Hypnotic Sex Therapy

The night after the first therapy appointment Rebecca had a series of elaborate, erotic dreams. She woke up tingling, her cotton panties wet and fragrant with excitement, and fleeting images of her dreams flashing though her mind like glimpses of pictures seen through a kaleidoscope lens.

She struggled to remember all the details, but some dreams had already faded to fragments: a clothes store changing room, a deserted beach, a photography session. These images faded the moment she remembered them. Only one dream stuck in her mind as she awoke in the late morning light.

That dream began with her dancing with Andrew at their wedding reception, in the center of a grand, ornate ballroom of black marble and gold. The band played a waltz and as the elegantly dressed couple danced, the other couples stepped back to empty the floor for the happy newlyweds.

With each musical phrase another layer of her shimmering white wedding gown evaporated, exposing her lithe body gradually but relentlessly to the audience. Each veil of gossamer fabric levitated from her gown as though carried off on an unfelt breeze, dissolving into nothingness in the domed vault of the grand ballroom.

The circle of onlookers drew closer and closer around the dancing couple without ever visibly moving. What started the dream as a crowd of the couple’s real family and friends became in her sleeping imagination a shrinking ring of tuxedo-clad men, all anonymous strangers.

The last layer of Rebecca’s gown wafted off her supple frame and dissolved, simultaneously baring her pert breasts, round ass, and smoothly-shaved pussy, leaving her dressed in nothing more than sheer pale stockings, glimmering silver heels, and a pearl and diamond tiara.

The enclosing wall of well-dressed groomsmen gazed audaciously at her undulating form, the growing lust evident in their intense expressions and hoarse whispers of encouragement.

Andrew made no move to cover his virginal bride. Instead, he smiled wickedly and lengthened the pace of his dance steps, bringing his newly betrothed closer and closer to the leering onlookers. He twirled and turned his naked wife in moves more appropriate to a sensuous tango than a traditional waltz, intentionally spreading her thighs, parting her buttocks and cupping her breasts.

Pulling her close, facing each other in a tight embrace, he ran his strong fingertips down her spine, wet with perspiration. She gasped as his moistened fingers slipped between her cheeks, and he easily lifted her weightless dream body off her feet. As she dangled helplessly, his middle finger threatening rude entrance into her sensitive rosette, he rasped an imperative.

“Tell me to stop!”

In the logic of the dream she didn’t need to move and he didn’t either, and yet his naked, hard member was pressing against her upper thigh as though it had never been covered by the smooth fabric of his tuxedo slacks.

“No,” she whispered softly but defiantly as his finger probed past the tight ring of muscle, and as she felt the tip of his cock searching, as though animated by its own rapacious desires, for her warm wetness. She felt the eyes of the men, heard their grunts and moans close…almost touching.

“Make me stop!” he insisted again in a guttural bellow. But his voice was a lie; his words had no meaning.

The truth was in his ravenous eyes, in his penetrating fingers behind and beneath her, in his inquisitive manhood that had now snaked its way unerringly to its target, demanding entrance into her virginal womb.

The truth was in his mind, and his mind was inside hers in the passion of the dream. All the minds were possessed by hers. She saw her glistening body from all eyes at once…saw Andrew’s long, slick, veiny weapon tear her open from below…saw the reaching arms and grasping hands of all the encircling men reach out to clutch her, maul her, pinch her every inch of naked tender flesh as she was impaled by her husband’s pulsing staff.

In the real world of late morning Rebecca lay nude on her belly on her rumpled bed; her fingers whipping her fragrant juices into a froth of sexual desire as she feverishly worked her throbbing clit. She amplified, repeated and redrafted the last night’s reverie into a crushing, shuddering cascade of orgasmic quakes, and a final rolling, thunderous climax that dragged her back into unconsciousness.

___________________________________

The young woman awoke for the second time, spread lewd and naked on her back after nearly an hour of dreamless, exhausted sleep. She was surprised at herself in so many ways.

Normally an early riser, no matter how late she worked or partied, the clock on the dresser now showed past noon. She almost never had erotic dreams and that night she had more than she could remember.

