Tales Of An Unethical Hypnotist Ch 04

Panic!

For an infinitely long moment, I stood unmoving. My lips planted on my eighteen year old daughter's with my tongue entangling her's, and my left hand encircling her breast. Meanwhile, my eyes were locked onto my wife, Marsha, who was staring back at me, mouth agape.

Seconds ago, she had walked into the family room and caught my daughter and me in the midst of a passionate embrace.

Chani, my daughter, had not yet registered Marsha's startled exclamation of, "What the fuck?" And, as such, she continued kissing and groping me.

So, like I said... Panic.

You ever watch a movie and see the protagonist acting all weak-willed or just plain stupid in an intense moment? Then, you think to yourself, "What an idiot. That wouldn't bother me. I'd handle that situation, no problem."

Yeah, me too. But, I've got to tell you, I didn't handle it. I just stood there like an inept moron.

Two things saved me at that moment. First was that my wife was so completely dumbfounded by what she walked in on that she seemed to be in shock. The second was that my daughter was so wrapped up in her own grief turned to passion that she likewise failed to react.

This gave me the precious seconds I needed for my heart to pump some blood back into my brain (it having previously been diverted in a more southerly direction).

Then, more fully oxygenated, that lump of grey matter between my ears rebooted, and I was finally able to think.

Breaking the kiss with Chani, I stood up straight, looked Marsha in the eyes, and in an authoritative tone, said, "Marsha, you look very sleepy."

Instantly, the confusion and anger left her face. She yawned, turned, and walked back toward the bedroom.

Then, disengaging from our intimate embrace, I held Chani at arm's length and said to her, "It's time to play, Chani."

She smiled, leaned in, and gave me a chaste hug, then turned and skipped off toward her bedroom.

Holy shit. Crisis averted. At least for the moment. This wasn't over just yet, so I began after my wife. And as I walked, I thought about how to handle this.

The command I used, "Marsha, you look very sleepy," had worked, but honestly, I wasn't sure that it would when I said it out loud moments earlier.

I couldn't even remember the last time I'd used that post-hypnotic suggestion.

I had installed that into Marsha years ago when we were first beginning the hypnotic training. It was a simple way to get her to go to bed so I could "work" on her, without her being consciously aware of what I was doing.

But, as I said, it had been years since I'd used it, and it was a real gamble that it would still work. I got lucky.

Even so, all I had accomplished was to send her to bed (which wouldn't last long). I needed to address what she had seen. And once I'd taken care of this specific event for Marsha, I'd have to come up with a more permanent solution. Indeed a solution for both my wife and my daughter.

I had let things get out of my control, and I didn't like that one bit.

With my wife, I had completed her training before my daughter was ever born. And, since the vast majority of my wife's training had involved creating the sub-personality, Ashley, there was never a need to cover my tracks before. (Plus of nearly all of my "hypno-kinks" remained in the bedroom, so I never worried about Chani noticing anything.)

Of course, over the years, I'd had several other subjects, women who had eventually become sexual playthings. But, again, that always remained outside the home and never really required me to worry about being caught in this way.

But here, in my home, with both my wife and my daughter, getting caught was inevitable. I was stupid not to have already considered it.

So, once this brush fire was completely extinguished, I was going to sit down and work up a plan.

A few moments behind my wife, I entered our bedroom just as she was lying down in bed. She'd been asleep for nearly 12 hours, after working a double shift, so it would only be a couple minutes before she woke up again.

The command I gave her was intended to put her to bed at the end of the day. It simply wasn't powerful enough to overcome all the complex brain chemistry that was involved in the process of sleep, so I had better get to work.

I walked over to my wife's side of the bed and kneeled down on the floor, near her head, and began to speak by uttering the phrase I always used to deepen a hypnotic trance.

"Deep sleep, Marsha. Deep sleep."

"That's right," I said as I began to gently pet her head in a calming, loving way. "Just allow yourself to drift down. Calm, Peaceful, Relaxing. Drifting down into the familiar, deep, comfortable, safe place."

"I'd like you to remember, Marsha. Remember a time when you had a strange dream about me, about your husband. Remember a time when you had a strange dream, and you woke from that dream full of emotion. Maybe you were mad at me when you woke, I don't know. It's your memory."

