S H E Seduce Hypnotise Enslave

The Psychologist

I stepped into my office, and luxuriated in the warm Friday morning sun as it hit my forehead. I sat down at my desk, confident I was ready for my task ahead. The metal plate in front of me proudly displayed my name to the world: Dr. Victor Thorpe, PhD.

Another day of untangling the mystery that is the human mind. For the past 25 of my 51 years, I have dealt with addictions, fears, compulsions, and bad habits of all other kinds, and I must say I'm damn good at it. Certain people in the psychological world don't appreciate my methods--as if a professional in this field, any field, could instead appreciate a

lack

of rigour! The mind is not some senseless, mysterious force beyond our control, it is a machine, like any other organ, and it can be understood with mathematical precision. It is a puzzle to untangle in a rational,

logical

manner, and so much potential is wasted by misguided fools who go to quacks that preach the virtues of simple, ineffective behavioural tricks. Meditation? Hypnotherapy?

Acupuncture?

Bah. Circus tricks that belong in the medical practices of the Middle Ages. This is the 21st Century; we only do psychology that

works

here.

And work it did. It turned out to be a full but fulfilling day of solving other people's minds for them. Sometimes I wondered why the whole human race didn't do psychology as a matter of course. Imagine going through life without knowing your own mind! Without even trying to be in full control of it! I did admit though, it made my job a rather lucrative affair. By the time the sun was setting, I had found the root causes of three smoking addictions, four gambling addictions, and two cases of anxiety. All in a day's work.

I didn't have a secretary--why would I, when I was perfectly capable of scheduling my own appointments?--so I looked through my bookings to see who was next.

Stephanie Thorpe, 25 years old, first appointment. Ah, a woman! This would be easy then; women are fascinated by men who can explain to them the finer points of human psychology. And once you have them hanging on your every word, you can identify the solution to whatever problem they have and propose a treatment plan, and they will lap it up. If my proposed solution happens to take a few sessions longer than she originally anticipated, so much the better.

Incidentally, the fact that we shared the same surname might be a good ice-breaker. Funny coincidences are always just that, of course, but women set store by them in just the same way they do astrology.

It was precisely one minute before our appointment started, so I opened my office door and peered around to the waiting room; a simple affair with some padded chairs and an alcove where I book my appointments. I was pleased to see that Miss Stephanie Thorpe was punctual, as well as

very

easy on the eye. A sensuous specimen of woman indeed, a face with captivating brown eyes and plump red lips framed by long, dark hair. A slightly immodest, flowing red dress made little attempt to conceal a glorious pair of breasts, nor a pleasingly round posterior. It was all of a sudden easy to imagine why someone might hire such a woman to be their secretary, and perhaps to fulfill other duties besides, if they could be persuaded. As a specialist in the human mind, and a handsome and wealthy man in my own right, I doubted it was beyond me to do a little persuading in that area. Professional decorum first, though.

"Miss Thorpe?" I enquired. She rose from her chair, and those luscious lips formed into a charming smile.

"Doctor Thorpe! It's so nice to meet you!"

"Please do come in," I said, holding my door open. She swayed past me, giving me ample opportunity to appreciate the entire package up close.

"So, Miss Thorpe--may I call you Stephanie?"

"Of course!" Stephanie beamed. "It'll make things less confusing, after all." She laughed musically. I had been right.

"Then please," I contrived not to make it sound too flirtatious, "call me Victor."

"Victor." There was something of a sensuous lilt in her voice.

"So, Stephanie, I would like you, in your own words, to tell me what you think the problem is."

Kleptomania is one of the more trivial matters for a psychologist such as myself to solve, but I was in no particular hurry for this gorgeous woman to leave. I had her sit on my couch and allowed her to elaborate on her problem for a while before I offered some sage advice. I then delved into the history of the psychology of kleptomania. She was rapt with attention the entire time. Some of it was questionably relevant or helpful to her specific issue, but no matter, there was always the next session.

