The Hypnotist

The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.

When I first started jotting down my thoughts for this story, I was concerned that it might be too similar to another story I had read on Literotica some time ago. I did a search for "quit smoking" and then gaped at all the results. I read nine or ten of them, and briefly browsed a dozen more before I stopped. This story idea had been "done to death" and nobody would want to read another one, I thought.

Then...dammit, I sat down and got caught up in telling it anyway. I just hope I haven't been ripping off someone else's story idea that I read years ago. Next thing you know, I'll be writing a story about some mom sitting in her son's lap for a long drive to college... Not really, but I hope none of you are upset that this story lacks originality.

Thanks again to my good friends I've met through this site, who took the time to read over my story and helped me make it better. You guys are just the best.

* * * * *

One of my favorite movies of all time is

Office Space.

It isn't just me, either. So many people I have talked to over the years absolutely love that movie, love reciting lines from it, and more than a few have shaken their heads and said something like, "Jesus. Sometimes I feel like that's my life, man."

I can still recall the first time I watched it. It had been out on video for years at that point, and a bunch of my friends in high school raved about it. "Oh, man! You

have

to watch that movie!"

I busted up immediately and often as I watched it, but the scene that really stood out to me—that made the whole thing

work

in my mind—was that scene with the hypnotist early on. For those of you who haven't seen the movie, you really should. But the main character was in a hypnosis session where the hypnotist told him to let go of all his cares and concerns, and then the hypnotist had a heart attack and keeled over before he could bring the main character out of that relaxed, not-giving-a-shit frame of mind.

To this day, I wonder if it could really work that way. I assumed for the longest time that it didn't work like that, and that I couldn't be hypnotized unless I wanted to be. The way it was depicted in movies made me skeptical in the extreme. However, I learned the hard way that an unscrupulous hypnotist could really mess up someone's life.

* * *

My sister started smoking when she was a freshman in high school. Our parents didn't know, but they both smoked about two packs a day. They didn't notice—and neither did I—when my sister started sneaking a couple of their cigarettes a day. By the time she graduated high school, she was buying her own cigarettes. She was eighteen, so it wasn't a big deal. A few years later, she decided she wanted to quit. That was about the time I turned eighteen. Gwynne was in college, working on her master's degree in psychology.

For the next year, she tried again and again to quit smoking. It really bothered her that she couldn't seem to give them up. She tried using nicotine gum, then the patch, and she even joined a 12-step program. Each time, she would manage to get a couple weeks along and then she would relapse and start smoking again. Part of her concern was that she was planning to be a therapist for people with addictions, and she could not shake her own addiction to nicotine.

This was all stuff she would tell me later. While she was going through it, I was already living on my own and had my own life. I'd never taken up smoking. The smell had always bothered me, and it was nice just to live in a place where I didn't have to deal with that constant, pervasive odor. It was definitely a factor in my relationship with my parents. After I had moved out, I didn't visit with them nearly as often as I might have otherwise.

I took a few college classes after high school, but I started working that first semester. I was really fortunate. That part-time job led to a full-time position, and I earned a promotion almost immediately. A second promotion followed just a few months later, and I was making really good money. I had my own apartment, which was across town from where my sister lived. I'd been there for almost a year when Gwynne asked if she could move in with me.

At first, my answer was, "I'm sorry, Gwynne, but no. I don't want my place smelling like cigarettes."

"That's just it, Mitch," she groaned. "Both my roommates smoke. It's impossible for me to quit when one of them is lighting up around me all the time. With you for a roommate, at least I'd have a chance!"

I thought it was a bad idea, but eventually I relented. To be honest, it wasn't just her smoking that I was worried about. There were three different women I had been hooking up with for sex, and I figured having my sister living with me would make that impossible. But then two of those women moved away and the third got engaged and told me she couldn't see me anymore. That all happened within a week of my sister's frustrated plea, and I had already felt bad about turning her down.

