When Eileen attended Greg Bentley's hypnotherapy practise, she claimed to be seeking treatment for her fear of air travel.
However, Dr Bentley could see that her real problem in life was that she was a rich, entitled bitch, who didn't know that realise that her curvaceous body and irritating personality made her fit only to be a submissive fucktoy.
He took her into trance, promising to address her phobia - and, to be fair, he did address that, as he was a professional, after all - but while he was there, he did a little extra work.
Specifically, he made her forget how to dress herself. And he increased the sense of shame and humiliation she felt when anyone saw her tits or cunt. And he gave her the idea that he, Dr Bentley, was the only one who could help her with her newfound difficulty.
He sent her home after the treatment, unaware of what had been done to her, and he expected to receive his first phone call from her the next day - if not that very night. But the call did not come, at first, and he began to believe that his hypnotic suggestion hadn't taken hold.
But two days later, his phone rang, and it was Eileen on the line. Her voice sounded small - meek, confused, and not at all like the superior bitch who had walked into his office.
"Please, Dr Bentley," she whispered. "I need your help to... to put my clothes on."
When he arrived at her house, he found her wearing a filmy see-through lingerie bodysuit and a pair of high heels. She hadn't even managed to get the nightgown on properly - it was falling off her shoulders, and her left breast was fully exposed. She blushed as he stared at her naked tit.
"I've been trying for two days to dress for work," she explained, nearly in tears. "And I just can't seem to get my clothes on. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just knew that no one else could help me - and I couldn't bear for anyone to see me like this... so I called you."
"Something must have gone wrong with our hypnotism session," he told her. "Why don't you have a seat over there, and I'll take you down into a trance, and we'll see if we can fix this?"
She agreed eagerly, her face filled with hope. She sat obediently, and dropped into a trance almost immediately. But Dr Bentley had no intention of fixing her embarrassing problem.
He started by adjusting her clothes, to expose her other breast, and then pulling up the crotch of the bodysuit until it nestled lewdly between her pussy lips.
Then he went to work on trapping her further in her predicament.
First, he deepened her sense of shame. He told her that women who let men see their tits or pussy were sluts, and sluts were disgusting and shameful. Sluts deserved to be humiliated, and sluts deserved to have bad things happen to them. No nice girl let a man see her tits or pussy - that was something only sluts did. He made her whisper the words back to him, like a mantra, and told her that she would continue to whisper those words to herself any time she was alone, without realising that she was doing it.
Then he deepened her vulnerability. The more she was unable to dress herself, the stupider she would feel - and the stupider she felt, the less she would trust her own judgement, and the more she would accept the viewpoints of others without question - particularly the viewpoint of her trusted hypnotherapist, Dr Bentley.
And every time she asked Dr Bentley for help, she would become more unable to dress herself, or make her own decisions about what she should wear. It would be a self-reinforcing cycle.
And finally, just to make sure she continually found herself needing help, he suggested that when anyone asked her to take off any of her clothes - no matter who they were, or where she was - she would obey without question.
When it was done, he brought her back up out of trance.
"I can't fix your problem, Eileen," he told her. "The issue is that you seem to *want* to have trouble with dressing. Part of your subconscious *wants* to be naked and helpless."
"That's not true!" objected Eileen.
"If you wanted to dress yourself, you could do it," he told her. "If you don't want this, then put your clothes on properly."
But she couldn't. She fumbled helplessly at her outfit, but somehow was unable to cover either breast, or extricate the crotch of her bodysuit from her cunt. Her face was bright red - knowing that she was showing off her tits to Dr Bentley, and that she was therefore a disgusting slut.
Dr Bentley sighed. "Stand up and undress, Eileen."
She obeyed, immediately, her blush going even brighter red as she stripped off the lingerie until she was completely nude.
"Would you like my help in dressing you in a work outfit?" he asked her.
She was silent for a moment. She was acutely aware of the power relationship in the room - her naked, helpless; him staring at her tits with more than professional interest.
