DADDY’S LITTLE HYPNOTIST
I only got the job as Madame Mezmer’s ‘Assistant Hypnotist’ because I was in love with my father and needed to get him into bed with me. I learned the dark secrets of the ‘Hypno Occult’ in a last ditch effort to turn our innocent father/daughter affection into something hotter and more urgent.
Maybe I was just going through some sort of teenage nervous breakdown but suddenly a harmless cuddle on the couch wasn’t enough any more, brushing against my Dad’s ripped body in the pool only left me panting for a full-on, hot passionate affair with him.
You’d have to see my Dad to understand the effect he began to have on me when I turned eighteen. The thought that I was of a legal age to sleep with him took hold of my mind. It soon grew to be a total obsession. My father is the fittest, hunkiest, most drop-dead-gorgeous guy ever… and we were close… he and I were so-ooo close it seemed impossible that my Dad didn’t want more of my puppy love than just a peck on the cheek or a fatherly tousle of my lustrous, raven-black hair at bedtime.
It was unfair that the universe should have created a man as irresistible as my father and then ensured that he was upright, decent and one hundred percent moral, almost puritanical. My Dad had never once cheated on my Mom in twenty years of marriage. He wasn’t about to go cheating on her with me. My father’s puritanical instincts were so powerful I knew he’d never even think of him and me having sex— genuine, loving, one hundred percent passionate sex— in a million years, unless there was some way I could overcome his resistance and his puritanical mindset.
That was when I chanced upon Madame Mezmer’s advertisement for an ‘Assistant Hypnotist’.
The ‘Renowned Madame Mezmer’ was interviewing for ‘the right person’ to ‘assist with her on-stage hypnosis shows’ and to ‘learn the basics of the Mesmeric Art’.
Madame Mezmer was said to be the country’s leading hypnotherapist. She performed powerful demonstrations of the power of hypnosis. Subjects flocked to her shows to have their personal problems solved and their financial crises straightened out. The ‘power of hypnosis’ was ‘life-changing and boundless’. Maybe it might work on my Dad.
I read a few books on the subject before I went for my interview with Madame Mezmer. Apparently, a skilled hypnotist could control the ‘Theta waves’ in a subject’s brain and plant their own suggestions and commands deep in a person’s subconscious mind, making them helpless to do anything but follow a specific suggestion and obey a particular command. A trained hypno-therapist could control the deepest limbic regions of the brain, where the sex drive and survival instinct have their source. If I could control my father’s subconscious mind I might be able to plant the suggestion that he desired my smoking hot body sexually. If I could command his limbic region I might even be able to make him want to fuck me.
I’d already made a few blatantly obvious attempts to show my Dad that my body was on offer if he wanted me. My offer had gone completely under the radar. No matter how far I pushed it, my father didn’t even seem to realize that I was available. The idea refused to occur to him. My Dad wasn’t a sleaze-bag. He was no sleazy lecher. The fact that my father was a decent and upright man only made him more adorable in my eyes.
I have to confess a shameful thing… the size of my father’s cock haunted me… I wasn’t some brainless bimbo hooked on sheer size or raw sex appeal… but I’d accidentally-on-purpose happened upon him coming out of the shower one time, and his manhood’s size and obvious virility took my breath away. I’d been obsessed with the need to feel it inside me ever since. Along with his ripped pecs and film-star face, my Dad’s massive penis began troubling my sleepless nights
There were a couple of embarrassing occasions when I actually attempted to seduce my father, rubbing up against him on the couch, wandering round the house in just my bra wondering out loud where I’d left my panties… nothing worked. I was smoking hot and ready for love but, if anything, my bumbling attempts at seduction only made my Dad even more stand-offish and puritanical and careful when he was around me.
Then I chanced upon Madame Mezmer’s ad:
LEADING HYPNOTIST SEEKS FEMALE ASSISTANT
TO ASSIST WITH ON STAGE PERFORMANCE AND LEARN THE HYPNOTIC ART.
MUST BE YOUNG AND ATTRACTIVE.
NO TIME-WASTERS.
The ad was off-putting. It was a bit perturbing that a ‘young, attractive female’ was specified. ‘No time-wasters’ felt a bit belligerent. Madame Mezmer sounded more than a little daunting.
Still… I was female and… curvaceous ass… toned tits… a nice face… just turned eighteen… I was certainly young and attractive… and although the advertisement mentioned ‘assisting with on stage performance’ it did also promise ‘learning the hypnotic art’ which was the very thing I needed.
My father laughed when I told him I was going for a job as a hypnotist’s assistant. He’d been bullying me for months to go find a job and now, when I was actually applying for work, he just laughed in my face.
“Hypnotist’s assistant? That’s not work!”
“Yes it is…” I mumbled. “… She pays.”
Actually the advertisement didn’t mention salary. I already had the feeling that Madame Mezmer wasn’t the sort of employer to pay her staff very much.