For our entire appointment she was clasping some trinket tightly in her left hand, with her right hand often covering her left so that the entire object was in her delicate grip. When I enquired about it, she said having something already in her hands helped her focus on fighting her urges. It was a good first effort, but I assured her that together we would come up with something far better, it was just a matter of teasing out the root causes that were buried in her brain. I was certain that rewiring would take no more than three sessions, but I told her to budget for five. Just in case. She was happy to agree, just as I thought. I found myself looking forward to our future sessions together, and wondering if I could persuade her somehow to extend them further. The sight of her breasts rising and falling with her breath as she lay there on the couch was truly remarkable.

Eventually, I could stretch the time out no more, and she rose to leave.

"Oh, Victor," she gushed, coming over to my desk to shake my hand, "thank you for this! I'm so glad you can help me get a handle on this before it gets me into trouble."

I got up and came around my desk to meet her handshake, "It's my pleasure to do so."

I was surprised, however, when instead of shaking my hand, she wrapped her arms around my neck and softly kissed me.

Relax. Relax.

Her lips were luscious, pillowy and sensual as advertised. If it was somehow possible for women to evolve the perfect lips for kissing men, this wonderful creature had done just that. I relaxed and enjoyed it. The sensation was incredible, and it drove all thought from my mind.

Relax and let me kiss you. Click.

After what seemed like an age, but was probably only a few seconds, I regained my senses and pushed her away. "Miss, ah, Stephanie" I stammered, "this is extremely inappropriate. I am your psychologist, and this sort of behaviour could end my career!"

"Oh?" Stephanie replied contritely, "I'm sorry, Doctor. I thought this was what you wanted. Weren't you flirting with me earlier?"

That was true enough, although I would never let people know that normally. She had somehow seen through my veneer of professionalism.

Stephanie stepped back into my personal space and whispered, "I'm just thanking you for helping me out." This time I knew what was coming, but for some reason my body was too relaxed to stop her. She kissed me again, a little more insistently than the first time, and again the blissful feeling of her soft, sensuous lips chased all thoughts from my head. My conflicted ideas about this seemed suddenly unimportant.

You want me to keep kissing you. Just relax and enjoy my lips. Click.

I broke it off again, reluctantly, "Stephanie, please, I could get in serious trouble for this."

"Nobody needs to know," she murmured seductively, running one of her hands up my tie, "it could be our little secret." She was persuasive, and I thought she knew it too. It was true, I was enjoying her kisses, and on some level I desperately

wanted her to keep kissing me.

"Just to thank you for all your hard work?" She fluttered her eyelashes at me.

I sighed. This wasn't quite the timeframe I had imagined for this, but... I decided to just

relax and enjoy her lips.

"Very well. Just to say 'thank you'."

She stepped away, mercifully ignorant of the problem I was developing in my trousers, "Same time next week then?"

I was very glad that Stephanie was my last appointment of the day, because after she left, I had trouble thinking of anything except her sweet lips and wonderful kisses. I kept thinking that she had been whispering something in my right ear, sweet nothings that drifted just outside of my perception, but that was ridiculous. She had been kissing me, she couldn't possibly have been speaking at the same time. I had just been imagining it, my personal sexual fantasies driven wild by the scenario that had been playing out in front of me.

Eventually, I managed to shake myself out of my daze and find my way home, collapsing into bed at the earliest opportunity. I dreamed of Stephanie, and her lips.

**********

The week that followed was not my finest work. I spent much of it in a state of absolute distraction, anticipating the Friday that was to come. Not that my patients noticed. I did notice, however, and I even debated mentally untangling myself--thinking my way out of bad behaviours with my trademark infallible logic and mental precision. I then realised, however, that the simple truth was that

I enjoyed her kisses, and wanted her to keep kissing me.

There was nothing mentally ill about that, it was simply the natural drive of a red-blooded male confronted with a pretty woman.

Eventually, Friday arrived with little fanfare. I put as much effort as possible into making sure that Stephanie would be pleased with her own progress--or rather, my hard work to facilitate that progress. A treatment plan, that was the key. Something we could work on together over the following three sessions. Hopefully more.