She rarely masturbated and typically felt guilt and shame after bringing herself to, at best, a marginal climax. She had just brought herself to a toe-curling, mind-shattering orgasm and felt nothing but contentedness.

She never stayed naked for long, quickly covering with a towel after showers and not uncovering unless she could quickly dress.

Her mother, left a young widow by her father’s death in Afghanistan, turned to fundamentalist values in her grief and taught Rebecca to repress her sexuality in every way. Her mom met Rebecca’s step-father two years after her father’s death through a Bible study session at their Church. He was studying to be a minister, so the home environment became even more repressive after her mother and step-father had three young daughters of their own.

Now Rebecca made no effort to cover herself as she rolled languidly off the bed and stood next to the full-length mirror on her closet door. Quite the opposite, for perhaps the first time since she reached puberty, she spent time lovingly admiring her sensuous naked form, taking pride in her slim, toned figure and soft, smooth skin.

Instead of worrying about her breasts being too small, as she usually did, she marveled at how firm they were, and how pointy and hard her nipples got when she was excited, as she was now.

Instead of thinking her legs were scrawny and gawky, she admired how long and lean they seemed. She even thought her feet and toes looked graceful and elegant, and this was typically an area of her body that she kept covered with socks, closed-toed shoes, or hid under things when she thought that people might see.

She turned away from the mirror and looked over her shoulder at her reflection. Rebecca knew she was similar to other women in that she always hated her ass. Too small compared to some, too large compared to others, too round compared to most.

In the past she hadn’t found anything worthwhile about her backside, but as she adopted a series of poses in the mirror--on tiptoe, legs together, legs apart, one foot on the bed to spread her cheeks and unashamedly fingering her own puckered opening—she was happy and excited with what she saw, as though looking at herself with new eyes.

What was most surprising to the young woman was the part of the dream where she had been exposed to other men. It had excited her, thrilled her deeply. So much so that just thinking about it again, fantasizing about it again, was making her wet, and giving her an erotic warm need in her belly.

She never would have let herself admit that type of feeling before, but for some reason she felt much more confident and comfortable in her own body, and with her own sexuality, since the therapy session with Andrew and Dr. Carter.

Rebecca checked the clock again. Andrew said he was going to pick her up in a little over an hour so they could go clothes shopping. She was excited about getting a new wardrobe. Her old clothes fit her body but didn’t fit her new self-image. She wanted clothes that were more revealing, more enticing, more sexually adventurous. Andrew deserved to be with someone more confident, and, more importantly, she needed to feel more deserving and attractive herself.

Saturday mornings the three-bedroom apartment she shared was typically empty. Her roommate Stephanie spent most of her free time with her boyfriend, and they always stayed at his apartment over the weekend. Stephie had the master bedroom with the deluxe multi-jet, surrounding showerheads in the bathroom, and Rebecca always preferred that to the tub & shower combination in the second bathroom that she shared with Juliet.

Juliet was an ER nurse, and worked long shifts that typically didn’t bring her home until Saturday evenings. Rebecca at one time had relished the long time alone she could have on Saturdays. Her childhood home had become really busy with her mother and step-father, her three much younger sisters and her all living together in the same two bedroom house that was her natural father’s only valuable possession. She’d put on her long flannel robe and fluffy slippers and read or do college homework by herself in the living room until it was time for her Saturday night shift at the steakhouse.

But that sense of freedom in solitude didn’t last too many weekends and increasingly she found that time alone felt lonely. Her new routine on Saturdays took her to the gym before seven am, to the college library in the morning, and then out to lunch with Andrew before starting her evening shift. Every so often, like tonight, she’d swap her lucrative Saturday night shift with another server so that she could have a special date night, but even on those days she’d rarely hang around the apartment past 8 or 9 in the morning.

It was almost 1pm now, and Rebecca put on the nappy flannel robe and ragged slippers, simply out of habit, for the walk to the master bathroom. She glanced back into the mirror and grimaced. The sexy, attractive woman that she had seen in the mirror just a short time earlier had been replaced by a frumpy hausfrau.

Casting off the robe and kicking off the slippers she was gloriously naked again, and could feel the sexual energy electrically recharging her waning self-confidence. Determined to preserve this new feeling of empowerment, she wadded up the robe and slippers in a ball and strode confidently in the buff out through the living room and into the kitchen.

