Copyright by ProfessorR ©
by Prof. Richard W.
(formerly of the University of ____________)
SOUND EXPERIENCE
My dear friend Sophia -- she's an administrator at the School for Social Expression out in Marin County -- asked me to record this recent case for their library. As you may know, the institution's real name is the School for Sexual Expression. She's busy aiding in the education of the young nerds-who-would-be-studs -- and some imaginative women -- who sign up for their hypnotic and NLP training program, so I haven't seen her for a while. I was reminded of the project by an e-mail from a couple of young friends from Nevada. As the story unfolds, you'll learn how they ended up there.
=========================
You may recall a couple who we met on the California Zephyr, a long time back. Karen and Cam were heading to California. Eventually they moved to a small town on Puget Sound where they bought a boat rental firm. And they have a couple of cabins to rent on an island nearby. You're probably wondering where all this is leading!
Business is slow this year, but they're hanging in there. They had some last minute cancellations, so they invited me to come and stay for a while. I can work on my research there just as well as here, and it's interesting to meet new people, see new places. I can imagine you smiling at that, yes, I did meet an interesting librarian while doing research in town, and yes, she comes to spend the weekends with me, but that's not what this case is about.
Karen and Cam recently hired Rick, a young Army veteran, to handle the charter boat that they offer. During fishing seasons, there's a lot of business for them and they needed help. He was in Afghanistan not long ago and is in great shape, handles the equipment smoothly and works the lines with skill. He grew up around boats and told them that the whole time he was over there, he kept thinking about water. Cam has been satisified with his work, but Karen worried that he might be suffering from PTSD. She didn't really have anything substantial to go on, just wondered about how he kept to himself and didn't participate in the town's social life. A couple of young women from the town had asked her about him, and that got her to thinking, worrying.
Karen was looking for just the right situation for me to be able to observe him, so she could get my opinion. I had to explain that I'm not a psychiatrist, but she assured me that it was nothing official that she wanted, just an opinion. And, she explained, she had found the perfect situation.
I found it hard to concentrate on what she was telling me, because my librarian was on her way from town to my cabin and she had accepted being hypnotized by me last time we were together. I was eager to see the striptease that I had given her as a post-hypnotic suggestion, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had not specified that she should hold off on her unveiling if someone else was with me. I'm sure from our experience in the sleeping car suite that Karen is a free-thinker, but I didn't want to embarass anyone.
Fortunately, she wrapped up just before my librarian arrived to unwrap. I have to admit that I could not remember everything that Karen had told me, because my local friend was so excited by the effect that her striptease had on me. It was really her fault; she went down on me with such enthusiasm that I could think of nothing other than how sensuous her lips were around my cock.
Nevertheless, I found myself on the dock the next morning, bleary-eyed, watching Rick checking the equipment on the Water Nymph II. That was the name of the charter boat -- Cam said he didn't know why it was named that, but it would have been bad luck to change it -- and maybe it was really because it was attached in brass letters on the stern and he didn't want to pay to remove it. Rick told me that we would have two passengers this day, and that they were late. He sounded annoyed.
"They're a couple of women on a high fashion photo shoot!" he shouted, as if that was reason enough to be irritated. He tossed the end of a rope onto the coil that he had been carefully forming. It flopped to one side and he knelt to straighten it out. It occurred to me as I watched, that Rick in tight jeans, a loose-fitting shirt and his boat shoes should have caught the eye of more than our two local girls.
I tried to remember what Karen had told me about this charter, but my mind was too full of the look on my librarian's face earlier this morning when she realized that I could command her to have an orgasm and she would. She could not believe it at first, so she kept asking for it over and over.
Don't they usually have an entourage? I asked myself. If I could have recalled what Karen had said, I would have known that this was not the official shoot, just a trial to look at some locations. We were supposed to take them out to the little island with the cabins and the photographer would pose her model in various scenes. Then they'd come back on another day with the hairdresser, make-up artist, lighting technician and so forth to do the photos that would appear in a Well-Known magazine in this country and overseas.
Just as Rick looked at his watch again, we heard the sound of a car coming up the drive. We scrambled up the steeply-sloping ramp to the parking strip; me in the lead because I had a head start, but Rick's powerful strides brought him up behind me as the two women started to pull stuff from the trunk. It was quite a collection, and the older woman, who I guessed was the photographer, had her head down while she dug for something. The younger woman -- there was no doubt that she was the model -- was already holding a bag that I supposed was her make-up kit.
"May I give you a hand?" I offered to the photographer.
"Uhh..." she started to reply, and then Rick and I were startled to hear it change to an expression of surprise, followed by a sharp expletive as she hit her head on the edge of the trunk.
"Richard Williams!?" she exclaimed in a murmur, if I can use a confusing pair of words.
"Chloe Demeter!?" I exclaimed, in a much louder voice. Rick and the model -- Brandy Adams was her name -- looked at us and then at each other. I realized that the model had not really been paying attention, and now Rick was getting annoyed again.
He watched Chloe and me start towards each other as if to embrace, and then we shook hands instead.
"Chloe and I were very close when she was starting out as campus photographer back at the University of _______________." I explained.