She was a minute late this time, but I found I could forgive her this minor transgression. She glided into my office, since I had left the door open in anticipation of her arrival while I checked and rechecked my notes. I noted that she was wearing the same red dress as last time. Dare I hope that she was saving it for me? She was still holding something in her left hand.

"Ah, Miss Stephanie. Please come in, make yourself comfortable." She complied, gracefully sprawling herself onto my couch. It was remarkable how sensual she was in everything she did.

"Why don't we start with you telling me about your week," I said in my best professional soothing voice, "and how it relates to any kleptomaniac urges you may have had."

It turned out that Miss Stephanie Thorpe was a teacher's aide for a university Psychology course. I had come highly recommended for her treatment, in fact, by one of the faculty. It was pleasing to know that I still had allies somewhere in academia, and even more pleasing to hear it from Stephanie. It occurred to me that she may even be open to a position working as my secretary. It would be a good way for her to get work experience in this field outside of the confines of a university. And I would have to check to make sure she was compensated more handsomely than for being a teacher's aide, not that that would be too difficult...

I realised I was getting ahead of myself, and snapped back to the present.

"...So I would say I've had plenty of exposure to the possibility of stealing things," Stephanie was saying. In reference to, er, student exam papers? Or possibly one of a number of items that she would have had access to as a teacher's aide. I had lost track.

"But with your guidance, I haven't succumbed to my urges even once." she continued. "Thank you so much."

My gaze drifted back to her lips as she said this, remembering how she had promised to thank me. Remembering how much I enjoyed it. She must have caught my gaze, or come to the same association herself, because she rose from the couch and approached my desk. I met her halfway there. I felt the object in her hand brush past my ear as she folded her arms around me and kissed me with soft, plump lips. I relaxed and let my mind go blank as the kiss overwhelmed my senses again.

Click. You love my lips. You don't want to stop kissing me. You will-- Click.

"Mmmiss Stephanie," I half-groaned as I reluctantly broke the kiss, well aware that this was beyond any sort of professional decorum, "perhaps we ought to, um, keep this to the end of the session, and discuss your treatment plan in the meantime."

"Of course," she smiled, "the end of the session." It occurred to me that I'd implicitly agreed that she would be kissing me again. We had practically scheduled it as part of our appointment. Perhaps for all appointments going forward. And yet... I was struggling to find a reason to do otherwise.

I loved her lips, and didn't want to stop kissing her.

It took some time for my focus to return, but eventually I was able to guide her through the rest of the session, untangling the knots in her brain slowly and methodically through patient advice and, of course, the treatment plan going forward. It was open-ended; I told her that it would take at least ten sessions to establish her new behaviour as routine rather than exceptional, and she could visit as she liked afterwards to make sure there were no relapses. She was delighted by my assurances, and clearly in a mood to 'thank' me again. It was near enough the end of the session that I stood up expectantly. This time, she slid upright on the couch and patted it, inviting me to sit down next to her.

Before I knew it, my feet had carried me there and her hands were lovingly cradling my face. Her trinket was pressed against my cheek, but I hardly noticed it. She kissed me again and I lost myself in her lips.

Click. --find any excuse to let me kiss you. Let yourself surrender to this feeling. Surrender.

It felt so warm and pleasant to just drift in her embrace, surrendering to her lips, her legs resting on my lap, her voice floating into my ears...

You should relax your office hours for me. Click.

I was panting for breath as she broke it off. She put one finger under my chin and tilted my head up so that I was millimetres away from kissing her again. I could not have stopped her from kissing me again like she had done already--long, slow, and passionate--but instead she started placing brief, soft, mind-melting smooches on my lips.

"So, I was thinking," she whispered between kisses, "this is an important phase for you, isn't it?"

It was so hard to think. I just wanted to

relax and let her kiss me

, so I replied "Yes", trying to sound self-assured even though I couldn't quite remember the question.

"Perhaps I could come in earlier than next Friday, like Monday evening? Just to make sure the behaviour is reinforced?"

It was difficult to concentrate under such lovely torment, but I got what she was driving at. She wanted to make more regular appointments. Well, that suited me just fine. I wanted to see her more often anyway, and

any excuse to let her kiss me

would do.

