It had been three years since Mark Canford had managed to get his occupational hypnotherapy license, and he had since used it (for better or worse) to completely change his life around. Three years ago Mark would have had a long shift at the hospital, come home to an empty house with no one to comfort him, and either ordered something greasy and disgusting or heated up a TV dinner. It was a life that, while it did pay well, drained him of his energy, emotion, and vitality. Everything changed the day he saw that fateful ad on the highway home for occupational hypnotherapists. A year and a half of training later and Mark had not only graduated the course, but had used little tricks he'd picked up here and there to get ahead in life. He managed to negotiate the price of his own studio office down to what was nearly robbery, worked out a generous set of ads for his new practice to attract clientele, and hired a very attractive young Latina woman to run the front desk and provide certain 'services' for him on the clock. Some people would have claimed that Mark was some kind of monster, using his practice to take advantage of people instead of working hard. Mark, on the other hand, would argue that he had worked very hard to become a doctor and was finally getting rewarded for years of struggling to succeed.
Currently, Mark was pouring over emails and offers regarding ad space on popular websites and social media platforms. Business wasn't exactly hurting right now, but he could certainly stand to take on at least a few more clients a week. Repeat customers only last for so long, and Mark had a very hard rule about not using his craft to convince someone to keep returning to him forever. Not only was it against his morals, but it would look suspicious if he had the same set of clients for long periods of time.
It was about 10:15 in the morning and the light from between the blinds of window to his right had crept up from the floor to where he sat. The office was well lit enough that without the lights off it was comfortably bright. The office was homely yet comfortable with a bookshelf filled with medical textbooks and journals, a few paintings of boats and the ocean, and his various degrees and certificates sparsely decorating the walls.
Mark leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breathy groan. The light from the window hit his secretary, Marta, who had been underneath his desk giving him some 'stress relief' with her lips. Sunlight lit up her auburn eyes and shone off her olive skin and dark hair as she released his member with an audible 'POP'.
"Is everything alright Mr. Canford?" Marta said giving him a quizzical look. He had conditioned her to accept some more sexual duties as nothing more than additional clerical work, but she was willful enough to only accept in exchange for job security in the terms of a yearly contract of employment, not dissimilar to a lease. Mark had wondered if he had even properly hypnotized her or if she had at least partially played him. At the very least, he enjoyed being called Mr. Canford by such a dutiful secretary.
"Yes, yes, everything is fine... It's just that there are so many options for new ways to advertise and it's difficult to know which option is the right one." Mark paused to rub his brow with both hands, a habit he had picked up from his Hospital days between shifts. "I'm sure once you finish I'll be able to think more clearly," he said, removing his hands from his face and smiling down at her.
Marta gave him her best customer service smile. "Not right now, Mr. Crawford. You have a 10:45 appointment with a new client and I know how you get after I finish." She paused and licked his shaft from base to tip to keep him hard. "You get lazy and sloppy with your clients, you've told me as much yourself. If you have a bad session with her, then I'll come back and finish for you." Marta wrapped her lips around his head and continued to slowly blow him.
Mark grunted and looked back at the computer screen in front of him. He tried to focus on the work in front of him, but his thoughts drifted instead to his next appointment. Abigail Glash, twenty four years of age, five foot one inch, one hundred and eight pounds, blue eyes, brown hair. Despite being at a healthy weight for her height (albeit barely), Miss Glash boasts a history of rapid weight gain and then loss due to bulimia and anorexia. According to Miss Glash, she is so self-conscious of her self image that she cannot be happy with any weight and will go through periods of starving herself and then stress-eating to throw it all up. She has been hospitalized twice before from related health complications.
The matter of using hypnosis to convince Miss Glash of herself would take some time, but the habits formed from years of binging and purging would only be solved if she was willing to address them herself. While the practice currently boasted a relatively high success rate, these sorts of problems were a bit more difficult to solve. The feelings of guilt and disgust with oneself tends to be what motivates the habits in the first place. It is much easier to cure someone of smoking or drinking by associating it with something they dislike. Miss Glash disliked herself and the circular emotions behind her self-doubt kept the cycle going. Still, he could have some fun with this one.
Marta once again released him with a loud 'POP', a habit that both amused and annoyed Mark. He glanced at the time, 10:21 am. They always stopped these sessions about ten minutes before a client showed up to avoid any initial discomfort on behalf of the client. Mark rolled his chair back and grabbed the handkerchief he kept in his drawer to dry himself and replace his member within his pants. Marta stood up and dusted off her knees as she straightened her outfit. She was wearing a smart white button down shirt underneath a crimson cardigan sweater, along with a jet black pencil skirt that ended just above her knees. Today her hair was tied back in a bun. She gave Mark a polite nod as she walked back to the front desk to await the client as he sat back down. He busied himself in order to calm down.
At about 10:36, Mark heard two quick knocks at his door a moment before Marta entered. "Miss Glash is waiting for you in the examination room Mr. Canford," she said in her best customer service voice before closing the door and returning tot he front desk. If nothing else, she was always professional at work. Mark had always thought it was cute of her. Now it was time to meet the client.