She had sounded desperate when we had talked, and it made me feel like a heartless bastard the way I had brusquely told her "no." I kept thinking of all the times she had been there for me when we were growing up. When she really needed my help, what had I done? Instead of being helpful or supportive, I had basically told her I didn't want her stinky cigarettes in my apartment. It sounded bad when I thought of it in those terms.

So I sighed and called my sister. I was very straightforward about her smoking, though.

"Gwynne, if you live with me you absolutely cannot smoke here. I love you to death, but I will kick your ass out of my apartment if I ever come home and the place reeks of cigarettes. Got it?"

"Oh, Mitch, I promise that will never happen!" she gushed. "Thank you so much!"

I doubt I would have actually kicked her out. I had said it just to be clear I was serious, and I thought it would make it easier for her to quit if she thought of the apartment as a place where she simply could not smoke.

* * *

Three and a half weeks after that phone call I helped her move her things into my apartment. It was a two-bedroom apartment, and I had intended to either set up the second bedroom as a sort of home office or a guest bedroom. I hadn't gotten around to doing either of those things, so it wasn't a problem to quickly vacuum the carpet and empty the handful of boxes I had stored in that closet. A week or so earlier I had moved the little computer desk and chair into my bedroom.

We took all of her clothes and her bed linens down to the laundromat in our complex and washed all of it so that there wouldn't be any residual smell of cigarettes. I helped her fold her laundry and make her bed, and we had a really nice time just hanging out and talking while we did it. I always liked Gwynne, and it was fun having her around again.

After we got everything put away in her new bedroom, Gwynne gave me a weak smile and lifted the sleeve of her blouse to show me the nicotine patch on her shoulder.

"This should do it, now," she said.

It was tough for me to watch her over the next few days. She was obviously struggling and anxious. Gwynne chewed her nails relentlessly whenever we watched television together, and she often popped up from the couch to pace around nervously for several minutes before she realized why she was so uncomfortable. Each time, she would sigh loudly and then plop down next to me on the couch with an apology.

I would just wrap an arm around her back and give her a reassuring squeeze and a smile.

"It's okay, Gwynne," I assured her. "You can do this."

Two days later, she looked crestfallen when I walked into the apartment after work. My apartment didn't reek of cigarettes, but I could smell it on her.

"I broke down and had a cigarette in my car," she admitted. "Please don't kick me out!"

I chewed my lip and nodded. Because I really didn't know what she was going through, I had looked online for some helpful information. I understood that most smokers who eventually quit went through this. They would relapse and it normally took several tries before they could finally give up the habit entirely. I knew she probably felt despair in that moment, and I wanted to be supportive.

"Come here," I said softly, spreading my arms.

She got up from the couch uncertainly, but approached and let me hug her. When she was in my arms, I held her to me tightly and ran my right hand up and down her back. She sighed into my chest and then wrapped her arms around my lower back, returning the hug.

"I love you, Gwynne," I murmured into her hair. "I always will, no matter what. I understand it's really tough for you, but I know you can do this if you keep trying."

She trembled and let out a little sob, and I just held her tighter. We stood there holding each other for another minute or so, and she sobbed quietly two or three more times. It was one of those times where I felt like I shared her frustration. I was helpless to really do anything, and I wanted desperately to help her. All I could do was hold her, and it felt like it wasn't enough. She seemed better after we released each other, but she frowned.

"Mitch, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I really need a cigarette right now."

I nodded and thought for a moment. Since our parents had smoked, I could recall what it was like. There had always been ashtrays scattered throughout the house, and our parents would leave packs of cigarettes lying next to several of them. That wouldn't do in our current living situation, but I happened to glance past her and my eyes lit on the plastic lawn chair sitting on the balcony.

"I understand," I said. "Do you want to use the balcony? I can put a can out there or something for your cigarette butts."

She cocked her head and her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at me.

"Did you ever smoke, Mitch?" she asked.

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "I never did."

"Then how do you understand what I'm going through?"