"Very close!" Chloe laughed, her lips opened wide. Even without make-up they looked as inviting as ever against her flawless face.
"Oh, that's interesting." We all turned to see that Brandy had spoken, though not very convincingly. Rick assumed a disdainful pose, either for us or for the model.
"Let's get this crap on the boat," he said to me. I shrugged at Chloe and she handed me a couple of boxes of equipment without saying more.
"Maybe we'll have a chance to talk while we're on our lunch stop," I offered.
"Okay." She was going to keep her professional shield up, I supposed. And, that made sense given that she or her client was paying for Rick and the boat by the hour. Or rather, eight hours flat rate and then a charge for every half hour over that.
We trooped down the ramp, with the model carrying her small case, me lugging a couple of boxes, Chloe carrying one of those silver-sided indestructible camera cases, and Rick easily handling the rest. When we got to the boat, the model stepped.
"Do I have to step across that?" she whined, as she looked down at the sloshing sludge between the dock and the boat. Rick rolled his eyes.
"I'll help you across," he volunteered, setting down his load. Easily, he grabbed her around the waist before she could answer, and swept her up onto the deck.
"I can make it myself!" from Chloe. I was glad that she said that, as I enjoyed watching her Rubenesque figure moving energetically. So, I thought, she hasn't slowed down.
We piled the stuff on deck against the cabin, and then Rick took us on a tour of the Nymph. Brandy had a strange habit of being unable to simply go through a door, pausing and stepping into the door frame three times or so before entering one of the cabins. Later, I learned that this was a condition known as obsessive-compulsive disorder, but at this point all I knew is that it drove Rick nuts. Somehow, we managed to determine that the master bedroom cabin would be Brandy's dressing room, while Chloe would use one of the crew bunks as her workspace to organize her equipment.
Rick set about hauling the luggage -- photo gear and the outfits that were to be modeled -- below deck, and I caught up to him to ask if I could give him a hand. He had stopped to pick up some items that had spilled out of a stylish tote bag and paused to look at a marked up document that looked like a thesis of some type.
"What do you make of this, Prof?" he asked. He offered me the thesis and I read the title aloud.
"Reverse Demand Curves and the Market for Commercial Sex." Rick's eyebrows went up and I cleared my throat. "I think we need to get their stuff stowed. It looks like an MBA thesis to me. An unusual MBA thesis." I thought for a moment, then explained "there are so many of them on meaningless subjects. Maybe this one will get published." I slid the paper back into the tote bag with some of the other spilled items and finished helping Rick.
It turned out that I was not the only one to offer help. Chloe offered to cast off the lines, letting Rick make a smooth start at the wheel as the motor revved up and the Nymph headed into the choppy waters of Puget Sound. I found myself enjoying watching Chloe, who pulled a purple jacket over her shoulders as we swung into wind that cut across the open stretch of water that we were crossing. I was reminded of how much we had enjoyed a trip to an ocean beach years ago.
For a while the three of us sat around enjoying our miniature cruise, while Rick concentrated on the channel ahead. Then he called out "... about 20 minutes to the island..."
Chloe asked Brandy to get changed for the first shoot. The outfits were numbered in order, so it would not require much thought. Brandy disappeared down the steps to below deck, wincing as she headed into the cabin, and Chloe busied herself setting up some of her gear. I offered to help her, but she wanted to do things in her own way.
"What are you grinning at?" Chloe asked me as she deftly turned a lens into its mount on her camera body. I liked watching her fingers firmly grasping the barrel. It made me think of other things than her award-winning photography, though.
"Just remembering that you could be pretty self-sufficient." I was remembering her hands gliding over her breasts in a pleasurable rhythym when she had mounted me for what she teasingly called an "organ transplant" -- my organ transplanted into hers.
"And you like that, don't you!" She said that with a naughty look in her eye, but then turned back to her work. And, it was good that she was organized and her model a quick change, because we were gliding up to the dock on the little island.
I learned that the first shots would be set up on the boat. We had not done them while underway due to the motion of the craft in the open Sound, but this island was far enough off of navigation routes that Chloe could set things up so the shots would make it look as though Brandy was out to sea. With the boat tied to the dock, the background for her photos was not going anywhere, though I wondered how she would deal with the slight motion of the Puget Sound waves.
Rick was puttering with the radio, tuned, we soon learned, to the weather frequency. In a minute he came over to Chloe and me.
"It should be clear for a couple of hours, but there's fog and rain coming in. They changed the forecast on us."
"We'll just have to make good use of our time," Chloe remarked.
"How are you going to get your model through all her clothes changes when she takes forever to go through the door of the cabin?" Rick said in a sarcastic tone. Chloe's green eyes flashed as she started to say something, and then she had second thoughts.
Just then, Brandy appeared, dressed in what I learned was a "Bermuda Floral" Tankini. Rick and I found it hard to keep our eyes off her. I noticed Rick taking a second glance and then turning away to busy himself with some moulding that was coming loose. While Chloe and Brandy worked out their first shots, I moved over next to Rick.
"You're bothered by something?" I said it as a question, but it could have been a statement of fact.
