For a second, the Barbie-blonde from accounts scowled at Fred's tiny ray gun while it flashed and crackled in his fist. Then she blinked. Then her cheeks pinked. Then she smirked and dropped to her knees.
Fred was not an unattractive man. He was tall and muscular and had the set chin and sparkling eyes of a superhero. He had even been told – albeit by his wife – that he was unusually well-hung, too. There was no reason why he needed a hypno-ray to entice women. Other than being married.
His unavailability hung over him like an invisibility cloak. Women would catch his eye, smile, check the ring, and then look straight through him. Even when he took the ring off, they seemed to sense marriage on him and suddenly he wasn't even in the room. It both surprised and annoyed Fred that, contrary to what porn promised, women really cared about shit like that. Marriage. Trust.
It had taken a little longer than expected to get the accounts girl, Clarice, to finally admit where she wanted to be; on her knees, undoing the front of his trousers. But now here she was, making some silly joke about needing cream with her coffee and Fred swallowed a cheer, along with an unexpected lump in his throat. It had been so long – eight years six months and fifteen days, in fact – since his wife last sucked him off. The need had grown solid in him, tumorous. Sometimes he wondered if it had entirely replaced his soul.
Sensing Fred's marital stress, his brother – a consultant hypnotherapist – had given him a hypno-ray gun to test. It was the culmination of years of research but his brother was customarily cautious.
"Just picture what you want, point and fire," he'd said. "But remember, hypnosis isn't magic. You can't make people do what they are not prepared to do. You will still need to find someone who secretly wants to do..."
"Me."
His brother curled a lip. "Quite..." He held up the little red gun. "But Fred, this isn't a weapon. It's not designed to abuse. It's a therapy tool. It helps people get what they really want. Maybe they're shy, or have some half-baked point of principle that blocks them. This will help clear their mind. Even then it won't be immediate. Take it slowly, bit by bit. Preparation is key."
So, in preparation for this blonde-bombshell blowjob of his life, Fred had started with an easy target. Just to get the hang of things, he hypnotised his wife, Jane.
They had been married for ten years, and sex had become a bland succession of Sunday night shags. Jane would grab his cock, work it stiff, and then open her legs. Then she would lie there with her eyes closed while he rocked in and out of her until he came. Sometimes she'd gasp into an orgasm that sounded more like exasperation over unwashed dishes. She didn't want anything else from him, not a touch, not a tongue. He loved to eat her but she was no longer on the menu, and as for eating him? Not on all the menus in the world.
So, when Jane and he kissed stiffly goodbye one ordinary Tuesday morning, he pressed the ray-gun muzzle to her bottom. "Want me," he thought with all his strength. "Want me. Want me."
He pulled the trigger.
Astonishing. Jane squeaked, mid kiss, then she... She just melted. Her mouth relaxed against his. Gone were the asshole-tight lips, back were the plump yielding pillows. Her mouth opened, her tongue teased his. He grew powerfully hard against her stomach and she sighed and pushed against it.
"Oh... my," she breathed. "Now that's an eager tongue!"
Fred smiled. Jane had a face on that he hadn't seen in years, big doe-eyes, a little smirk. This seemed to be working.
"It's multi-purpose," he said, enjoying the unreality, the idea he could say and do anything right now.
"Oh I see..." She quickly unfastened her jeans. "Then you're going to have to put it to work." She yanked them off, along with her knickers, and flopped back on an armchair; the one she'd put in the hall to encourage him to remove his outside shoes. She didn't even take her top off, just pulled her legs into a splayed M, hooking them over the arms of the chair.
Fred dropped to his knees like her spread was the last watering hole in the dessert. Her fleshy sex, usually reticent, was already puffy and slick with arousal. He lapped her juices from her slot to her bud. She squeaked, then as he flapped his tongue gently at her clit, sighed as if getting into a hot bath.
He licked her to a quick, shuddering, climax that left her squealing with giggles, then playfully flipping over and tipping up her bottom. He released his pent up cock ready to take up the offer when she sparkled over her shoulder, wriggling her hips. "More tongue, first," she croaked."Please."
He rolled his eyes but had his wife's flushed and sopping folds back in his mouth before the 'please' had fully left hers.
She took longer to cum this time, but Fred didn't complain, just got comfy, laying his head back on the seat. Jane squatted over him, indecently, if not acrobatically, perched across the sturdy arms of the chair like a porn star. She muttered unusual, wildly uninhibited, instructions: "Suck my clit." "Put your finger inside." "Deeper." "Quicker tongue— yes! That! That!"
After ten years of marriage, to be explicitly told what his wife wanted was the most exciting experience of his married life. For a moment, after she'd howled on his busy mouth and fingers, when he stood behind her and his rigid fat cock plunged out a deep, primal moan from her, Fred quite forgot this was only a practice run.
His wife's fine, round arse looked wonderful plumping back at his front but, with luck, he might get an even greater treat on the end of his cock very soon. And instead of shooting his load into this ready hollow it would be sucked out by a woman so into him she gobbled him up for her own pleasure. He bellowed and exploded into Jane, eyes tight shut, conjuring an eager mouth where his wife's sloppy hole quivered, even as they came for the first time in years, maybe ever, together.