My father guffawed:
“She’s a charlatan. No doubt she’s a total fraud. Hypnosis? The hypnotic art? Shows? It’s all hocus pocus, Gracie! A total con!”
His mockery only made me more determined to get the job.
“I might learn something, Dad…”
“Learn something? ‘Must be young and attractive’? It’s a sex ring. Conning young girls into sex work! You can put the idea out of your mind right now!”
“Da-aaaaaaad!”
“No, Gracie! No! I’m not having it! Go and look for a proper job!”
I had to sneak out for my interview with Madame Mezmer behind my father’s back.
Madame Mezmer certainly played the part of a ‘mistress of the hypnotic arts’. She dressed like ‘a priestess of Hypnos’. A long flowing robe. A gypsy head scarf. Bangles on her podgy wrists. Charms on her capacious bosom. My Dad was right. She was a charlatan. She wasn’t a proper hypnotist at all. ‘Madame Mezmer’ had no ‘art’ to teach me. She was just another stage magician, duping audiences with sleight of hand. The ‘props’ she needed assistance with ‘on stage’ were laughably theatrical.
Her room was dimly lit. An incense burner filled the air with heady fumes. The trippy music of gongs and wind-chimes and chanting voices wafted from a set of speakers. Mystic symbols covered the walls, pyramids and Third Eyes and pentagrams, a revolving ‘cosmic Spiral’ on a stand, the sort of junk you can buy in any magic accessories shops. I felt deeply disappointed.
Madame Mezmer looked me up and down. She took in my wavy black hair and dark eyes, my high cheekbones and flared retroussé nostrils, my plump, cupid’s-bow lips. She wheezed:
“… Mm-mmm… okay… I guess…”
I may only have been eighteen, but if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I was more than just ‘okay’. She nodded at my shorts and T-shirt.
“… Take your clothes off…”
“Ey?”
“… You heard me…”
My father’s words came back to me… ‘a sex ring’, ‘conning young girls into sex work’… then I remembered why I was here… in the dimly wavering light and scented fumes and space-y music… I felt a sudden urgent need for my father’s big cock slamming into me, for his stallion buttocks and his rock-hard spear-head pumping his hot cum into my virgin pussy…
I pulled my T-shirt off over my head. I trod my shorts into the floor. I slipped out of my thong.
Beady eyes surveyed my body.
“… Mm-mmm… okay I guess… not bad…”
She nodded at my pussy.
“… You shave I’m glad to see… I can’t abide a girl who doesn’t shave…”
She grinned at my dewy slit.
“… You’re here to catch some lucky guy, ey…?”
I was appalled.
“… No… no… not really…”
She smirked at my helpless wetness:
“… You always get this juicy…?”
My heart thundered in my chest.
“… No… not always…”
“… Here…” She rooted around in a suitcase standing open on the floor. “… Let’s see how you look in this…”
A bikini.
A shiny, gold-sequin-d micro-bikini.
I said:
“… Look… I…”
“You want the job or not? Put it on!”
A terrible tone of command rang out in her voice. Disobeying her was out of the question.
I slipped into the bikini bottom. Sequins skittered in the hollows of my thighs. The wispy G-string sank into my moist pussy like I was a luscious parcel tying itself up tight.
I slipped the skimpy top over my breasts and knotted the strings between my shoulder-blades. The tiny triangles barely covered my newly-curvaceous fullness. The golden sequins shivered in my steep, tight cleavage, whispered scratchy secrets to the beating of my heart.
She looked me up and down. Her blubbery lips moue-d:
“… Mm-mmm… not bad… you’re a virgin…”
It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“Ey?”
“… You heard me… you haven’t popped your cherry yet.”
“Erm…”
“… Don’t worry… it’s okay… virgins make the best hypnotists…”
She was right about me being a virgin. She’d hit the nail on the head. In spite of my pretty face and smoking hot physique I was still a virgin. I’d had loads of offers from guys at school but the fact was, my obsession with my father had tangled up my mind so much the only man I was able fancy was him.
Madame Mezmer preened:
“… I’m a virgin myself…”
She was hideous. Fat and oily and beady-eyed. If she’d stayed intact it was no surprise.
She peered at my belly. She frowned at my naked stomach.
“… Oo… you’ve got a piercing… perfect…!… quite quite pe-eeer-fect…!”
I did. I had a navel piercing. I’d had my belly button pierced and an arrow stud inserted through both sides of my navel. I’d had the piercing done in the hope of interesting my Dad in my toned, silky belly. The piercing seemed to be the first thing about my body that Madame Mezmer really appreciated.
“… Here… let me…”
She reached out. Her painted nails scrabbled on my stomach.
She slipped the arrow out and put it to one side.
Madame Mezmer turned and opened an ornate, chased-gold jewelry box. She removed a large, glittering jewel.
Her eyes glinted:
“… An amethyst, my dear… quite real… a real amethyst… extremely rare…!”