"Remember what that was like, how it felt so real, how even though you knew, with all your heart and mind, that it was just a dream, you couldn't help but feel those strong emotions."

"Maybe it even took you several hours to fully let it go."

"Remember a time when that happened. Do you remember?"

After just a brief moment, her eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly, and she softly grunted in the affirmative.

I continued, "Of course you remember. It's a common enough experience. It's something that happens to everyone from time to time. Perfectly normal. Perfectly understandable."

Her eyebrows relaxed. Sometimes it's important to remind people that, even if something seems weird, it's usually pretty normal. We all just want to be normal.

Okay, this was going good, time to move it along, "Well, Marsha, you just had a strange dream about Chani and me. It probably felt very real. You might even have some strong emotions connected to it, and that's okay. But, it was just a dream. You will know it's a dream because you are going to wake up in a couple minutes. And, since you were sleeping, it must have been a dream. Do you understand?"

Again she gave me a soft grunt in the affirmative.

"Good," I went on. "In just a couple minutes, you will wake up after a long sleep. That weird dream may still exist in your memory, or it may fade away just like any other dream. But, if you remember it, you will understand that it was just a dream. Rest now, and awake in a couple minutes when you're ready."

With that, I quickly exited the bedroom, returning to the kitchen to finish dinner. A glance at the clock told me it had only been a few minutes since this whole crazy event started, even though it felt like hours.

About ten minutes later, Marsha mozied into the kitchen. As she talked about her day at work, Chani joined us (as her younger, bubblier persona -which Marsha continued to ignore).

Dinner commenced as usual.

At one point, a few minutes into the meal, I caught Marsha looking at me, "What?"

"I don't know," she responded. "I feel like I should be mad at you..."

"Really, for what," I acted both ignorant and a little hurt.

"That's just it, I can't think of anything. Like I feel mad at you, but I don't have a reason," she stated evenly.

I tried to lighten the mood, "Ah, I see. You seem to have forgotten that you're a woman. I'm pretty sure that a woman's default condition is to be mad at her husband."

I said it as a joke, and my wife knew that I meant it as a joke, but it also cut a little too close to the bone. (We occasionally argue...well debate...about things like gender roles/stereotypes. My wife tends to lean a little too far into the "social justice warrior" camp for my tastes. So it's a touchy subject.)

Of course, that was intentional. Now she was mad at me for being a jerk, and she had a good reason to be mad at me. So, she could hang on to that obvious reason for being mad and allow the mystery reason to fade into nothing.

In twenty minutes, she'd be over it completely and likely have no memory of either the events or emotions of her "dream." Devious, but effective.

Later, Marsha was enjoying some television, and Chani was playing alone in her room. I told my wife I had some work to do, but before sequestering myself in my home office, I swung by Chain's bedroom to give her the, "It's time to work, Chani," command.

I wanted to make sure that she was back to normal because chances are that she had homework to do. And, as long as I stayed in my office, we were unlikely to cross paths again.

Her "transformation" accomplished, I stepped into my office and closed the door. It was time for me to get to work too.

Alright, things had gotten away from me, and I couldn't allow that to happen again. It was time to take stock of where we were so I could plan a route forward.

I started with what I knew about Chani:

1. She's under a lot of stress at school.

2. She's fighting with her best friend, Jessica.

3. She had opened up to Jessica today with some secret that had upset Jessi

and caused today's outburst.

4. I accidentally installed two post-hypnotic suggestions triggered by the phrases

a. "It's time to play, Chani." Which causes her to act and feel like a carefree child.

b. "It's time to work, Chani." Which returns her to normal.

5. I've been hypnotizing her for "stress," and she has really enjoyed it. She is eager to do more sessions. Though, interestingly, she has only brought it up when her mother is out of the house. It could be a coincidence, or she may (at least subconsciously) desire for our activities to be outside of her mother's awareness.

6. She has responded oddly to my hypnotic instructions. She seems to only respond if I "install" commands while she is in her younger persona.

