“See!” I exclaimed with elation. “I told you that you couldn’t hypnotize me.”
Smiling broadly, triumph showing in my face, I leaned back against the soft couch and spread my arms across the back. I felt super-fantastic, which is like regular fantastic, but with a cape and a big “S” on your chest. I felt like a teenager again, all energy and exuberance, happy and carefree, giddy and enthusiastic. Even the aches and pains, the telltale vestiges of growing older, had faded into the realm of distant memory. But why was I sitting so proudly on the couch?
Just a few minutes ago, Glade had been telling me all about his commemorative coin. I had been sitting in the chair, the big, soft, comfy, threadbare armchair with Lion’s claws for feet. It didn’t seem to matter.
I know. I meant to sit in the chair but sat on the couch instead, I reasoned.
My boyfriend’s patter about the coin had been mesmerizing. Not only is he super-hot, which is like regular hot but with a cape, but his voice is so animated, so soothing, so hypnotic. Hypnotic? A vague memory, perhaps a dream, danced through my mind, playing on my mental silver screen. Seated in front of me, looking me in the eyes, glancing down at the coin now and then, he told me how he won the coin in a contest, how it brought him luck, and how much he liked how it shines, the feel of it, the weight of it. Compelled at his suggestion to test the weight, I recall feeling the cold metal in my palm; it was so heavy that my arm dropped limply down to the cushion under its mass.
His voice was remembered; however the room, my thoughts, my fears, my trepidation about him trying to hypnotize me all faded away, falling into the void.
The problem with being an exhibitionist is that it makes you something of a succubus. When one gets their thrills by thrilling others, one needs to keep the excitement fresh and new otherwise they receive no pleasure. My constant quest to be more daring, to become wilder and wilder, had led me to try anything new that I could think of. I pursued the path of "sluthood” with vigor and enthusiasm. I stumbled upon erotic hypnosis and asked an online friend about it. As it turned out, she had experienced it and enjoyed it. I researched the matter and thought that perhaps I’d write a story about it. Then came the bomb drop comments from the boyfriend.
"I know how to hypnotize people," he shrugged. "In college, I took several classes when I majored in psychology. I was actually quite good at it."
I cried foul at that, ended up betting him that he couldn’t. “I call your bluff,” was the defiant challenge.
The recollection of being in the comfy chair danced within my mind. He had produced the coin, “before we begin,” and began telling me about it; the world faded away.
“Not hypnotized in the least,” was my self-edifying statement. My body no longer ached; I felt marvelous, refreshed. The couch was my new perch. “Maybe he did. Fuck! He did. I remember now. “
Dreamlike recollections of going into a sort of trance, not zombie-like, more akin to that feeling just before one drifts off to sleep came, unbidden, to my mind. I was sure of two things at that moment; he had hypnotized me and I loved that feeling. I really wanted to experience that again. The desire to trance out once more was fighting for dominance with the desire for sex.
The feeling had been pure rapture. I was falling, floating, flying, all happiness and relaxation. My body was alight with sensual feelings and thoughts. It was an incredibly horny experience! The flesh felt the loving attentions of thousands of fingers caressing every inch, a thousand tongues licking at my most sensitive spots. All those sensations crept back into my body and the recollection hit me. My thighs heated into a furnace of passion; my cunt dripped, soaking the couch. My nipples felt as if they were being suckled by eager nymphomaniacs.
“Okay,” my confession began. “Maybe you did.”
The urge for sex, for an orgasm, was almost overpowering. My mind took a first-class bullet-train ride to naughty town. The thoughts that I wanted to be his slut, his whore, his dirty fucking bimbo echoed through my head. It wasn’t that I wanted to be these things for him; I wanted to be like that because it was getting me off. I wanted to show him exactly how horny and wild I could be. It would thrill him and thrill me by proxy.
“Tell me,” Glade said, his eyes twinkling with delight, his voice calm, soothing, and extremely arousing all at once. “What’s your name? Do you remember your name?”
“Of course,” I laughed. “What a silly question! My name is Horny Cum Slut.”
“Did I just say that?”
“No!” I corrected. “I mean, my name is Fuck Whore. No! I’m a big fucking slut. Wait, my name is Dirty Fucking Bimbo.”
Selective amnesia set its hooks deeply into me. Every time I tried to say my name, my inner sex demons peeked out and revealed my true, horny thoughts. To make matters worse, visions of why my name is “Cock Sucking Whore” filled my inner eye and mind as the words came out of my mouth. Each time I’d try to say my real name, something such as “Dirty Talking Slut” would become my name. It made me so horny that I couldn’t control my impulses.
Moans escaped my mouth; my hands groped at my dripping cunt, my breasts. My hips bucked in time with my syllables, orgasmic release just a word or two away. I was just a swear word away from squirting into my skirt; all I needed was to say my name.
"I'm your fuck toy! No, I mean I want you to use me like a cheap whore!" An orgasm unlike any I've ever had ambushed my body and sent me into convulsions. Moaning and screaming out what an exhibitionist slut I am, how I crave others to want me, I fingered my rock-hard clit over my skirt and tugged my nipples into painful ecstasy as wave after wave of intense pleasure consumed my entire body. The orgasm came from within, starting in my mind and then assaulting my flesh. It was unlike a purely physical orgasm, but just as intense, more intense in some ways.
Words echoed in my head. "Ten times harder than you’ve cum in your life; a thousand times hornier than you've ever been." The snapping fingers and the soft, slow-spoken numbers came into focus as the room lit up around me once more.
“Three, wider and wider awake. Two, feeling a hundred times better and a thousand times hornier than you’ve ever been. Fully awake, wanting to go to sleep on my command. ONE!”
My boyfriend was hotter than I ever realized! Those tight muscles of his rippled with every breath. That massive cock of his, I could sense, would make me cum as soon as I touched it. His clothes were cut perfectly to show off his body—the best, sexiest body I’ve ever seen. Just looking at him made my cunt gush with desire. That smile! Those eyes! His eyes held me, subdued me, made me want to fuck him.