The hypnosis had been both a long shot and a last resort when you tried it a few years ago as a treatment for depression. After a couple years of therapists, prescriptions, exercise, homeopathy, and sundry hadn't worked, you'd become desperate enough to try just about anything.
To our mutual surprise, your mood improved dramatically after about six months of twice-weekly sessions with the hypnotherapist. I initially figured the depression just went away on its own; as it appeared to me it had begun. Until a year ago March, that is, when I discovered the hypnosis had a deep hold on you.
I had no idea what had come over you the first time the post-hypnotic suggestion was triggered. At the time, I thought you'd simply had more drinks than I'd observed and gotten sexually carried away in your stupor.
It was the night of my company's holiday party prior, at a nice hotel downtown. We'd all been drinking wine and beer from the open bar and were talking loudly when a voice on the periphery mentioned a feeling of déjà vu. This set a new course for the conversation at our table. The company's nerdy sysadmin and resident movie buff, Joel, who was seated just to your right, was a huge fan of "Groundhog Day"-as evidenced by the numerous "Phil Connors" quotes he subsequently spouted.
Just when it seemed Joel might go on far too long, he fell quiet-mid-quote. After a semi-awkward pause, the conversation moved on to the other side of the table and another movie. It was about three months before I understood why Joel got up and left the party so suddenly that night.
What I first noticed was unusual about you that night was your hand on my cock. As a company owner, a room was reserved for us on the hotel's club level. You'd earlier alluded to our maybe having sex up there, but grabbing my penis under the table was completely unexpected-and uncharacteristic.
If we'd been by ourselves, I'd have wanted you to continue; heck, I'd have probably stuck my hand between your legs too. But the other folks at the table included my employees. So I quietly moved your hand aside. I couldn't believe it when you rubbed my penis again.
As I removed your hand from my lap the second time, I excused myself from the table and headed toward the bathrooms down the hall. I thought maybe you were drunk but expected you to still take the hint to stop. Instead, you followed me down the hall, cornered me, and grabbed my ass as you kissed me.
"Stop that," I whispered. "What's gotten into you?"
"I need to see your dick right now," was your intense but playfully stated reply. That really floored me.
Given how rarely you're in the mood anymore, I decided a change of plans was in order, gave you the key to our room, and told you I'd meet you there in a few minutes.
After saying my goodbyes and apologizing for our being tired so early I headed up to join you.
I knocked on the door and you answered-naked and apparently without even checking if it was me. You immediately started pulling on my belt and had my penis in your hand before the door was all the way closed.
Your mouth was so soft and warm and your whole throat seemed to be pulling me in. I was rock hard and practically came right there by the door.
More remarkable to me than the animalistic sex we had on and off over several hours that night was that you didn't remember a thing about it in the morning. You swore I dreamt my whole torrid tale. And also insisted that you'd had only the two glasses of wine I'd seen you drink. I started to doubt my own memory, but also wondered if someone had maybe slipped something into one of your drinks.
We'd only had infrequent perfunctory sex in the three months before I put two and two together.
The second time you grabbed my penis and dragged me into the bedroom, "Groundhog Day" had come on after your current favorite sitcom. Fortunately, the kids were already in bed when it happened!
I worked out your trigger phrase over the course of the following weekend-by trial and error, in consultation with quotes from an online movie site and my memories of what Joel said at the holiday party. Initially your first move was always straight to my cock.
It took me a few months to refine my control of your behavior, by trial and error based on advice from a book and an online forum for aspiring hypnotists. You no longer went straight for my cock unless I wanted you to. Along the way, I also found a different Phil Connors' quote had been implanted to release you. Until then, sleep always did the trick.
My favorite thing about our new relationship was the quickies. All I needed was a few minutes in a room with you to turn you on, get you naked, enjoy a quick suck or fuck, and then return us both to whatever else we were doing moments earlier. I'd several times made use of you in this way over the past year, including once in the master bedroom upstairs from a party at your colleague's house.
Of course, I also enjoyed the times we petted and fucked for hours. It turns me on endlessly when your orgasms come in waves like that.
Though you never had a memory of what we'd done in your trances, the endorphins kicking through your bloodstream after we had sex always seemed to improve your mood.
What turned me on the most, to my utter surprise, was the thought that another man had implanted the trigger in you. I had discovered it accidentally, but he had surely known exactly what he was doing. How many times had he taken advantage of you? All I really know for sure is what I've made you do.