7. After installing commands, they seem, at least thus far, to become fully accepted by her normal, adult self. As if it has been the norm her entire life.

8. In our last session, I installed the idea that she could take away her stress and sadness by passionately kissing and caressing me.

9. She demonstrated this afternoon (almost to my ruin) that she had fully internalized that concept.

Next, I turned my attention to Marsha:

1. Years ago, I had developed the sub-personality, Ashley, that existed within my wife. Ashley was my loyal sex slave. And, while she would do literally anything I asked, she had very little impact on Marsha's personality.

2. While "training" Marsha, I had employed several post-hypnotic suggestions which, based on today's experience, may still work.

3. The reason that I had created Ashley was that I wanted to leave my wife's personality intact. I had messed with my first wife too much, and it caused problems. I didn't want to repeat those mistakes.

Pretty straight forward. It was time to write down and formalize my goals:

1. For Chani to willfully and eagerly become my sexual plaything. (Without affecting other areas of her life in any negative way.)

2. For Marsha to accept and encourage this new relationship between my daughter and me.

Simply having written it all down, I immediately felt better. I still didn't have a plan, but that was next. Just knowing where I stood was a good start.

As I read and reread my lists, something entered my mind. It started as just a thought, then that thought became an image in my imagination.

I closed my eyes, leaned back in my chair, and indulged in this new fantasy. As I did, I felt a familiar and pleasurable stirring in my pants.

After a good minute or two, I had made up my mind. I opened my eyes, picked up my pen, and, with a smirk on my lips and a wicked gleam in my eye, I amended my list of goals.

4. For Marsha and Chani to willfully and eagerly desire to engage in regular threesomes with me.

5. For Marsha and Chani to desire each other sexually and to willfully and eagerly act on that desire.

(So much for not wanting to alter my wife's personality. Oh well... in for a penny, in for a pound.)

Finally, with all my data laid out before me, I began to work on my plan.

-----

I stayed in my office for a few hours. First working on my plan and then just working... there's always more work to do.

Finally, around 11pm, I emerged and headed to the family room, drawn by the sound of the TV.

As I expected, my wife was parked on the couch, curled up in a blanket, a glass of wine in her hand.

I sat next to her, and once I was settled, she shifted to cuddle up with me. We mostly sat in silence for the next fifteen minutes or so, with Marsha occasionally filling in some little plot or character detail so that I could at least pretend like I was following along.

Honestly, I couldn't care less about what was on the screen, but Marsha and I didn't get a lot of time to just chill together. It was nice.

"Chani in bed?" I asked, eventually.

Marsha replied without turning away from the TV, "Yeah. I looked in on her a little before you came out. She was already asleep. She pretty much just stayed in her room all night. I guess she had a lot of homework."

"Probably," I responded. "She's been under a lot of pressure lately. School, and relationships and, just growing up stuff, I guess. I worry about her sometimes."

"Worry about her?" Marsha asked, a hint of concern in her voice. "You think it's too much for her. I mean, I know this can be a difficult time in a person's life, but we made it through."

I sighed and looked off into the distance as I thought about my response. "You're right, but things are different nowadays. The life of a teenager has all the same struggles as when we were kids. Plus, social media. Plus, the looming realities of student debt, global warming, decreasing prosperity.

"When we were Chani's age, we had all the usual trials and tribulations of being a teenager. But, we also felt like we had our whole lives ahead of us. Well at least I did, I don't want to speak for you."

"No," Marsha responded, obviously thinking about my words. "You're right. I felt like life was just beginning."

"Exactly!" I said, turning toward my wife. "I don't think it's like that for kids these days. It's really sad, to be honest. In fact, I see it all the time at work."

"At work, what do you mean?" Marsha asked.

"Just what I said, we've been seeing more and more teens over the past couple years. Probably more than ever before, teens are struggling with stress, anxiety, and depression. And, as you can imagine, when you don't see a lot of hope for the future, it's difficult to be motivated to work hard in the present.

"That's why they usually come in at first. Their parents force them to come because they're 'lazy' or 'listless' or 'unmotivated' or 'entitled.' And the parents what me to 'fix them.'"