It was impossible. The glinting purple stone couldn’t possibly be a genuine amethyst. It was too big and multi-faceted. It hung from a short silver chain no more than an inch long with a stud at the end.
“… Let’s see…”
She slid the stud through my piercing. My belly pumped with helpless alarm.
“… Keep still…”
The dangling amethyst slipped and slid on my belly’s silky undulations, swinging a fraction below my belly button. For some reason I felt thrillingly scared.
She pouted”
“… Okay… let’s see you dance…”
“Dance?”
She nodded at the speakers:
“… Mm-mmm… how you dance is the most important thing of all…”
The music filling the room wasn’t really dancing music. It was too slow and floaty and mystical. I was a good dancer. I knew how to move to techno and hip hop, but Madame Mezmer’s music was way too wavering and trance-y.
I wanted the job. I began to dance.
My bottom swayed. My tail-bone pulsed. I went up on tiptoe. Sequins whispered in the hollows of my thighs. I came down off my toes and rocked gently on my heels, the amethyst swinging from my belly button, caressing my silky skin like a glittering, multi-faceted pendulum.
“… Mm-mmm… not bad…”
My breasts rocked gently. My newly-curvaceous tits undulated voluptuously to the distant rhythm, my nipples tightening in time to the beating of my heart.
“… Good girl… breathe deeply now…”
The gentle back and forth of the amethyst on my belly took control of my body. It bade me spread my legs. The G-string tingled in my pulsing gash. The amethyst swung gently to and fro. The amethyst told me to stretch my hands above my head. My breasts lifted. My sumptuous softness lifted and rode on a long voluptuous breath. Gold sequins tightened their grip on my engorged nipples.
“… Oh… oh…”
“… Sh-hhhhhhhhh…!”
My pussy spasm-d in time to the gentle sliding of the amethyst back and forth on my belly.
Fu-uuuuuuuuuck… I was cumming…
Madame Mezmer whispered:
“… Control it… control it… you’re Hypna now…”
Hypna?
I’d heard of Hypnos, the God of Hypnosis. Was ‘Hypna’ the female version? I didn’t know what she meant. I managed to control my orgasm to the steady rhythm of the big amethyst passing backwards and forwards across my stomach.
She grinned:
“… Oo… you’ve even got Scorpio…!”
I’d had the tattoo done specially for my father, in the silky hollow of my groin, hoping the downwards-plunging pincers and the scorpion sting lifting from my skimpy panties might plant ideas in his head.
The tattoo shivered voluptuously in its nest of moist, gold sequins.
“… Perfect, my dear… quite perfect… that’s enough…”
The amethyst dance had taken hold of me, its grip on my body was so total and so thrilling I didn’t want to stop. Stopping was impossible, but Madame had turned the music off. Eventually I subsided to a panting standstill.
It looked like I’d got the job.
My Dad was furious.
“Showing off your body like that!”
I made the mistake of telling him how Madame Mezmer’s Hypnotism Shows were conducted.
“You might as well do striptease in a bar!”
“Da-aaad! Hypnotism’s real! It’s a proven scientific fact!”
“Scientific? Flashing skin for a load of toe-rags to ogle!”
He was exasperating.
“They’re not toe-rags, Dad. It’s a proper hypnotism show! A demonstration of the power of the hypnotic art. It’s totally respectable.
‘Totally respectable’ was a bit of a stretch. Madame Mezmer did actually hypnotize volunteers from the audience. She demonstrated the power of hypnotic suggestion by making the tranced volunteers do things that were out of character, but her shows were quite raunchy too. My gold bikini was a central feature of the performance. There was quite a lot of ogling, especially at the beginning when I was setting up the props, lighting the incense burner, dancing the Dance of the Seven Veils in the swaying pastel curtains Madame Mezmer used as a backdrop. When the stage was appropriately set up, the lighting dimmed, the gongs and wind-chimes and chanting voices adjusted to a trance-y volume, my gold bikini glistening voluptuously in the mystic ambience, I had to bow before Madame Mezmer, seated on a throne. Madame Mezmer was the Goddess of the Underworld, Hecate, endowing her assistant with the power of hypnotic entrance into the subconscious mind.
That part of the performance was certainly more showmanship than scientific demonstration.
I could feel the male eyes in the audience glued to every flex and shimmy of my taut, toned butt, their gaze following the slither of sequins into the sumptuous crevasse of my steep, tight cleavage…
… But when the actual hypnotism got under way things turned serious… or at least the raunchy side of the evening turned suddenly tense and breathless…
A volunteer was called for, to come up from the audience. To my surprise, they were actual volunteers, total strangers to both me and Madame Mezmer, not accomplices hired for the show. It often took a long time for a volunteer to pluck up the courage to come up onto the stage. The volunteers were both men and women. The fact that I was skimpily clad didn’t mean that this was a men-only event.
The lights dimmed further, the music grew almost inaudible, but my swaying only grew more sinuous and seductive.
