3 comments/ 42077 views/ 37 favorites Hypnothe-Rapist Ch. 01 By: Smokey125 Smokey Saga #3: "Hypnothe-Rapist" *** November 25th, 2:00 p.m. Dr. Angela Vevacia Starr was a miraculously skilled therapist. She ran a clinic for folks who dealt with debilitating behavioral and other mental issues. She saw a dozen or two each week, and her talents were such that not many clients required more than eight to ten sessions to effectively be cured. In her mid-30s, she had been honing her craft for the past five years. The secret to her success was her chosen field, her particular spin on the practice. Angela was a professional hypnotherapist. In her five years of operation, she had met, had appointments with and treated all sorts of different men in her office. Women were allowed to come to the clinic as well, but they were few and far between. All were adult; the one unbendable restriction the clinic bore was that all patients must be of at least legal adult age. Intensive hypnotherapy was an advanced and sophisticated procedure, and it was simply not suitable for children or minors, as the effects would adversely traumatize and harm their young minds. Angela had seen hundreds of men who came to her for help, some one-time patients, some for multiple visits, but she never forgot a single one. She passionately loved what she did and treasured each client. Equal adoration was harbored for her receptionist, Paula June Saunders, who shared her passion for the magic of the healing arts. Angela considered herself incredibly fortunate to have met and begun working with Paula. They had been together for four and one quarter of Angela's five professional years. It took over six months of interviews and dry runs to find Paula, with whom she was finally content, both as an employee and a partner. Angela made it crystal-clear that if her receptionists were not willing and happy to welcome absolutely all clients with only the utmost respect and courtesy, and hold them in the highest regard possible, they knew where the door was. Angela became so thrilled to have found Paula, she snatched her up before someone else did. She immediately lavished her with a sweet salary and generous benefits. There were two stipulations, however, which she established with Paula early on, and they were strict rules on which she stood fast: Dr. Angela Starr's professional office was for clients only—the receptionist would not be permitted inside the office, and all contact from inside it would be via phone—and also, the receptionist would be required to write down all messages to give Angela, as her office phone would be unplugged during this time, and no one was to knock on the door during session. Paula acquiesced without question. The two began a little inside joke between them that each and every patient who found the way into the clinic would receive no less than the Starr Treatment. And so they did. The office Angela kept was decently sizable, which it had to be in order to accommodate her chosen piece of furniture for clients: an extremely soft and comfy three-cushion cotton sofa, which folded out into a bed. The rest of the office was kept equally immaculate, consisting of her desk and chair, a closet for pajamas and robes, lots of different-sized pillows, a cabinet for files, a water dispenser and a built-in washroom, in which she'd had a washer and dryer installed for laundry. The atmosphere had also been equipped to relax patients into a sleepy state with light blue walls, a quietly humming air conditioner at a constant 73°F, and for more hyper individuals, a CD player and some albums which played soothing nature sounds, pianissimo classical music and lullabies. Once in a while, Angela would read a patient a lullaby herself. She sometimes amused herself with the idea of inducing sleep by reading to her patients from advanced calculus and psychology textbooks, but decided this was less than necessary. Angela had filled Paula in on a detailed and stringent regimen with which she was to welcome patients to the office. First-comers were asked to supply proof of insurance and to fill out a form with basic personal information, medical history and current health status. Returning patients were asked to update the receptionist to any changes in said info. The waiting room was furnished with some cushy chairs, a TV set on public broadcasting, so as to preserve a peaceful ambience, and a decent assortment of reading material. Paula greeted every patient with a warm smile and a gentle tone of voice, Angela did the same taking them into her office, and to date the clinic had received no formal complaints. One of the form questions for new patients regarded marital status: single, relationship, married, or divorced. Occasionally, a client would inquire as to why exactly this question was asked. Angela would explain its helpfulness by describing how the status could psychologically relate back to the patient's clinical issue, which seemed to satisfy most. Personally, Paula didn't totally understand the significance of the question herself, but she had been witnessing Angela's practically flawless record for these four years, so she knew her employer must be doing something very right. What Paula didn't know, however, was that for (not all but many of) these men, the Starr Treatment entailed just a bit more than the receptionist was privy to. On this day at 2:00 p.m., a new client was scheduled to come in for his first session. His name was Timothy. Angela had examined his form, giving it a quick once-over before tossing Paula the thumbs-up to send him in. "Timothy Jacobs?" Paula called. A trim, lanky man in his early 30s stood up. Handing his insurance and identification cards back to him, Paula said, "Mr. Jacobs, you may go into the office now, sir." She pointed behind her. "All the way back to the end of the hall, and directly to your left, just across from the restroom." "Thank you," said Timothy, pocketing his cards, a little nervous. He took his time to Dr. Starr's office. Angela saw him appear in her doorway, and looked up. "Mr. Jacobs?" she asked. He nodded, breathing quickly and wringing his hands. "Yes." "Hi!" she said, smiling big and bright. She stood and took his hand in both of hers. "Lovely to meet you! I'm Dr. Angela Starr!" She was wearing one of her standard work outfits: a long-sleeved faded blue nightgown printed with a special design, in this case a pattern of small animals, not unlike those of popular pajamas, one more tool to visually ease patients to slumber. Timothy hesitated. "Uh...you too," he uttered. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I'm sorry," he explained, "I'm just a little anxious." Angela's eyes turned sympathetic. "Oh, I understand, sir," she said gently, giving him a pat on the arm. "It's okay, that's why you're here now. Trust me, you'll be totally fine. Nothing to worry about." She asked him to please have a seat on her sofa. "Okay, so, Mr. Jacobs," Angela began, sitting back down and crossing her right leg over her left. "Let's go ahead and get rolling. Why have you come to see me today?" "Well," he started, "I've been dealing with this depression for a while now, and it's really been dragging me down lately...I saw a psychologist about it for a while, who eventually suggested I come see you. He highly recommended you. Isaac Jameson?" "Oh, Dr. Jameson!" said Angela. "Yes, of course. Very good friend of mine. Wonderful therapist." Angela explained to him how she conducted an introductory interview with each new patient before they underwent treatment. Timothy asked, "Well, what exactly happens? 'Cause, I've never done this before." Angela nodded. "Completely understood. Believe me, it's normal to be a little wary or skeptical. And it's true, hypnotherapy can differ from your basic forms of treatment. But you have my word as a professional: I will not allow myself to make you regret your decision to come here today." He seemed to relax a bit. "Okay," he said. Angela continued. "Mr. Jacobs, I have been a practicing hypnotherapist for five years. And in that time, I have not once failed to improve the quality of my patients' lives, whatever their issues. I work as many sessions with my clients as is necessary until both they and I are completely satisfied. And while it is entirely your decision whether to continue or not, I have also never had a patient choose to stop treatment of their own volition before I too felt they were ready to resume without therapy." Timothy nodded. "There are, however, some things you should know before you decide if you definitely want to do this with me," she said. "First of all, though this is a gentle and relaxing process, it's also more intimate than traditional forms of therapy are." His eyebrows rose at this statement. "And should you decide you want hypnotherapy, I will give you advance notice that not everyone can be cured immediately. Some are, but these cases are rare. Some require three to four sessions, some more than that. And as this is a more intimate treatment, you should also be aware that there is some physical contact involved, as well as some probing of the subconscious. Though I pride myself on my effective and successful craft, it's not cheap, by any means—and easier for some to afford than others—and so I feel it incumbent upon me to inform you of these precautions beforehand." She paused. "Do you follow me?" He nodded, again, continuing to wring his hands. "Good," said Angela. "Furthermore, the satisfaction of my clients is forefront in my mind, but your comfort with me is every bit as important, and goes hand in hand. Therefore, if you at any point whatsoever begin to feel uncomfortable with the procedure, or that your treatment is becoming too intense, or too much for you in any way, the decision is yours, and yours only, to cease treatment, at any time, and you may have a refund for the current session." She paused again. "With me so far?" "Yeah..." He seemed to be growing more anxious. "All right," she said. "Each appointment typically lasts anywhere from one-and-a-half to two hours, but as this is our first meeting and introductory interview, should you decide to proceed, I will give you a minimum of two hours today. As I say, this is an expensive business, and I very much desire that my patients get their hard-earned money's worth." Timothy was starting to squirm in his seat. "I hope I'm not making you too nervous, Mr. Jacobs," Angela said, a bit concerned. "No, no, no," he shook his head. "Just, uh..." he let the sentence drop. "Okay, very well. These are all just formalities, of which I'm obligated to inform you before we get started," Angela smiled, slipping on a pair of eyeglasses with oval-shaped frames. "Now, Timothy—..." she paused. "Would you prefer I call you Mr. Jacobs, or Timothy, or does it make a difference?" He shrugged. "Doesn't matter." "All right then, Timothy, I'd like to begin by asking you a few questions, if you don't mind." Timothy exhaled. "Well, okay." "All right," she said. "Now, exactly how long can you remember having been depressed?" Timothy thought a moment. "Probably since I was a teenager." "And do you remember if and/or when you were officially diagnosed?" "Um...no, I don't think I was, actually," he answered. "I see," she noted. "And, is there anything you'd like to tell me about the nature or details of the depression?" "It just..." he shrugged with a sigh. "...It just seems to spoil everything." "Everything?" she queried. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, it feels like I don't have the will or energy to do anything anymore. I-I don't want to exercise, or play my guitar, or go shopping...I have a hard time just getting out of bed sometimes. A lot of the time I don't even want to eat. The only thing I'm regularly doing is going to work, and that's just because I have to. My friends don't want to hang out with me as much, and I couldn't get a date if my life depended on it." Angela looked up from her pad and raised her eyebrows. "So, just to be clear, you are not romantically or sexually involved with anybody right now, in any way?" she inquired. "No." "And if I may ask, when's the last time you dated...a girl? You don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable with it," she quickly added. He thought a second. "Eight years." Her eyes reflexively widened just a bit. Goodness, she thought, lowering her brows back down. "Ever married?" He shook his head. "But perhaps—and again, only answer if you feel like it—you could see yourself becoming involved one day, or marrying...a woman?" she inquired, adding the final two words just to be sure. He shrugged again. "I...guess...but, what are the chances of that, if I can't even find anyone to go out with me?" She nodded sympathetically. "Okay," Angela went on. "And, you've never been hypnotized before, you said?" "Right, no, I haven't." "All right, and do you currently have any health issues other than the effects depression has had on you?" was her next question. "Disease? Allergies to anything?" "Mm, not really." "Healthy appetite?" "Well, uh...when I get really hungry, I guess." "What's your diet like?" "Erm...not great." "Ah—meats, fats, sweets, comfort food, that kind of thing?" "Well, a lot of it, yeah." Hm, she thought. Well, not exactly ideal, but, I can work with that. "Healthy sex drive?" "Uh...dunno, I...I guess," he said uncertainly. "Not that I get much of a chance to find out." "So then, definitely no sexually transmitted diseases, anything like that?" Timothy stared at her with a surprised face for a moment. "God, no," he said, indicating the obvious answer. "How's your sleeping?" "Well, a little less than I'd like, but not too bad." "How much sleep did you get last night?" "Six, seven hours, probably," he said. "Well, that's not bad," she agreed. "If a patient oversleeps—or undersleeps—it can make things a little trickier for me, but nothing I can't handle. I usually recommend a total of seven to eight hours per night, not counting naps. Try to shoot for that." "Okay," he nodded. "Right then, outstanding," she said. "Now, can you tell me if your depression is hereditary, or if it stems from a childhood trauma or similar event?" "No, not really," Timothy mused. "Never really been totally sure where it came from originally...it just seemed to...kinda show up out of nowhere one day some years ago." "Well, I'm sure we can figure it out," said Angela, returning the pad, pen and glasses to her desk. Her desk clock read 2:17. "Thank you, Timothy." She leaned closer to him, clasping her hands together. "Now, I have to ask at this point, before we go any further, do you definitely wish to undergo the hypnosis? Because I cannot begin this procedure without my patient's absolute consent." He took a breath. "I...just...I mean, I'll-I'll try anything at this point. Yeah." Consent granted. Green light. "Excellent." She unplugged the phone. "Now if I can ask you to please stand up, take off your shoes and place them over by the filing cabinet, I'll just unfold the sofa bed." He obliged, and she did so. "There we are, now go ahead and lay down, get yourself nice and comfy," she said. "There's a bunch of pillows on the end to your right, take as many as you like and arrange them however works best for you." He obeyed. "And I can get you some jammies or a robe if you'd like," she said. "They're freshly laundered every day. I want you to be as cozy as you possibly can." Timothy was surprised at just how cushy the mattress was. It felt as if he was slowly sinking, almost at once. "I don't usually wear pajamas," he explained. "Oh?" she said. "No, normally I just sleep...uh...y'know..." he gestured with a half-chuckle. She turned to her desk momentarily and smiled. Ah, she thought, flipping her eyebrows provocatively. Good to know. She opened one of the drawers in her desk, took out a slumber mask and handed it to him. "And put this on, please." He hesitated. "'S just to counteract the sunlight," she explained matter-of-factly. "Even though we close the blinds, some still sneaks in. The masks enhance sleep capabilities even for the least sensitive eyes." Feeling somewhat nervous again, Timothy nevertheless took it and slipped it over his eyes. "Good," said Angela, lowering and softening her voice. Angela took off her own shoes and slid her feet into a pair of slippers underneath her desk. At the same time, she took a scrunchie and tied her hair back with it. She removed a stethoscope from another drawer, rose from the chair, went to her door, making sure her "SESSION IN PROGRESS, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB" sign was in clear view just below her name, shut it, locked it, and turned off the light. She picked up a pillow which sat in another chair, placed it on the floor by Timothy's head to his right, and knelt on it. She leaned down by his ear. "Okay, Timothy," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Now just relax...unclench your muscles...just let everything wind down. Don't, think, about, anything. Don't worry about the time, we have as much as it takes. Now we're going to take some nice deep breaths, all right? Inhale for me, please, through your nose, while I count." He breathed in, and she began, "One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight, and...exhale, through your mouth." He obediently breathed back out as she recounted. She readied the stethoscope in her ears. "Again. Inhale through the nose... "...One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...and exhale through the mouth... "...One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight." She lowered her voice even softer. "Now inhale for me again, nice and deep, and I'm just going to take your hands..." She gently picked up his wrists and started to slowly, gingerly bring his arms to his sides. He started to react. She whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Timothy, my dear friend, just lie back. Just relax. You, are, safe. Completely safe...with me." He relaxed again, and she brought his arms down to either side of his body. As she did, she looked at his hands, just to make sure...and she noticed some slight traces of calluses on the fingertips of his right hand, evidently from playing the guitar he'd referenced earlier. Oh, a southpaw, huh? Interesting, she thought. She held his wrist, locating his pulse, and with the other hand placed the stethoscope's chestpiece on him to find his heartbeat. "Now I'm going to hold your hand for a little bit," she whispered, "Just to get your psyche accustomed to my touch. "Remember, you're just fine," she reassured him. "Perfectly secure. And now, we're going to take you to a happy place," she soothed him, pacing her speech with her benevolent smile. "Imagine you're floating, Timothy...weightless...carefree...above a beautiful meadow, with lush, green fields. Nothing in the world, but you, and your happy place. You're drifting with the clouds, being carried in an angel's arms. Peaceful. Tranquil. Still. Everything is fine. Nothing can disturb you." She could see his body begin to shut down and submerge beneath the veil of unconsciousness. She felt and heard his heart rate gradually slow down. She smirked warmly, waited another second or two and continued. Hypnothe-Rapist (special edition) To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. ***DR. ANGELA VEVACIA STARR: THE HYPNOTHE-RAPIST*** Smokey Saga #3: STARR SCORES I—"Hypnothe-Rapist" (special audio version) *** I decided the original "Hypnothe-Rapist" part one, from back in 2013, would be the next story I'd be making an audio version of, as Dr. Angie's collected a fair number of fans in the first seven installments of her travails over her six-year tenure. But as I was dusting off and touching up the original, another idea occurred to me: what if, as with DVD releases of older films, I made a "special edition" of this, Angie's debut, gave her and Paula middle names, gave the story a new edit, fixed the remaining typos and a "bonus feature" that was not included previously: a certain additional scene. As you may know, Beloved Readers, in the opening story, Angie gives Mr. Jacobs the Starr Treatment* and then proceeds to pleasure herself, but we don't really witness her own masturbation in much depth until part four. So I've remedied that, and included it as well in the audio recording. Hope you enjoy. * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (63 min/mp3) * * * * * November 25th, 2:00 p.m. Dr. Angela Vevacia Starr was a miraculously skilled therapist. She ran a clinic for folks who dealt with debilitating behavioral and other mental issues. She saw a dozen or two each week, and her talents were such that not many clients required more than eight to ten sessions to effectively be cured. In her mid-30s, she had been honing her craft for the past five years. The secret to her success was her chosen field, her particular spin on the practice. Angela was a professional hypnotherapist. In her five years of operation, she had met, had appointments with and treated all sorts of different men in her office. Women were allowed to come to the clinic as well, but they were few and far between. All were adult; the one unbendable restriction the clinic bore was that all patients must be of at least legal adult age. Intensive hypnotherapy was an advanced and sophisticated procedure, and it was simply not suitable for children or minors, as the effects would adversely traumatize and harm their young minds. Angela had seen hundreds of men who came to her for help, some one-time patients, some for multiple visits, but she never forgot a single one. She passionately loved what she did and treasured each client. Equal adoration was harbored for her receptionist, Paula June Saunders, who shared her passion for the magic of the healing arts. Angela considered herself incredibly fortunate to have met and begun working with Paula. They had been together for four and one quarter of Angela's five professional years. It took over six months of interviews and dry runs to find Paula, with whom she was finally content, both as an employee and a partner. Angela made it crystal-clear that if her receptionists were not willing and happy to welcome absolutely all clients with only the utmost respect and courtesy, and hold them in the highest regard possible, they knew where the door was. Angela became so thrilled to have found Paula, she snatched her up before someone else did. She immediately lavished her with a sweet salary and generous benefits. There were two stipulations, however, which she established with Paula early on, and they were strict rules on which she stood fast: Dr. Angela Starr's professional office was for clients only—the receptionist would not be permitted inside the office, and all contact from inside it would be via phone—and also, the receptionist would be required to write down all messages to give Angela, as her office phone would be unplugged during this time, and no one was to knock on the door during session. Paula acquiesced without question. The two began a little inside joke between them that each and every patient who found the way into the clinic would receive no less than the Starr Treatment. And so they did. The office Angela kept was decently sizable, which it had to be in order to accommodate her chosen piece of furniture for clients: an extremely soft and comfy three-cushion cotton sofa, which folded out into a bed. The rest of the office was kept equally immaculate, consisting of her desk and chair, a closet for pajamas and robes, lots of different-sized pillows, a cabinet for files, a water dispenser and a built-in washroom, in which she'd had a washer and dryer installed for laundry. The atmosphere had also been equipped to relax patients into a sleepy state with light blue walls, a quietly humming air conditioner at a constant 73°F, and for more hyper individuals, a CD player and some albums which played soothing nature sounds, pianissimo classical music and lullabies. Once in a while, Angela would read a patient a lullaby herself. She sometimes amused herself with the idea of inducing sleep by reading to her patients from advanced calculus and psychology textbooks, but decided this was less than necessary. Angela had filled Paula in on a detailed and stringent regimen with which she was to welcome patients to the office. First-comers were asked to supply proof of insurance and to fill out a form with basic personal information, medical history and current health status. Returning patients were asked to update the receptionist to any changes in said info. The waiting room was furnished with some cushy chairs, a TV set on public broadcasting, so as to preserve a peaceful ambience, and a decent assortment of reading material. Paula greeted every patient with a warm smile and a gentle tone of voice, Angela did the same taking them into her office, and to date the clinic had received no formal complaints. One of the form questions for new patients regarded marital status: single, relationship, married, or divorced. Occasionally, a client would inquire as to why exactly this question was asked. Angela would explain its helpfulness by describing how the status could psychologically relate back to the patient's clinical issue, which seemed to satisfy most. Personally, Paula didn't totally understand the significance of the question herself, but she had been witnessing Angela's practically flawless record for these four years, so she knew her employer must be doing something very right. What Paula didn't know, however, was that for (not all but many of) these men, the Starr Treatment entailed just a bit more than the receptionist was privy to. On this day at 2:00 p.m., a new client was scheduled to come in for his first session. His name was Timothy. Angela had examined his form, giving it a quick once-over before tossing Paula the thumbs-up to send him in. "Timothy Jacobs?" Paula called. A trim, lanky man in his early 30s stood up. Handing his insurance and identification cards back to him, Paula said, "Mr. Jacobs, you may go into the office now, sir." She pointed behind her. "All the way back to the end of the hall, and directly to your left, just across from the restroom." "Thank you," said Timothy, pocketing his cards, a little nervous. He took his time to Dr. Starr's office. Angela saw him appear in her doorway, and looked up. "Mr. Jacobs?" she asked. He nodded, breathing quickly and wringing his hands. "Yes." "Hi!" she said, smiling big and bright. She stood and took his hand in both of hers. "Lovely to meet you! I'm Dr. Angela Starr!" She was wearing one of her standard work outfits: a long-sleeved faded blue nightgown printed with a special design, in this case a pattern of small animals, not unlike those of popular pajamas, one more tool to visually ease patients to slumber. Timothy hesitated. "Uh...you too," he uttered. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I'm sorry," he explained, "I'm just a little anxious." Angela's eyes turned sympathetic. "Oh, I understand, sir," she said gently, giving him a pat on the arm. "It's okay, that's why you're here now. Trust me, you'll be totally fine. Nothing to worry about." She asked him to please have a seat on her sofa. "Okay, so, Mr. Jacobs," Angela began, sitting back down and crossing her right leg over her left. "Let's go ahead and get rolling. Why have you come to see me today?" "Well," he started, "I've been dealing with this depression for a while now, and it's really been dragging me down lately...I saw a psychologist about it for a while, who eventually suggested I come see you. He highly recommended you. Isaac Jameson?" "Oh, Dr. Jameson!" said Angela. "Yes, of course. Very good friend of mine. Wonderful therapist." Angela explained to him how she conducted an introductory interview with each new patient before they underwent treatment. Timothy asked, "Well, what exactly happens? 