Marsha shook her head in agreement, "Yeah, I hear that all the time. The kids today just don't want to work. They just want to sit around and play video games."

"No," I said, somewhat forcefully. (I see how these kids suffer first hand, and I get a little passionate about it.) "That's not it at all. That's just the lie that we tell ourselves, so we don't have to take responsibility.

"Think about this. When our parent's generation was our age, they held 40% of the country's wealth. Our generation only holds about 20%. Ghani's generation will only hold about 5% of the nation's wealth when they reach our age.

"Kids aren't stupid. They see the pattern, and it's soul-crushing."

"Wow, really. I had no idea it was like that." Marsha paused for a few heartbeats then continued, "And it's horrible, and I feel bad, but -and I'm sorry- but we're not going to solve the world's problems tonight. So let's bring this back to Chani.

"You said you were worried about her. Was that just a general statement about her generation, or was that specifically about our daughter?"

"You're right," I sighed and continued. "Sorry, I get a little worked up sometimes. Yes, I was talking about our daughter, Chani, specifically."

"Go on," Marsha prodded.

"Well, when I work with these kids, it almost always comes back to their parents. It's only 30% about 'fixing' the kids and 70% about 'fixing' the parents. And, to be brutally honest, we're doing a lot of the same things that I see my problem parents doing."

"What!" Marsha gasped indignantly. "We're excellent parents!"

"Easy there," I soothed. "Of course we're good parents, and so are nearly all of my client's parents. But it's more complicated than that. In today's world, parents need to be a little more savvy, a little more intentional with how they interact with their teens."

"How so?" my wife asked, prompting me to continue.

"Well, each parent has different responsibilities, and it's a little different for boys and girls. For girls (since we're talking about Chani), the majority of the 'work' falls on the mother."

"Figures," Marsha said, slightly under her breath.

"It's the mother's responsibility," I continued as if I hadn't heard her, "to shift from caregiver to mentor and, to a lesser extent, friend. What the mother does, what you do, is to start bringing her daughter, step-by-step, into the mother's adult world.

"What you're accomplishing is removing two different, yet equally powerful, burdens from your daughter.

"First, you demonstrate that, as a woman, you have found your place in the world. What you're saying to your daughter is, 'Look, I figured it out. All these other women figured it out. There is a path forward, and I'm going to walk with you down your path, for as long as you need me.

"When done correctly, you're daughter (Chani -I don't know why I keep abstracting- Chani, we're talking about Chani) is freed from the burden of feeling like she's responsible for figuring it all out on her own.

"For a while now, the message we've been trying to give girls is that they're powerful, capable, and able to choose their destiny. Which is an essential and beautiful message. But what we didn't realize was that the subtext of that message was that they were also unique. That no women before them had the same opportunities and, as such, it was up to them to figure it all out on their own.

"It's a heavy burden."

"Umm, I see what you're saying," my wife hesitantly agreed, "but I'm not sure I agree 100%."

"That's fine, at least think about it." I continued on, "So, the first burden is related to her future. The second burden is regarding her place in society.

"For both young men and young women, one of the most challenging parts about growing up is learning what it means to be a man or to be a woman. By and large, indeed almost exclusively, it is left up to the child to infer.

"The rites of passage that were ubiquitous among our tribal ancestors have been forgotten. And now boys and girls turn to Hollywood and Instagram to decipher the mysteries of what it means to be 'mature.'"

"No, I completely disagree," my wife chimed in, her tone indicating that she was somewhat hurt by what I was saying. "Chani learns what it means to be an adult from us."

"Really?" I questioned. "In the past month, how much time have you spent with Chani? Not just being in the same room together, but actually interacting in a meaningful way? Four hours? Six hours?"

"Well, I... um maybe...," my wife started to attempt an answer when I interrupted her.

"How much time has she spent on Instagram? Two, three hours... a day?

"Look, this isn't an indictment of you, of us, our parenting ability, or our love for Chani. For the first five years of her life, we principally focused on just keeping her alive. Then, we spent several years trying to teach her to be a decent human being.

"Well, she's moved on, but like most parents, we're still stuck treating her like she's 8, not 18. And, because we love her, we need to adapt."