I shimmy-d, getting the volunteer comfortably seated on a simple dining room chair.
I bent voluptuously above the incense burner adding more patchouli and musk and black licorice to the flame, my curvaceous breasts spilling from my skimpy top.
The heady fumes filled the auditorium. The atmosphere grew solemn, even breathless.
Madame went into her spiel, her voice sometimes low and lulling to the verge of silence at other times rising to a rousing crescendo on the swell and sway of the music. She led the volunteer’s mind on a subterranean journey down an endless flight of spiral stairs into the deeper and deeper peace and light and tranquility of their subconscious mind.
While Madame hypnotized the volunteer with her voice, I hypnotized the volunteer with the rhythmic swaying of the amethyst on my silky belly. I swayed in close, between their legs. I captured their eyes with the fabulous jewel rocking on the undulating expanse of my teenage belly, closer and closer till the warmth of their breath be-dewed my pulsing stomach and their eyes latched more and more helplessly onto the gently moving amethyst, the Theta wave-length my stomach rocked into their helpless brains, their hypnotized eyes following the swaying of my navel into deeper and deeper regions of limbic subconsciousness.
When the volunteer was thoroughly hypnotized Madame Mezmer, or sometimes even I, would plant suggestions in their minds and the audience would be entertained watching the helpless person obey our every command.
One night, in our dressing room, after a more than usually successful performance, Made Mezmer said to me:
“You really want to fuck your father?”
She liked me. We’d become good friends. I’d confessed my reasons for originally coming to her.
I murmured:
“… I’m afraid so…”
Over the months the desire had grown stronger and stronger.
“… Be careful, my dear… it’s forbidden…”
I murmured:
“… I know it is, Madame… but I feel as if I don’t get his big cock inside me soon I’m going to die…”
It was okay speaking in this flowery way to Madame Mezmer. I’d become her little ‘Hypna’, her goddess daughter of the underworld. I’d described my father’s handsome features and ripped body, how well-endowed he was. She understood.
She whispered:
“… You’re still a virgin… there’s so many other men… that blonde-haired viking tonight…”
The blonde-haired volunteer had been fit alright, but he wasn’t a patch on my father.
“… I know, Madame, but…’
Madame Mezmer shook her head. She’d rather I remained a virgin, but my powers were now so great that even without the charisma of a virgin body I could hypnotize almost anybody.
She shook her head.
“… Your father sounds as if he might be particularly resistant to the hypnotic process… he might be one of those who are simply beyond hypnotizing…”
I’d told her how strong-minded my father was, how fixed my Dad was in his moral opinions. I’d explained about ‘hocus pocus’ and ‘a total con’ and ‘a sex ring conning young girls into sex work! ’ I’d told her how I’d had to sneak out to the interview in secret, how furious my father had become when I confessed that I was working as Madame Mezmer’s assistant.
Madame’s eyes grew serious:
“… Very well then… I’d better give you a few tips on how to get your way if things prove difficult…”
She nodded at the incense burner:
“… See this… what perfumes do we burn to create the hypnotic effect…?”
I answered:
“… Patchouli… musk… black licorice…”
The fumes were even now filling the room. Madame was never without her incense burner.
She smiled:
“… And… well… for that special occasion… that real challenge…” She waved with her hand for me to approach. “… Come here…!”
I swayed towards her. I was still in my bikini from the show. I felt embarrassed. I was always moist between the legs after a show. My G-string tugged at a wet mess of yearning juice. I’d learned how to conceal my orgasms when I was on stage, no matter how voluptuously the amethyst swung. I knew how to control every last jerk or kick or slither as I climaxed, but my self control only left me even hotter and wetter by the time the evening was over.
Madame flicked with her nail at the jewel hanging from my navel. The amethyst jumped.
She picked up a feather. The feather was white.
She reached between my legs and pulled my G-string aside and frisked the feather across my sopping gash.
I kicked off at once. I spasm-d almost instantly.
“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”
My tail-bone kicked. My pussy jerked and bucked. My hot cunt went into helpless meltdown. All the unstoppable desire I’d held back during my performance coursed in a hot tsunami through my body.
“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”
Warm juice trickled down my inner thighs. My pussy quaked in a mess of sopping cream. When Madame drew the feather away its white fronds were dark and wet.
“Ey?”
She dropped the feather in the flame. The feather crackled. It curled up into an instant, agonizing crisp. A sharp, heady fragrance filled the air. I felt giddy. The floor rocked under my feet. The scent went straight to my head.
“… Oh… oh…”
Madame Mezmer showed me how to prepare my father for hypnotism.
I crept into my parents’ bedroom at precisely three a.m on the morning of Friday the third. Madame had instructed me on the exact time I should begin my attempt on my father’s forbidden cerebral regions.
Dim moonlight filtered through my Mom and Dad’s bedroom curtains.
The sound of their slumbering breaths seemed particularly loud in the post-midnight hush, my mother’s breathing lighter and more sketchy, my father’s deeper and more rhythmic with the occasional rumbling snore.