'Cause, I've never done this before." Angela nodded. "Completely understood. Believe me, it's normal to be a little wary or skeptical. And it's true, hypnotherapy can differ from your basic forms of treatment. But you have my word as a professional: I will not allow myself to make you regret your decision to come here today." He seemed to relax a bit. "Okay," he said. Angela continued. "Mr. Jacobs, I have been a practicing hypnotherapist for five years. And in that time, I have not once failed to improve the quality of my patients' lives, whatever their issues. I work as many sessions with my clients as is necessary until both they and I are completely satisfied. And while it is entirely your decision whether to continue or not, I have also never had a patient choose to stop treatment of their own volition before I too felt they were ready to resume without therapy." Timothy nodded. "There are, however, some things you should know before you decide if you definitely want to do this with me," she said. "First of all, though this is a gentle and relaxing process, it's also more intimate than traditional forms of therapy are." His eyebrows rose at this statement. "And should you decide you want hypnotherapy, I will give you advance notice that not everyone can be cured immediately. Some are, but these cases are rare. Some require three to four sessions, some more than that. And as this is a more intimate treatment, you should also be aware that there is some physical contact involved, as well as some probing of the subconscious. Though I pride myself on my effective and successful craft, it's not cheap, by any means—and easier for some to afford than others—and so I feel it incumbent upon me to inform you of these precautions beforehand." She paused. "Do you follow me?" He nodded, again, continuing to wring his hands. "Good," said Angela. "Furthermore, the satisfaction of my clients is forefront in my mind, but your comfort with me is every bit as important, and goes hand in hand. Therefore, if you at any point whatsoever begin to feel uncomfortable with the procedure, or that your treatment is becoming too intense, or too much for you in any way, the decision is yours, and yours only, to cease treatment, at any time, and you may have a refund for the current session." She paused again. "With me so far?" "Yeah..." He seemed to be growing more anxious. "All right," she said. "Each appointment typically lasts anywhere from one-and-a-half to two hours, but as this is our first meeting and introductory interview, should you decide to proceed, I will give you a minimum of two hours today. As I say, this is an expensive business, and I very much desire that my patients get their hard-earned money's worth." Timothy was starting to squirm in his seat. "I hope I'm not making you too nervous, Mr. Jacobs," Angela said, a bit concerned. "No, no, no," he shook his head. "Just, uh..." he let the sentence drop. "Okay, very well. These are all just formalities, of which I'm obligated to inform you before we get started," Angela smiled, slipping on a pair of eyeglasses with oval-shaped frames. "Now, Timothy—..." she paused. "Would you prefer I call you Mr. Jacobs, or Timothy, or does it make a difference?" He shrugged. "Doesn't matter." "All right then, Timothy, I'd like to begin by asking you a few questions, if you don't mind." Timothy exhaled. "Well, okay." "All right," she said. "Now, exactly how long can you remember having been depressed?" Timothy thought a moment. "Probably since I was a teenager." "And do you remember if and/or when you were officially diagnosed?" "Um...no, I don't think I was, actually," he answered. "I see," she noted. "And, is there anything you'd like to tell me about the nature or details of the depression?" "It just..." he shrugged with a sigh. "...It just seems to spoil everything." "Everything?" she queried. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, it feels like I don't have the will or energy to do anything anymore. I-I don't want to exercise, or play my guitar, or go shopping...I have a hard time just getting out of bed sometimes. A lot of the time I don't even want to eat. The only thing I'm regularly doing is going to work, and that's just because I have to. My friends don't want to hang out with me as much, and I couldn't get a date if my life depended on it." Angela looked up from her pad and raised her eyebrows. "So, just to be clear, you are not romantically or sexually involved with anybody right now, in any way?" she inquired. "No." "And if I may ask, when's the last time you dated...a girl? You don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable with it," she quickly added. He thought a second. "Eight years." Her eyes reflexively widened just a bit. Goodness, she thought, lowering her brows back down. "Ever married?" He shook his head. "But perhaps—and again, only answer if you feel like it—you could see yourself becoming involved one day, or marrying...a woman?" she inquired, adding the final two words just to be sure. He shrugged again. "I...guess...but, what are the chances of that, if I can't even find anyone to go out with me?" She nodded sympathetically. "Okay," Angela went on. "And, you've never been hypnotized before, you said?" "Right, no, I haven't." "All right, and do you currently have any health issues other than the effects depression has had on you?" was her next question. "Disease? Allergies to anything?" "Mm, not really." "Healthy appetite?" "Well, uh...when I get really hungry, I guess." "What's your diet like?" "Erm...not great." "Ah—meats, fats, sweets, comfort food, that kind of thing?" "Well, a lot of it, yeah." Hm, she thought. Well, not exactly ideal, but, I can work with that. "Healthy sex drive?" "Uh...dunno, I...I guess," he said uncertainly. "Not that I get much of a chance to find out." "So then, definitely no sexually transmitted diseases, anything like that?" Timothy stared at her with a surprised face for a moment. "God, no," he said, indicating the obvious answer. "How's your sleeping?" "Well, a little less than I'd like, but not too bad." "How much sleep did you get last night?" "Six, seven hours, probably," he said. "Well, that's not bad," she agreed. "If a patient oversleeps—or undersleeps—it can make things a little trickier for me, but nothing I can't handle. I usually recommend a total of seven to eight hours per night, not counting naps. Try to shoot for that." "Okay," he nodded. "Right then, outstanding," she said. "Now, can you tell me if your depression is hereditary, or if it stems from a childhood trauma or similar event?" "No, not really," Timothy mused. "Never really been totally sure where it came from originally...it just seemed to...kinda show up out of nowhere one day some years ago." "Well, I'm sure we can figure it out," said Angela, returning the pad, pen and glasses to her desk. Her desk clock read 2:17. "Thank you, Timothy." She leaned closer to him, clasping her hands together. "Now, I have to ask at this point, before we go any further, do you definitely wish to undergo the hypnosis? Because I cannot begin this procedure without my patient's absolute consent." He took a breath. "I...just...I mean, I'll-I'll try anything at this point. Yeah." Consent granted. Green light. "Excellent." She unplugged the phone. "Now if I can ask you to please stand up, take off your shoes and place them over by the filing cabinet, I'll just unfold the sofa bed." He obliged, and she did so. "There we are, now go ahead and lay down, get yourself nice and comfy," she said. "There's a bunch of pillows on the end to your right, take as many as you like and arrange them however works best for you." He obeyed. "And I can get you some jammies or a robe if you'd like," she said. "They're freshly laundered every day. I want you to be as cozy as you possibly can." Timothy was surprised at just how cushy the mattress was. It felt as if he was slowly sinking, almost at once. "I don't usually wear pajamas," he explained. "Oh?" she said. "No, normally I just sleep...uh...y'know..." he gestured with a half-chuckle. She turned to her desk momentarily and smiled. Ah, she thought, flipping her eyebrows provocatively. Good to know. She opened one of the drawers in her desk, took out a slumber mask and handed it to him. "And put this on, please." He hesitated. "'S just to counteract the sunlight," she explained matter-of-factly. "Even though we close the blinds, some still sneaks in. The masks enhance sleep capabilities even for the least sensitive eyes." Feeling somewhat nervous again, Timothy nevertheless took it and slipped it over his eyes. "Good," said Angela, lowering and softening her voice. Angela took off her own shoes and slid her feet into a pair of slippers underneath her desk. At the same time, she took a scrunchie and tied her hair back with it. She removed a stethoscope from another drawer, rose from the chair, went to her door, making sure her "SESSION IN PROGRESS, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB" sign was in clear view just below her name, shut it, locked it, and turned off the light. She picked up a pillow which sat in another chair, placed it on the floor by Timothy's head to his right, and knelt on it. She leaned down by his ear. "Okay, Timothy," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Now just relax...unclench your muscles...just let everything wind down. Don't, think, about, anything. Don't worry about the time, we have as much as it takes. Now we're going to take some nice deep breaths, all right? Inhale for me, please, through your nose, while I count." He breathed in, and she began, "One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight, and...exhale, through your mouth." He obediently breathed back out as she recounted. She readied the stethoscope in her ears. "Again. Inhale through the nose... "...One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...and exhale through the mouth... "...One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight." She lowered her voice even softer. "Now inhale for me again, nice and deep, and I'm just going to take your hands..." She gently picked up his wrists and started to slowly, gingerly bring his arms to his sides. He started to react. She whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Timothy, my dear friend, just lie back. Just relax. You, are, safe. Completely safe...with me." Hypnothe-Rapist (special edition) He relaxed again, and she brought his arms down to either side of his body. As she did, she looked at his hands, just to make sure...and she noticed some slight traces of calluses on the fingertips of his right hand, evidently from playing the guitar he'd referenced earlier. Oh, a southpaw, huh? Interesting, she thought. She held his wrist, locating his pulse, and with the other hand placed the stethoscope's chestpiece on him to find his heartbeat. "Now I'm going to hold your hand for a little bit," she whispered, "Just to get your psyche accustomed to my touch. "Remember, you're just fine," she reassured him. "Perfectly secure. And now, we're going to take you to a happy place," she soothed him, pacing her speech with her benevolent smile. "Imagine you're floating, Timothy...weightless...carefree...above a beautiful meadow, with lush, green fields. Nothing in the world, but you, and your happy place. You're drifting with the clouds, being carried in an angel's arms. Peaceful. Tranquil. Still. Everything is fine. Nothing can disturb you." She could see his body begin to shut down and submerge beneath the veil of unconsciousness. She felt and heard his heart rate gradually slow down. She smirked warmly, waited another second or two and continued. "Good, honey...very very good. Now keep breathing deep, in and out, and we're going to slowly take you into your trance. I'm going to count backwards from ten." She leaned in close to his ear again and whispered...barely audibly... "Ten...remember, my angel, you might still feel sad for right now, but it's going to be okay..." His head lolled over to the side, indeed descending into blissful somnolence. She felt the rate of his heart fall a bit more. "Nine...you are now just a little less sad...your depression will continue to decrease, bit by bit, each time I count..." His eyes fluttered drowsily under the sleep mask. He could already feel himself drifting off. She waited a few more moments between each count. "Eight...you're still all right...gaining more control all the time... "Seven...and more control still...remember, you're strong... "Six...it's gonna be okay...keep in mind, I'm your friend, and we're going to overcome this together... "Five...okay, we're halfway there... "Four...it's all right...Dr. Angie's going to make it all better... "Three...don't worry about a thing...your guardian Angel-a won't let anything happen to you... "Two...you're a hundred percent sheltered under my protection...okay, ready?... "One...all right...I shall now put you under...and..." She silently snapped her fingers above his head, and he was out, as if she had just waved a magic wand over him. "You are now completely unconscious..." she breathed, removing the stethoscope. "And you will do precisely as I tell you, Timothy. Listen...to the doctor," she lullabied him. "You have been locked inside a cage of depression for a long time...and now, the nice doctor is going to release you." She leaned her head downwards just a bit further, just barely nuzzling his cheek with the tip of her nose, as she let her right hand ever so softly glide down his stomach... Satisfied that his pulse was behaving, she slipped her left hand out from under his wrist and caressed his hand and forearm... "Remember...Dr. Angie's your friend," she cooed in his ear. "And you trust her. "Now, Timothy, I am speaking to your subconscious. You may not be aware just whence came your depression, but you rest assured, my lovely gent, we're going to get to the bottom of it and bring you through it. "In the meanwhile, Subconscious, I have a task for you to carry out in Timothy's mind. I want you to activate Timothy's limbic system, where, as you know, things are a bit drab just now, and sort of...freshen things up. Open the windows. Put some brighter wattage in the lights. Paint some bright colors on the walls. Get some love and some life in there!" Her right hand continued finding its way south... And to distract his subconscious from the trek her right hand was making, she daintily stroked his cheek and chin with the back of her left... "And while your subconscious is doing this, just remember... "...Trust..." she repeated, "Is the most important thing, Timothy... "...Just place your faith in my hands...and I'll take care of the rest." Finally...her right hand settled...upon its final destination... ...And methodically...deliberately...began fondling him, through his silky khaki slacks... ...Until she felt the response...slowly but surely rising...from underneath the zipper... ...Sending a tingle of excitement through her arm... "That's right," she purred, her lips just barely brushing his cheek. "Listen...to the doctor. You are in good hands with her." She smiled at her little pun. "She's gonna make everything okay." Her left paw drifted from his neck down to his chest to again feel his heart, which was now starting to speed back up. She did the usual quick mental calculating. With five years' experience under her belt, she had become expert at balancing the arousal in a man so that his heart accelerated just enough to rush the necessary blood to his stiffening member, but not enough to actually awaken him from his trance. He stirred a bit, but she soothed the top half of his body back down again. A couple of minutes later, he had solidified enough inside his pants that she could trace the outline and shape of his penis between her excited fingers. Growing more quietly fervent by the moment as always by the time the treatment reached this point, Angela could feel her own heart quickening as well. She had carried out this procedure with dozens upon dozens of men, and yet in five years, her enthusiasm never dimmed. She softly kissed his cheek. "Timothy, my dear..." she whispered seductively, her mind turning lightly to thoughts of erotic sensuality... Angie discreetly unbuttoned his pants, silently pulled the zipper down, forced her eager hand to behave itself, and let it gracefully, gingerly slip beneath... "The doctor..." She smirked lasciviously. "...Is in." Feeling the spongy, tender flesh of his twitching cock against the skin of her own warm hand made her tingle once more. Timothy did not wake up, but Angela's pussy did. She felt the tiniest trickle of enjoyment between her legs, and her vagina now wanted to be allowed out and play too, but she had to make it control itself. At the same time, now began the challenge she relished so much: keeping him under while carrying out the full treatment... He stirred again, beginning to tighten up a bit. She kept soothing him, keeping the top half of him calm and relaxed while simultaneously keeping him stimulated below the waist. "It's okay..." she assured him, "It's all right. Everything's...just...fine. "Now Timothy," she whispered to him, "I'm going to need you to just lift your posterior a little for me..." As his subconscious obeyed, Angela reached around to the back of his trousers. "Very good," she continued whispering. "You're doing wonderful." In linked her fingers, guiding the trousers down his thighs, until his manhood could finally be released...and settled his body back down into the mattress. Just before his stiff member emerged, she paused and softly instructed, "In just a second, my dear...you're going to feel a twinge...but, whatever you do, Timothy...you mustn't acknowledge it. Subconscious, you must stick to the task I have assigned you, and our dear friend Timothy must remain calm and tranquil in his happy place..." ...Which is about to be even happier, she finished thinking to herself. For the first time, while remaining gentle as could be, Angie, satisfied that his subconscious was securely locked in slumber, rerouted her full attention to the region between his thighs. Finally, his slacks were subtly tugged down just enough to expose him to the open air. At last liberated from its khaki cocoon, Timothy's hardened penis leapt into the air with such spring that it almost whapped her right in the nose. She giggled to herself like a young girl. She felt her bra hug her just a millimeter tighter as her nipples now also noticed what was going on. She raised her voice just enough to carry to his brain, accentuated her words with more emphasis, and said, "Now, Timothy, I will need you to continue to do as I say...just lie back...and don't move." She groped the base of his dick and kissed it tenderly. "And remember...trust...the hypnotherapist. Again, she is your friend... "...And she knows...what she is doing." Now be a good patient...and kindly let your dutiful Doc suck your beautiful cock. Timothy stirred a bit more, but Angela could read the signs of his arousal. She knew he wouldn't wake up. Once she touched his balls, she silently gasped. They were incredibly tight. And full, she could tell. They were almost turning blue! Looking back up at him in astonishment, she thought, Well, for Heaven's sake! Timothy, honey, no wonder you're so unhappy! Good grief, man, whenever was the last time you had a release?? She could see now her mission was clear as day. As she stroked and rubbed the head of his cock, she ran her tongue up the shaft, playfully teasing his frenulum. She cupped his balls and tongue-waggled a circle around them as well, which made him stir and jump just a bit. She instinctively whipped her gaze to his face. Even though she knew he wasn't going to awaken, she thought, Oops! Ticklish spot, huh? Okay, no more licking the jewels. She instead toyed with his sensitized testicles with her fingertips and put her tongue to work around the rest of his member, coating it with saliva top to bottom...and once another minute had passed, finally decided the paramount portion of the Starr Treatment was urgently imminent. Once the moment was right, she proceeded to take him, fully, into her mouth, very slow, very discreet. This further aggravated and frustrated her vagina, which desperately wanted in on the activity. She again told her Little Angie to be quiet, and continued to caress Timothy's balls, keeping one alert eye on his face, lightly tweaking the base of his cock, which did not receive as much oral attention as the rest. She looked up and noticed a few fingers of each of his hands twitching, and she temporarily abandoned his balls to soothe his hands with her own. It's okay, Mr. Jacobs, I understand, she thought, interlocking their fingers and affectionately hugging his cock with her lips. I can see you're fragile—heavens, you're practically a virgin for goodness sakes, and your poor dick has obviously been in need of some serious tender loving care for a long time. But worry not, my lad; you've come to the right place. The minutes elapsed away in the dark, quiet, peaceful room. Angela's lips slowly, warmly made their way up and down his trembling erection over and over again. And when enough time passed, eventually...the inevitable: the growing sensation was such that his testicles were drawing and tightening up. Clearly agonizingly long as it had been since Timothy'd enjoyed any sexual relief, she could tell this particular case would not take especially long. Of course, her tremendous skill and talent accumulated over years of practice did not hurt either. As was usually the case when the treatment heated up, however, her unfortunate pussy became insanely jealous of her mouth. It hated being excluded. No matter how many times she performed the procedure, this pattern never failed to occur. She could hear it shouting at her in longing and desire, wetting her with its horny weeping, and as much as she didn't want to, still she ignored it. Reading the signals and counting down the seconds in her head, Angela slowed down her pace to heighten the intensity for both of them. Timothy was stirring once more, and his mouth was letting out soft, silent moans. She patted and stroked his arm to keep him as calm as he could be, and when her mental timer reached ten, she slid her oral grip back to the top, riding her tongue up and down, back and forth across the especially sensitive small area just beneath his glans, and returned her hands to their tasks. She gently rubbed his balls between the fingers of her left hand, and glided her right hand's nails and fingertips down the bottom half of his dick, her cheekbones, jaws, lips and tongue handling the top half. Her own legs were beginning to quiver. She could squeeze her arms tighter against her torso to give her breasts a little soothing, but her vagina was dying, yearning and hungry, literally crying tears all over her panties and thighs. She had to take a second to lean down, reach to the floor, grab the pillow she'd been kneeling on and wedge it between the bed and her legs, just to have something to push her desperate pussy against. As much as she adored the final seconds, she always wished she could slow the time down, to just eternally savor the last moments as much as possible. Yet she counted them down at normal speed... Nine...eight...seven...her mind settled in for the remainder of the pulsing sensation bulging through the tightly stretched skin... Six...five...four...his body quivered, still under her spell but certainly not oblivious to the treatment... Three...two...Angela braced herself as always, squeezing her lips tight on him, going down to the base to even more sumptuously coax out the essence, as she felt the familiar throbbing volcano effect inside... One...feeling it coming at last, she culled it up and through with her lips and tongue... Finally, Timothy's body shook, wriggled and locked, until he emitted a silent, lust-drenched, pleasure-soaked yowl only audible in Slumberland, and splash after hot splash of Angie's salty, sweet reward exploded in the back of her mouth like fireworks. Inaudible to Angela as they were, the orgasmic celebrations proved equally rewarding and gratifying to her nevertheless, and she would always blush with modest pride at the visible—and tasteable—fruits of her labor. And at long last, her own moment of relief occurred, just as did every time. The nanosecond she didn't need her hands for him anymore, tired as they were, they knew they had their next piece of work all cut out for them. *** November 25th, 3:12 p.m. Angela hadn't factored in this situation when she'd ordered her office's sofa bed, but luckily it played out in her favor. Fortunately, the piece was a full three-cushion couch, not a love seat, so in folded-out form it assumed the width of a king-size mattress. And while it was a bit risky, Angie's soaked pussy wasn't about to just leave her alone now that it was this revved up, so she temporarily kicked better judgment to the curb, leaned down horizontally until she could sink into the mattress beside Timothy's spellbound, delectably masculine frame, snuggle up beside him, spread out her legs with as much room as she had, sneak her hands between them, burrow underneath her wet panties...and let the colors of Pleasantville come to life before her eyes. When she finally touched fingertips to pussy, the relief was so inexpressibly explosive Angie could swear her jovial Little Friend actually changed colors down there. It was not the first time she'd dared to plumb her own depths directly adjacent to a patient she'd just suckled the daylights from, but she had still to rush the message to her brain in time to remain silent. She held her breath, pretended she was also in a dream, and forced conviction on her mind that she was to emit no audible sound. The compulsion to stay quiet was almost as difficult as that which required her to lie reasonably still and not thrash or lurch about too much, for the same obvious reason. There was no need, however, to restrain her facial muscles from grimacing into a gaping, lust-forced cringe as she clenched on her fingers with her scorching pussy. "Ohhhhh!" she mimically rejoiced, arching her back as a dense bubble of pleasure broke over her, sprinkling her with chilling tingles. Her fingers curled practically on their own, going on instinct, as if her throbbing cunt told her fingers exactly what to do. She stuffed herself once and once more and once again, squeezing and reclenching as her fingertips repeatedly massaged her vaginal ceiling, trying to reach her g-spot. She tried to will herself to be ambidextrous and tease her swollen clit with her other hand at the same time. The passion was nonetheless steadily hurtling and skyrocketing, and would not diminish without release. Her body grew so hot the feeling was indistinguishable from that of a flame lit beneath her in the mattress. She was starting to need it so bad she could taste it. With every stroke her autolubed, electrified cunt charged increasingly intense surges of insane delirium through her entire petite feminine body. It was getting to be far too much to handle. Angie had to uncurl her toes, unlock her legs and bend her knees to scrunch up her body so she could get far enough up inside herself to hit the magic spot. Timothy was still just as unconscious at her side, and yet his handsome, trim and lanky figure was having an effortless but tremendous impact on Angie's raw, eager, zealous sexuality. She couldn't see being able to masturbate nearly so sublimely without the presence and the privilege of a lovely hot male body accompanying her. She was able to jill herself off well enough under otherwise circumstances, but the sensations multiplied exponentially with a ravishing, stunning gentleman in tow. She was about to lose it. She had pleasured herself in this sofa bed while cuddling up to dozens of patients—a.k.a. friends—and yet each time felt more special than the last. And while falling in lust was self-permissible, and even so much as unwithstandable, falling in love was a no-no, so being cautious was a must. Luckily, she possessed the ability to separate the two. Her already half-spent dominant arm was getting sore jamming her dexterous digits into her pussy, but she didn't need her other arm so she slithered it up her pajama top and groped and pinched at her tits. The ending tingles hit. Just as with Timothy, her mental timer ticked down. Having almost contorted her body into a ball, she at last reached her g-spot, penetrated herself far enough to reach it on her consistently consecutive thrusts... ...And lightning struck. "OHHHHHHHHHH!!" Angela all but inaudibly erupted as the monstrous orgasm swept her fiercely off her feet like the climactic tornado it was. The lightning bolt rocked from her head to toe and back again until her eyes went straight back and she could only see splashes of color bursting in blackness. Hypnothe-Rapist (special edition) Everything went fuzzy and psychedelic midway through the epic orgasm, as dizzy sparks and specks popped in front of her eyes. Her hands slowed down in her genital regions, but her heart would continue to pound until energy finally replenished. She had to be careful she didn't drop to sleep right next to Timothy. She would have to think about an alternate location to do this—perhaps with an extra comfy piece of furniture added to her washroom one day in the near future. She smiled in ethereal afterglow as her eyeballs rolled back into position and her breathing paced back down. This was the best she had ever felt in her life. The only problem was...eventually, at some point, now she had to get up. *** November 25th, 3:46 p.m. Thirty minutes later, Dr. Angela Starr had returned from her office's private washroom where she had performed the normal ritual of cleaning herself up, tossing the spare pillow she'd humped to oblivion into the washer, replacing it on the floor with a clean one, and restoring her face from its flushed state. She had subsequently dispensed herself a glass of fresh water, downed it, taken a breath mint, straightened out her nightgown and put her glasses back on, done everything to restore the original picture to which Timothy's memory became accustomed. Once she had given his penis a light cleaning with a damp cloth and made sure that no trace of his discharge (or hers) had found its way onto his trousers or the bed, she pulled his pants back up, tucked in his genitals, re-fastened them, did a final mental checking of the situation, and decided the time was right to awaken him again. She knelt back down on the fresh pillow, leaned down to his ear and said, "Timothy, your hypnosis is concluded. I am now going to count forwards to ten, and when I reach ten, I will snap my fingers, and you will come out of your trance fully awake." She started at one, and thirty seconds later, had gotten to ten. She snapped her fingers above his head, audibly this time, and Timothy regained consciousness. "Arise, Timothy!" she giggled, waving her hands theatrically like a hypnotic David Copperfield, greeting him with her big smile. "You can take off your sleep mask now." Timothy slowly sat up and his hands unsteadily found the mask and removed it. He blinked several dozen times, rubbing his eyes and trying to refocus everything. Finally, the doctor's face came into clear view again and he noticed her kneeling at his side. Angela took his hand and shook it vigorously. "Sir, you did wonderfully! Honest, no kidding, things could not have gone better." Her beaming eyes sparkled at him. "R—...really?" he asked. She nodded. "How do you feel?" Still slowly getting his bearings back, Timothy said, "Uh...a little disoriented...and kinda dizzy...but, uh, other than that..." He lightly shook his head and said, "...Pretty good, actually." Angela felt like blushing again. She couldn't let her smile fade. It was simply indescribable how much she loved her career. "Aw, that makes me so happy," she said. She then added, "Oh, and rest assured, the dizziness and disorientation are completely normal. They're the result of the activity of your eyes. It's called the REM state: Rapid Eye Movement. It happens when we have our most intense and memorable dreams. That's why sometimes when you wake up, your eyes feel weird, like they've been rolling around your head all over the place. It's just like normally waking up in the morning; it'll just last a few minutes." He nodded, taking it all in. "So let me ask you," she said, already knowing the gist of the answer, "Do you feel depressed at all? Can you remember the feelings and effects the depression had on you?" He thought a moment. He thought for a few more moments. Finally, he returned his gaze to her. "Y'know, it's weird..." he said, blinking some more. "I can...kind of still remember it, but...all of a sudden it feels...so much less...severe. Like...like I can handle it better now." Angela nodded, grinning her big lovely grin at him. "I told you you did great, sir." She stood, and offered him her hand to help him up. "Oh, by the way, there's the restroom," she said, gesturing towards it. Timothy looked back and forth from it to her. "Thanks, but...how did you know I needed to use the restroom?" "Oh, Timothy, it's been two hours!" she said with a chuckle. "I'd be surprised if you didn't have to." As he shakily ambled in, Angela quickly mentally congratulated herself, plopping down in her chair, picking up her glasses, pad and pen and scribbling down, "Timothy Jacobs, introductory interview, session one, depression ostensibly linked to sexual repression. Starr Treatment—" next to which she placed an asterisk, "Update progress soon." A few minutes later, Timothy returned. "You know what's weird though?" she heard him ask, and turned around to face him. "What's that?" As if she didn't know exactly what he was about to say. Timothy made a gesture with his hands that he didn't exactly know how to explain this. "I...it...it didn't really feel that different from just a regular night's sleep, but it seemed like, while it was going on, I was...having this weird dream..." Her eyebrows rose. "Oh?" she smirked, feigning. "Well, we have got a couple minutes left...want to talk about it?" It was his eyebrows' turn to raise. "Um..." he turned a little red, feeling sheepish and a bit embarrassed. He clasped his hands together, holding them down over his lower torso, as if to cover himself. "I...dunno." "Oh, it's okay," she said, adoring his shyness of the whole situation. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. What I'll tell you, though, is that particularly strange and out of the ordinary dreams are not at all uncommon under hypnosis. It's like I told you about the REM state. In fact, believe it or not, it's really fairly normal to have hypnotic dreams with bizarre undertones, be they frightening, disturbing, simplistically nice, unplaceable, or even sexual." Timothy visibly reddened. "You don't say," he remarked. "Yeah, I mean, actually, for some reason it almost feels like I..." She waited. "...Yes?" About to finish, Timothy waved a hand and said, "...Nothing. Never mind." She shrugged. "Well, okay. So how do you feel about the way the session went?" He shrugged back. "Well, good," he said. "I mean, like I said, I do feel happier and better now. I don't really know why, but...I..." He let his sentence trail off. Angela smiled and looked down coyly, feeling herself gleefully melt inside. "Well," she said, "We do seem to have made some good progress this opening session. Now, if you like, you can see Mrs. Saunders outside and she can schedule you a follow-up session for whenever you like, and..." She took a business card and handed it to him. "Here. Feel free to update us, or call me on my cell if we're not in the office—both numbers are on there—to reschedule your appointments at any time, or if you just wanna talk for a minute. "In the meantime," she continued, "Besides a reasonable bedtime and a good night's sleep, I would recommend you take yourself out a bit more, Timothy. Treat yourself once in a while. Don't go overboard, but just indulge yourself sometimes. Try to meet some friendly people, make some new buddies...maybe find yourself a nice girl." She winked. "Yeah?" he said. "Absolutely. And, if you don't happen to meet a woman you like, or vice versa, just remember..." she said, "...And I don't mean to be indelicate here, but, a little bit of...shall we say...'self-love' never hurts either." Timothy nodded, taking this information in with a certain degree of surprise in his face, it not exactly being the sort of advice he might have anticipated. "It doesn't?" "Certainly not. While lack of sleep would tend to make just about anyone depressed, satisfactory sexual activity may not affect everybody, but it could hardly put a dampen on your day." "Well, I...I don't really know what to say..." he said. "I mean, I-I really didn't think I'd feel this..." "...Relieved?" He gazed at her in wonder. "...Yeah. Exactly." She modestly fluttered her eyelashes. "That's what I'm here for, my friend." "Geez," he said, "Y'know, if I thought it was okay, I'd say I wanted to hug you. But, that's probably not someth—" Hearing the word, Angela promptly grinned, stood up from her chair and opened her arms, gesturing with her fingers for him to come right into her waiting embrace. "Hug away." Another moment later, he thanked her, said goodbye and left. Angela sat back down, plugged her phone in, powered it back up, pressed and held down the intercom button and said, "Hi, Paula. Mr. Jacobs is on his way out." In another moment Paula would ask Timothy if and when he wanted to see the doctor again. Another moment after that, she would return the information to Angela. "Anybody else?" she asked Paula. "No, that's it for today," she cheerily replied. "We're done!" "Awesome!" said Angela. "Wanna go grab a bite?" "Okay, but only if I get to buy this time." "Hmm, let me think about that. Oh, all right." Both packed up their purses, put away all relevant work, turned off the lights, and departed, locking the door behind them. Just another day in the office of Dr. Angela Starr. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 02 To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. *The Hypnothe-Rapist* STARR SCORES II: "The Impotence Strikes Back" *** February 12th, 4:02 p.m. Angela put the finishing updates on the file of her 2:00 returning patient, deposited it in the appropriate section of her cabinet, shut it, and pushed herself off it to roll her chair back across the office to her desk. She held down the intercom button. "Hi Paula! One more today, right?" Paula's voice crackled through. "Hi Doc! Yeah, I've got a Kevin Grant right here for 4:00, but he hasn't shown up yet." "Oh," said Angela. "All right, well, let's give him a few minutes." "10-4," Paula confirmed. Click. Paula kept the appointment book right on her desk in front of her. The sign-in sheet was on a clipboard just outside the front receptionist window, with a pen chained to it. The waiting room was empty. Having completed the daily patient billing and rescheduling of appointments, Paula consulted her mental list of down-time activities to carry out while they waited on their tardy patient. She looked at the shelf on the left wall. No files were out of order. Nothing was amiss or askew in the rest of her window. Her desk drawer was as organized as could be. All right, Solitaire time, she thought, popping open the computer application. Solitaire was where Paula went when absolutely everything else was done and nothing more was sitting in her in-box. Fortunately, Angela knew how gifted a receptionist Paula was, so whenever she might wander in on her playing Solitaire, she trusted all was well and didn't say a word. Paula never let her down. Two hands in, her eyes fell on the bottom right-hand corner of her screen. It was 4:10. She stood up and poked her head outside the receptionist window and looked out one of the building windows. The part of the parking lot she could see remained empty. Paula hit her intercom button. "Hey, Starr. Mr. Grant still hasn't arrived just yet." Angela responded after a beat. "Oh, gosh, I hope nothing happened." Paula heard the concern in her voice. "Ange, you are the most caring, sensitive, considerate person I know." "Tell me something of which I'm not aware," Angela repeated. She chuckled benevolently. "Well, he has been informed of the lateness rules, yes?" "That he has." "Good woman." "You know, Angie," said Paula, "That's really understanding of you not to charge late or absence fees. The last doctor I worked for had a late fee after fifteen minutes of $25, and after a half hour it was $100." "Heaven's sake," said Angela. "Well, yeah, I mean, you never know what might've happened to someone." Click. Paula spent her down time at work playing Solitaire when everything else was finished. Angela spent hers reviewing old patient files, either hard copies or digital. On her laptop she could organize her database spreadsheet according to chronology, patient names, or first-timers versus returning. Apart from her family members and loved ones, her patients were the most important and beloved people in the world to her. And because 98% of them were gents, she had developed an enormous affection for men in general, having met and worked her magic on all different kinds of them. Understandably, the feeling was pretty mutual. For the most part, the men were really rather charmed by her and her heart of gold as well. One of the free-time activities she enjoyed most was having a laptop feature of hers choose a random business day in her database, scrolling through it and reliving that given day. Sometimes it was five years ago, sometimes it was the previous month. It didn't matter a patient's age or ethnicity or issues or other characteristics; she loved them all. Occasionally, it was true, a fellow she saw would behave inappropriately, coming on to her, making an unwelcome comment or innuendo or such, but even should one not conduct himself in a gentlemanly manner, she was very tolerant and forgiving, her philosophy remained that the patient is priority number one, and she had never once refused to see a client a second time. She simply didn't have it in her. Besides, the vast majority of them were perfectly nice, decent gentlemen who regarded her with the same courtesy and professionalism she did them. Really all most of them wanted, be their issues behavioral, physical or mental, was just to be able to confidentially and privately share their feelings with someone who genuinely wanted to listen. And then they would undergo the hypnosis. At 4:14, a car zoomed into a parking space with a screeching sound, and a young man jumped out and ran to the building. He made it into the waiting room, panting his way up to Paula's window. He had a small coffee stain on his fortunately dark-colored pants, a loose necktie and his white work shirt was partially untucked and stained with random drops of perspiration. "Hi," he breathed, reaching for his wallet. "I'm so sorry I'm late." Paula started to say, "Oh, sir, that's al—" "Y'know, I just had a bazillion things to do, and then traffic was a freakin' nightmare, and just..." He fished out his wallet, making a gesture with his other hand that reinforced the nature of his busy day. "It's okay, Mr. Grant, don't worry about it," said Paula calmly. "We don't close the office until 7:00. It's only a quarter after 4:00, so you're fine." She collected his identification. "So this is your first visit?" "Yeah. Yeah, it is," said Kevin, as Paula Xeroxed his insurance card and license. He looked around anxiously, mumbling to himself. "W-where...where's my wal—" He remembered he had set his wallet down on the counter to give Paula his info. "Oh—!" he said. He gave himself a light slap on the forehead. Glancing back at him from the Xerox machine, Paula said, "It's all right, Mr. Grant, really, everything's okay. You're not actually that late." Finished scanning, she returned the cards and handed him a personal information form. "Here you are—you don't have to fill this out right this second," she told him, pointing behind her. "You can go and see her right now. Dr. Starr's all the way down the hall and on the left, right across the corner from the restroom." He thanked her briefly and headed back. When he saw her in her office, he knocked on the open door. Angela turned to see him. She was dressed in one of her long-sleeved ankle-length nightgowns with a light violet-colored robe over it, her bunny slippers, and a fraction of her wavy locks tied back with a large nighttime-blue hair ribbon. One of the dozens of reasons she loved her job was that wearing her jammies at work was not only okay, it was helpful, for the benefit of her patients. "Oh, hello there," she said, "You must be Mr. Grant?" He nodded anxiously. "Yup, that's me." She hopped up from her chair. "Hi!" she greeted in her usual extremely friendly and bubbly manner. She took his hand, gave it a quick peck and proceeded to shake it. "I am so happy to meet you!" she beamed with her trademark charm-'em-every-time smile. Kevin wasn't exactly prepared for her enthusiasm. "Wow," he said, "Seems like you were particularly expecting me. I mean, I know I made the appointment and all, but..." Angela knew what he meant. "Oh, I just love people," she proclaimed. "I know it may make me kind of sappy, but I can't help it; I just love people. I love loving people, I love meeting people...I love loving meeting people," she finally said, tying it all together. Kevin felt a bit taken aback. Nonetheless, he continued, "Hey, listen, I'm really sorry about my tardiness." Angela shrugged, looking at him with a fake bemused face. "What tardiness?" she asked innocently. Then she again smiled cordially with a trustworthy wink. Something about her soft emerald-like green eyes made Kevin suddenly feel very much at ease. He had a feeling he might be comfortable with her—easier said than done, considering the purpose of his presence. He remembered the form he was holding. "Oh, yeah, and, this here..." he sheepishly started to say. "Oh!" Angela waved it off. "'S perfectly fine. Since it's your first time, we're going to conduct an introductory interview, and most of the same questions in our interview are on that form. It's really more something for our new patients to do to pass the time while they're in the waiting room. Anyway then..." she welcomed him in with a flourish of the hand. "Bienvenue! Go on, have a seat." She motioned to the sofa bed taking up much of the open space in the middle of her office. It was sitting in sofa form. He did as she said. Angela sat down in her desk chair and closed the lid on the laptop. "If you or any other patient arrived more than 30 minutes after your appointment was scheduled, we would need to cancel it and schedule again, but no hugie. It's..." She checked her desk clock. "...4:22 right now," as she turned back to Kevin, "And this is our first meeting, so I'm going to give you the full two hours, assuming you want the treatment, and so you'll probably be finished at about 6:30-ish. Maybe a bit later." She slipped on her oval-shaped eyeglasses, picked up her pen and pad and crossed her right leg over her left. "Now, what I normally like to do with patients is give them a quick explanation of my craft, what it is I do, what they can expect from me, et cetera. "So, Mr. Grant—do you prefer Mr. Grant or Kevin?" "Oh, Kevin, please." "Kevin; outstanding. What I do, Kevin, is hypnosis. It's a less conventional but more personal form of therapy in which the patient is very gently and gradually soothed into an unconscious state, commonly known as a trance, at which point I communicate with him through his subconscious." She paused a moment. "Have you ever been hypnotized before, Kevin?" He shook his head. "All right. I've been practicing in hypnotherapy for five years. And I do not consider it immodest to say that I am very skilled at what I do, because what I do is improve the quality of my patients' lives. Some patients can be cured within as little as one to two sessions, but I can't guarantee that, so you shouldn't expect it. Some patients require multiple sessions, and some patients have been coming to me regularly for several months. It all depends. Now, were you referred to me by...?" she let the question float out. "Oh, the Yellow Pages," he said. "Although...I...don't know if I should've come, honestly. It's really pretty embarrassing, actually." "Aw," said Angela sympathetically, "My friend, if it helps, you needn't feel embarrassed with me at all. 'Tis not in my job description to humiliate clients. 'S bad for business. And if you don't feel the treatment is working for you, the decision shall always be no one's except yours whether you would like to continue with your sessions, although I've agreed with all patients whom I'm no longer seeing that their progress has become sufficient to go on without me." He nodded. "Okay..." "Okay. And hypnotherapy is extremely gentle and soothing, and while not a 100% miracle cure, is nonetheless quite effective, but you will need to know, this process is more intimate than traditional therapy is. There is a degree of physical contact involved." "So..." he said, "There's...touching?" "Yes," she nodded. "If you choose to undergo my procedure, I will be physically touching you. Yes." "How?" he inquired. "Well," she put down the pad and pen for a moment, opened one of her desk drawers and took out a small tube of hypoallergenic lotion. She squirted a bit out and gave her hands a little covering with it. "First of all, with very soft, warm hands," she went on, indicating the lotion, "And the opening step, once I would have begun relaxing you is monitoring your pulse and your heartbeat. Once they are constantly where I want them to be, I would be very, very lightly smoothing my fingertips over your skin, which is helpful to patients in order to relax any tense muscles and nerve endings—but, oh, which reminds me," she said, "Are there any spots on your body that are particularly VERY ticklish? Or cannot be touched without stimulating you, rather than relaxing you?" He lifted one of his eyebrows. "How ticklish?" "Extremely ticklish. I mean, level of ticklishness where you would involuntarily snatch the person's hands, smack them away, anything to get them to immediately stop. That ticklish. Less than that, you shouldn't be adversely affected." Kevin thought a second. "Probably the only part of my body that sensitive is my feet." "Well, you won't have to worry then," smiled Angela. "No touching of feet involved. And, if you at any point decide you want me to stop, or you do not want to continue or commence the hypnotherapy in any given session, say the word and you will be allowed to depart with a refund. If you wish to stay and simply talk, that's fine as well. I want my patients to be fully aware of all their options." Kevin nodded again. "Gotcha...so, do I have to watch a swinging watch, or something?" Angela laughed. "No, no, no sir. I don't do watches. I also don't do any kind of 'look into my eyes' shtick, or anything like that. I have my own method, on which I'll fill you in as we go along. Sound good?" "Sounds good." "Terrific." She picked up the pad and pen again. "Now—and remember, please try not to feel embarrassed, I will not laugh at ANYthing you say—unless it's clearly meant as a humorous joke. So what brings you here? What is the nature of your problem?" Kevin broke eye contact with her. He looked at the floor, the walls, anything around the rest of the office. "Oh, boy..." he said, idly scratching the back of his neck. "All right, uh..." He hesitated. "How much time do I have?" "Oh!" Angela turned the desk clock to the back of both of them. She emphatically told him, "Don't worry about the time. I promise, I'll give you all the time that's necessary. Even if we go past 7:00, hey, it's my clinic—it can't be closed and locked with us in it. So in here, time doesn't exist, and you're fine. Go right ahead. And also, anything you say in here is confidential and goes no further than the two of us, so you just tell me as much as you want, and you don't have to disclose anything you're not comfortable with." "Hmm..." mused Kevin, trying to think of how to broach the subject. "Well, this is gonna be difficult..." "I'll make it as easy on you as I possibly can, Kevin. I would never judge anything a patient told me." He sighed, blowing out some breath. "A'right, well, here goes," he muttered. He covered his mouth, rubbing his chin, cleared his throat and said, "Uhmuhputuh." Angela leaned a little closer to him. "I'm sorry, Kevin?" He sighed again. He figured he might as well just say it. "I'm impotent," he croaked out loud, holding his breath. She nodded in revelation, straight-faced. What came out of her mouth was, "AH." What went through her mind was, OH, dear. Kevin was looking at the floor again, covering his eyes and shaking his head. Angela automatically felt very sorry for him. "Oh, Kevin...oh, please try not to feel ashamed or embarrassed about that." She put as much empathy into her voice as she could. "It's norm—Kevin? Kevin, look at me." He looked up at her compassionate countenance. "It's NORMAL," she affably assured him. "Erectile dysfunction is really quite normal. You'd be surprised how common it is. Do you know what the percentage is?" He looked back down to the floor again. "Almost fifty percent! Honest to goodness, Kevin, almost fifty percent—almost half of all men at some point in their life experience ED. Believe me, Kevin, if you're worried at all that you're alone in this, that's the LAST thing you could be. But also, and more importantly, please don't let that affect your self-confidence. Or make you feel that you're any 'less'..." she finger-quoted, "...of a man, because that attitude's just absurd and nonsensical—not to mention thoughtlessly callous. It's your identity, inside, as a grown male person, that's what makes you a man. Not being able to stiffen your...self, every single time someone snaps their fingers." Kevin abruptly stood up from the sofa and started pacing the office back and forth. Angela tried to calm him down. "Kevin, there are dozens of factors that can minorly or majorly influence a man's performance. Like...age, for instance. Or—" Kevin stopped pacing. He tossed up his hands. "That's the most humiliating part!" he lamented. "I'm 25!" Angela did have to admit to trying to keep her eyebrows from jumping at this information. Kevin went on, "I mean, who gets ED at twenty-freaking-five??" Angela tried harder. "Okay, okay, Kevin, easy, take it easy. Age is only one factor! Like I said, there are dozens of others. Like, here's another one: February! We're in the middle of winter! We all lose a little of that drive and will to perform in the wintertime, and cold weather's been known to decrease a man's...Kevin?" Kevin was pacing again. He was looking more panicked. Angela tossed down her pad and pen, got up and took Kevin gently and ladylike by the arms and started to caress him. "Kevin, please calm down. It's okay. You're okay. Everything's okay. Come on now, we're just talking about this. You can trust me. Okay? I'm...your...friend. I can't overemphasize that. Your pure, unconditional friend. I wouldn't do anything to harm you in the slightest way. All I want to do is make you feel better. Y'know what, in fact, for a minute, just...forget about the money. Forget the office, forget the time, don't even think of this as a session. For right now, I'm not even Dr. Angela Starr, I'm just...Angie. Your pal, Angie! Your buddy girl! Just imagine we're two friends, Kevin and Angie, shooting the breeze. And that's it. Okay?...Kevin?" He was still having trouble maintaining eye contact. "Kevin, look at me, please." He returned his eyes to hers again. Her expression was supportive and affectionate, without a hint of mal-intent. She really did have two of the loveliest, gentlest eyes he had ever seen. She actually could hypnotize someone with those eyes, he thought. He could see himself just getting lost in those two shiny emeralds. She let go of his arms and held his hands. "We're gonna work this out, together," she declared. Kevin still did not look very relaxed. "You want a hug? Would a hug help right now?" He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt, I guess." She gave him one. When it was finished, she said, "So why don't you go ahead and sit back down. Or lie down, if you want. Get comfy, kick off your shoes." She sat him down on the sofa. "Or—oh, even better," she said, "You want some pajamas?" She slid open the door to the closet on the other side of the room, showing him her impressive array of sleepwear. Kevin thought a second. "Couldn't hurt either." "Fantastic!" said Angela, always excited when someone accepted the pajama offer. It made the session felt like a miniature slumber party. "These are loose and comfy and generously sized; they're basically one size fits all. And they're fresh. They go in the laundry every morning. What do you like? Any favorite colors? You like stripes? Plaids? Hearts? Animals?" In a few more moments, Kevin had dropped into the office's private bathroom for a bit and come out wearing a pair of the pajamas. His clothes were going to be hung up, but as there was a coffee spot on the right-leg pocket of his trousers, Angela asked him if he'd rather have her wash them, so he said sure, why not. He laid down. "Good man," praised Angela, sitting in her chair. "That's gotta feel better, huh? Now we can get on with the interview." She returned to her classic sitting position, pen and pad in hands, flipping one leg over the other like Sharon Stone. "So...how long has this situation been going on?" Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 02 "About a week and a half," said Kevin, lying on his side, propping his head up with his arm and elbow. "I tried seeing a doctor about it, didn't really help, so, thought I'd try you." "Was this an MD, or a therapist?" she asked. "Oh, an MD. Family practitioner." She nodded. "And how did you first find out?" "Well...I met this woman, that week and a half ago, and we went out together, and things were going really great, and before I knew it, she was taking me to her place, one thing led to another, and..." he gestured with his hands, trying to find the words he wanted. "...That's when something, eh...didn't happen." Angela nodded. "I see," she said, lowering her voice. Kevin's tone turned sour and caustic. "And, she got a nice little giggle out of it, and, well, suffice it to say, haven't seen her, or my hard-on, since." Angela was visibly wounded by this news. "Oh, Kevin, I am so sorry that happened to you," she commiserated. "Unfortunately, not too many women are really terrific at handling this kind of thing." She paused a second. Kevin's facial expression softened as he absorbed her heartfelt sympathy. He soaked it up like a sponge. He could use as much of it as she was willing to give him. "So then, you're not seeing anyone at the moment?" she asked, returning to the questions. "Nope." "Have you been on a lot of dates before you went out with this woman?" He shook his head. "Not really, gotta say...I've never been too lucky in that area. Always seemed to get turned down. Got pretty friggin' discouraging after a while." "I'm sorry to hear that. Well, have you ever had a steady girlfriend? Or, well, I know 25's a little young, but, never been married?" He looked up at her. "See previous answer," he said with a smirk. Before she asked the next question, he looked up and asked her, "Just out of curiosity, how old are you?" Angela looked back up at him, arching her eyebrows. "Well, we're not really here to learn about me, but as it turns out, I'm 36." "Geez, really?" said Kevin, truly surprised. "I mean, I was thinking you were...29, maybe 30, max." "Aw," smiled Angela, charmed herself, "That's very sweet of you! Well, I'm sure it helps that I essentially work with sleep for a living." She returned to the question form. "Do you have any health issues, like diseases or allergies?" "Well...I am anxious a hell of a lot of the time, but I don't know if it's a...medical condition, or official diagnosis or whatever." "Okay. Well, if that's all, I think we can safely rule out things like...STDs then, right?" said Angela. "Uh, yeah," Kevin semi-sarcastically agreed. "Good. Have you taken any kind of medications for anything?" "Mmm, don't think so, nope." "All righty-roo then...how's your appetite? What does your diet consist of?" "Well, pretty normal. Actually, when it comes to food, I have a different palate and tastes from most other 25-year-olds. Tell you the truth, I like rich, exotic stuff, like fois gras and brie cheese and eggs Benedict, that kind of thing. Parents turned me on to it." She looked up. "Oh, well, that could be part of your problem right there, Kevin. I mean, that kind of stuff's loaded with cholesterol. If that's gumming up your bloodstream, it'd be difficult to sufficiently circulate the blood to your penis to make it erect." He thought about it a second. "Well, I don't eat it all the time, but...yeah, may be, come to think of it." "Okay, good, so we may be a step further along already," she smiled. "Do you drink a lot of liquids?" "Well, yeah, I like lots of different drinks." "Alcohol?" "Yeah, sometimes, yeah." "Would you say you do a disproportionate amount of drinking in relation to the amount of food you eat?" A bit confused, he said, "I don't think so." "Okay," Angela said, "Because that's another hindrance. If a man continues drinking liquid beverages, without soaking them up with an even amount of solid food, that increases the frequency of urination and also starts to wear out his member and makes it har—uh, difficult, to perform." Back to the questions. "Now, how much sleep did you get last night?" "Oh, boy, probably something like five hours." "Oh, goodness," replied Angela. "Is that how much you've been sleeping every night lately?" "Actually, no, usually it's been pretty good. Last night was just kind of an...off night. I was super busy with this thing at work, then I had some homework I had to get done." "Oh, wow, you're juggling work and school at the same time?" "Well, yeah, I've gotta work to go to college, and I've gotta go to college to eventually...well, get a better job..." he sighed. "Did...that have something to do with the time of your arrival here today?" Angela asked cautiously. "Hell yeah it did. I mean, my boss was riding me about the...y'know, thing I was mentioning, and I still had to stop by the campus to drop off this assignment I'd had an extension on and just barely got done in time." "Well, gosh, Kevin, that can be very stressful," Angela told him. "And with all that going on, that might have a hand in it too. A high stress level can definitely contribute to problems like ED. Okay, so. We've come up with a few possible culprits here..." She paused. "Do you have to be anywhere or do anything else after this?" "No, I'm free the rest of tonight," Kevin said. "Oh, good," she said. "So, since your date last week, have you verified that you do in fact still have ED right now?" He paused, thinking the question through. "Like...how do you mean?" "Well, I mean, I am assuming from the information that you haven't had a climax or ejaculation since then. But between that time and now, have you achieved a sustained erection, or attempted to masturbate at all?" Kevin turned a little red at the question. "I'm just asking, Kevin," said Angela innocuously. "If you don't want to answer, that's absolutely fine." "No, it's okay," he said. "I mean, I guess...yeah, for a couple days after that I tried to...well, jerk off, but it didn't work, so I stopped trying." He closed his eyes, taking a breath. "I mean, it feels like my dic—" He stopped. "Sorry," he said, "I probably shouldn't say it that way, should I?" "No, no, that's fine, Kevin," said Angela. "You can phrase it that way. You can say jerk off your dick. Or however you want to put it. Pick whichever terms or words or euphemisms work best to express yourself. Trust me, it's not as if I've never heard them before. Once again, you can tell me absolutely anything you want. That's what I'm here for. There is no such thing as T.M.I. with me." "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "It feels like it just...died." He shook his head. "I mean, I can number one, y'know, but that's it." "Have you thought about giving Viagra or Cialis a shot?" "Briefly," he said. "But I'd heard things about that stuff, so I went online to read about them, and all these horror stories started popping up about how long they last, and end up being so painful, so...thought I'd look into my other options." "Okay," said Angela. She took a moment, then continued, "So, then, this might seem a little random, but let me ask you if I may: what do you like in a girl? What turns you on?" He thought. "That's a good question," he said after a moment. "Hmm...well...I really like a girl who's intelligent..." Angela smiled and nodded, scribbling on her pad. "Someone who can speak her mind," Kevin went on, "Genuinely good-hearted, good sense of humor...oh, pretty eyes, that helps. I like eyes—and legs, those are good too. Nice figure, of course, that never hurts. Oh, and you know what? Don't ask me why, but I've always had this huge inexplicable attraction to redheads. Something about a girl with red hair just...just...drives me wild." Angela's smile altered by half a degree. Oh, she thought, brushing a wisp of her chestnut hair behind her ear. Hm. "Really?" she asked. "Just how turned on do you become when you see a girl with red hair?" "Well, less than now, obviously," he admitted sadly, looking at his lower region. "Enough to give you an erection?" she asked. "I mean, clearly, before..." "Oh, yeah," he said matter-of-factly. "And then more than that." "Good enough." She put the pad and pen down, took off her glasses and said, "Right, that's it for the interrogation." Cue the smile. "Now before we actually do this, I need a concrete affirmative answer from you, Kevin. I will not do this if my patients are not absolutely certain of it. So, do you at this time wish to be hypnotized?" Kevin nodded. "Yeah. I do. Let's go for it." "Excellent!" said Angela. As she reached down to unplug the phone, something clicked in her mind. She stopped going for the phone cord in mid-reach. "Kevin," she started, slowly turning back in his direction, "Just one more thing real quick: when you went out with this woman last week...did...she happen to have red hair?" "Actually, yeah, she did," said Kevin. "Really?" asked Angela. "Okay, one more more thing real quick: had you ever been out with any redheaded girls before her?" "No, no, she was the first one," he answered. "How'd you know?" Angela tilted her head with a shrug. "Wild guess." The phone was unplugged. "All right, Kevin, hop up real quick so I can pull out the bed, please, and we'll get you all set." *** A couple of minutes later, the office was shut and locked. The lights were out. Being an early February evening, the sun had already gone down, rendering the room almost pitch-black. The only sources of any light were that of the hallway creeping under the door, and the blinking LCD lights of Angela's desk clock. Still turned away from them, it read 4:49. The CD player was on at a moderately low volume, playing a disc of light instrumental pieces and ballads, beginning with an adagio version of Brahms' Lullaby. Kevin was lying in the bed, wearing the slumber mask Angela'd given him—which was less necessary in the wintertime with the sooner-setting sun, but still part of Angela's essentials in her process—and resting with a small array of pillows behind his head and a light comforter over the lower half of his body. Angela was kneeling beside him, stethoscope at the ready. Right about this time, Angela was secretly thanking God that Kevin didn't know what was going through her mind. She found Kevin's problem actually confounding her. She mentally tried to go back through her patients' maladies. Easily the most popular issue patients of Angela's dealt with was smoking. Then there were problems like drinking, overeating, depression, suicidal tendencies, infidelity and thoughts thereof, bad temperaments, and other less harmful yet bad habits such as nail-biting and excessive verbosity. But...unbelievable as it seemed...not once...not even one single time, in five years of operation, had she treated a gentleman for impotence. The truth was, she was apprehensive. When she started this practice, she would tell herself on and off that one day she would have to face an ED problem. She was just never exactly ready for it to actually happen. A small, doubtful part of her thought this might be one rare occasion on which she could not successfully perform her duty. But still, she had a good feeling about this. The clue Kevin gave her about the redheaded woman was leading her to a conclusion. So she began as usual. "Are you ready, Kevin?" she whispered soothingly. He nodded slowly with a low, "Yep." "Very well. We're now going to begin our journey carrying you off to Dreamland. You're weightlessly floating in the metaphysical arms of an intangible, angelic entity. So let yourself loosen out...that's it, unflex your muscles, relax every part of your body, just lie back...imagine you're floating through thin air." She heard Kevin's voice. "Hey, Doc, you're pretty good at this," he said, sounding impressed. Angela couldn't help but silently giggle to herself for half a second, but she replied, "Shhh...I know, Kevin, I know. It's what I do. But shhh, don't say anything now, just keep yourself as loosey-goosey as you can and listen to my voice. Now you're going to feel me touch you, so don't be alarmed at all. I'm going to take your wrist and find your pulse and your heartbeat." She tossed out a silent breath on her palm to make sure it was warm, and slipped her hand under Kevin's right forearm and rested the stethoscope chestpiece on him. He lay still. "Good," Angela said, locating his heartbeat. "Now breathe in, slowly, nice and deep, through your nose, and I'm going to count to eight..." He obeyed as she did so. "And now breathe out, through your mouth, and I'm going to count again." She repeated the pattern. She instructed him to continue breathing in and out via her method, a few more minutes, until she felt his pulse and heartbeat inevitably flutter down to where she wanted them. "Excellent," she murmured. "Just keep relaxing, Kevin. Just like that, you're doing great. The next thing I'm going to do is take your hand and lightly cup it between my hands. What this does, Kevin, is familiarizes your conscious mind with my hands' contact, so that once you're asleep, your unconscious mind will be aware that it's me touching your body. Your mind knows me, and it will know my touch, so your unconsciousness won't be disturbed." Eventually, a minute later, she removed her right hand. Keeping her left hand's fingers interlocked with his, she leaned lower down towards him and draped her right arm diagonally across his chest, reaching up to his face, and caressed his cheek. "Keep breathing," she guided him. "Be assured, Kevin, you are as safe and secure as is possible. My bed is the safest place you could be right now. Now, we're going to get ready and take you under. I'm going to count backwards from... "Ten," she slowly, softly announced, stroking his left arm with her right hand. "And you're floating... "Nine...you're in my arms...I'm carrying you up to Heaven... "Eight...just enjoy the ride...you have nothing in the world to fear... "Seven...your worries and cares are all back down on Earth... "Six...you're being protected by me...shielded from any harm or wrongdoing... "Five...you're in a bubble of celestial peace...nothing but comfort and serenity... "Four...the tranquility is insurmountable... "Three...a choir of angels is softly singing nearby... "Two...you're now in the magic realm of hopes and dreams where nothing can go wrong..." She carefully climbed up onto the bed a little bit, peering down so that his face was directly below her face. She took in the faint scent of his budding pheromones, letting her nose gingerly nuzzle his. "One...welcome to Heaven, my cherub..." She lowered her face so that the surface of her lips impossibly lightly swept across his lips, as she said the words... "Kevin Grant, You're now snuggled under the blanket of sweet enchantment." Discreetly raising her body from the near-kiss she'd just bestowed upon him, she quietly let her body back down on the floor. She tenderly stroked his arms—it was plain to see that the arms were one of her absolute favorite parts of the body—and rested her head on his chest to listen to his heart beat. "Now, listen to Dr. Angie," she instructed. "Dr. Angie's your friend. She's on your side. She's here to help you. You're unconscious now, and Dr. Angie has you safely shielded under her wing, where you can be free to remain in peace, no matter what." Again holding his hand, she kissed one of his fingers. "Subconscious, if you can hear me, move the finger I just kissed." The same finger twitched. "Wonderful," she soundlessly applauded. "You are just doing so well right now, Kevin. Keep listening to what the doctor is telling you, and pay close attention now." OH, I hope you're right about this, she thought to herself. Angie, you had better be right about this. She continued protectively caressing his arms and torso, listening to his heart, as she laid it all out. "Subconscious, Kevin's fascination with red-haired women proves to be so broad that it has developed into a fetish. The sight of a red-haired woman provokes a built-in sexual impulse within him that automatically stimulates his hormones. Redhead women have become a very significant part of his sexual interest. "At the same time, he also deals with the issue of rejection from women. This piece of his puzzle too has ascended to a highly significant point within his interest and identity. He now fears rejection to the point that if a woman does show sexual interest in him, his apprehension will shift, from rejection...to the level and competency of performance." She let her right hand lift off his arm, simultaneously adding the slightest bit of extra pressure with her left for the moment, so as to balance the level of contact and not disturb the focus of his mind. She slipped her right hand under the pajama shirt and rested it on his stomach, and readjusted the contact level. "Thus, when he dated the redheaded woman, his mind was already stimulated and anxious at the presence of her and the prospect of actually indulging and fulfilling his fetish. The problem was, as we've established, the lad was now nervous about his ability to sexually perform. And so those two elements combined, and when he actually realized...that the object of his great fetish desired to have sex with him, the fearful part of his brain took over, and became terribly overwhelmed. So overwhelmed, that his brain shut down his entire collective sexual activity altogether." Angela's patients were so dear to her that the obligation to unlock the unfortunate truth even to this young man's subconscious almost brought a tear to her eye. As it all came together and she became surer and surer of it, she also felt worse and sorrier for him. "Mentally," she solemnly continued, "Kevin was just not confident enough within himself that he could prove satisfactory to her standards of finesse, and he was so afraid of not doing so, he was frightened into impotence. It was the threat of being sexually embarrassed..." ...Which happened anyway, thought Angela, feeling sudden scornfulness towards this woman. She didn't even know her. But what sort of unkind person would laugh at erectile dysfunction? "...that caused his arousal failure. Consequently, he has since been...unable," was all she said, less being more in a case like this. "So what we must do first is lobotomize her out of him." She clasped his right hand a bit tighter. "Subconscious, you must go through all of Kevin's recent memory files and permanently destroy any and all mental documentation that even remotely relates to this woman. Do you understand?" Kevin's fingers flexed a little tighter onto her hand as well. "Outstanding," she said. "Kevin, as your memory of this person is diminishing, what we also must do is build your confidence in yourself, in order to reduce the chances of this situation reoccurring." Her right hand slipped out from underneath his loose pajama shirt. Another reason Angela loved when patients opted to wear her pajamas was their loose bagginess, more easily enabling what was about to happen next. Emerging from under the pajama shirt, her right hand tip-fingered the few inches south, until her hand rested at the very top of Kevin's right thigh. She waited another moment. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 02 "The process is being carried out as I speak, Kevin. In another few minutes, you will not even know to whom I was referring. You will soon remember nothing about this woman—neither her, nor the evening you spent with her." Her right hand slowly snuck beneath the blanket on the bed covering Kevin from the middle down, then beneath the waist of his pajama bottoms and started wandering the rest of its way. She felt his hand react. "Do not be alarmed, Subconscious," she ordered. "Do not lose focus. You must continue ridding Kevin's cognizance of any evidence of this woman's existence. You must concentrate on this task, and absolutely nothing else." His hand withdrew its reaction. Hers at last reached the monument she was to resurrect. She let her palm descend upon it, the tender, warm flesh which always giddied her a tiny bit. This time, however, she knew she still had a little work to do. "Kevin...someone has just dematerialized from your memory into thin air. You no longer have any idea who. You don't know how, you don't know why. But you are to concern yourself with the subject no more. What you must now concentrate on is finding the confidence which remains within you. Kevin...this is your friend Angela speaking to you. I am telling you that you are a strong person. And I know that confidence still exists..." She started carefully petting his penis under her palm, as if stroking a house pet. "Be it only a speck, an iota, an atom...one small sand grain of confidence, it's in there, and we are going to find it. And once we find it, we are going to grow it. Slowly but surely. We are going to nurture that budding tiny confidence into an aura of assurance and self-regard into which we shall then envelope you. The time is upon us, Kevin..." Continuing to stroke him under the pajama pants, she closed her eyes and mentally said a little prayer. Her clasp on his hand squeezed the slightest bit more. Still with her head on his chest, she whisper-commanded... "ARISE, confidence! Come to me!" She held her breath, telepathically trying to transfer encouragement into him. "Arise..." she repeated, rubbing him underneath. In the midst of the activity, her own libido had awoken, taken in what was going on, and Angela could now feel her vagina cheering in encouragement as well. "Arise...arise...yes...come to me, confidence. Arise." Twenty to thirty suspenseful more seconds passed, and at long last, Angela heard the tempo of Kevin's heartbeat accelerating in her ear. At first she was certain it was her hopeful mind, her wishful thinking, but a few beats faster, she realized that she was not imagining it; the young man's heartbeat was indeed speeding up. Becoming more and more zealous, Angela slipped her hand around Kevin's penis, continued verbally encouraging him, and waited for it... And as the heart received the signal from the brain, sped up and started pumping, the vessels to Kevin's nether-regions, which had indeed been psychologically blocked off by self-doubt and insecurity, received their signal, and suddenly, as if by magic...unlocked! Finally, after an exhausting week and a half of no access, the blood cells found their way, and were granted a well-needed entry. And when the moment was right, to her surprised ecstasy and delight, Angela felt her fledgling monument solidifying, raising, taking up all the remaining empty space in her hand, as the ascension of Kevin's confidence spread from his brain to the rest of his body, making it official: her hypothesis, her theory and her efforts had paid off! Her patient, Mr. Kevin Grant's penis had fully revived! Eagerly erect and ready, in her glowing hand! Angela could barely believe it. I WAS right! she thought with gleeful wonder. All the concerns and doubts of her own vanished right along as she let it sink in—she had cured, a man, of impotence! It was all she could do not to punch the air with a victorious fist and pierce the silence with a resounding, "YES!!" Now, for a different reason, she really wanted to cry. She almost started to, but caught herself. Mere words didn't do justice to the present extent of Angela Starr's exhilaration and joy. She had to take the time to bring herself down from this self-congratulatory high to remember to now actually follow through with the next step, and get on with her usual routine—the signature touch of the Starr Treatment. Angela was so jazzed she had to repeatedly now force herself to keep calm. Continuing to stroke him under the blanket and the sleepwear with one hand while cupping his hand with the other, she whispered to him, "Brilliant job, Subconscious. Wonderfully done, Kevin. Now, in another few moments, you're going to feel a different sensation—something you haven't felt in quite a little while. WhatEVER you do, no matter what happens...do NOT...react. Let Doctor Angie take care of everything." Still reeling from her incredible feat, Angela slipped both hands off of him. To keep his upper body occupied, she planted small kisses on his chest, his forearm, his fingers. And her hands sneakily slid the easily removable pajamas down his legs until the open air surrounded his manhood. "Again," she reminded him, "You are not to react to the dreamlike states you're experiencing. Listen...to the Doctor. Always...listen to her. She is going to handle this." She slowly opened his legs a bit and climbed up onto the bed between them with catlike stealth. "Be good," she reiterated. "Be a good young man now, and let your guardian angel do her duty." Now entirely standing on its own, there was no need to manually hold it anymore, so Angela intertwined her fingers with his, wet her lips, leaned down and proceeded to administer the first several long, lubricating, ladylike licks. She was a little bit surprised at how soft the skin of his penis was, but not overwhelmingly so. She went down lower and tongue-slathered his testicles. They did not feel quite as soft, at which she was not as surprised. Ten days' worth of masculine love syrup stored up...my gosh, she thought. Well, she reasoned, Even if I don't drain his balls completely, I'll still give him a good deal of relief. As she blissfully licked and sucked on him, she looked up at his face occasionally. His countenance never changed. His head remained rolled over on the side, drifting around in the serenity of slumber. Angela could understand. Poor kid's so busy, he only slept for five hours last night. Well, I have a feeling he's gonna sleep pretty well tonight... Over the course of her career, having given dozens of generous doses of oral sex to single men in need of female affection, she'd encountered men who climaxed in as little as three minutes, and some who lasted upwards of half an hour, or even more. She loved how different each gentleman was and became excited at the prospect of finding out how long a new patient would take. Somehow, she didn't see an especially lengthy time elapsing lip-loving a man who had stored up a week and a half of "come-honey," as she'd adoringly pet-named it. To her it was a cute euphemism, and it also sounded like a romantic come-hither expression. Actually, she thought for the first time, "honey-come" would work just as well. And it's an amusing little play on words, too. She was squeezing one of her spare pillows between her legs to silence her vagina's envious objections that her mouth was having all the fun, and sure enough, she knew it was coming before too much longer. She liked the way the tip of the glans tickled the roof of her mouth. And she loved the way when the penis became very excited shortly before the orgasm hit, the blood continuing to rush in eventually made it possible to detect where the veins textured the surface. She didn't even mind enveloping a penis down far enough to trigger her gag reflex. Some she could orally engulf fully, some she could not, but either way, by this point in time, understandably, she was expert at controlling her gag reflex. All of these events happened in their given time, and as always, she braced herself for the big moment. At approximately 5:55, the part she dreamed of had just rounded the corner and arrived. She started the mental countdown in her head, slowed down, made her calculations, placed her hands on his hands tighter than before and clamped them there, tightened her wet lips around him, slid her mouth down as far as she could, rode her tongue back up the shaft, and repeated the pattern, at last drawing out his essence, spurt...by spurt...by glorious spurt. As he came, his head descended back on the pillow and his hands and feet curled up. She slid her fingers under his to soothe his hands, which were subtly shaking, never losing focus on his wondrously reborn penis. It was a semi-regular routine; sometimes the men would quiver, sometimes they would stay still and lock their limbs for the almighty "O," but the end result was always the same. Her whole body tingled and shivered in excitement and joviality as it did on each and every occasion, and in just another moment, she found, surprise of surprises, his come-honey tasted delicious. With only a small percentage of bitterness, the sweet flavor and the saline in his essence mingled such that it tasted...almost just like a salted caramel milkshake. Oh, my, stars, she thought, her eyelashes fluttering with giddiness. This, is the BEST gift, I ever gave to myself. She would never play favorites, but she couldn't remember any man tasting quite like this before. She found herself wishing this come-honey fountain would never go dry. How much icing could she squeeze out of this cake-tube? she thought, entertaining herself. How much saccharine nectar could this honeybee collect? Finally, while she still did not detect exactly how much if any was left in his coconuts (no pun intended, she thought), he softened, relaxed and uncurled his digits, and she held his shrinking penis as she licked and licked, covering the urethra several times, making sure she got every drop of this precious dessert out of him that she could. She couldn't make out the appearance of his penis in the pitch-black, but while part of her always wished that she could just a bit, this mysterious factor only added to the whole excitement. Besides which, any and all light having been slaked out of the room rendered her sense of sight null, thus balancing out by heightening her other senses. On these cold late winter afternoons after the sun had already gone down and the room was left with virtually no source of light whatsoever, she could more keenly smell each man's unique scent. She could better make out the feel and consistency of skin, rough or smooth, coarse or silky. She could more clearly hear each sound permeating the atmosphere, a gentleman's lusty slumberous sigh, the final few notes of a soft, monochromatic ballad on the CD player, her own body purring like the growl of a hungry stomach. And her favorite, self-explanatorily, the intensification of a man's flavor playing about her taste buds. After she finished devouring the prize inside him, she again marveled at herself. She really wasn't the kind to narcissistically toot her own horn, but still so psyched having raised a man's sexuality from the dead, so to speak, she almost forgot about the little voice hollering up at her from down below. Almost. "Okay, he's done now; my turn! MY TURN!" her vagina shouted in her mind. This was where being a hypnotherapist came in extremely handy. As long as no dynamically loud noises were made, her patient would not awaken to consciousness until she brought him back herself. Using as much restrained discretion as she could muster in her own revved-up state, Angela whipped off her bunny slippers, climbed down off the bed, steadied herself to her feet, quickly made her way into the office's private washroom, turned the dimmer switch down just to the right level to see what she was doing and not strain her eyes, clicked on the light, opening the washing machine as silently as she could, fished out Kevin's clothes, tossed them in the dryer, started it up, came back out into the office for a moment, seized the pillow she had been humping while administering the fellatio, slipped back into the washroom, flung it in the washer and lightly dropped its lid closed. In the washroom was a sink, a toilet, the washer/dryer combo, a paper towel dispenser and a chair the same as those in her waiting room, just behind which sat a shelf with larger cloth towels folded on it. Here began her post-fellatio solo routine: she grabbed one of the towels, draped it over the seat of the chair, kept on her pajamas while underneath hastily taking off her bra and panties, plopped herself in the chair, spread her legs, slipped her left hand into her robe, started caressing her breasts, snaked her right hand under the nightgown, let her head drop back against the wall, drowned her mind in the wonderful thought of a man under her spell with his gorgeous succulent cock in her mouth, tasting the last remnants of his love cream on her tongue, commenced to stroking herself, to the delight of her vagina which was tolerant almost to the point of suffering, and twenty to twenty-five heavenly minutes later, felt like the most fortunate, most blessed, luckiest girl on Earth. *** Now deliriously happy—for a dozen different reasons—Angela dropped her nightgown in the washer with the pillow, put on her underwear, and another nightgown of the same color and design. She washed her face, de-flushed herself, retouched her makeup, flipped on the office light and spun around her desk clock. 