"I looked at a bunch of online articles," I sighed. "There were a bunch of studies that they quoted, and some of the articles had links to the original research studies so I could see the actual research as well. They all pretty much said the same thing, though; almost nobody quits cold turkey and never needs a cigarette again. It usually takes several tries. Lots of former smokers shared their personal experiences, so I know you probably feel shitty right now. I just want you to know I'm here for you no matter what. If you need to smoke, then you need to smoke. I'm not going to judge you. I just can't have you doing it in the apartment."

She nodded, then turned to look out the sliding glass door that led from the living room out onto the balcony. I had a small plastic table out there that matched the chair. The balcony looked out over the walkway between our building and the one behind us. Occasionally, I had taken my laptop out there to work in the fresh air and sunshine, and a couple of times I had taken a book out there to read. Other than that, though, I hadn't really used it much.

"It looks nice," Gwynne finally said, turning to smile at me again. Her smile looked forced, though. She was still unhappy with herself for giving in to that impulse to smoke.

"Go grab your cigarettes out of the car," I told her. "I'll look for something for your cigarette butts."

"I...I have an ashtray in the car," she admitted.

I nodded. "Well, bring that too. You'll still need something bigger for those cigarette butts, though, so they don't blow all over the place. I doubt the downstairs neighbors would appreciate it."

Gwynne chuckled. "Good thinking," she said, and then she was on her way.

I found a small coffee can in one of my cabinets. It had been a gift, of sorts. Someone at work had received it, but they didn't drink coffee so they gave it to me. It wasn't my usual brand, so I'd only brewed three pots of the stuff. Since then, it had sat on that cabinet shelf and been largely ignored. I was about to dump the coffee grounds into the trash so my sister could use the can when she came back from her car.

"Ooh, Kona!" she exclaimed. "I love that stuff. I didn't know you drank it."

"I don't," I chuckled. "Someone gave this to me. I was going to throw it out so you could use the can."

"Don't you dare!" she cried, stepping over to reach for the can.

"Relax. I'll put it in a plastic container for you."

I found an appropriately sized container with a lid and did exactly that. Gwynne sniffed the aromatic grounds appreciatively. Then I took the empty can and led the way out to the balcony. I watched her set the ash tray on the table. She pulled a cigarette out of the pack and set the pack next to the ash tray. Then she sat and lit up, and I watched her shudder as she took that first long drag and held it in.

Watching her shudder like that stirred something inside me. It took a moment for me to pin down what it was. Gwynne blew out a puff of smoke and gave me another one of those weak smiles. I could tell she felt better after that first drag. It was relaxing in a way she desperately needed.

"God, I needed that," she groaned before taking that second drag.

That was when it hit me. When her body had shuddered, I had been reminded of the way my friend Christy had looked when she had an orgasm. I had known for years that my sister was very attractive, and that she had a "smoking-hot body" as my friend Danny had so crudely put it. Christy's body was disturbingly similar to my sister's. They both had nice, big tits, hips that tapered into a fairly narrow waist, and my sister's lips even reminded me uncomfortably of Christy's.

Unlike Christy, whose hair was light brown, my sister had black curly hair like mine. Hers came halfway down her back, though. I had to keep mine cropped short on the sides and back for work. Anyone who saw me and Gwynne standing together would be able to guess we were siblings. And most of my friends over the years had thought my sister was hot. My eyes strayed again to Gwynne's lips and I had to suppress a shudder of my own.

The last time I had seen Christy, those lips had been wrapped around my dick. I blew out a breath and looked out over the handrail of the balcony. I didn't want to look at my sister's lips welcoming that cigarette. As I tried not to think about Christy—or Frieda, or Melinda—I realized I hadn't been with any of them now for over a month. Not the longest dry spell of my life, but for the previous five months I had been having sex with each of them once or twice a week. Christy and I had been seeing each other on and off for over a year.

While my relationships with all three women had been casual, the sex had been fantastic. And now I wasn't having any.

"I'm sorry it bothers you," Gwynne murmured. "You don't have to be out here with me, Mitch."