Madame had told me that, if I were to alert my father’s subconscious mind to my need, I had first to arouse his senses to my limbic presence and its insatiable desire. I needed to awaken his interest in my teenage body while he was in the Alpha brainwave state of deep, dreamless sleep. I had to arouse his limbic awareness of my smoking hot teenage body so that he’d soon give in to my arguments about the power of hypnosis and openly challenge me to try and hypnotize him.
I crept towards their bed. My feet sank noiselessly into the deep pile bedroom carpet. It seemed that I was treading on the hushed softness of black magic as much as the path of hypnosis which I now knew so intimately.
The molten moonlight filling the room felt scary. If I freaked them, if either one of them opened their eyes, I’d be immediately visible.
I was in luck. My father lay on his left side with his back to my mother and his face turned outwards towards the room. His chiseled features were stunningly handsome. Composed in sleep, his drop-dead-gorgeous face was heart-stoppingly powerful.
I was wearing the gold sequin-d bikini I wore for my performances with Madame Mezmer. My breasts tugged helplessly, overflowing the tiny triangles. My nipples ached, breathing hard against skittering sequins.
My G-string quaked in a mess of pulsing wetness. These days I lived in a state of constant arousal, the thought fucking my hunky father constantly on my mind.
Slipping my fingertip into my sopping cunt was the work of a moment.
I drew it out wet and slippery.
My hot juice prickled in the warmth of his breathing. I passed my slippery fingertip before his nostrils seven times. I let his slumbering subconsciousness inhale my burning need. I thought the suggestions I’d prepared into the Theta wave-lengths behind his eyes. Seven times I dipped my finger into my pulsing pussy and drew it out hot and tangy.
‘… You will let her try… you will let her try… you will allow your perky daughter to try and hypnotize you… you’ll humor her… you will let your virgin daughter at least attempt to control your mind…’
That was all I dared think into his brain for the time being.
Madame had told me I must think the suggestions, implant my commands by thought alone, no touching but…
… My father’s face was so beautiful, his body was so ripped beneath the sheet…
… I slid my fingertip deep into my throbbing gash, climaxing soundlessly, motionlessly, helplessly, my pussy lifting, my toned butt jerking…
… And drew my finger out…
… And ran my wet fingertip across my father’s upper lip…
… I rubbed my hot slit’s voluptuous juice into the gorgeous contours above his upper lip…
… My slippery wetness prickled where he’d soon be having his morning shave…
My Dad stopped breathing.
His broad lips parted, his top lip hot and dewy.
I snatched my hand away.
His body shuddered under the sheet.
My father groaned and rolled away from me, onto his back. I beat a silent retreat before his eyes could open.
Next morning the effect of my black magic—if that was indeed what it was—became immediately evident.
My Dad was in an extra argumentative mood. He harped on about my job with Madame Mezmer. His opposition to my work as a hypnotist’s assistant had grown fiercer and more adamant overnight, just as Madame Mezmer had said it would.
“You can find a proper job. I’m not having a daughter of mine parading around on stage in a fuck-me bikini!”
His moral uprightness was even more aroused than usual after my visit to his room.
“Da-aaad. It’s the only job I could get. I like it. I get loads of tips.”
“What?!” He exploded. “Tips? For what, Gracie? To do what? From those sleazy ‘volunteers’ she lines up?”
I blurted:
“To do nothing. She doesn’t line them up. They’re real volunteers.”
“Don’t talk rubbish! You’re old enough to know better! Madame Mezmer’s an old fraud. The whole thing’s a total con!”
I stamped my foot.
“It is not a con! I know about hypnosis myself now. I can do hypnosis myself now!”
Big mistake. My father was furious.
“… You what…?”
I pushed on:
“I know how to hypnotize people myself! It isn’t a fraud at all!”
Our conversation slipped into the same groove as it always did, our words becoming more and more passionate, my father insisting more and more adamantly that I give up my job with Madame Mezmer.
“It’s real, Dad! It really happens! Theta brainwaves!” It was hard to talk sense when my father was angry. “The trance state is genuine. The subject’s mind becomes totally open to suggestion! The person does whatever the hypnotist commands!”
“I’ve never heard such rubbish in my life! Hocus pocus!”
My father talked less and less sense, the angrier he got.
I blurted:
“You’re just scared!”
“What?”
“You’re just frightened!”
“Frightened? Me?”
Now he was furious.
“Yes. Scared. You’re frightened that if you submit yourself to hypnosis you’ll see how powerful it is… how powerful and… and…!”
“I don’t need to submit to it! I know it’s hocus pocus already!”
He was taking the bait.
“You’re scared to even let your eighteen-year-old daughter hypnotize you! And she’s just a novice!”
“No I’m not! That isn’t true!”
“You think I’m just some dumb bimbo bamboozled by superstition… and you’re scared to even try it with me!”