6:40 on the nose. She slipped her feet back into her plush bunny shoes, downed her water, popped her Lifesaver, made her notes on Kevin's opening session with her, asterisked the words "Starr Treatment," as always, took Kevin's penis, lipped off any excess moisture from it, briefly felt her heart melt again at the victory of awakening it, kissed it, nuzzled it, slipped it back under the pajamas and sat back down beside Kevin's body. "Kevin, your hypnosis is now concluded; I will count to ten, and bring you forth out of the trance," she whispered. Thirty seconds and one snap of the fingers later, Kevin Grant stirred back to consciousness. The first thing he saw was nothing. For a moment, he couldn't find his bearings. He looked around. "Wh-...where am I...?" he started to ask. Then he felt a hand take his hand. "It's all right, Kevin, you're okay," said Angela. "Take off your sleep mask." He did so, blinking her into focus, and when he realized where he was again, the details slowly returned. He sighed in relief, slumping back down in the bed. "How do you feel, Kevin?" she asked. "Um..." he gestured with his hands. "Weird," was the only word that came to his mind. "Well, that's perfectly normal. It won't last long, but Kevin, I've gotta tell you, we did absolutely great. And I have a feeling that things are going to start changing for you, for the better," she smiled at him, trying to contain her excitement. He arched his eyebrows at her. "...Really?" he said. "You bet," she said. "Now Kevin, your clothes have got about ten minutes left in the dryer, so just hang around a little bit, and...go to the bathroom if you need to, and then we can have a little follow-up chat." "All right," Kevin mumbled. He slipped out from under the comforter, got up and slowly staggered towards the bathroom. "Oh, and Kevin, you'll probably want to sit down, rather than standing up," Angela advised him. "Your legs are going to feel tired." "'Kay," he yawned. He shut the door, and Angela made up the bed again, and folded it back into its couchcarnation. After finishing up and briefly washing his hands, Kevin lazily ambled back into the office. Angela had put her glasses and slippers back on and reassumed her cross-legged therapist sitting position. "Nicely done," she said. "Now Kevin, you're going to be a little star-seeing dizzy for a couple minutes, so just sit down, take it easy, don't try to get too active right away." "Heh!" Kevin confirmed with a smirk. "Easier done than said!" He collapsed on the couch, indeed very dazed. She returned the smirk. "Good lad," she praised again. "Okay, so, here's the deal. While you were under, I performed a sort of...shall we say, exorcism on you." He turned to her with a bizarre and alarmed expression. She quickly added, "I certainly don't mean to say that you had Satan inside of you, or anything like that." She went on, "What I mean is that I...'snipped' out a little part of your memory, which has been affecting your sexual activity." Kevin widened his blinking eyes. "You mean I'm-...I'm..." She held up a hand. "I cannot absolutely confirm anything for you at this immediate moment, Kevin. What I am saying to you is that your sexual stamina may have begun to be replenished." His expression suddenly grew more attentive and enthusiastic. "Now, do not attempt to verify this right away, Kevin. I know how tempted you might be, but if you trust me, Kevin, please do as I say. My advice is just to have a good, safe drive home, settle down tonight, have a nice light dinner, get yourself to bed at a reasonable hour, and try to collect a good healthy eight hours or so of sleep. I'd recommend waiting until probably about this time tomorrow to determine your sexual status." He nodded, taking it all in. She continued. "And in regard to your love life, Kevin, try not to get discouraged. I'm aware you've had an unfortunate time of it in the past, but do hold on to your confidence. Just be yourself. Be confident in your nature and in your identity. I know it's hard, and you've been hurt a lot, and it might not happen tomorrow, or the next day—then again, it might—but I have faith in you that one day you'll meet a woman who'll love you for just being you, and who'll treat you right. 'Kay?" she smiled. He half-heartedly smiled back. "Thanks." "Oh, and, um, Kevin, just one more thing real quick, and then I'll let you get out of here..." Angela broached, "Out of sheer curiosity, since the subject did come up before in possible relation to your issue...what exactly have your meals consisted of for the last twenty-four hours?" Kevin's eyebrows lifted and his eyes darted about as he tried to think. "Um...'s see, I had...steak, mashed potatoes and sweet corn and a glass of iced tea for dinner last night, couple scoops of ice cream for dessert..." Angela's eyes said, A-HA. She started writing on her pad, trying not to look too obvious. "...bowl of corn flakes and a glass of chocolate milk for breakfast, and a...mmm, shoot, what was for lunch again..." he thought. Angela sat patiently, watching as he tried to remember. Her mouth said, "Take your time," but her mind was eager to find out. "Oh, yeah," he recalled. "I stopped by the diner around the corner from the office. I had a club sandwich and fries." "And to drink?" "A...Sprite," he informed her. "Any dessert after lunch?" "No, no, I was really squeezed for time. Still had to put the finishing touches on that assignment for my course, and then get right back to work." "Okay, well, that's not very rich or overly unhealthy," she remarked. "Too much steak or ice cream can build up on your arteries, but the cereal, the sandwich, better. I'd stick with that lighter fare, rather than the fois gras and brie," she told him. "It's much easier on your circulatory system and on your tummy." The dryer buzzed. Angela pointed a finger at him. "Ah—perfect timing!" she said. She dropped the pad and pen on the desk, hopped up, trotted through the door to the washroom and returned a moment later with Kevin's clothes draped over her arm. "Your apparel, sir, fresh, warm and clean," she said, presenting them to him with a small bow. "Go ahead and change whenever you're ready, and you can give me the jammies when you're out of them." Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 02 When he returned and handed her the pajamas, she gave him a business card. "Here are our phone numbers," she said, "Feel free to call us if you'd like to set up another appointment or update us on your progress at any time," she said, accentuating the last three words. "If you like, you can also see Paula to schedule a follow-up session." "Thanks," he said sincerely. Making sure he had everything, he started out. "Oh—and I mean that, Kevin," Angela called after him, "Please don't hesitate to come see me again, whenever you like!" *** A couple of minutes after 7:00, Angela and Paula had reconvened in the waiting room, putting on their coats and mittens, purses over their shoulders. "So how was your day, Doc?" Paula asked. "SpecTACular, thank you very much," Angela rejoiced. "And your Solitaire?" "Ho-ho, let me tell you, Starr, if I was gambling real money on this game, I wouldn't need to work for you," she smiled. "Oh, is that a fact?" Angela queried. "Guess I'd better make sure I don't let you anywhere near the casinos, then." "Aw, Doc, I still would work for ya; I just wouldn't HAVE to," Paula winked at her. Angela zipped her coat up. "Paula, babe...you're the best," she said. "You hungry? 'S on me." "Sure! Where do you wanna go?" "Mm, let's go to the Robin," said Angela. "I'll get us a salted caramel milkshake." Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 03 To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. *The Hypnothe-Rapist* STARR SCORES III: "Return Of The 'Jed' Guy" *** April 30th, 10:27 a.m. "Hi babe! How's she lookin'?" Angela casually asked Paula, the "she" in question being the daily docket of patients. "Pretty good, Starr," Paula answered. "Full schedule; you've got one every two hours today. 'S see, you've got...a new visitor, Mr. Ray Reynolds in three minutes, he just got here, and then...oh, here's a name I haven't seen in a while: Jed Parsons. His third session, 12:30 today. First two were a year and a half ago." Angela paused for a minute. Paula heard the sound of the keystrokes as Angela looked him up in her laptop's database. "Oh yeah, oh yeah. I remember him now," Angela said, having brought up his digital dossier. "September 12th and October 3rd, both year before last." Jed Michael Parsons, 29, relationship difficulties, she read to herself. Hm, she thought briefly. "Well all righty then, Miss Paula, be a doll and send in Mr. Reynolds, s'il vous plaît." *** April 30th, 12:23 p.m. "Is everything all right, Mr. Parsons?" asked Paula. Jed Michael Parsons was very anxious. He was pacing counter-clockwise around the waiting room in a pattern which was basically a cross between a circle and a square. He was breathing shakily, fidgeting and rubbing his eyes with his left hand. He did a couple more rounds before Paula asked him this question. He looked up. "Is it 12:30 yet, Paula?" Paula consulted her computer's built-in clock. "You still have about six minutes to go," she said, in response to which Jed uneasily sighed. He was particularly very much in a hurry to talk to the doctor today. Paula could see how antsy he was. She said, "You know, Mr. Parsons, sir, it may not be my place to make suggestions, but when I feel anxious or wound-up, I find that it helps to make myself take a really big, deep breath, and hold it as long as I can, and then let it out nice and slow." Jed tried. It lasted about six seconds. "Well...if the appointment in front of me's done before 12:30, can I go right back?" he asked. "Just please give me a moment to let her know that you're here and ready to see her, and once she confirms she's ready, yes." He nodded, trying to distract himself from the things on his mind by cracking his knuckles, shaking out his body, blinking repeatedly, anything he could think of. All right, man, come on, he told himself. It's only six more minutes...even less now. Still, it felt like forever. He tried watching the TV, but a program with a bunch of cute British people drinking a lot of tea somehow didn't help ease his anxiety. He looked at the selection of magazines. Life, GQ, Maxim, Sports Illustrated, Men's Health, Highlights, Esquire...Jed did a double take. Highlights?? The reading material wasn't inspiring a great deal of confidence either. Finally, three more interminable minutes later, a very refreshed and content Mr. Ray Reynolds emerged from down the hall and stopped by Paula's window. "Oh, hi, Mr. Reynolds!" she smiled. "Did things go well?" "Wow! Oh man, I gotta tell you," he said. "I don't know what she did in there when I fell asleep, but she's a genius!" "Oh, good!" said Paula. "Did you want to set up another appointment?" Come on, come ON, Jed thought impatiently. They proceeded to do so, and Mr. Reynolds departed. Jed reapproached Paula as she pressed the intercom button. "Mr. Parsons is here," she said. "And it's pretty urgent; he would like to come see you immediately." "By all means! Jed Parsons, come on down!" Angela agreed dynamically through the phone, just like a TV hostess. As soon as she said the words, Paula pointed her thumb behind her in verification and he started down the hall. He got to her office and went in. Angela today had on a plaid set of cotton pajamas and a pair of slippers a friend crocheted just for her, and her hair was back in a large faded blue hair bow. The hair bow made her look a little like Belle from Beauty And The Beast dressed in Angela Starr's pajamas. She started to get up from her chair to greet him. "Hi—" she said, but Jed simply threw up a quick wave of the palm, went straight to the sofa without a moment's hesitation, quickly kicked off his shoes and collapsed on it on his back. He covered his face, rubbing his forehead in anguish. Ohhh, dear, thought Angela with concern. It clearly did not take a doctorate to see that something was deeply bothering him. She normally waited until the Starr Treatment* was underway to do this, but right now she picked up the "Session in progress, please do not disturb" slate and slid it into its wedge in the door, shut it and locked it. She sat back down, rolled the chair over towards him, close enough to rub his shoulder. When he uncovered his face, she smiled at him. "Dr. Angie's in," she encouraged. "Lay it on me." Jed slowly sat up. At about the same speed, Angela rolled backwards to her desk, slipped on the glasses, picked up the pad and pen, crossed the right leg over, and listened. The year and a half before, when Jed had made his first two visits to see her, he had been involved with a woman named Viv. They'd been going together for a few months and were starting to get pretty serious, but while Viv wanted to be 100% exclusive—and Jed thought he did as well—he nonetheless felt these urges he couldn't understand. He wasn't a half bad-looking guy, and tended to get smiles and winks and small flirtations from other girls. Though he knew it wasn't advisable, he didn't have sufficient self-control to disallow himself to return the flirtations, which understandably sat not too well with Viv. She said she wanted him to stop flirting, or she wouldn't see him anymore. So on September 12th, he came to see Angela for the first time. He ended up only paying half price for the first appointment, because he was just a little too uncomfortable to undergo the actual hypnosis just yet. He said he needed to see a therapist, but the hypno-part was just...a little on the "weird" side for him, which was fine with Angela, as she never tried to steer patients in ways they didn't wish to go. So after their interview, the two of them just continued talking. Angela gave him some advice, that his problem was mind over matter, he needed to resist and control the urges to reciprocate other women's advances. And he tried. He really did. He really wanted to succeed at this...but, unfortunately he just did not try hard enough. Things were almost starting to look up for them when out of the blue, in the midst of those three weeks, he kissed another woman. When Viv found out, she stuck to her word, and they broke up, resulting in appointment number two for Jed. When he dropped in to see Angela the second time, he told her he sincerely wished he'd tried the hypnosis the first time, as maybe things would have been different. He felt so terrible and angry at himself for succumbing to these unwelcome temptations of other women which assaulted him like dive bombers, he declared he would try anything at this point to gain more self-control, and so as was her way, Angela coddled him away from his negative feelings about himself, back towards a point at which to start over, and under the hypnosis he indeed went. So Angela probed him, strengthened his will through his subconscious, and having verified that he was in fact now completely single and unattached (and clean), proceeded to magnificently bestow upon him the secret Starr Treatment*. And poof, post-session two, Jed Michael Parsons did not have such difficulty resisting other women anymore. The Starr was a magician. Over the next year and a half, he started taking matters into his own hands. He decided he needed to straighten up, and focused on his personal flaws and improving himself. He gathered the courage to write a letter to Viv sincerely apologizing for his actions, and for the way things turned out. He said that although his contrition was very genuine, he understood that an apology did not make up for kissing another woman, and that he didn't at all expect her to give him another chance, that he just wanted her to be able to move on and find happiness for herself wherever it might be. He didn't hear back from her, but that was okay with him. Once he let several months pass to analyze where he was at this point in his life, he started dating again. Beginning around last year's Christmas, over a year after he and Viv had split up, he met a girl a year or so younger than he was, named Rhonda. She was beautiful, smart, gifted, sexy, everything he thought he wanted. In this new state of self-restraint and willpower, Jed felt confident and happy in this new relationship. He found himself now wanting to be exclusive with her. He was seeing a real future in this. And then, on April 24th, before his eyes...he saw Rhonda, with another man. The emotions were indescribable. The immediate feelings he experienced were, in this order, hurt, heartache, betrayal, anger at Rhonda, and then a realization...anger at himself. The tables had turned, he realized. The proverbial shoe was on the other proverbial foot. So this... he'd thought, ...must have been like how Viv felt. Once he learned how painful it was to be on the other end, he decided that maybe he'd take a little break from dating for the moment. And a little break from listening to The Beach Boys. Then two days later, he remembered Angela. He could see why she was named Angela. He remembered how comfortable and solaced he'd felt with her. He remembered her cozy office, her sofa bed, her munificent voice, the nurturing way she smiled, her affectionate manner, her benevolent green eyes, the way she made him feel that everything was going to be okay...and he dug up her business card and called the clinic and booked an appointment as soon as was possible. April 30th, at 12:30 p.m. And here he sat once again, spilling out all the details of his past week to her. "Why does it have to be this way?" he asked. "I'm with someone who really seems to like me, but I hurt her, so I'm not with her anymore, then I learn how to not hurt anybody, and I meet someone I really like, and she hurts me. Why?" he lamented. Angela understood. "Unfortunately, no one has an answer for that one," she commiserated, "Not even brilliant hypnotherapists." She worked up just as much of a little humor-induced smile on her face as she felt was appropriate, then returned to being serious. "People have been trying to figure out that kind of thing for eons." "Well, so, anyway," he said, "I-...I, uh..." He stopped, his voice unsteady. Angela leaned a few degrees forward towards him. "Yes?" He thought he had something else he wanted to say right then, but it was overtaken by an impulse from deep down inside him. He dropped his face in his hand again, and she heard a faint, unidentifiable sound come from him, followed by a sound she recognized. A sniffle. The sort of sniffle that lets you know exactly is coming next. The sniffle made her heart crack. She put down the pad and the pen, came over and sat down next to him on the sofa and hugged him. "All right...all right...'s okay..." she consoled. She let him rest his head on her shoulder. "You want me to stay here on the sofa with you, Jed? We can talk together, both of us here side by side, if you want." After a minute he raised his head. He looked over at her, looked down at her hands in her lap and trustingly placed his hand on hers. She clasped it and interlocked their fingers. He blew out a sigh. "I just wish I could go back and do this all over again," he said. Angela didn't say anything for a moment. She looked down and thought about the two of them holding hands the way they were. She often had this little dilemma with herself, as right now she felt it coming on again. She usually got two distinctly separate rewards from healing the men who came to see her. One was the grand satisfaction in knowing that she was unaffectedly changing these gentlemen's lives for the better. It was who she was inside. It was her whole identity. A healer, in the truest sense of the word. But then there was the other side of the coin—i.e., where the dilemma came into play. Angela knew there was nothing wrong in loving what she did for a living, and she saw nothing morally wrong on the surface in indulging herself and her own desires, but a small part of her couldn't help but wonder at whose, if anyone's, expense. She adored men, passionately, but on two very different levels: fostering them, protecting them, healing their emotional wounds...and the side of her which came out once the hypnosis actually went into effect. Her hungry, lusty, animalistic side. In a way that always remained something of a mystery to her, a real desire to befriend such a man, take care of him and serve as his emotional bandage soon translated into a very real desire to soak up his manliness, slip him under her magic spell, (figuratively) sink her teeth into his masculine body, and hopefully sooner than later perform the deed which, well, constituted the essence of the Starr Treatment*. At the same time, while all forms of her devotion were purer than falling snow, still, something inside made her question herself: was she taking advantage of her patients? Most of the time she took pride in being able to supply them with pleasure and happiness on multiple levels, but in such a case as this, with a man who was showing his true emotions like Jed, idiomatically mothering him, giving him succor and mental security, she pondered over whether or not putting him under and essentially having her way with him, to state it bluntly, placed her affection and integrity under the category of dubious. A man like Jed, obviously pained, shedding his tears and pouring his heart and soul out to her, it seemed underhanded of her to send him into Slumberland and turn him into one of her erotic cream-filled lollipops. That was the way it seemed. At least, until he'd touched her hands...with his... There was something about the hands and arms, especially...something that lit her up inside. Something that spoke only to her sexual voracity. Something that triggered that tingly sensuality in her, which when awoken, wanted ferociously to emerge and take over. Something that made her feel her juices start flowing. Something that rendered the fact that he was very emotional less significant. Something that said, NO, you're not taking advantage. You're healing him. Now let's put him under and REALLY heal him... Suddenly, it didn't seem so devious anymore. But she would never put a patient to sleep just to immediately turn him from her patient into her playmate. First and foremost came the conversation with the subconscious and putting it to work inside to help cure him. The former made the latter possible. She would never be able to bring herself to hypnotize a client, Starr Treat-him right away and not actually fix his issue. She would hate herself. She'd never be able to forgive herself for that. After a minute or two of silence, she said, "Well, Jed, we may not be able to go back in time, and we may not be able to make those fidelity violations just disappear, but what we can do is give your memory something of a...a re-sorting, you might call it. We'll try to arrange things so that you won't forget these unfortunate incidents, nor hold them in any lower regard. Instead, we're going to attempt to refresh the positive, so that with the positive at the forefront as well, you won't be so sad and depressed by only the negative." She stood up. "Now be a dear and don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." She kissed his hand, slipped into the washroom and returned three seconds later with a box of tissues. "Here we go," she comforted him, as she removed a couple of tissues from it and dried his face from the trails of his tears. Putting them down, she stood again, held out her hands, took his as he gave them to her and helped him up off the sofa. "All right..." she said, sentimentally snuggling him with her voice, "Now let's give you a nice nap, what do you say, and Doctor Angie's gonna make everything better again." She picked up his shoes and placed them over by the filing cabinet. She unfolded the sofa into its bed form and asked Jed if he wanted anything. "P.j.s? Music?" Pajamas, okay, but no music, please, said Jed. Whichever genre or content, he thought music would just make him more wound-up. He changed, grabbed an armful of pillows and flung them on the bed, slipped under the sheets, put on the sleep mask and tried to find a comfortable position. He still felt a little too agitated to feel like sleeping, but so extraordinarily gifted Angela had trained herself to be, she could lull Juan Valdez into a tranquil snooze. Angela unplugged the phone, plugged the stethoscope into her ears, dropped the kneeling pillow in place, slid open the drawer in her desk containing the hand lotion, gave her hands a thin coating, flipped off the light, shuffled back to the bed and lowered herself to the knees. She began by cradling him by the upper arms. "Okay, Jed, you're going to be all right...I know you're nervous right now, but before long you'll be drifting off to Heaven. Just listen to me. Listen to Angie. Your guardian angel. Let your mind immerse itself in the serenity of my protection, and let your body calm itself and sink into the mattress. Now give Doctor Angie your hand..." She exhaled on her palm, slipped it under his wrist to begin monitoring his pulse and put the stethoscope on him. "Good...very good. Time to breathe. Go ahead, inhale, nose...one...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...aaaaaand, exhale, mouth...one...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight." She paused. "Excellent. Again. Inhale, nose..." She repeated the familiar pattern with him over and over again, each time leaning just an inch closer to him and lowering her voice a notch. She knew riding down Jed's pulse and heartbeat would take a slightly disproportionate amount of time in comparison to most other patients, which was perfectly fine by her. The only issue in play regarding the time fluctuation of varied cases was putting them under and treating them in enough time to keep their sessions under the max two-and-a-half-hour mark, and not keep the next patient waiting past his appointment time. When he was regularly breathing at her preferred rate without her instruction, aware she going to have to toss in a little extra pinch. So she whispered to him, "That's it, Jed. Just sink...you're fine...now we're going to go to the Happy Place, Jed. You remember the Happy Place? You remember? Floating with the clouds above the mythical green and gold fields, all your cares magically vanished away? Take yourself there again. Let me fly you there on my gossamer wings." Angela put down the stethoscope, rested her head on his chest, started caressing him with her fingertips and didn't sing but just rhythmically whispered, with her own slight lyrics adjustment— "Lullaby, and good night, in the sky stars are bright/May the moon's silver beams bring you super-sweet dreams/Close your eyes now and rest, 'cause you're safe in my nest/Close your eyes now and rest, Dr. Angie's the best..." Slowing down the tempo towards the end, she finished the song, and shrank her whisper even softer. "Ten..." began the countdown. Once he'd descended far enough, she counted down and lowered him the rest of the way down. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 03 "One...you are now to submerge...sweet dreams." The silent snap cued Jed's head to slump to the side. He was out. "That's my lad," she murmured, stroking his chest. "Now, Subconscious, I'm going to need you to listen and do everything I say. The heartache that Jed is suffering from is a palpable result of his romantic misfortunes. Now, we cannot simply rid him of those memory files, or he'll only forget the events of his recent past and is liable to repeat his mistakes. The healthiest course of action for Jed is to hold on to his recent past so as not to interrupt his self-improvement, and at the same time, we have to heal his heart and remind him of all the genuine love that still surrounds him and cannot be destroyed." She slipped her hand under his, lightly clasped it and held still. "If you understand what I am telling you, stroke my hand." Jed's index and middle fingers curled up against hers and made the faintest stroke of contact. Angela closed her eyes and smiled at the tingle his touch sent through her wrist. "FanTAStic," she purred in anticipation. "Subconscious, what you will need to do is open Jed's memory files and locate all remaining records bearing any content found under the categories of friendship, affection and unconditional love. And once you've found them, what you then have to do is remove them from their present locations and replace them forefront in Jed's memory bank to make all that pure love fresh in his memory. Do you copy?" He rubbed her hand again. "Wonderful..." she whispered, her excitement slowly building inside. "Now Subconscious, LISTEN to me...no matter what you may detect throughout the remainder of Jed's hypnosis, no matter WHAT happens, you are by no means to acknowledge anything except for the mission I have assigned you. NOTHING...Subconscious...except your task. Everything understood?" He stroked her hand a third time. The tingles were shooting further and further up her arm. "Exxxxxcellent." Her sly smile crept up beneath her nose. With his subconscious distracted hard at work, her path was clear. She reached to his cheek and smoothed the back of her hand over it, slipping up his pajama shirt to rub and kiss his bare stomach. His body twitched and started to shift. "Shhhh..." she calmed him. "Listen to your friend Angie. TRUST...HER...completely." His body relaxed. 