral asked, laughing.

I laughed too, and told Anya to be in my hospital office at seven in the morning. I hadn’t planned for this, and might have to smooth over a few bureaucratic wrinkles to make it possible, but I couldn’t see a downside to saying “yes”. The rhythm of my designs might be altered — Anya might even be fully capable of hypnotizing someone as compliant as Judith at our party, where I intended them to meet. If given a chance, she might even do the hypnotizing in a quiet room during the party itself. I couldn’t help grinning as a new image took form, of Anya’s downfall occurring in my office, right where Judith was used to being controlled and fucked.

“I… have another request,” Anya ventured.

She didn’t look at me, but Coral did.

“I want to start tonight,” Anya said, a little defiantly.

She wasn’t talking about painting her apartment. She was talking about watching me hypnotize someone, which had to be…

“I’ve already volunteered,” Coral remarked, and the evidence of a set-up was complete. “I told Anya how you helped me with that pulled muscle on our honeymoon. You can put me under again and she can watch — it shouldn’t take more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”

Good of her to go with a “pulled muscle” in place of “my husband’s stubbly crotch”. I was less inclined to agree with this one, though. If my immersion suggestions were bubbling inside of Anya — and I had every reason to believe they were — watching Coral slip into a suggestible state would be a highly erotic event for our guest, even if it went nowhere.

An erotic event for me as well, knowing how she would be struggling to conceal the effects of drives, my drives, welling up inside and beginning to assume control. That part of the equation appealed to me, and my face began to relax.

“Let’s do it in your office,” Coral said, as though the decision had already been made, which it probably had.

She got up, and I looked at Anya, who was hesitating, not so far gone that she didn’t know she still needed my permission, and in a way, my blessing.

“I think you’re going to get a preview,” I laughed. “Just don’t expect our real patients to resemble Coral in any way.”

Anya smiled. I was Saint Michael, going above and beyond, doing the right thing as always. There would be no dragons in the room, although there might be plenty rearing up inside of her. She’d have me by her side, holding her hand and showing her the way.

Showing her the way, indirectly, right into Judith’s obedient cunt. Or, if her religious background was to be believed, straight into hell.

Maybe there would be one dragon in the room after all — me.

I’d thought a good bit about how I would train others, naturally relying on some of what had worked so well for me during my intensive instruction in Switzerland. It took longer than the proposed twenty minutes, because I began by teaching, focusing on impressing upon Anya how the voice had to be controlled and honed, and used as a tool.

“A certain precision is required,” I explained, giving both correct and incorrect examples of volume, inflection and tempo. She imitated me, getting things not quite right, but close enough for day one.

I sat in a chair alongside the sofa, Anya in another chair directly to my right. The room was dark, save for the illumination of a small lamp on my desk. The soft directional light did wonders for the shapes of Coral’s towering tits — other than that and making my erection more difficult to see, there was no real need for the dim lighting. I was plenty hard, too, because I was hypnotizing an incredibly beautiful woman, my wife, with a woman nearly as lovely absorbing the sight and sounds of Coral being led inside of every part of that breathtaking body. Coral’s mind — her real mind — followed my voice and became unglued from the usual thoughts and chatter, slipping inside the body as it connected to the body, until everything was nearly joined.

Anya asked no questions, silently observing. I could hear her breathing next to me, and because I was listening for it, I heard the telltale change in her breath. Even sitting alongside in a chair, not intended as the target, the familiar tones of my voice had begun to pull her under. I nudged her shoulder and she started, her face turning red.

I smiled reassuringly, letting her know it was an expected danger, a completely forgivable part of this first instruction. She assumed a more attentive attitude after that, watching carefully as Coral slipped completely under, her mind and body one, her consciousness wide open and unguarded.

“Follow Michael’s voice,” I continued to soothe, seeing Coral’s lips part in that receptive, totally absorbent way that signaled the possibility for… well, almost anything on my part.

“Unbelievable!” Anya mouthed. She had been in this state thanks to me, but had never seen it.

“At this point,” I whispered softly, “I could guide Coral right into the area of physical pain, if she had any. It’s all about the mind and body accepting the signals that exist, but not allowing the pain to steal energy and take over. We don’t really blunt a patient’s pain in the way that a drug might. It isn’t a dulling of receptors, but a realignment between the mind and the perceptions of the body.”

She knew all or most of this already, in theory. It was different, however, to witness such profound openness, and I’d become so skilled over time that I might even be creating a level of receptivity that went beyond anything I’d witnessed during my own training. I knew Anya must be buzzing from the sight, and I thought I might detect the tiniest whiff of her wet pussy, reacting, as it should, to the demonstration. She had to be dripping from this — there was no way she wouldn’t be.

“With me…” she began, the sound of her whisper somewhat garbled because she swallowed so hard. “With me you must have done something… more. The same with all your other patients needing help with addictive behaviors. How did you go about that?”

“Very directly. With you I kept repeating how you wished to exercise more, and eat less of what you knew to be bad.”

“That sounds too simple.”

“Not to the part of you that really does wish for that. It’s all about strengthening the union of the mind and body in the desired direction, towards a shared purpose. You — or at least some part of you — wanted help with those particular issues. If you didn’t care at all — no part of you had any interest in exercising or eating better — I’m sure nothing would happen. We have so many unconscious or semi-conscious desires, though. The technique speaks to desires already existing, and gives them power over others less cooperative.”