"I suppose," I blurted, still in a daze from her pleasurable onslaught, "I could find time on Monday?" I had appointments for the entire day, but for such a beautiful woman I could

relax my office hours

, so she could keep kissing me... and we could also work on her problem together. "Say, 4:30 PM?"

"4:30 would be wonderful" Stephanie beamed, leaning in for one more mind-numbing kiss--

You will think about me when you jerk off. Cli-

--before swinging her captivating legs off my lap, where it became apparent that they had been concealing my erection. I had not even realised how hard I was, but it was extremely uncomfortable now that I noticed it. Her glance flickered downwards, and her smile may have widened a touch before she adjusted herself and left my office.

**********

Weekends are generally agreed to be periods of rest and respite, but if anything I felt more exhausted on Monday than on Friday. I had spent much of the weekend--far too much--pleasuring myself thinking about Stephanie and her gorgeous, captivating body. By the time I had realised I actually needed to do some preparatory work for the week ahead, it was already Sunday evening, and I had to frantically organise my affairs as much as possible before collapsing into bed well past midnight. The only part of me that was really awake was my manhood, which was extremely distracting. For obvious reasons, I took care not to venture out from behind my desk if I could avoid it during the following day.

My 4:00 appointment seemed none too happy to see my bedraggled state, and in fact was only too keen to be ushered out the door at 4:30 on the pretext that staying any longer would be a waste of both of our times. In reality of course, I had an appointment to keep for this time slot. I tidied the office up, making it presentable for Stephanie. It was important that I make it look appealing to work here. I would find

any excuse for her to keep kissing me

, after all.

So I sat on my desk, manhood twitching uncomfortably within my trousers, and waited patiently for her to arrive.

And waited.

5 minutes became 10.

10 became 15.

I started to panic, wondering if she might not show up at all. What if she had decided that psychological therapy was no longer a productive avenue for her? What if she had gone to see someone back at the university instead? She might never thank me with a kiss again!

Also, it... it was damn disrespectful of my time, is what it was!

I could relax my office hours for Stephanie

, so it was fine in this case, but if it had been anyone else, it would have been damn disrespectful!

It was 25 minutes past the appointed time when Stephanie finally graced me with her presence. Perhaps I was expecting her to look apologetic, but she did not.

"Victor!" she said, a note of affection in her voice, "I appreciate you keeping this time free for me."

"I, well," I blustered, "you're welcome to it, but if you had been 5 minutes later the building would have locked up for the night! Come in, quickly, let's get this show on the road!"

She quickly laid a hand on mine. "I think we're well past the point of pretending that you want to use these sessions to help me."

"Whatever do you mean?" I objected, though I didn't try to remove her hand.

"What you really want," she whispered, leaning in closer to me, "is for me to use our entire session time to kiss you, not merely a few minutes at the end. Isn't that right?"

I was floundering. "I admit, ah, your kisses are lovely, and I do enjoy..."

"It's okay to admit it" Stephanie soothed me. "Look at my lips and admit that you want me to kiss you, more than anything else in the world."

My last veneer of professionalism evaporated, consequences be damned. "I want your kisses more than anything else in the world" I croaked.

Stephanie gave a knowing, almost condescending smile. "Then perhaps we should do that, instead of wasting our time on a treatment you don't believe in."

As soon as we were settled onto the couch, Stephanie's lips were on mine. All my reservations drifted away instantly. I lay there, floating in bliss. Imagining her voice whispering seductively in my ears as she kissed me.

My kisses make you relaxed. My kisses make you sleepy. You don't want to leave. Click

My brain slowly rebooted itself as the kiss went on, thoughts surfacing from beneath a heady cloud of relaxation. I wondered why her words in my head, still dangling just out of reach of my memory, were always accompanied by a click. It was the sound of a button being pushed... but why was I imagining that?

Abruptly, Stephanie broke the long, deep kiss we had been sharing and instead started peppering my lips with gentle, repetitive smooches like she had on Friday. This served to chase my thoughts away again, making me even more relaxed and sleepy. And again, she spoke in between kisses, although it was difficult to concentrate on her words. Just like in my imagination.