I turned and shook my head, smiling at her as I did. "It's fine," I assured her. "I was just thinking...I don't know if that table gets wet when it rains." That had popped into my head as I grasped for something to tell her besides the truth. "You might not want to leave your cigarettes out here. Or your lighter."

She took another drag and nodded as I spoke. When she blew out the smoke, she chuckled, "Yeah, that would suck. These things are expensive, too. If I can quit, I might just pay off my student loans with the money I'll save."

I can't recall now what else we talked about, but I remember laughing quite a bit. Now that my sister had her "fix" and calmed down, she was really funny. We stayed out there and talked for half an hour or so, and she had a second cigarette before we went back inside.

As soon as she stepped through the sliding door, my sister made a beeline for the bathroom. I heard the water running in the sink, and could clearly hear her washing her hands, splashing water over her face, and then brushing her teeth with her electric toothbrush. I chuckled, but was happy I hadn't had to ask her to do any of those things. When she came out of the bathroom, I couldn't help but let out a gasp.

She was holding her blouse in her hand, and the lacy white bra she wore really showed off her big tits. It was a soft bra, rather than being constrictive and stiff, so her breasts wobbled enticingly with every step. When she heard me gasp, Gwynne stopped and turned to look at me. Her breasts swayed and shook when she did, and I was staring open-mouthed at them. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"Oh, shit!" she hissed. Her right arm flew up to shield her breasts and she shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Mitch. I got used to having two girls for roommates."

I swallowed heavily. As soon as she covered those incredible tits I was able to look back at her face again. "It's—it's okay," I stammered. "It just...I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry I stared."

We were both blushing, and she scurried into her bedroom and pushed the door closed. I heard her muttering something, and a few moments later she came back out wearing a long t-shirt and carrying her laundry hamper. She let out a sigh.

"Sorry about that," she said, "I was just thinking I should take off my blouse and wash it right away. I don't want the cigarette smell stinking up the place. I just didn't think about how revealing my bra was." She shook her head, and looked like she might say more.

"It's okay," I assured her.

She nodded and headed over to the front door. I figured I could join her and knock out my own laundry, so I stepped into my room and stripped off my work pants, boxers and shirt. I tossed those into my hamper and bent to peel off my black work socks, and then I heard a gasp from my doorway. I turned, and before I could shield my crotch my sister got a good look at my bulging, half-hard dick. She stared at it and licked her lips, and then my hands shot down to cover it. I was still holding one of my socks in my left hand, and I'm sure I looked ridiculous.

"Sorry!" Gwynne blurted, but she bit her lip and was clearly trying not to laugh. "I wasn't trying to peek at you naked, I swear. I got to the landing and thought I'd offer to wash your clothes while I was at it."

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a weird croak instead. I cleared my throat and shook my head.

"I figured I would change, grab my laundry and join you," I managed to say. We both stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then I softly added, "Gwynne? Would you please close the door?"

"Oh! Right! Sorry," she murmured.

"Dumbass!" I chided myself as I stripped off my other sock and tossed both of them into the laundry hamper.

I quickly threw on a long t-shirt of my own, plus a comfortable pair of shorts and clean white socks. Gwynne and I struggled to find something to talk about as we made our way down to the laundromat. I realized once we started our laundry that she was struggling not to stare at my crotch every bit as much as I was struggling to keep my eyes off her chest.

I managed a real laugh then. It was just me and Gwynne in the small laundromat, so nobody else was there to look at me or to overhear our conversation.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that," I said. "I think we made the same mistake for the same reason, though. You got used to having girls for roommates, so you could parade around in sexy underwear if you wanted to. I've been living on my own for almost as long. I could parade around my apartment naked if I wanted to."

Gwynne's eyes widened. "Was that something you enjoyed doing?" she asked.

I almost joked that it was, but I saw the look on her face. She looked concerned that her presence was interfering with something I liked to do. I swallowed and shook my head.