With a quick glance out the kitchen window to make sure that the service road behind the apartment building was empty of the neighborhood kids that sometimes played there, she opened the door, stepped out on the back deck, lifted the lid of the garbage can and assertively disposed of the outdated symbols of her former, timid self.

Only after the wad of material hit the bottom of the empty container with a soft thud did Rebecca remember that she left her diary in the robe pocket. A surge of irrational fear gripped her over the accidental disposal of her record of the past several years of deepest thoughts and most secret feelings. She had to retrieve it!

Letting go of the doorknob she grabbed the rim of the large, wheeled plastic bin, tilting it toward her and reaching down into it. The can was too deep and she could not reach the robe. She had no choice but to lay the can down on its side on the raised wooden deck and, crouching down on hands and knees, carefully crawl into the container to retrieve her journal. She was never as glad as at this moment that Stephie absolutely required that all kitchen and bathroom garbage be double-bagged before disposal, since that rigidly enforced policy kept the inside of the heavy container clean and dry.

With a gasp of relief she located the treasured book, and as her fingers grasped the smooth leather of the cover, her moment of adrenalin over the possible loss of her diary faded. With a clearer mind she suddenly realized that she was outside her apartment, completely nude, with her ass sticking lewdly out of a nearly empty garbage can. She started to scramble backwards and out, glad in her memory that the service road had been deserted.

Careful not to touch the sides of the bin, Rebecca was almost out when she heard a sound that sent another shock of adrenalin shooting through her system.

“Everything okay here?” came the distinctive, cracking male voice from directly behind her, echoing in the plastic can.

She stopped backing up and looked down and under herself. It was ‘Mr. Roper’, and he was standing on the ground next to their apartment’s raised back deck. His eyes were exactly at the level where he was staring through the open railing right at Rebecca’s naked ass and pussy.

His name wasn’t really Mr. Roper, but he everyone in the apartment complex thought that he was a perfect facsimile of the smarmy character played by Norman Fell in the old “Three’s Company” TV show, and as he was the superintendant for the apartment complex, the secret nickname just stuck. The young woman’s bare feet were almost touching him, and his face was probably less than two feet from her nude, round bottom.

When you stub your toe on the couch and you say “ow” before the pain actually hits, your memory of past pain is working faster than your body can signal the actual pain, and you are reacting to the memory. Rebecca braced for the terrible shame she expected to feel based on just such an anticipation of being totally exposed.

But the shame she expected never engulfed her. Instead, as she looked into the eyes of the older man as he gazed directly between her legs, and she felt a surge of erotic power. She felt control, not vulnerability. She didn’t blush, she giggled.

“Just a minute, Mr. Ro…Henderson.” She backed out of the bin, the soles of her feet touching his flannel shirt, and her delicious backside inching ever closer to his face. He gulped, swallowing audibly as she crouched back and lifted her head clear of the container. Still with her back toward him, she sat back on her heels and looked over her shoulder.

He was still staring unabashedly at her ass. She felt her tight pussy lubricating. “I dropped something by accident.” She stood up, lifting the trash can upright. She could hear Mr. Henderson moan as she turned back to face him, one hand holding the book, the other on her hip. She glanced around to make sure no one else was watching, and as no one was, decided to have a little more fun.

“Rebecca?” he said in surprise.

“Yes, Mr. Henderson, you were expecting someone else?” She smiled and leaned forward, putting her hands on the railing and looming over the flabbergasted superintendant, her small breasts hanging deliciously from her chest.

“Well, yes, I mean, no, I guess I thought that it wouldn’t be you.”

“Wouldn’t be me what, Mr. Henderson?” She put one foot up on the railing, since it seemed the old guy was having a little problem getting the perfect view.

“You’re naked. Out back. You’re always so shy.” She swung her bent knee slowly from side to side, enjoying the feeling of the air on her naked pussy. Mr. Henderson was visibly sweating. He had his left hand shoved deep in his pocket and was obviously touching himself.

“You thought it would be Juliet, or Stephie? Have you seen them naked outdoors, Mr. H?” He shook his head no. “You aren’t too disappointed that it’s me, are you?”