“I’m not scared. I just…”
My voice rang out loud and clear:
“Okay! One session! One try! With your dumb daughter! If it doesn’t work I’ll give up my job! If I fail to hypnotize you I’ll give up working for Madame Mezmer!”
I faced him down. I challenged his pride and his belief in his own imperturbable intelligence. It was a challenge he couldn’t refuse.
“Okay! Deal! Done! One session! You fail, and you give up that goddamned job! Okay! When?”
“Tomorrow! Tomorrow night! Nine o’clock in my room!”
My Mom was out tomorrow night.
My father was out in the kitchen, humphing and grumbling, doing the washing up. He was irritated that he’d given in to my challenge and agreed to a ‘hocus pocus’ session.
I got my room ready. I had my own incense burner now. I lit the flame and poured essence of patchouli, musk and black licorice into the bowl.
Heady fumes wafted forth. They soused the Third Eye and the mystic diagrams that had replaced the boy bands on my bedroom walls.
I added a white feather drenched in the juice of a particularly ecstatic climax to the flame and gusts of heady smoke billowed forth and stung my eyes.
Madame Mezmer had loaned me a tape of the lulling music she used in her shows. Gongs and wind-chimes and chanting voices floated on the smoky air.
I put on my bikini. I slipped the amethyst on its tiny chain into my navel piercing.
I called out:
“… Dad… I’m ready…”
He came in grumbling and obstreperous:
“I don’t believe I’m doing this!” He glanced around at the diagrams and incense burner. “Why don’t you act your age, Gracie?”
I coo-d. I made my voice as gentle as possible:
“… You promised, Daddy…”
He scowled at my bikini, at the amethyst dangling in my navel.
“Disgusting!”
I murmured:
“Just sit down, Daddy. If I fail I’ll hand in my notice tomorrow.”
He plonked down in the chair I’d brought in from the dining room table. He growled:
“Too right you’re going to fail!”
I smiled as sweetly as I could.
“… Just relax then… if I fail I fail…”
He crossed his legs in a no-nonsense way. He folded his arms angrily across his chest.
“… No, Daddy… not like that… relax… just relax… arms dangling… feet on the floor… you can spread your legs if you like…”
Perhaps the patchouli and musk and black licorice were already having an effect… or the music’s lulling wavelengths were already doing their work… instead of grumbling, or even downright walking out of the room, my father sucked in an impatient breath and let his hands hang loose. He planted both feet firmly on the floor and spread his legs as I’d instructed him.
I murmured:
“… Now keep your eyes on the amethyst…”
He didn’t say anything.
I drifted between his knees, rocking gently to the lapping waves of the music, the amethyst stirring on the silky skin beneath my undulating belly button.
“… You’re going on a long journey, Daddy… into a deep peaceful place…”
He snorted—he was going to be a hard nut to crack, my Dad would be more difficult to hypnotize than the volunteers at Madame’s shows— but he kept his eyes on the motion of the amethyst.
“… You’re traveling down a spiral stairway…”
A sweet, melting sensation stirred in my butt. A molten warmth clutched my tail-bone and rocked my butt on luxurious waves of subtle heat. Slipping and sliding on my silky belly the amethyst’s motion grew lighter and more rhythmic, picking up the luscious rhythm pulsing in my pussy.
“… The stairway opens out into a luminous place of peace and light…”
The amethyst slithered on a churn of ecstasy, slipping and sliding from side to side moving to the pendulum rhythm of my gathering excitement.
“… In the luminous place of peace and light you can think any thought you like… oh… oh… oh fuck…”
His body straightened. He stopped breathing… but my father’s eyes still never once left the swaying amethyst rocking on the silky waves of my helpless pleasure I having him so near, his ripped body so close to my quaking pussy. The Theta waves were holding his brain in thrall.
“… In the luminous place you can do anything you like, Daddy…”
His eyes grew rapt and empty. His dark irises stirred from side to side, glued to the amethyst’s sumptuous to and fro.
My father was becoming so deeply hypnotized his gaze didn’t even stray to the sequins bathing in my sumptuous pussy juice, the golden G-string marinating in my helpless gash, the creamy trickles sliding down the hollows of my inner thighs.
“… In the luminous place you can do anything your daughter likes…”
A breathless groan:
“… Yes…”
My full breasts swayed on their own luscious ocean, strained at the skimpy bikini straps, but all he saw was the amethyst.
I murmured:
“… Your daughter’s hot…”
A deep groan:
“… Mm-mmm…”
“You’ve been thinking how hot your daughter is, ever since she turned eighteen…”
I added ‘ever since she turned eighteen’ breathlessly. I didn’t want to spook him.
He murmured:
“… That’s right…”
Perhaps he had been thinking how hot his daughter was, thinking it innocently, purely, in a protective, fatherly sort of way.
I swayed a fraction closer, my belly pumping helplessly, the amethyst twitching helplessly, another orgasm gathering in my stomach. I was losing control. I was going to spook him. I was going to freak him out if I came.