Afterward, dressed and reprising the, "have a nice day" off-to-work ritual, Jane had puffed out a long and happy sigh. She squeezed his erection, unbelievably ready for more. "Oh ok," she whispered, leaning down to look at the lump in his trousers. "I'll see you later, then"
Result. The experiment had been a complete success. So successful, in fact, that it took him a good day or two before he even cared to go to level two: the blowjob he desperately needed. However, when he did finally get round to it, he wished he had started earlier.
His brother was right. The hypno-ray certainly didn't guarantee immediate results. He fired it, secretly and openly at every woman in the office to no effect other than bemusement. Even if they did secretly want him, they all knew, and loved Jane. Before embarking on her writing career, she had worked with them. They would never betray her.
There was only one woman left, and Fred almost didn't bother: A new girl, Clarice from accounts. 'Clear-ice' he called her behind her back. She had never met his wife but was the kind of clean, polite woman that ate bananas with a knife and fork. Not only that, she was out of his league, out of anyone's league, a diamond mind wrapped up in a supermodel. She could put you down with a smile, and have you grateful for the attention.
With an overwhelming sense of pointlessness Fred organised a meeting in her office, while she quizzed him on some (deliberately) anomalous details on his time sheets. His heart thumped so hard his entire body seemed flushed to twice its size.
There was no comfort from Clarice, though, she pulled her lips into a practiced smile and barely looked him in the eye. Worse, after she shook his hand he clocked her discretely wiping her palm on her skirt.
The thought of suddenly zapping this impressive woman with a ray gun seemed absurd. If the thing didn't work – and recent evidence suggested it didn't – he would never live it down. But no. It did work, he told himself, picturing his wife's rude spread. It did actually work. It was only a question of whether Clarice secretly wanted him or not. All he had to do to win the sexual experience of his life was...
He reached for his pen, and pulled out the hypno-ray. "Want me," he thought-screamed, imagining the picture-perfect beauty cumming while she heartily sucked him off. "Want me."
"Sweet," Clarice said humourlessly as the little gun fizzed and popped between them. "Now, about this overtime..."
His cheeks prickling, Fred put the gun away and tried to pretend nothing had happened. He sighed and leant across the desk, where she was pointing out his schoolboy errors. He breathed in the lemony fragrance of her hair and supposed this would be as close as he ever got to this woman.
Then, slowly, her ears reddened. A blush spread across her cheeks. She cleared her throat and turned to him, her doll-like brow wrinkling.
"Actually." Her eyes darted between his, pupils stretched wide against her cool-blue irises. "Fred, would you mind if we do this later? I... I just need... Umm." She nibbled the end of her pen and flicked her foot.
Fred wanted to kiss her neat and perfect lips, all over, but he swallowed. He nodded gallantly and left the office. She slammed the door behind him and a lock clicked.
He cursed, hovering at the door, desperate to know what Clarice was doing behind it. Then a succession of unmistakable, escalating pants swelled into moans and a flurry of curses. Fred's spinning head sagged against the door. If his brother was right, Clarice was doing that, right now, while imagining doing him.
His hard-on kept him – and Jane – awake into the small hours. The thought that someone like Clarice wanted him and that she harboured such hardcore fantasies for him, was bedazzling enough. Especially considering that he had been pretty damned specific about what he needed, in his porno prayer to the hypno gods. But knowing that, thanks to his brilliant brother, Fred and Clarice would soon be doing it all for real made him want to fuck his wife forever.
Even after they had both cum, Fred's rigidity didn't diminish. He ploughed on, unstoppable until Jane came again, gripping him like a baby monkey and gasping sibilant "yesses" into his neck.
The next day, Clarice had her habitually-bunned hair loose and wore a summer dress instead of her usual power-suit. Little creases under her enormous eyes suggested she hadn't slept too well either.
When she passed Fred's office she scowled, her eyelashes blatting as if to try and rid him from her gaze, yet still looking in at him. Fred wondered how much of the hypno-ray people retained. Since he had zapped Jane they'd been on perpetual honeymoon. Had Clarice been mesmerised all night by him? Was she still full of the suggestions he shot at her?
Clarice marched passed his office, then reappeared. She knocked on his open door. "Umm...When can we finish what we started yesterday?" She fiddled with her bare ring finger, drilling a gaze into his desk.
He shot her from his pocket. "Want me. Want me. Want me."
With an oddly familiar doe-eyed expression, she leant against his door, biting her lip. She bunched the front of her skirt and leered. Suddenly he knew what a steak felt like. It felt delicious.
"Now?" He said, jumping to his feet.
She nodded excitedly, beaming. Then slammed his office door, locked it, and pounced.
She rammed Fred against the wall, her long willowy figure surprisingly strong, and hauled his head down to hers. Her tongue ram-raided his mouth while her body pushed hard to him, hips rocking at his leg. His cock didn't know whether it wanted to burst out of his trousers or curl up his arse for safety. Fred had a horrible sense of letting a very powerful genie out of its bottle.