'Atta boy, she thought, as her sneaking right hand danced from his belly down his waist. Her left hand was keeping the top half of his body occupied massaging his shoulder and chest. Finally, her right hand made its way through the border of the pajama bottoms and settled on its prey. "Just keep relaxing, my dear," she ordered. "Dr. Angie is on the clock...and it's sex o'cock." She silently chuckled, her body heating up. His head tilted back on the pillow. She settled her left hand on his chest, manually ascertaining his heart rate. Her right hand was petting him under the pajama pants with evenly soft strokes. She had been letting her nails grow just a little longer than usual lately, so she very carefully kept her hand flexed upward, letting only her palm handle him for the moment. It didn't take particularly long for his penis to wake up, realize what was going on and make very good friends with the palm of her hand. This phase of the seduction went on for another couple of minutes, until Angela couldn't hold back anymore. She sent one more quick word of reassurance to Jed's subconscious that everything was okay, lightly pushed down on the mattress around his waist, hooking her fingers into the loose pajama buttons, and down they went. Angela found herself especially zealous to finish "healing" him. As she went back through the previous notes of the session, there was an extra fuel that fired her up. Holding Jed in her arms, cosseting him and feeling his tears on her shoulder woke up this instinct within her. As aforementioned, her instinct to take care of one of her patients quickly transitioned across the bridge of affection...onto the island of forbidden desire. Before she even exposed his penis into the open air, the back of her mouth watered. She swallowed, slid her tongue around the outside of her mouth, wetting her lips, as another area of her body would also begin to moisten almost at the same time. Being early afternoon, she had ample light from even the closed blinds to make out the size and shape of everything involved. Once the pajamas came down and his penis flew out, it was all she could do not to gobble it right down straight away. She compelled herself into temporary restraint, holding on to him, slicking her palms with her salivation and fondling him into a full erection first. He was almost fully stiff, when she— Oh, damn! I forgot the pillow! For as many times as she did this, she forgot the pillow surprisingly often. The excitement of the exposure tended to focus her mind off anything else. She bent down and kissed the head of his penis, whispering the words, "I'll be back in one second, lovely," leaned her body just far enough down from the bed until she could grab the pillow. She had to do a bit of fancy maneuvering not to bop any part of Jed's body with it. She resumed her fellator position, quietly shoved the pillow between her legs, wedging it right into the appropriate state to stay propped on the bed and securely trapped underneath her. Her vagina was screaming like a child. "I'm hungry! I'm hungry, feed me! FEE—" Hush, she thought, squeezing the pillow between her legs. You know the rules, Little Angie. The patients come first. Literally. Now with the lubrication supplied by her mouth, her hands had gotten his penis to its thickest. "Yessss," she susurrated. "Jed Michael Parsons, you are about to experience the professional Angela Starr Treatment* for the second time." A second later, he was in her mouth. It was time to put her longer nails to work. She lightly tickled him under the balls, slowly working her way back towards the perineum and back up towards the penis, gingerly dancing her nails up and around the entire region, up to the base of the shaft. He didn't awaken, but his mouth had descended a few inches open and his face had slightly morphed into a more pleasured expression. Needless to say, Angela loved this part. Somehow, though in the opening of the sessions, she might have doubts in the respect and professionalism in her practice, once her mouth was full, they all went away. She wished there was a small mirror she could place somewhere on the bed to watch herself administering the infamous Treatment*. Of course, she skipped it if a male patient was married, attached, otherwise involved with another person, or gay. And Jed might not have been involved, she thought, but one thing he was was sexually active. He had quite a healthy drive. He provided himself with regular sexual releases at least once to twice a day. She didn't know exactly how long this would take, there really was no way to know for sure, but finding out never failed to give her enjoyment. She simply loved performing fellatio. She knew her ideals would be considered bizarre or depraved by others should anyone else be aware, but for her it was the ultimate expression of fondness, to a fellow in search of a female companion, to communicate to his mind, Hello, I care about you, I have a great affection for you, I love you, you're my true friend. And I want to do something for you that will make you feel very very very nice. I want to make you purely happy. She could see how others would find this an extremely warped view of friendship, but it really was honestly and truly the way she felt. At the same time, administering oral sex on a gentleman made her feel powerful, and in control. The power and control were somewhat less significant due to the man's unconsciousness, but regardless, knowing she could have this kind of an effect even on a sleeping man was a major boost for her. Of course, Little Angie conversely hated it, wanting just once to experience the feeling her mouth and lips did each and every time. Little Angie's lips never knew that feeling. She thought about all of this and more as the minutes ticked on. The sun rose higher over her office, very slowly approaching the other side. For right now, Jed was hers and all hers. He was her second patient of the day, and the second on whom she today would perform the Treatment*, and though she loved doing this as much as life itself, more than three or four Starr Treatments* per day would begin to tire out her lips and jaws. Much as working her magic on the men filled her heart, life and soul with bliss, after several consecutive S.T.s*, an appointment with a married (or girlfriend'd) man was a bit of a relief, giving her lips and jaws a rest. Occasionally, there would be days when she gave no S.T.s* at all, which was disappointing, but not overly so. It still did her a world of good to be helping improve all the men's lives. This was lasting quite a little while. Angela had to think back to remember the last time she Starr Treated a man who lasted quite this long. Not that she was complaining, of course. She didn't know exactly what time it was, but she wasn't about to stop to turn around and find out. Her hands had worked up to a quicker and quicker pace until they were now rapidly tickling his testicles and the base of his penis to the point where if he was awake, she would be driving him wild. Sometimes, just to playfully imagine she was intensifying things, she would attempt to telepathically send thoughts through to him, in the form of naughty talk. Naughty, dominatrix-like talk. My love...I adore possessing your dick in my mouth. Bet you never figured on getting your cock sucked when you made this appointment with me, did you? Feel good? Feel...orgasmically good? Feel good having your balls played with? Want me to tickle 'em with a feather? Huh? Would you like that? Do you like the idea of a 36-year-old woman doctor you've never met before putting you under her spell, sneaking into your pants, taking control of your goodies, and doing whatever she likes with them, completely unbeknownst to you, nothing you can do about it? 'S really kind of a hot little scenario, isn't it? Bet it'd be nice and kinky with the stethoscope around my neck, huh? I could wear the long white coat too, just to spice it up a little more. Oh, now my favorite part: almost time to taste your come-honey! Let's start ticklin' those balls extra fast; we do want that love juice to squirt outta there nice and powerfully, don't we? That's it, doll...surrender it to me. Fork it over. Listen...to the doctor. DO...as she says. She knows what's best for you...and she's got you by the balls. For right now, sweet lad, your dick...is MINE. And so are your balls, your ass, your 'p'-spot, everything down here at this moment belongs to me. Now be a good, submissive patient, and come for me. Behave now, obey the nice doctor lady...even if you don't want to, I'm gonna force it out of you. Can't hold it back, can you? Just too intense, huh? I know it is. Face it, angel—I own you. It's mine. Here it comes...ahhhhh...yes. Very good. But these were only ideas of funny sayings that the dirty part of her mind came up with. She would never say these things out loud, whether a client was awake or not, whether her mouth was occupied or not. Her conscience would never stand for it. They were more for her own inner amusement, little verbal fantasy words, although she did feel a little embarrassed that her own mind thought of some of them, making her blush and awkwardly laugh at herself. So she tried not to do that while administering her procedure. Besides, Angela was nowhere close to the kind of person who could say those things and mean them, anyway. She was tender, caring, sweet, sympathetic and loving. Jed Parsons had desperately needed some TLC, and Angela was the queen of TLC. By this point, as was more or less status quo, her nipples were poking out—she tried to press her C-cup breasts against the mattress to provide herself with a little initial self-pleasure—her vagina was leaking all over the pillow in angst, and her heart had rapidly sped up. It would be less than a minute. She didn't remember exactly how his essence tasted, but that was all part of the fun, discovering these intimate details again. She was taking her grip down as close to the base as she could and back again, she was holding his balls with one hand, stretching and sensitizing the skin and with the other, raking them just enough to radically tantalize him without hurting him. She could count it down as it built and built and built...twenty...nineteen...eighteen...seventeen... Jed's body did some more twitching and shifting. When it was finally time, his muscles body, curling up his fingers and toes, and putting her tongue on the bottom and sliding up, Angela went into her finishing mode, using her tongue as a magnet to draw it up, all the way up...she stretched the skin of his testicles again, tickling them as fast as she could. In five...four...three...two... At last, the glorious moment arrived, just as it did every time. Magnetizing it up and through with the tip of her tongue, it shot out in amazingly potent, robust blasts, all over inside. Her gums, her palates, her throat, the back of her teeth, her tongue...oh, yes, please, all over the tongue, she thought...and...did she feel a spurt hit her like a speeding bullet in the uvula? WOW, she thought. Not a bad consistency altogether. As for Jed, his head fell all the way back and almost off the pillows onto the mattress, moaning the delightful moans she always imagined she could hear. As a hypnotherapist, she didn't get to hear the moans. But she blushed all the same. Her heart fluttered every time. Once she had guzzled it all and licked the top of the penis clean, she gave it one more fawning-over, planting small kisses on it up and down—it was plain to see Angela loved giving every form of TLC with her mouth—and let herself down off the bed. She flung the pillow in the washer. She yanked off her pajama bottoms as fast as she could and threw her panties in the washer. Relieved to see the towel she had draped over the chair after Mr. Reynolds' session was still there, she flopped her body, now naked from the waist down, on the edge of it, sat down, spread her legs and once again, as hundreds of times before, finally it was Little Angie's turn. Twenty minutes later, it was her turn to drop her head and let it thud against the wall. And both Angies were ecstatically happy. How could this be a job... she thought with ethereal delight. For five years this has been too good to be true. *** April 30th, 2:03 p.m. Back in her pajamas after her mutual almighty 'O,' Angela ran down her usual mental checklist. Okay, clean panties? Check. Washer going? Check. Rinse face and hands? Check. Fix hair? Check. Makeup? Check. Water? Check. Lifesaver? Check. Clean the cock? Check. Back in jammies? Everybody dressed? Check!...Okay, I think we're good to go! She grabbed the stethoscope and put it in the drawer. Everything else was in place. She flipped on the light and plopped down in her usual spot, just to the right of the patient's snoozing body. She took a few moments to dotingly drink in his body and his angelic face, kissing her own hand and caressing his cheek with it. And then it was time to wake him up. "Jed, your hypnosis is concluded. I'll count to ten, snap my fingers and you'll be fully awake." When he awoke, he shook his head a little. Angela sat Indian-style in front of him. "Arise, my child," she monotonically chanted. He slowly sat up and removed the slumber mask. He rubbed his eyes and saw her to his right. He blinked a few times. "...Doctor?" "...Patient?" she coyly replied. "How're you feeling?" "Uh..." he continued blinking. "...Well...I have to use the restroom." She pointed behind her. "You know where it is." As he went, she made up the bed and folded it back in. She got him his clothes from the closet. "Oh yes, and remember, Jed, you're going to want to sit down!" she called. She put on her eyeglasses, flipped her pad to the next empty page and scribbled, "Jed Parsons, session three, continued relationship anxiety, memory resorting performed, ***ST***, update soon." When he returned, dressed now more loosely in his regular outfit, she regreeted him with a cheery "So!" and a little drumroll on her thighs. "We've got a little time left until my next appointment," she told him. "Anything you want to talk about? Any particular way you're feeling?" "Um..." he thought. "Still not really sure..." "Well...do you remember what brought you in to see me today?" she asked him. "Sure," he said, "Those issues with my two not-exactly-girlfriends." He thought about it a minute. "But you know, all of a sudden, they don't seem to be taking that much of a toll on me as they were before." He smiled with an amazed chuckle. "I don't know how you do it, Doc Angie, but, somehow I knew coming here was the right thing to do." She melted. "Oh," she gushed, getting up to hug him, "You don't know how happy that makes me, Jed." When they broke from the embrace, she sat back down. Jed found himself kind of wishing the hug hadn't broken. It was very comfy in her arms. "Hey, um..." he said. As she turned back to him, he said, "I don't know if this is...y'know, appropriate, or whatever, but...do you think maybe, sometime, you...uh..." Uh-oh, a little part of her thought. She leaned a bit closer. "Yes?" After another moment, his expression changed. "Nah," he waved it off. "Never mind." To which Angela's face and mouth said, "Well, okay then. Just do keep in mind that you can ask me or tell me anything you want, whenever you want. I may not be able to give you the answer you want to hear, but feel free anyway." But her mind said, Whew. If he had asked her out on a date, it would have been very difficult to let him down gently. Dating her patients or having any kind of contact with them in any context outside of their therapy was a no-no. "Okay, so go ahead, you know the drill, drop by Paula's place out front or call us back anytime—you want a card?" she asked. "Oh, I have an old card," he said. "Well, you can have a new one if you want," she showed him. "See, these are our new ones. They're bright blue and yellow, and there's a little sun with a smiley face on the other side, and it says, 'Smile, Sunny!'" she giggled. "It calls you Sunny. Isn't that cute?" "All right," he agreed, pocketing it. "Well...thanks so much, Doc." "Oh, no, thank you, Jed," she said. Jed made his way out. Angela opened her laptop and brought his file up from the database again. She updated the info on him, checked the desk clock—2:24—pushed her chair out from the desk and steered it with her feet over to the far side of the office in front of the window. She normally kept them closed, but just for today, right now, she gave herself a couple of moments to open the blinds, rest her chin propped on her elbows on the sill, stare out the window and daydream. She stared at the painting of natural loveliness that lay just outside, the scarcity of clouds in the cashmere sky, the trees in bloom in this late spring afternoon, densely populated with several different varieties of birds native to the area, squirrels and raccoons chasing each other around them, pollinating honeybees. She shut her eyes, momentarily folding down her arms and sitting her head on her arms, just listening to the sounds of nature's symphony. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 03 Life was so nice. She heard another car pull into the parking lot, and sixty seconds later, the intercom buzzed. She popped up, rolled her chair back around and responded. The next patient had arrived. I'll have to get back to you later, she silently said to the birds and the bees. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 04 To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. *The Hypnothe-Rapist* SMOKEY SAGAS #20: STARR SCORES IV—"The Man Called Dennis" *** August 9th, 9:31 a.m. Angie slid open the window and welcomed the summer morning breeze into her office with open lungs. She closed her eyes, smiled and inhaled the balmy air. She was in such a wonderful mood. Everything was terrific: her day, her job, her life. She felt so happy she could burst. The daily joys that filled her waking hours had long since instilled her with optimism. Dr. Angela Starr's upbringing took a form only idealized in the minds of most. It seemed as though things always went right for her and her luck never ran out, up to and including the current five and a half-year-long success of her clinic and her practice. There were very few lessons she had to learn the hard way. Fortunately, she had avoided life's big mistakes and grew more resilient from the smaller ones. She worked hard, she played hard...she did other hard things... She was a pretty normal kid growing up, with one notable distinction. While her friends and peers tried to get away with staying up past their bedtimes as children and teens, Angie could hardly wait to hit the sack every night. The fact was, since early childhood, she'd always harbored a particular fascination with sleep. The sooner-or-later involuntary transformation from consciousness to unconsciousness. It intrigued her no end how she could drop to sleep with such suddenness she didn't even realize it, and eight hours could go by in what felt like the wink—no pun intended—of an eye. And when she wasn't sleeping herself, she delighted in taking in the vision of others sleeping. Her parents taking a late afternoon/evening nap, her brother or sister sleeping in on a Saturday, even their dog. She would study the facial expressions they made sleeping—even the dog—trying to speculate if they were dreaming, what about, was it a nice dream, how did it make them feel, did they remember anything once they woke up, whether they got up on the proverbial right or wrong side of the bed... As she continued growing, she only threw herself more energetically into the world of sleep. She wanted to know everything there was to know about it, and then some. She couldn't exactly major in it in school, but she could throw together a schedule of scholastic courses like biology, physiology, psychology, chemistry, medicine and so forth. It took her a while to determine precisely what she wished to do with the rest of her life, but once she discovered hypnosis—and hypnotherapy—she saw her path to happiness and fulfillment appear in plain sight before her. She quickly identified and stuck to the perfect nightly sleeping regimen for herself: silk pajamas, a third of a glass of Brita filtered water, Melatonin, 600-thread count cotton sheets with a comforter to match, a polyester sleeping mask—of the same brand she gave her patients to wear—and a stuffed animal to occupy her otherwise restless arms. She wasn't a big tosser-turner by nature, but her arms did tend to make some waves in the mattress. It was basic common knowledge that a good night's sleep correlated to a happy body and mind which thanked their owner for it. A bad night's sleep, conversely, was one of the leading causes of general depression in a given day. Angela couldn't wrap her head around the idea that she herself—or any other human being, for the matter—would or could willfully sacrifice sleep, for any reason. With all of these things in mind, what could be a more noble, finer career path than helping people subconsciously cure personal difficulties while also getting them caught up on the replenishing tonic of sleep? After opening her window to this mild August morn, she sat, opened her laptop, brought up her patient database, readied her pen and pad, and pressed the intercom button. "Paula?" "Hi, Starr!" her receptionist's voice came through. "You've got three confirmed appointments today and one cancellation." "Really...oh well, that's too bad, but maybe someone else in need'll be able to take advantage of that cancellation." "Hey, maybe we should put out a bulletin," Paula dryly joked. "Oh—first patient now arriving, newbie, named...Dennis Lunder." "Terrific!" said Angela, always thrilled to meet newbies. She inserted some extra space in her laptop spreadsheet to enter him into her patient log, and in went his name. "Just send him on back anytime he's ready!" Mr. Dennis Lunder had parked crookedly in his parking space, diagonally, no less, turning the parking space into a parallelogram. He fumbled his way into 2125 Columbia Street. He looked very weary, with red, unfocused eyes. He made his way up to the front desk, blinking repeatedly. "My gosh, Mr. Lunder, is everything all right?" a concerned Paula wished to know. "Yeah...eh...well, no, not really, actually," he replied, "I'm just pretty anxious to see the doctor." "Okay, well, she's all ready for you," Paula assured him, handing him a new patient form. "And you don't have to fill this out right now, you can do it afterwards if you prefer." "Thanks," he muttered, accepting the form with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. When he opened them, he asked, "Which, uh...?" "Oh—" She pointed her thumb directly behind her. "Straight back, right across from the restroom. Door's open, you'll see her." He yawned and tossed her an A-OK sign. When he got back to her office, there she was, scribbling something at the top of her notepad, eyeglasses on. Her hair was scrunchied back, and she had on feathered slippers and a nightgown a color he couldn't identify. If blue and silver were mixed together on a palette, the result would be the color of this nightgown. She didn't immediately see him at first, so he wandered in a few feet. When his shadow caught the corner of her eye, she looked up. "Oh! Mr. Lunder, I presume?" He nodded, pawing at his dry, itchy eyes. "'S me..." he confirmed, a bit sourly, it seemed to Angie. She popped up from her chair. "Hi!" she greeted with her unforgettable cheerful bubbliness. "I'm so happy to meet you. I'm Dr. Angela Starr. You can call me Dr. Starr, Angela, Doc, whichever you like...be honest with you, Angie's my favorite, but, I know some patients feel funny about calling their doctor by her first name—or her nickname. So you just call me whichever of those you're comfiest with, and I'll do the same for you. D'you prefer Dennis, or Mr. Lunder, or something else?" That was a little much for him to take all at once. "Uhhh...Dennis is fine." "Excellent! Okay, Dennis, my friend, why don't you go ahead and have a seat..." she urged, gesturing him to the sofa bed, "And we can go ahead and get rolling." He obeyed, and she resumed her therapist throne at the same time. "So, Dennis, tell me..." She slipped on her eyeglasses, started a fresh piece of paper in her pad, and clicked on her pen. "What brings you to my palace of divine healing this morning?" There was something about this lady's magnetic personality that he found appealing and comforting. She also appeared to have pretty green eyes. She and her eyes would have been even more of a breath of fresh air had he not been grappling with his disorder. He stared up at her with two pleading, itching eyes, fanning despair into the atmosphere. "Insomnia." Angela's face fell. Her heart fainted. "Oh my gosh," she reacted, welling up with concerned empathy. "I'm so sorry, Dennis." For Angie Starr, who believed that a regular and healthy allowance of slumber went hand in hand with fundamental mental and physical well-being, involuntary deprivation brought on by insomnia was her worst nightmare—ironic pun intended. She felt so bad for him, but so glad he had come to see her so she could help him. "But don't you worry; you came to the right place. Everything's gonna be okay, trust me." He blew out an exasperated sigh. "Thank God." "Okay, well, I'm guessing you're pretty eager to get to it, so I'm gonna skip a chunk of my standard intro for now, and make our introductory interview short and succinct. I'm making the presumption you've never been hypnotized before, have you, Dennis?" "Right." "All right. There are a few things you'll need to be aware of going into this with me. First off, as gentle and soothing as hypnotherapy is, it's also a little more intensive and intimate than your other forms of therapy are." "Does...that mean I'm gonna have nightmares?" She laughed cordially. "Oh, no! Not at all. What I mean by that is, you'd be lying on my folded-out sofa bed, and I would be beside you, manually monitoring your vital signs, your pulse and heartbeat, so if you have any problem or apprehension with physical contact, now would be the time to tell me." He waved it off. "That's—that's fine," he said automatically, a bit impatient to begin. "Whatever it takes." "All righty, just a few other things of which I'm obligated to make you aware," she went on. "If at any point you wish to stop treatment, the decision is yours only. Session one, with the introductory interview, lasts a minimum of two hours, and there're no interruptions, no distractions, no nothing. Once your hypnosis gets underway, the rest of the world might as well be closed off outside that door. In here with me, you're priority one, from the moment we begin until you walk out the door. 