I whispered:
“… You’ve been thinking how nice your daughter’s body must feel if only you could touch it…”
He groaned:
“… Yes… yes…”
I held my breath. I tried to sound commanding:
“… Touch it… touch your daughter’s hot teenage body…”
His hand lifted from his knee like an automaton’s. He reached out. His fingertips strayed across the silky expanse of my belly, felt it clench in orgasm, touched the slippery scorpion quaking in my groin.
“… Lower… touch her lower… touch your daughter’s juicy, virgin cunt…”
He froze. He’d always hated bad language. ‘Cunt’ had just slipped out helplessly. ‘Cunt’ freaked him.
I whispered:
“… Touch me, Daddy… touch my hot pussy…”
Worse and worse. I needed to keep it impersonal. ‘Me’ was totally wrong. In the luminous place we shared, I was that distant, mystic thing, ‘his daughter’… not ‘me’…
His hand slid into my thong. Sequins rustled and whispered. His powerful knuckles thrust inside Madame’s fuck-me thong. His fingertips pushed beneath my G-string. They sank into the luscious meltdown throbbing between my legs.
“… Oh… oh…”
I went up on tip toe. My split arched. My hot cunt spasm-d on a sudden pang of ecstasy. My father’s strong fingers plundered my sopping depths.
“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”
The amethyst swung wildly. I was losing him. The pad of his third finger ground my pulsing clit into a mess of jerking sweetness. My back arched. My tail-bone kicked. A helpless climax lifted me up. My hot cunt slipped and slid in the slippery palm of his hand. I’d blown it. I’d broken the trance. I’d interrupted the Theta waves lulling his hypnotized brain.
My father lifted his eyes to mine, still dark and empty, but baffled.
I gazed back into his empty eyes. I stared into the depths of his eyes as darkly and as emptily as I could. I murmured:
“… You love me…”
“… Yes… yes…”
“… You love your smoking hot daughter…”
“… Mm-mmm…”
“… Loving her isn’t wrong…”
“… No… no it isn’t…”
“… Loving your hot virgin daughter is the best thing ever…”
A groan of assent.
He lurched forward in the chair. Pussy juice trickled between his knuckles. His fingers sank deeper, plundering my hot gash. My wet cunt jerked in ecstatic reply.
I leaned forwards:
“… You want to suck your daughter’s virgin tits…”
He groaned:
“… Yes…!”
“… You need to taste her luscious softness…”
His mouth lifted. His lips parted. I jammed my yearning fullness, my aching nipple, slippery sequins into his beautiful mouth. I filled my father’s mouth with my newly-curvaceous softness.
“… Your hot little daughter tastes good…”
“… Mm-mmmmmmm… mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”
I reached round and untied my bikini strings.
“… Her lovely big tits belong to you… she wants you to bite her perky little nipples…”
He lifted his head a way for a second. He spat out my saliva-slippery bikini top and battened on my succulent softness again.
“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”
I was out of control. I climaxed again and again. His teeth closed round my nipple. He bit hard, tonguing my clamped nipple in ecstatic agony.
“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”
My pussy flexed. My wet cunt jerked from his hand. A voluptuous helplessness took hold. I slithered down his body unbuttoning buttons as I fell, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, subsiding onto my knees.
I freed his cock from his briefs. It stood up tall and thick and raw and rock-hard.
My heart quailed.
My father’s thing was bigger than I remembered. I knew my father’s cock was oversized, but I’d only glimpsed it when it was soft and relaxed. Now he was erect. He was way too big. He was going to hurt me. Even with my pussy wet and wide open and spasming helplessly I’d never get it all in. I’d never get it all in without my father tearing me apart.
I groaned:
“… You want your smoking hot daughter to suck your big cock…”
It was hopeless. The trance was broken. My eagerness had shattered his hypnotized state.
Strong fingers ran through my silky hair.
“… Yes… I want her to suck my cock…”
I was still ‘her’, not ‘you’. My hot mouth was still ‘hers’ not ‘yours’.
I nuzzled my nose between two tight, pulsing rocks. His balls throbbed with all the hot, rich cum he was about to give me. I snuffled his thick luxurious bush. I licked wet snail-tracks between my father’s massive balls and took one in my mouth.
“… Argh… argh…”
His tight sac was so big and packed with throbbing life-force I stopped breathing altogether. I gargled my father’s stallion ball in luscious throat honey.
“… Glurg… gla-aaarg… argh-lllllll…”
He didn’t stop me when I moved to the other one. His fingers were too busy registering the silky softness of my hair.
“… Mm-mmmmmmm…’
I released his slippery ball sac. I licked my way up my father’s throbbing shaft. I tongued sweet spasms into his slippery spear-head. I took his swollen tip between my lips and bathed his pounding need to fuck me in a succulent moue.
“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm… your daughter sucks cock good…”
I didn’t know what I was saying. It was the first cock I’d ever sucked. I didn’t know whether I was doing it good or not.