The examination room was a clean looking room with sea green carpeting and eggshell walls so as not to be too bright for clients. To one side of the room stood a sink counter with some cabinets with sanitation supplies such as soap, gloves, rubbing alcohol, etc. While it was a bit odd in a hypnotherapist's office, he found it reminded him of where he came from and made it easy to keep the space cleaner. Clients also seemed to appreciate the fact that he washed his hands before they started. On the other side of the room sat a lounging chair for the client and a normal sitting chair for himself, both of the same dull red upholstery with yellow diamonds covering them. To the side of them were four blinded windows to allow warm outside light in and a breath of fresh air should the client desire it. The room was designed to make them feel as comfortable as Mark could afford.
Miss Glash seemed to have been wandering about the room nervously as Mark entered, as she turned with a start as he entered the room. She was as her profile had described her, short and thin with blue eyes and brown hair; She was a bit plain looking in the sense that nothing stood out about Miss Glash, but she was not ugly by any means. She had a few freckles across the bridge of her nose and a small round birthmark on her left cheek. She looked to be sporting B cups and was wearing a black printed tee with a graphic from what Mark assumed was a TV show, snug fitting jeans with tears at the knees, and sneakers.
"Miss Glash, yes?" Mark crooned, as he locked eyes with her smiling. He found that with nervous types the best approach was to try to be warm and as non-threatening as possible.
The woman hesitated, mouth agape for a moment, before blinking and returning to where she was. "Uh... Abby is fine," she managed to say at last.
Mark smiled and nodded. "Ah yes, of course. Well Abby," he said as he gestured towards to two chairs, "If you wouldn't mind lying down over here then we can begin shortly." He waited for her to begin moving before he walked towards the sink and washed his hands. As he began to dry them he half-turned to address her. "So Abby, can you tell me in your own words why it is you are here today?"
Abigail lay in the lounge chair tightly gripping one hand with another. "I don't like my weight so I either starve myself or eat and puke it up and I want to stop doing that," she confessed, wringing her hands together. Clearly this was difficult for her. It often was difficult for people to admit they had a problem. "I can't stop thinking about it and I just want to look good."
Mark finished drying his hands on the towel he kept by the sink and walked towards the chair, sitting down opposite from her and removing a small notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket. "Abby, I assure you that I will do my best, but before we get started I need to know a bit more about you."
Abigail gave him a skeptical look. "Aren't you supposed to like put me under or something to find out all that deep subconscious stuff?"
Mark smiled and looked her in the eyes as he spoke. "Hypnotherapy is a bit more complicated than most people believe. Your subconscious mind will only tell me what it wants to, and I need you to be honest and trusting of me. I trust you to be honest with me, so I need you to be honest and trusting with me. We can start building that by going over some basic things that will help me to help you." This was a bit that Mark had prepared and said to other clients who had doubts. Most people walk into a hypnotherapist's office without any belief that it will work, and thinking that this is either their last option or that it is pointless. He was not lying with anything he had said.
Abigail grimaced but nodded. Perhaps she had expected this to be a rather fast and easy solution. Marta is upfront with clients about how any real progress will be made over several sessions and that there is no 'one and done' easy cure for their problems. Still, most folks don't seem to take that to heart from his experiences in this room.
"Now. Do you recall a clear moment where you can say these feelings began?"
Abigail had seemed a quiet girl but once she was going she could talk and talk. Mark made careful notes about what seemed important. She believes the first instance of these thoughts came from when her biological father left her and her mother to be with a thinner woman; Her mother was a bit on the heavy side but not obese or even much more than just a tad overweight. Regardless, she witnessed her mother crying for days and pouring over different pills and diet plans and doing anything she could. At one point Abigail tried to open up about this to some other girls at school in an attempt to see what she could do to help her mother. This only ended up with her being made fun of for her mother, being told that she would end up the same, and resenting her for it. It was around then she began to start throwing up her food shortly after eating it, but word got out about that and all throughout high school her reputation kept any boys from asking her out. She went to a community college to try and get away with it, but her own self-doubt somehow ended up ruining one relationship after another. She was hospitalized once for malnutrition, and once for an esophagus tear from vomiting so much.
Mark kept an air of professionalism about him, but he really did feel for this poor girl. He let her go on a bit longer than he had bargained for until he found what he thought was a good place to stop her. "Abby, it seems to me that you are more afraid of what others think of you than how you feel about yourself. You fear the judgement and rejection of your peers and it prevents you from being comfortable with your self-image." He paused to gauge her reaction, but she merely looked down at her hands as she continued to wring them. "The first step to recovery is acceptance. You being here today is proof that you have accepted that this is a problem that is impacting your health, and it shows that you want to be better."
He put his notebook and pen carefully back in his pocket, only breaking eye contact with her to do so. He clasped his hands in front of her and asked her to sit up in the chair and face him. Once she had done so he began.