“Oh, no! Not at all, you have a beautiful body,” he choked out, blushing.

“My boobs aren’t too small for you?” She cupped her breasts and pouted, pinching her own hard nipples. “I know Juliet’s are so much bigger. I’ve seen hers, big and round with big pink nipples, but her nipples don’t get hard like mine.”

Mr. Henderson’s lips moved, but no sound came out as he shook his head and tried to indicate that he liked Rebecca’s breasts very much.

She put one hand down between her legs and touched her hot, wet cunt. “Juliet has a thick blonde bush though, not trimmed close like mine. Stephie’s is shaved bare. I like mine though, don’t you, Mr. Henderson?”

He just stood with his jaw slack, no longer even trying to respond as she dipped the tip of one finger into her wet opening.

“Thanks for stopping by…I have to go get a shower now.” Rebecca turned, showing him her round ass again, and noticed that the door had shut. She tried the handle, but it was locked.

“Oh dear, wait a moment, Mr. H, I’m locked out!” She turned to catch him but he hadn’t budged an inch. “Could you come do me a big favor and open me up?” She pouted and bit her lip in mock distress.

For an older man he was suddenly remarkably spry, running around the raised wooden deck and dashing up the few stairs to stand next to her at the kitchen door, close to Rebecca’s warm nude body, but not quite touching. He fumbled awkwardly with the ring of keys. He was having a very hard time locating the right one, mostly because he was looking at the naked young woman standing dangerously close to him, and not at all at the clump of jangling brass he held in his trembling hands.

“Do you need some help, Mr. H?” she teased, bringing the same finger that had been between her moist labia up to her mouth in a gesture of concern. She leaned in close, pressing her hard nipple into his shoulder and looking down. The lump under the fly of his worn blue jeans was obvious now that his hand was no longer in his pocket to shield it.

She was getting a little impatient…he was so flustered he was practically useless. She spotted a set of keys that looked like they had the right series of numbers and reached down to take over, pressing herself even more closely against him.

“Try this one,” she offered, glancing around to make sure that there was no one else in the area. His hands were shaking so hard that she had to help guide the key into the lock and turn it…it fit, and the door clicked open.

Rebecca turned and picked up her journal from the railing, then swung the door open and gracefully stepped inside. She stood for a moment looking back at the rattled older man, feeling a little guilty that she’d teased him so terribly. He stood in the open doorway, the keys still in his hand, a touch of sadness on his face.

She put the journal down on the counter and leaned forward, her breasts pressed against his heaving chest; she could feel his heart pounding as she brought her sweet young lips close to his ear. He could smell the scent of her sex on her breath as she whispered.

“You won’t tell anyone how naughty I am, will you Mr. H?” With one hand she loosed his grasp on her door key and guided his quivering fingers to the small of her back. With the other she reached down and found the hard knob of his stiff dick.

“You’ve been so nice to me; let me help you with your problem.” Rebecca pressed her hips forward, grinding against the hard-on she gripped in her graceful fingers. His hand on her back started to drift downward over her bum.

“I got so excited feeling your eyes all over me, Mr. H.” She gave his stiff bulge a little tug.

Rebecca’s newfound sexual power crackled through her. “I felt your eyes all over me, sir…it felt so good. On my tits,” she pressed her stiff nipples into him, “on my ass,” she rolled her round cheek under his wandering fingers “and on my hot,” squeezing the head of his cock gently, “tight,” squeezing harder, “pussy” gripping him tight against her smooth body.

She felt his cock pulse into her hip, felt the hot wetness of his gushing cum soaking his jeans against her bare skin, and smelled the distinctive scent of his spent desire.

“Thank you,” she whispered sweetly as she stepped back. “I have to take that shower now.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. You made an old man very happy today,” his bittersweet tone belied a hint of sad nostalgia as he meekly waved and turned to close the door.

Now it was the young woman’s turn to tremble as the enormity of what she had done became clear. She had completely transformed herself. Her sexuality, hidden so long under layers of repression, had awoken on this day like a magnificent butterfly. She smiled a soft, confident smile and headed to the master bathroom for a much needed shower.