I was treading dangerous waters here, essentially telling Anya how I’d manipulated the parts of her mind I wanted manipulated. I might not have spoken so freely without witnessing Mira’s condition the night before. As I’d concluded before, it appeared completely impossible for a victim of the technique to realize their victimhood. All evidence pointed to this, and I trusted that Anya would recognize all of her thoughts and urges as completely authentic — her own and no one else’s. I was almost rubbing the truth in her face, knowing it might tickle in some vague way while remaining effectively invisible. She wouldn’t substitute “wish to hypnotize a woman’s pussy into submission” for “wish to exercise more” — it just wasn’t going to happen.

“How can you recognize an unconscious desire?” she asked.

“You told me yours,” I answered carefully. “Although I suppose they were more conscious than unconscious.”

“And if they hadn’t been? If I didn’t even know what I wanted, and you had to search for it?”

“That’s where more extensive psychological training comes in handy. I had methods of uncovering repressions and affecting behavior long before I learned this technique. You don’t have to worry about that, though — the work with pain management is more direct.”

She squirmed a little in her chair. “I’m… intrigued by what you’re saying, though. It seems like… You’ve really limited yourself in a way, by focusing on pain issues. You, and the technique, are capable of more.”

“True. I believe the scope of this technique has barely been scratched. This work with pain might only be one chapter in my studies. It’s a very powerful tool, perhaps with unlimited potential.”

Heavier breathing. “Could you… demonstrate?” Anya asked. I definitely smelled a wet pussy now.

“What do you mean?” I played dumb. “Coral isn’t in pain.”

“Just some… tiny suggestion, perhaps,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t know how else…”

She had said far much more than she should, and she seemed to know it. At the same time I could see how her lips had become more full, her full chest heaving. I imagined a tsunami of forbidden thoughts and desires pushing through her. She didn’t know yet that she didn’t have to worry — I was setting her up with the easiest piece of ass in the world to hypnotize.

“I’m… I want…”

I’m pretty sure it was like desire for power surfing on top of waves of lust setting her pussy on fire. She didn’t know how to handle it — could probably barely believe it was happening. I wondered if she could hang on, or if she’d melt right into her chair.

“Are you okay?” I asked, taking her hand.

“I’m… feeling a little faint,” she covered. “You almost had me in the state a few minutes ago… I think I need some air!”

Good smokescreen; she had a clever mind. Knowing what I knew I could read her like a newspaper, but I saw the makings of a decent mind-monster here.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and I’ll ease Coral back out,” I suggested. I turned my attention back to Coral and caught a peripheral glimpse of a sundress almost fleeing the room. A hundred to one she would find a bathroom and masturbate with a frenzy that would rock her world.

Which gave me unexpected bonus points — a few minutes to do some necessary immersion handiwork with my wife.

“We need to celebrate the sale of your painting,” I eased into Coral’s psyche. “You want Rose Bloom, now. You aren’t willing to wait for weeks — you need her lips on her breasts now!”

“Mmmnnnn…”

“Whose pussy and tits do you need?”

“Rose Bloommm…” Crystal whisper-moaned.

“You need to see Michael hypnotize her, and how his hypnotic suggestions are still alive inside of her. It’s so incredibly hot, seeing a beautiful woman hypnotized. Hypnotism, and sex. You need them both. There’s nothing hotter.”

“Yesss… so… hot.”

“You’re glad that Michael secretly hypnotized a beautiful woman like Rose Bloom. You’re glad that Michael knows how to mix hypnotism and sex, because you can’t get enough of either.”

“Never enough…”

“Fuck Michael’s cock with your torpedo tits tonight. He’s been staring at them all afternoon and Michael will take you to Rose Bloom only if you fuck his big hard cock with your tits.”

“Big… Hard…”

“But the most important thing is this: You want to be hypnotized more frequently. If too many days go by without being hypnotized, you feel like something is terribly wrong.”

“Wrong,” she repeated.

“You love being hypnotized, don’t you Coral?”

“I… love…”

“You crave it.”

“I… crave…”

“You won’t remember that we placed these desires inside tonight, but you will crave Rose Bloom, and being hypnotized. You will fuck Michael with your tits.”

“I… will…”

I had my mouth open to begin the process of leading her back out when one more wish appeared. “You’ll show Michael your new paintings after Anya leaves.”

More resistance from her with this one, but I wore her down.

“No Rose Bloom unless you show Michael your paintings. He needs to see them. You need him to see these new paintings.”

“Show… Michael.”

Finally. I slowly brought her out, and Coral said she needed a few minutes to recover. I went to find Anya, and found her sitting on the deck in the dark. I thought she looked rearranged, darkly glowing with her body relaxed for the first time since she’d gotten a peek at my wife. I didn’t get close enough to check, but I knew she’d smell less like runaway pussy, more like fresh soap.

“Did I fail my first training session?” she asked, looking sheepish.

“Hardly. It was terribly stuffy up there, and the immersion experience can be rather intense to witness. Just wait until it’s an eighty year old man we’re dealing with, not a young and vibrant woman. And if you begin to feel faint again, please let me know sooner. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’ll have to carry an oxygen mask,” she joked.

“We’ll make it work; don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’m going to have you on top of the technique in record time.”

And of course, that was what Anya was already dreaming about, and what had gotten to her — getting a glimpse of just how open a woman could be in the immersion state, and just how perfectly that could work for her.

But no need for an oxygen mask or any other equipment to get all she wanted from the technique — I’d already instructed Judith to bring toys, hadn’t I?