He groaned:
“… Yes…”
I clamped the ridge of his glans in a yearning love-bite. I tongued sweet love into his throbbing spear-head.
“… Argh… argh…”
His fists tightened in my hair. His big fists grabbed two savage handfuls and rammed my mouth up and down on his pounding piston, my teeth raking spasming ecstasy from his thick shaft.
He slammed my wind-pipe down gullet-deep on his pulsing prong. My father held me there, choking and gagging on his big cock.
“… Glurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”
Gag and spittle overflowed my stretched lips. Sticky wetness ran down my chin. It puddled in my perky cleavage. I choked and spluttered. I was running out of air. I couldn’t speak. I thought the command straight into his brain:
‘… Your daughter’s beautiful…’
“… Yes…”
‘… She’s hot…’
“… Mm-mmmmmmm…”
‘… She belongs to you… she’s yours entirely…’
“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…!”
‘… You want to fuck her…’
“… Yes…”
‘… You want to fuck her stupid…’
I held my breath.
An agonized groan:
“… Yes… I want to fuck her stupid…”
I climbed up his body. I kissed my way up his hunky body. I straddled him. His big cock swung thick and raw and slippery where my hot slit arched above him. My wet pussy jerked and bucked, searching my father’s throbbing spear-head. My molten gash slipped and slithered on his pulsing prong.
Strong hands too hold of my hips. Warm palms stilled the quaking of my winged hips, guided my juicy entrance down onto his swollen tip. I quaked in ecstasy:
“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”
My pussy’s sopping lips turned to molten cling-film clasping and unclasping helplessly on the raw power of my father’s pulsing spear-head.
For an instant I froze. He was too big. His cock was too thick. He was going to hurt me. His pounding piston was going to split me in two. I was his virgin daughter and I’d seduced him. I’d tricked him. And now he was going to make me pay for deceiving him.
He felt me flinch. He registered the sudden spasm thrilling through my virgin body.
He stopped dead. His cock’s swollen tip froze, the spell broken, the hypnotic state dispelled by my flinch of fear, a stallion father, fully conscious again, his daughter’s wet cunt spasming on his rock-hard spear-head.
“… Please, Daddy… ple-eeease… fuck me… fuck me…”
Our eyes locked. He held my eyes. His dark eyes looked deep into mine, wide awake. I was no longer Hypna, the Goddess of Hypnosis. I saw his dumb, helpless daughter, Gracie, reflected in my father’s dark brown eyes.
Suggestion was out of the question. I wasn’t a skilled hypnotist at all. I was just his stupid little daughter, the power to command vanished, just one desperate plea left in my mouth:
“… Ple-eeeeeeeeeeeeeese… fuck me… fuck me hard…”
I was his daughter. He was my father. It was the strongest hypnosis of all.
He slammed his rock-hard cock up into my sopping depths hard and fast and deep. His stallion buttocks drove his throbbing spear-head cervix deep into my helpless meltdown.
“… Yes… yes…”
My molten pussy went into ecstatic rut on the pile-driver after pile-driver stabbing up into my pulsing gash. I locked his powerful hips between my virgin thighs and undulated deliciously on his throbbing prong. He owned me. He possessed me. He was my father. I belonged to him body and soul. I needed his hot cum inside me more than I’d ever needed anything in the world. I went over the brink again and again, riding on his savage stabs.
“… Please… ple-eeeeeeeeease…”
Hot juice trickled down my inner thighs and drenched his thick bush in loving wetness. My virgin cream anointed his throbbing shaft.
His hands slid from my hips to my curvaceous butt. His strong hands cupped my silky ass-cheeks. Drove me hard and helpless back and forth on his pulsing prong.
“… Yes… yes… fuck me… fuck me hard…”
He knew my need. He heard my helpless plea.
“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”
His big cock exploded deep inside me. My father’s throbbing spear-head pumped surge after surge of hot cum into my sopping depths. The jolt of his final stab stretched my virgin pussy tight on his rock-hard thickness, filling my quaking gash with his luscious warmth, so much life-giving semen it was streaming down my silky butt already.
“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”
I slumped against him, the after-shocks of his explosion thrilling through my perky body. His shirt was undone. My full tits spread their sumptuous heat all over his ripped pecs.
I buried my head in his shoulder. The spell was broken. The hypnotic trance was blown away. I dreaded what his eyes would say when he looked at me.
We kissed. Our mouths battened. My plump, teenage lips plastered his powerful mouth with urgent wetness. My tongue-tip found his strong mouth-meat. Our tongues grappled voluptuously. The spell was broken, but he loved me as passionately as I loved him. We kissed long and sweet and deep, my wet cunt still impaled on his big cock. He’d taken my virginity. There could be no doubt that I was already knocked up.
My pussy quaked ecstatically. I felt his thick shaft twitch and stiffen inside me. My Dad and I were going to do this again and again and again.