'Kay?" "Sure, sure." "Good. I know you're anxious, and I need to ask you a couple questions, then I promise we'll get started before too much longer," she assured him. "Now, if you can remember, how long has your insomnia been going on?" "Uh...a...couple of weeks, I guess?" he speculated uncertainly. That same bittersweet feeling of sympathy dug into her heart again. "Gosh...poor guy," she silently mouthed to her notepad. "Any idea what might have brought it on?" she asked him. "No idea," he stressed. "All I know is I wanna sleep, I just want to so much, but I can't." There they were again, the three 'c's: caring, concern and compassion. She scribbled on the pad as he continued. "I just...I—I can't even lie still. It's like my body just won't shut down. I try to lie down in bed, but before I know it, I'm right back up again," he confided. "And I can't stand it, Doc...Angie...whatever..." He wasn't sure what to call her, but decided that was inconsequential right now. "It's killing me. If I don't get some sleep soon, I think I'm gonna lose my mind. Please help me. You've gotta help me." Angie melted a little inside. Maybe she got a little more emotionally involved than other therapists, but she just wanted to take him in her arms, cradle him like a baby in her safe haven and lull him into a veritable coma. God, what he must have been going through...she may not have been able to relate firsthand, but she could treat him. She uncrossed her legs and leaned over to address him a few inches closer. "Of course I'll help you, Dennis. That's what I'm here for. There's a reason I, Angie Starr, am the number one hypnotherapist in the city. Not boasting, just saying." She saw the hope rise in his expression. "Now, then," she proceeded, "Your typical bout of insomnia can stem from any number of things: uneven sleeping habits, use or abuse of stimulants, mental disorders—stress, anxiety, depression, chronic fear—RLS, ill-timed exercise, jet lag—" "What's RLS?" Dennis jumped in. "Restless Leg Syndrome. It's a neurological condition that doesn't allow your legs to sit still. It causes twitches and spasms in your legs and feet, but some people even get it in other parts of the body. And it usually most typically occurs when you're sitting or lying down for long periods of time." He pondered it. "That's kinda weird," he said, "I think I might actually have that. I mean, I don't know for sure, but..." "Oh, do you notice those symptoms in your body's behavior?" she asked. He shrugged wearily. "Eh...sometimes I think I do, but it's hard to tell anymore. I can't even think straight, let alone concentrate on observations like that." She nodded. "All right, well, we'll put that down as one possibility. Now Dennis, if I may ask, how old are you?" "I just turned 31 last December." "Okay," she noted, continuing to scribble in her pad. My goodness, what awful handwriting doctors have, she thought as a mental aside. I just wrote this, and I can hardly even read it myself. "And...what's your diet like?" He shrugged again. "Uh...pretty normal, I guess. Nothing too out of the ordinary." "Mm-hm," said Angie, "Do you consume a lot of caffeine?" "Not anymore," he answered honestly. "I started to cut down on it more and more, hoping it'd help me sleep, but it didn't." She pursed her lips in sympathy. "Smoke? Drink?" "Uh, not really anymore either," he said. "I used to have a problem with smoking, but I beat it some years ago, thank God. Now I don't even wanna look at a cigarette." "Good for you," she told him, "That's what I like to hear. Alcohol?" He shook his head. "Never. My, uh..." Dennis wasn't sure he wanted to confess this right now, but what the hell, he thought. "My mother was killed by a drunk driver when I was 16." "Oh, good Heaven, I'm so sorry!" Angela commiserated. "Again! How terrible." It was Dennis' turn to nod. "Wasn't the best day of my life." "Well, I should say not!" she added emphatically. "Well, if this tragic event happened fifteen years ago and your insomnia's just been going on for a couple weeks, they're probably not related...although anything is possible." She drew a little heart at the top of her pad by his name, just to remember to provide him with some much-needed, much-deserved affection—in addition to sleep. "And how's your social life?" "Not very active," he said predictably, rubbing his eyes again. "I have some friends, and they try to get me to come out with them, go do...whatever, but a lot of times now I can't locate the energy." She nodded once more. "Perfectly understood. How about your love life?" "Heh," he replied. "Let me answer that one this way: what love life?" "Uh-huh. Well, have you been seriously involved with any girls before?" He tried to think back. "Uhhh...once, I guess, probably about a decade ago. Nora, or...Dora or...Cora, something like that." "And I take it you're not seeing or thinking about dating anyone now, then?" she asked. "Negative," he muttered, blinking and rubbing his eyes yet again. "And I also take it then that your libido and your sex drive've taken a decline since all this started?" "Mm, you could say that, yeah," responded Dennis, a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice. "And...just so, as your doctor, I can ascertain an optimum overseeing of your health, do you have any STDs or anything like that?" He reddened a little in the face. "Eh, no." "Good," she smiled. "Now, since I mentioned I'm going to touch your body to monitor you before and during the hypnosis, do you have any especially sensitive or ticklish spots?" He thought. "Uh...well, my back, actually...and my feet, and...'s probably it." "A'right, both of those will be safe. "But before we get started, I just need a final confirmation from you, Dennis. I cannot and will not do this without a patient's absolute and total consent. So if you're ready, just give me a positive 'yes,' and it's a go." Dennis had started nodding halfway through this explanation. He was impatient, but was trying to remain as compliant as needed. He fought off the compulsion to make the circular "get it over with" motion with his hand. "Yes. Yes. Definitely," he said. Angie grinned. "Excellent," she said contentedly, tossing down her pad, pen and glasses. And out came the phone plug. "Oh, yes, and Dennis, do you have to be anywhere else after this today?" "Uh, no...not for a while, anyway," he replied. "Not until 6:00." "Ah, good; well, I can promise you it definitely won't take that long." She went into a drawer in her desk that didn't get opened very often. "Now to start off," she began, taking out a small bottle, "We're gonna sorta...'cheat' a little...well, not really, but I'm gonna give you a Melatonin. Just as a supplemental aid. I don't usually break these out unless in case of extreme situations, but if insomnia isn't a hypno-mergency, I don't know what is." She took his hand palm up and shook out a pill into it. "The great thing about these," she explained, "Is how easy they go down. You don't need to chew this, you don't need to take water with it, all you have to do is let it dissolve in your mouth, and it'll just slide right down on its own. And, it's even yummy," she added with a cute smile. "It's strawberry-flavored." Dennis slipped the tablet between his lips. As he did, Angela thought she saw them curl up into the first hint of a smile she'd seen on his face. It made her swell with happiness herself. She stood. "Okay, Dennis, my gent, please stand for me, and remove your shoes, and I'll pull out the sofa bed." And so it went. Angela sat his shoes over near the door and said, "Okay, well, there's pretty much everything most patients need to relax: pillows, stuffed animals, slippers...oh, yes, and here's a sleep mask. Please go ahead and put that on, to minimize any light sneaking in and disturbing your sleep," she handed it to him. "Do you want some pajamas?" "Oh, no, thanks," he politely declined. "I never wear pajamas." "Very well. Go ahead and set yourself up then, get comfy, take as many pillows as you like," she encouraged him. "I'm just gonna shut the window and close the blinds...can I put on a soothing CD for you? Or would you prefer silence?" Boy, there seemed to be a lot of decisions for him to make. "Um...okay, but, could we keep the CD quiet?" "Of course!" said Angela, glad to be able to provide the extra source of relaxation. "I'll turn it down until it's just barely audible." She heard his voice behind her as her back was turned readying the CD. "Can I ask something borderline inappropriate?" She turned her head in his direction with curiosity. "Well, I...can't guarantee you'll get the answer you want, but yeah, you can ask me absolutely anything you like," she tossed over her shoulder. "Well, I'm under the blanket, and...I know I said I didn't want any pajamas, but, uh...can I still, uh...take my clothes off anyway?" Angela felt herself tingle. Her mind and a few other particular areas of her body shouted, Uh, HELL YES!! She kept herself cool. "If that makes you more comfortable, Dennis, sure, go ahead." She tried hard to conceal the sudden excitement in her tone and not let it give her away, so to speak. "Thanks," she heard Dennis gratefully sigh. "I kinda sweat under a blanket if I'm all dressed, especially in summer." Speaking of which... Angela gave her brow a quick dab, and turned around, pressing the play button on the CD player. "Well, we could do without that," she smilingly agreed. His body shifted and turned, making ruffling and shuffling sounds under the covers as he removed his apparel. Angela watched him for about three seconds, then said, "You know what, Dennis, I'm gonna step in the restroom for just a minute to give you some privacy. I know there's an opaque blanket over you, but just the same..." She stepped into the office's built-in bathroom, just hoping he wouldn't object to this for any reason. The truth was, this quick adjournment to the restroom was more for her than for him. She silently shut the door behind her, closed her eyes, exhaled as quietly as she could, and looked in the mirror. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 04 Wow, she telepathized to her reflection. I didn't expect him to make this much easier for me than as is usually. Easy, Starr, slow it down a little, her reflection communicated back. You're forgetting, it's gonna be extra tough to just get him to sleep first. Remember, he's an insomniac. Right, right, she thought. I'll just have to put Little Angie to "sleep," as it were, and focus on doing the same with him first. She took a breath and ran a little cold water on her palms, giving her face a light rinse with it. She toweled herself dry, slipped the door open and returned to the office. Dennis had dropped his garments on the floor beside the sofa bed. Angie gathered them up. "I'll be right back, Dennis, I'm just gonna put your clothes in my washer for you. And don't worry, I guarantee you they won't shrink or fade or anything, you can take my word on that. Unless of course there's anything here that can't be laundered?" He turned in her direction. "Wha—?...Uh...well, no, there isn't, but...you don't have to do that," he said. "It's perfectly fine, Dennis," she reassured him. "For one thing, you're gonna be under my trance for a couple hours, so there'll be more than enough time to wash and dry them, so they'll be all clean, warm and fluffy for you when you're done. And besides that, it's just a little bonus I like to give my patients when I can; your money's hard-earned, and hypnotherapy's anything but cheap. So I figure, at least I can save you a few pennies on detergent and fabric softener." Head turned in Angela's direction, Dennis didn't say anything for the moment. Then once he heard the washer door open, he said, "...Well...thank you. That is so sweet." Angie waved it off, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Not at all. I consider it a privilege. My patients are more important to me than anything in the world. Besides, the sound of the machines humming can also act as a soothing mechanism." She started the washer going to launder his outfit, and returned to the office to finish preparations. As always, she made sure the sign was clearly visible on the door, shut it, locked it and turned the light off. She grabbed her multipurpose pillow, tossed it beside the sofa bed, fetched her stethoscope and knelt on the pillow. Ten minutes of the CD had elapsed, but it ran eighty minutes total. More than enough time. She leaned down beside him and spoke into the stethoscope's chestpiece, warming it up. "All right, Dennis, now we're just gonna totally take it easy," she instructed. "Unclench, Dennis. There's the magic word. Just let your whole body deactivate. Shut it down, Dennis. I know it's difficult, but here..." She placed the stethoscope on his bare chest and moved it back and forth until she located his heartbeat. "Close your eyes...give me your hand..." she rhythmically whisper-chanted. "I can feel your heart beating...do you understand?" He subtly nodded. "Mm-hm," he murmured. He didn't seem to get the subtle song reference, which was good news to her. It meant his brain wasn't too overactive, and it was just relaxing, like she wanted. "Good man," she mouthed. "Now I want you to do your best to take all thoughts, worries, concerns and problems of any kind, and lock them out of your mind. I know some of them will keep trying to sneak back in, it's okay. Just try to keep them outside, and shut the door on them. You just do your best. Try not to worry about a thing, especially about being able to stop worrying. "Relax, Dennis. Relaaaaaax. You're totally safe with me. Lie back and let me take care of you. Nod if you can hear me," she said. He did so. "Wonderful," she breathed affectionately down to him. "Now let Dr. Angie hold onto your wrist, so I can keep a handle on your pulse till it and your heart slow down enough. Okay?" He nodded again. "Okay doc..." "That's my lad," she said. "Just do as I tell you, and everything'll be fine. Now you're gonna take some nice, deep breaths for me, all right? I want you to inhale, through the nose, while I count to eight. Go ahead..." She counted. When she finished, she said, "...Good...and now exhale, through the mouth—nice and slow, same pace, and I'm gonna count again." When she finished, his pulse and heart hadn't slowed down in the least, but that didn't concern her. She knew how worked up he was, and his breathing was shaky and restless for the moment. "Again," she directed. "In through the nose...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...and, out through the mouth...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight." He didn't seem to be feeling extremely confident in his ability to remain calm, so she gave him some encouragement. "You're doing splendidly, Dennis. Excellent job. Just trust me...just keep doing as I'm telling you. Just enjoy the silence...enjoy the soothing, tranquil feeling of your deep, deep breaths." Angela continued guiding his breathing and supplying him with verbal cuddling. From the moment he'd told her he was dealing with insomnia, she'd set about to shaving off as much time as possible to devote to bringing him down to the surface of slumber, but just not enough to compromise the integrity of his initial familiarity with her, so that he would trust her. She knew this would take a disproportionate amount of time. Thank goodness it wasn't the first time she'd treated a patient with insomnia. She had to be honest with herself the first time she did—on the very first occasion she'd treated an insomniac, a couple of years ago, she was terrified. As overwhelming as even the idea of insomnia was to her, being presented with the challenge of curing it out of a patient really intimidated her. Hypnotist versus insomnia; it was the ultimate test to which to put her abilities. But she didn't allow it to intimidate her to the point of incompetence. She persevered, and with enough cooperation on the patient's part, she triumphed. She reigned victorious, as it were, over her patients' maladies. She couldn't describe the apparent invincibility that came with remedying a patient of virtually anything. It was a great and powerful feeling, the repeated confirmations that she could take anything that was thrown at her. At this point, she wouldn't allow herself to even consider the possibility of failure. And then of course there was the other reason she adored having her beloved patients under her care. Right now, as she was focusing on Mr. Dennis Lunder, her honest nature wouldn't let her deny the hints of intimidation that were returning until she succeeded in putting him under. But she wasn't gravely worried. Actually, as she was having Dennis breathe for her, something else was occupying most of her attention. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something moving in the darkness of the office, only visible by the little bit of light through the window blinds. She was successfully bringing his pulse and heartbeat down, degree by degree, but as she counted, she noted what was happening at the edge of the sofa bed, under the corner of the blanket. Dennis' right foot did indeed seem to be...she looked a little closer. Yes, it was. It was twitching. So he did have Restless Leg Syndrome...or so it seemed. Perhaps the source of his insomnia wasn't so hard to isolate after all. Still, she told herself she mustn't immediately hop to the conclusion; it may not be as simple as that. She wished she'd been able to learn a little more about his medical history, but once she got him under, she'd communicate with his subconscious. And she'd become pretty good at determining additional info by doing just this. She continued to have Dennis inhale and exhale for her, patiently waiting for his pulse and heart to slow to the preferred pace. It was, however, becoming a little more difficult for Angela to concentrate, what with the other little detail which had drifted into play. Taking a few additional peeks behind her at his quivering foot, also brought to her observation was the way it puffed the blanket up and down, leading in turn to its evidentiary portrait of his naked body underneath. And as her eyes scanned up a couple feet from his feet, she saw something else she hadn't seen before. Though she couldn't be sure, and had only an implication of his form beneath her comforter, she was correct in speculating that Dennis just happened to be a quite well-endowed man. Angie was keeping the chestpiece over his heart and her fingers softly slipped around his wrist, but suddenly, she was finding herself distracted from the part of him to which she should be paying attention. "'Atta boy, you just keep breathing," she went on, trying to look him in the face, but feeling as if her eyes were being magnetized below his waist. She realized she could make out its natural form and length, even under the blanket. And it was nowhere near being erect; she hadn't even put him to sleep yet, let alone begun to stimulate him, manually or orally. Nevertheless, sooner or later, it would be all but impossible to look anywhere else. Oh my God... Angie thought. If that's what it looks like NORMALly...holy smoke... Dr. Angela Starr was getting herself into something of a proverbial pickle. She still hadn't quite gotten his heart and pulse rate down to the point where she could entrance him, and she was becoming captivated by the vision beheld below his midsection under the blanket. Look away, Starr, for God's sake, look away, she told herself. Just get him calmed down and get him under. We'll figure this all out then. She forced herself to turn her head to him and shut her right eye, just to minimize temptation. She couldn't move her hands while she was still monitoring him, and obviously it went without saying she couldn't expose him or touch his manhood while he was still awake. She kept herself calming and nurturing to him on the outside. Inside was something of a different story. Her mouth said, "That's it, Dennis...that's it, hon...keep breathing. You're doing so great. Awesome job." Her mind said, Come on come on come on come ON COME ON COME ON SLOW DOWN!! SLOW DOWN AND FALL ASLEEP ALREADY GOSH-DARN IT!! Her timing may not have been ideal, but he was calming down. As aforementioned, she wasn't worried in the least about curing his insomnia, but now as for keeping her libido in check until he dropped asleep... Okay, just take it easy, Angie, she told herself. Forget about it until we get him down. He's almost there, we just have to hold out a little longer... "That's it, sweetie...that's it, babe," she whispered, robbed of the cognizance that she was now calling him by loving, romantic pet names. Luckily, closer as he was to slumber now, he didn't notice. "You're so close...just keep it up, darling...just keep it up." The "it" Angela was willing Dennis to "keep up" was of course his calm breathing finally leading him into trance mode. Something down below yet had other ideas. Little Angie heard her owner say, "Keep it up," and assumed she was referring to something else. Even though this particular "it" was not presently even "up" to begin with, Angie felt it. Just as she decided his system had settled enough to take him into his trance, she felt it. The premature tingle...accompanied by the initial drop of moisture wetting her inner thighs. Oh, no, for God's sake, Little Angie, no, not now, not now! she thought. It's still not time yet! As she finally slowed his heart down, hers sped up. "Okay, sweet—uh, Dennis," she corrected herself, "The time is finally upon us to bring you into your trance..." ...And not one damn moment too soon! added Little Angie. "I'm going to count backwards from ten," murmured Angela, shifting her legs apart and scrunching the pillow upwards between them, "And you will finally be asleep, Dennis. "Ten...okay, I'm going to remove the stethoscope from your chest now... "Nine...I'm still going to hold on to your hand, though, just to keep your psyche familiarized with me... "Eight...you've done so brilliantly well, Dennis, congratulations, you're about to achieve that blissful sleep you so crave..." Her right hand relieved him of the stethoscope chestpiece. Keeping her left hand clasped on him, she plucked the earpieces from her ears and set it down on the floor behind her as silently as she could. "Seven..." Her right hand now free, she plunged it under her pillow and bunched it up between her thighs to temporarily muffle Little Angie. "Six...five...four..." Come on, hurry up! Hurry! Hurry! her stifled vagina still managed to shout up at her. "Three..." Be quiet, Little Angie, I can't rush this! "Two..." I don't care! her pussy argued. You saw the size of his cock, what more do we need? Now feed me! "One..." Oh, for Heaven's sake, hush! she repeated. Besides, you know the routine. You can't have his cock; all you're getting is my hand. "And..." She silently snapped her fingers above his head. Initial mission accomplished; he was out. It's not fair! Little Angie frustratedly complained. The mouth always gets all the fun! Too bad, her owner said, feeling as always as if she had to discipline her like a spoiled child. Fellatio may be borderline, but intercourse is absolutely out of the question. That's the rule. You KNOW that. Besides, if we boinked him, he might wake up. Now once again, hush! For five and a half years, Dr. Angela Starr's vagina had sat on the sidelines, watching as her owner tenderly gave her patients unconscious oral love, fellating penis after penis after penis. For five and a half years, Little Angie had felt twinges of jealousy, as just like she said, Angie's mouth had all the fun. Sure, Angie contented her sufficiently into silence with her fingers, but after five and a half years, those few small drops of envy had transformed into a tsunami of bitter resentment. And her pussy, which by this time had veritably developed a mind of its own, decided not to take it any longer. Y'know what, one of these days, I might just have to MAKE you let me have it for once, she heard her pussy threaten. Oh, don't be ridiculous! You don't control me, I control you. That's...what...YOU...think... What do you mean, that's what I think? That's what I know! I'm—...why am I even allowing you to make me fight you about this? Look, you're just getting my hand, as always, and that's that! The washer softly beeped to let her know Dennis' clothes were ready to be relocated to the dryer. Whew, thank goodness, Angie thought. Awesome timing. She put them in the dryer, started it running, sat in her chair, opened the laptop, turned it away from Dennis, made sure the sound was muted, opened an Instant Message to Paula and typed as noiselessly as possible: HI, PAULA. WHEN IS MY NEXT APPOINTMENT TODAY? Paula was doing some updating of patients, both electronically and manually, when she heard the IM chime and noticed the small window pop up. She did a quick recheck and typed back: NOON. ANOTHER NEW PATIENT, THIS YOUNGER GUY, MR. MARK She paused typing as she checked the name. Her handwriting may not have been as illegible as Angie's, but it wasn't the easiest to make out either. She finished. NUMAN. Angela checked her computer clock. 11:16. Oh, God. She'd need a lot more time than that. PAULA, I'M AFRAID THAT'S NOT GOING TO WORK. THIS ONE I HAVE NOW IS TAKING LONGER THAN I EXPECTED. CAN YOU PLEASE CALL MR. NUMAN AND ASK IF HE WOULD MIND MOVING IT BACK TO 12:30 OR 1:00? THERE ISN'T ANYBODY SCHEDULED AT 2:00 OR 3:00 YET, IS THERE? YES, ACTUALLY THERE IS. 2:30, ONE OF YOUR RETURNING ONES, MR. DAN KLINE. Oh, GOD! She sighed. OKAY, ANYBODY ELSE AFTER THAT? THERE WAS, BUT THAT WAS THE CANCELLATION. AS OF RIGHT NOW YOU'RE CLEAR AFTER THAT. Whew. Looked like she wouldn't be able to let anyone take advantage of that cancellation today after all. ALL RIGHT, GOOD. PLEASE ASK MR. KLINE IF HE WOULDN'T MIND SCOOTING HIS APPT. BACK TO She did some mental calculating. 3:30 OR 4:00, AND MR. NUMAN IF HE COULD MAYBE COME AT 1:00 OR 1:30 INSTEAD, AND LET ME KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. TELL THEM I'M TERRIBLY SORRY, BUT I'M RUNNING BEHIND SCHEDULE. ALSO, PLEASE DON'T BOOK ANYONE ELSE AN APPOINTMENT FOR TODAY. WILL DO, DOC. Angela exhaled, crossing her fingers as he again rose from the chair. It would seem she'd sunk a little deeper inside the proverbial pickle, and would need to work a little harder now to get out of it. Putting her immediate priorities in order, she reapproached Dennis. But she was interrupted once again. Go buy me a vibrator tonight. Oh, for God's SAKE! thought Angie, looking down between her damp thighs. Can't you control yourself?? I told you, lady: I control YOU. She sighed inaudibly. Look, I'll take you in the bathroom and give you ten minutes right now if you promise to keep your lips shut for the next three hours. Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee... Little Angie wickedly giggled. So she compromised her normal order of operations, allowing Dennis to catch up on some much-needed sleep, and her persistent vagina to sell her a little time. She felt a little bad about it, putting off doing her actual job and just leaving him there, but Little Angie wouldn't let it be helped. When did you become so insatiably hungry anyway? Angie asked her pussy. Same time you did—when we saw the size of his you-know-what. She quickly undressed. All right...all right... she said, But I'm just doing this right now to get you to pipe down. Don't think this means I'm just gonna do whatever you tell me all the time. I don't have to think it... her pussy conveyed up to her ominously. I know it. You just won't allow yourself to admit that when you get excited, I OWN you. Oh, that's ludicrous! I am more than capable of ignoring you! Oh yeah? I made you take us in here and jill me off, didn't I? Hee-hee-hee... You are being depraved today! What's the matter with you? You're acting so crude and naughty! Perhaps you've forgotten—when you get horny, that's my JOB. Whenever you're aroused, I take over, and you have to listen to me. Now go out and buy me a vibrator tonight or I'll force you to start screwing the patients. Angela took two seconds away from fighting with her pussy to quickly imagine herself whipping the blanket off of Dennis' body, groping him, instantly coercing him into rock-hardness, and sucking the hell out of his majestic cock until her throat couldn't take it anymore. Whole scene in mind, she aggressively drove her fingers in and out of herself, trying to assert charge, getting irritated at her vagina's refusal to submit to her and not vice versa. Take that, Little Angie, she ordered authoritatively. You cannot blackmail me into buying you a vibrator. When you let me get wet, I sure as hell CAN. Oh really? Well, you forgot one thing yourself, my little friend. You're still part of MY body, and in about five minutes, I'm gonna hypnotize YOU. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 04 Little Angie kept shouting taunts and threats at her, but she stopped listening. She continued vigorously fingering herself, knowing this may not be her most satisfying orgasm ever, but that she could at least get some work done afterwards. Her pussy for the moment was still incessantly jabbering, and it was starting to annoy her. Then she smiled epiphanously down on it. I know how to get you to shut up, ya little devil... she thought. She pried open her labia wider with her left hand and circularly thumbed her now soaked clit. Repeatedly, over and over, and rapidly. Well, if it didn't silence Little Angie, it certainly made it impossible for Big Angie to hear her any longer. Her head fell against the wall and she had to struggle like hell to stifle her voice from letting out a loud, desperate moan. Her whole body quivered and her eyes fluttered between open and shut. The fireball of pleasure shot through her and constricted her muscles and pulled her face into a straining, reddening cringe, as she held her breath for the impending 'o.' She grimaced and whimpered, pausing only occasionally to grab a quick breath of air. Her pussy didn't seem to be grousing or holding ill will towards her so much anymore. Both Angies were now just dying for release. It wouldn't be too much longer, and that was a good thing, because she was more than normally pressed for time. She tried to include the time deadline as a factor in her mind just to sizzle it up still a bit more. Her legs lifted off the floor. Her body slumped lower into the chair as she squirmed into the best possible position and parted her legs as wide as they would go. "Oh, God..." she groaned ecstatically, ramming herself wildly until she knew she just couldn't take any more. For the entire masturbation she had been fantasizing about sucking Dennis' cock, but suddenly... Just as suddenly as she would drop to sleep one night and not even realize it, she took a second to step back and focus the mental tableau now igniting her the rest of the way. She wasn't sucking his dick in her mind anymore. It had—by way of her fantasy—replaced her fingers and was now penetrating her. Unbeknownst to her until now, she was about to jill herself into oblivion thinking about intercourse. A small part of her wondered how that happened, until she looked down at Little Angie, into whom she was still unstoppably plunging her fingers. Her eyebrows leapt to life. It was her, Angie realized. It was her own pussy that had planted the seed of penetration in her mind. For five years now, her pussy'd been burning and yearning for penetration. Abruptly, having even the most glorious, delectable penis inside her mouth wouldn't do it for her anymore. Her mind needed it inside her pussy. Angela gawked down at her incredulously in the midst of her near-orgasmic frenzy. Why, you... she thought in disbelief. You tricked me! You sneaky little...little...SNEAK! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee! Little Angie replied. Gotcha! Angela would have been raving outraged at this malicious deception by this little cunt—in every sense of the word—of hers...but she couldn't be just yet. The very same vagina had her on the brink of one of the most intense orgasms she would ever experience in her time on Earth. She couldn't bear to deny herself such a powerful release. My God, she...she...I can't believe it, she...really DOES own me! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee... "You...little...cu—..." Angela tried to form just that perfectly appropriate phrase, but couldn't get the last word out. All right, fine, she thought. We'll settle this later. For now, we've got a sleeping insomniac in the other room. Yeah, so in other words, he's cured already! Not for good. And like it or not, Little Angie, you're gonna be tranced into sleep yourself in...OH, HOLY GOD...in five seconds...four...three... Just try not to drop dead yourself, babe. Now COME, ordered Little Angie. "AHHHHH!" Angie shrieked as quietly as possible, which ended up not being very quiet. "AHHH! AHHHHHH!!" she softly howled, sparklers and fireworks going off inside her. Pinched shut, her eyes welled and dampened. She even managed to wring a little excess from inside of her and make Little Angie squirt several drops on the floor. Suddenly, her pussy didn't have so much to say any longer. *** August 9th, 11:48 a.m. Angie raced back to her senses and cleaned herself up faster than ever, changing her panties and splashing her face. She checked the dryer. Dennis' clothes had about fifty minutes left in the cycle, hopefully roughly the same amount of time in which she could treat him. When she finally emerged and came back into the office, the laptop's screen had half-darkened to save power, but she could still see a repetitive blinking from its light against the wall. When she got back to her chair, she found out what the blinking was. Paula had continued to send her IMs, and the IM window was blinking orange and green, indicating she had unread messages. She lowered herself into her chair to read. Below Angie's last IM to her, Paula had written her several lines of patient update info. Under that were a few subsequent IMs wondering if she was still there. Oh yeah, she remembered, she'd run off right after giving Paula her instructions. She read the one directly following her own. OK STARR, I'VE PHONED THE PTS. MR. KLINE SAYS HE GUESSES HE CAN COME LATER, LIKE 4:30 OR SO, BUT HE'S GOTTA BE OUT BY 7:30. MR. NUMAN SAYS THIS WAS PRETTY MUCH THE ONLY TIME HE HAD OPEN TODAY, BUT HE CAN COME TOMORROW, OR ANOTHER DAY. I RESCHEDULED HIM FOR NOON ON THURSDAY. HOPE THAT WORKS BETTER. She processed it. Okay, so that means... She fell back in the chair with relief. Oh, thank goodness. This meant she now had much more time than necessary to carry out procedure with Dennis Lunder in full and follow up with him afterwards. She gave her fists a pump in the air and mouthed, Yes! Things had ended up playing out fine. She seemed to have wormed her way out of the metaphorical pickle...and now that she'd stuffed a metaphorical cork in Little Angie, she could finally concentrate on Dennis, tend to him and heal him with a clear mind. And of course give him the Starr Treatment*. She typed back: THANK YOU, PAULA, THAT'S PERFECT! YOU'RE THE BEST! REMIND ME TO GIVE YOU A HUGE RAISE FOR YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY. When Paula read that, she was amused, knowing (or at least presuming) Angela was kidding. She did receive an annual raise, but it was...well, not exactly huge, and not anywhere close to her birthday. Dennis' foot was still twitching under the comforter. Luckily, it didn't seem to be disturbing his slumber. She grabbed her hump pillow and flung it in the washer like the hundreds of times she had before. She sank into the sofa bed beside Dennis, leaned over him and started to caress his arms with her fingertips. "Well, babe, I hope you've had a nice rest so far," she whispered. "Now time to heal you." With her warm, sultry smile, she drew her legs up onto the bed behind her, brought herself down on his side, and slinked the fingers of her left hand between those of his right. "Okay, Subconscious," she whisper-probed, "I know you've been on vacation for quite a while, but it's time to return to action. If you can hear and understand me, squeeze my hand." She felt it. His hand and fingers pressed hers between them, and she felt that familiar shiver of warmth and excitement. "Exxxcellent," she murmured in her trademark style, drawing out the 'x' and brushing her lips against his day-stubbled cheek. "Now Subconscious, we're operating on a little less info that I'd've preferred to have gotten, but that's okay; the important thing is that Dennis is sleeping now, and his energy and sanity are slowly replenishing. So I think we can rule out heavy stress as a factor. Now I did happen to notice we've got a little twitch or tremor in the right leg, so I'm leaning towards RLS as one possible cause. Now what I'd like you to do is, stretch the right leg and foot. Just go ahead, stretch the leg, flex the foot, point and curl the toes, and I'm just gonna—don't be alarmed—I'm just gonna lift the blanket up from the leg a little here..." She held onto his hand with her left and exposed his leg with her right. As much as she wanted to uncover his entire body, she resisted, which wasn't such a problem now that Little Angie had been temporarily knocked out of commission as well. "Go on," she instructed, watching over her shoulder. "Very good," she praised. "Now I'm gonna let go of Dennis' hand for a sec, 'cause on the chance it is RLS, you just keep stretching it, and I'm going to give him a little massage and try to work out the muscles." She sat up and started rubbing and pressing on his leg, up to the thigh and down to the foot, then back again. Again, she was really thankful she'd been granted this extra time to spend on Dennis. It was certainly true of most if not all physicians/therapists, but Angela Starr's patients really did mean the world to her, and curing their ailments really did make her year. She said it to herself over and over, at least once a day, and yet it never wore off, the astonishment that she got to do this every day, full-time, for what would hopefully be the rest of her life. She didn't know if she wanted to retire, but she still had at least twenty-five years to think about that. She remembered he said his foot was ticklish, so she was extra careful with it and watched his face to see if it started to wake him. When she was satisfied, she took his hand again and laid back down with him, hugging his leg with hers and continuing to rub it lightly with her own foot. "You still with me, Subconscious?" she asked. "Squeeze my hand again." Yep, still with her. "Good. Now again, Subconscious, do not be alarmed whatsoever. You're going to start to pick up some particular sensations, but whatever you do, you mustn't acknowledge them. You mustn't struggle or go against the doctor's will. Do you understand?" Squeeze. "Wonderful," she said. Bringing herself in yet closer to him, she nuzzled his face and softly whispered, "Just relax...that's it..." Her right hand made its way under the blanket, found what it was looking for, and began fondling him. Again, she thought, how good of him to undress for her before they even got started and grant her such easy access. "Just take it easy...settle down," she reassured him, stroking him gingerly under the comforter, holding on to his leg with hers. She gave his cheek a gentle kiss. "We're gonna continue to work towards the problem..." she soothed him, "Just by eliminating as much stress or anxiety as we possibly can." Oh, it did feel sizable under the blanket. Angie's delicate, fairly petite hand was having a field day gliding and caressing up and down what felt like it had to be a half-foot-long penis. Wow, she thought. I hope I'm gonna be able to adequately, eh...handle him... Penises this large were a little intimidating for her normal-sized mouth and throat, but she wasn't very concerned. In the hundreds of men she'd met and Starr Treated* in her career, she'd encountered just about every size cock imaginable, including the occasional more prodigious such as this. Actually, she felt a little anxious herself. There was always that tiny little rush that still presented itself with the revelation and exposure of the patient's manhood each time...it was a bit of a shame that that rush was much more intense and exhilarating the first couple of times she had done this, and after a couple of weeks, its novelty did wear off a little, but not the feeling of the actual fellatio itself. Sometimes, just between her, herself and she, Angie thought it would be fun to apply a little whipped cream or hot fudge and turn it into a banana split, so to speak, but that wouldn't ever be anything more than a fun little fantasy. For a few reasons, she clearly couldn't do that with a real patient. But while she sometimes thought the fellatio could be considered as taking advantage of them, a situation such as Dennis' changed her mind. She'd run into a surprisingly high number of patients whose complaints and disorders and so on—while they may have had other factors in play—could in one way or another be traced at least in part back to something amiss in their sex lives. The aforementioned stress, depression or anxiety, loneliness, manic episodes, even something more obvious, like overfrequent erections, impotence, or sexual hyperactivity, the TLC of Dr. Angie's Starr Treatment* virtually never failed to improve the quality of their lives to at minimal a fair degree. Her own heart began to speed up once again as she rubbed his cock under the blanket and heard him silently moan, reacting and swelling to life in the protection of her nurturing hand. His moan stirred up that warm feeling inside her. Yes, my darling...just let the Angel-doctor take care of you. She leaned her face a little and let him feel her hot breath on his lips. Then her own vocal chords emitted a soft, nearly silent moan as she kissed them. A butterfly entered her stomach. Ironically, she was less sure about kissing a patient on the lips than she was about sucking the essence out of his penis. To say that kissing on the lips seemed "over the line," but fellatio wasn't, would sound utterly laughable to most. But while both involved her lips, the connection that accompanied a kiss couldn't be achieved with a "hummer"...at least not in the same respect. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that kissing tossed a little pleasure back Angie's way. Well, so did the alternative, but again, not quite in the same way. Angie wasn't certain why...she guessed from the connotations of kissing she'd been instilled with at earlier ages, carrying more of an emotional attachment. Kisses were romantic and intimate, fellatio was...well, hot mouth sex. But she wouldn't allow the kissing to reach an out-of-bounds point. She wouldn't allow herself to become too attached to any one patient, and she also didn't allow any tongues in her mouth (besides her own). And that was really just about as far as it went. Sometimes she'd let the thoughts progress logically like this in her mind, and then she'd realize that she'd been thinking too much and that her heart had slowed back down again. So she focused on what her hand was doing instead, to get herself back into "suction mode." She unlipped his mouth and instead nuzzled his nose with hers. The butterfly became bored and left. She fondled and groped him a little more aggressively, descending to his neck and planting small peck-kisses starting down the center of his chest, giving him a sort of necktie of lipprints. When she worked her way down to where the blanket covered him, she left her hands to their tasks and nosed under it to push it off his naked skin. And the necktie lengthened and lengthened. At last, her pattern of pecks extended to below his midsection until her mouth met her right hand. The former shoved the latter out of the way and took over, elongating her kissing pattern yet further. Her hand dug into the sofa bed to get under his balls and tickle them. When her lips reached the head of his now half-erect cock, she slipped her tongue out and slid it up the shaft. His body shifted in response and he let out another quiet moan. She reflexively brought her head up, made sure he was still in blissful Slumberland, and returned her attention to his now three-quarters erect dick. She licked her lips, produced more saliva and delivered a series of tongue-drooling licks on all sides of his generously sized manhood. Then she heard a familiar nagging little voice again shouting at her from between her legs. She left his cock alone momentarily and looked to the floor. Yup, she'd forgotten the hump pillow. Yet again. Heaving a sigh and lifting her body back up, both as quietly as could be, she reached down and snatched it off the carpet. Poor pillows...it looked as though two of them would be sharing the washer/dryer following this session. She resumed her position and crammed it where it needed to go. Oh, sure, there you go with your mouth again, always the stupid mouth! Always! I'm telling you, so help m—mmmmfff!! Shut up, Angie told her relentless Little friend. Hump the pillow. Hummff duh pifwow! Hummff duh pifwow! Daffs aw I evuh do iff hummff duh goffdmm PIFWOW! Tough. Angie relished reclaiming her position of dominance and control over her pussy. Now if you behave yourself the rest of the day, maybe I'll buy you a vibrator afterwards. MAYBE. She proceeded to ignore Little Angie's usual outbursts, as she had finally coated the entirety of Dennis' penis with a layer of lubricating saliva. After the way her vagina'd been hounding and bullying her earlier, she couldn't help but feel a little schadenfreude towards it. Ha ha ha, she thought, grinning as she took the stiff cock into her mouth. Who's laughing NOW? MMMMMMMFFFFFFF!! her helpless pussy objected. Keeping her (mouth's) lips moistened up and down the dick, she gripped and tugged on it with her jaws and cheekbones, perhaps her favorite method of sucking a cock, and one with which most patients obviously had no issue. As she slid back down it as far as she could go without deep-throating herself into a choking fit, she gradually loosened the oral grip. And back up to the top, she tightened up on it once more, as always giving the super-sensitive spot below the head that little extra bit of lovin'. Her (non-dominant) left hand was still holding his right hand, helping him maintain tangible familiarity to keep his subconscious from becoming suspicious. Her right hand was hard at work underneath, fondling and jiggling his balls, and working its own way still further back behind and under, little by little. She could of course never tell for sure how long it will take before any given patient reached orgasm, but she could also always detect the telltale sign when it was imminent: the balls drew up and tightened at the base of the cock. Here would be where another of her favorite segments of activity was met with—what did he taste like? If she got an idea of his diet, she'd have an idea how the come tasted, but still, every man's consistency was the tiniest bit different, to her discerning palate. While she supposed she could've made a note in her patient log about it to use for reference with returning patients, she didn't. Besides the desire and preference to be surprised each time, should anyone else ever happen to catch sight of such comments on her computer screen, she'd have a hell of a time explaining. She went on, impressively as ever. She sucked, and sucked, and sucked. She so adored this creamsicle-like feeling. She did wish, though, that she had use of both hands. Or a third. Eventually, she slipped her left fingers out from between Dennis' and gave his hand a soft caress, so that it would be (hopefully) almost unnoticeable that her hand had abandoned his. Now that she did have both hands free, she let the cock out of her mouth, quickly gathered some more saliva and slicked both her palms. Her right emerged from under the balls and her left took its place, while her right hand latched onto the bottom of his dick where her mouth couldn't reach and stroked him. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 04 She wanted to turn around to see how his leg and foot were doing, but perched on the same side, she couldn't exactly pull that angle off with his stiff member in her mouth. She'd check on it again in a few moments. She had a feeling that was as long as it would take. She caught some movement out of the corners of her eyes, and looked up to see a still-sleeping Dennis, remaining in peace but giving off light moans and sighs of delight, the rest of his body displaying subtle twitches, not unlike the tremoring in his leg. Her mouth stretched into as much of a cherishing smile as possible with a mawful of penis. She accelerated her motions, the sucking, stroking and tickling, drawing him in closer to the climax each second. His body jerked a bit more spastically than before as her left index finger found its way to his perineum. Eventually, the heel of this same hand felt his balls tighten and ascend from it. There it was, Angela realized, he was coming. It wouldn't be any longer than another couple minutes now. Her heart started pounding, just as it did whenever she reached this momentous point, sending the blood flying eagerly through her veins. She tried to burrow even further up under him with her left hand, as her right hand and her mouth squeezed on his trembling, pulsating dick. I'm now about to take YOU into your trance, she thought in amusement. In ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three... She had given more than enough oral love to determine when the orgasm would hit him (and the ejaculation her). Yet, with her mind and heart usually going crazy by about now, it wasn't totally easy to get a handle on the perfect half-second to apply her tongue (and in this case, also her thumb) to the shaft and glide up to coax out the come and drain his balls with the utmost sublimity and intensity. Yet yet, she could ballpark it, and even if the patient were awake, it would make virtually zero difference either way. At long last, she culled it out of him like a vacuum, sending a series of involuntary shivers and quivers through his body, as his head whipped to either side, emitting gasps and groans, throwing his arms about him aimlessly to land wherever they would. They reminded her of the way her own restless arms behaved in bed. Once she felt her reward zip its way up and canon out, she let out another happy groan of her own and again, grinning all that she could. It splashed and sprinkled all about her mouth, and for what felt like the millionth time, she enjoyed that semi-familiar, salty, slightly bitter treat ooze over her taste buds...its flavor like saltwater taffy, its texture and stickiness like syrup. When he was done and she had downed all of it she could, she let go of him and licked off the excess. All finished, she concluded her little salute to his manhood with a final, savory kiss upon the head of his cock that put all the other kisses on his body to shame. She raised herself off the sofa bed, let his cock droop back down to its natural state and set about to her post-fellatio routine. One more grown-up wet dream brought to life, she thought gleefully. *** August 9th, 3:48 p.m. Exactly four hours after she'd originally finished herself off, and almost three after she'd finished off Dennis, she'd flung hump pillow number two in the washer, gone through each step of her routine, cleaned herself up again, made sure he was cleaned up, draped the blanket back over him—quite glad not to need to redress him while he was under—taken his clothes from the dryer and folded them, gotten back on the IM with Paula, confirmed she still had a couple hours, and decided to just let Dennis sleep longer. After all, he'd told her he needn't be anywhere else today for several hours, and insomniacs seldom deprived themselves of sleep through complete fault of their own, so he was rather entitled to it. Jumping back on her laptop, she'd indeed checked with Paula to make sure everything was still cool and status quo. The next message she sent her, around 1:30-ish, was: PAULA, WOULD YOU MIND DOING ME A REALLY, REALLY, REALLY BIG FAVOR? Click, clickity-click, clickity-click, click, Enter. HOW BIG, STARR? Click, clickity-click, clickity-click, click, Enter. WELL...THIS PATIENT I'VE STILL GOT HERE, MR. LUNDER...YOU KNOW I CAN'T REALLY TELL YOU ABOUT HIM, BUT, HE NEEDED SOME SLEEP. HE'S STILL HYPNOTIZED, AND I CAN'T LEAVE HIM, BUT I'M STARTING TO GET SERIOUSLY HUNGRY. WOULD YOU PLEASE BE A DOLL, AND GO GET ME SOMETHING TO EAT? YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE THE DESK UNATTENDED? WELL, NO, BUT...OH, PAULA, I HAD A PRETTY UNSATISFYING BREAKFAST, AND I'M JUST REALLY STARVING HERE... WELL, WHY DON'T I JUST ORDER SOMETHING IN? Angie rolled her eyes at herself and tossed her hands in the air with a soft chuckle. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT...YOU KNOW, PAULA, SOMETIMES I THINK YOU HAVE MORE COMMON SENSE IN YOUR PINKY THAN I HAVE IN MY WHOLE BODY. OH, YOU'RE JUST TOO HUNGRY TO BE SENSIBLE, STARR. :-) Angie just shook her head and smiled before she wrote another message back. PAULA, I LOVE YA, BABE. YOU ARE A SAINT. I KNOW. She spent the next two hours—in and around eating—sitting beside Dennis and watching him catch up on the rest he'd been missing out on the last couple weeks. She felt so proud for herself and so happy for him, she almost wanted to weep. She studied his facial expression, tried to speculate if he was dreaming, what about, was it a nice dream, how would it make him feel, would he remember anything once he woke up... A couple hours later, once more than half the day had passed, she finally had to wake him up before the next patient arrived. She grabbed a third pillow, knelt, reclasped his hand, and was about to bring him out of the trance when she happened to glance to the foot of the bed. Well, look at that, she thought. His leg and foot appeared to have stopped moving. Three minutes later, Dennis was awake. After having sat up, taken off the sleep mask, gotten the awkward moment out of the way when he started to get out of the sofa bed before remembering he was naked and throwing the blanket back over himself, Angie gave him a few moments to himself. When they were both clothed and back in the office together, she asked him how he was feeling. "I feel...kinda...strange," he said. "W—...was I really sleeping all that time?" "You bet." "So...does that mean I'm cured?" "Well, we can't really go quite that far," said Angie. "Very, very few patients are completely cured in one session. How far we can go is, I believe the Restless Leg Syndrome is a factor in your case—I couldn't tell you how big a factor, I'd like to see you again soon to do some more work on it—but I recommend..." She started scribbling down in her pad. "...timely exercise—preferably in the morning if you can swing that...no caffeine or other stimulants at least eight hours before bedtime...if you want to stop by the pharmacy and pick up some Melatonin, that can't hurt—it's over-the-counter, no prescription necessary...and here, I'm gonna write down a number for you. This is the phone number to a good friend of mine. He's a psychiatrist. As a mere therapist," she half-joked, "I can't set you up with private medication myself, but he can. I'd like for you to give him a buzz and go see him. So here you go..." She tore off the sheet, folded it in half and handed it to him. "Your prescription from me..." She then folded and gave him the patient form Paula'd presented him with upon arrival. "...and your homework. Please fill that out to bring with you next time, and I'd like to see you again in one week to follow up on how you're doing." "Well...thanks," said Dennis, feeling pretty pleased with the way everything'd gone. "Any questions?" "Uh...one," he said weakly. "Am I supposed to be feeling dizzy, or lightheaded, or..." "Oh, yes, don't worry about that, Dennis, that's normal," she assured. "I just brought you out of REM state, the Rapid Eye Movement phase, when your eyes're rolling around all crazy like that. That's why you feel funny and dizzy. Don't worry, though. It's just like any dream, it'll wear off in a few minutes." She did a little idle drumming on her thighs. "'Kay?" He nodded, blinking repeatedly. "Well, I, uh...wow," he said with a shake of the head. "I mean, I really just don't know what to say...I do still feel a little weird in the head, but...otherwise, I actually feel better. I feel like I actually got some sleep!" "You did," she reminded him. "Whoa..." he said, standing from the sofa, which was now folded back into just a sofa. "That's amazing; I actually stood up without feeling like I was gonna be sick, or falling back down!" As always, Angie couldn't express her joy on his behalf with a big enough smile. "Oh my God, you're awesome!" he went on. "How did you do that??" "Well, I'd like to tell you, Dennis, but a great magician never reveals her secrets," she quipped. "Oh m—thank you!" he shouted. He gave her a big hug around the middle and lifted her two feet two feet off the floor. "AAAH! Okay, put me down, please put me down!" she laughed. He put her down. Still giggling from that little flight, Angie said, "All right, well, Dennis, this has been fun, but I do have another patient coming, so you understand, I'm gonna have to kinda...boot you outta here now." "I understand," he chuckled. "Okay, well, thank you too, I'm so glad you came to see me today," she sent-off, shaking and kissing his hand. "Go ahead and check out with Paula at the desk, she'll set you up with your next appointment." As he departed, Angela took her normal few moments to plop down and simply revel in the daily delight she was so lucky to call her career. Then she looked up her other patient of the day. "Oh, who was it again..." she muttered to herself. She checked her IM conversation with Paula. "Oh right, Dan Kline." She looked him up in her patient log. "Oh yes! I remember him...rugged face, dark brown hair...the kind of eyes that seem to have a way of just gazing right into your soul..." Beautiful sleek cock... "Yeah... "Wait, WHAT??" She looked down. You again? Naturally... Oh, God...you behave yourself when he gets here! Little Angie tingled, just to spite her. I mean it! You be good or I'm not taking you to the toy store after I treat Mr. Kline! She tingled again. Guess what I'm gonna make you do to him?... Angie's eyes widened. Don't you dare even THINK about it! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee... *** Outro Greetings, my dear genties and ladlemen! Hope you enjoyed Angie Starr part four. Now I was wondering how many readers might care to voice their choice. If you like Angie—and I hope you do—are you interested in seeing yet more of her? Or, after four stories, has she gotten to be too much of a good thing now? Thanks for dropping by, and if you have a vote or a Hypnothe-Rating to cast on this, I look forward to reading what you have to say! Love, Smokey Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 05 To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. ***Dr. Angela Starr: The Hypnothe-Rapist*** SS28: STARR SCORES V—"Attack Of The Hormones" *** Here she is—Angie's back once more in another adventure. However, Dear Reader(s), there's something you should know going into this one so that its details will make sense—this is a prequel. This story is going to illustrate how it was in the beginning, five and a half years ago, when Angie was only in business for a short time, and gave her very first Starr Treatment*. Before Timothy Jacobs, before Kevin Grant, before Jed Parsons, before Dennis Lunder, even before Paula... There was Angela Starr...and this fellow. *** February 29th, 6:58 a.m. 31-year-old Angela Starr pulled up in front of her still relatively fresh, new clinic, at 2125 Columbia Street. She shifted the car into park, clutched her briefcase, opened the car door, and immediately felt the frigid mid-western winter breeze slap her in the face, stinging her eyes and causing them to begin watering. Jacket on, hoodie over her head, she reflexively shielded her squinting baby greens, locked the car and scurried to the front door of the clinic. Fumbling with the keys in her mittened yet freezing hands, she finally located the correct one, got inside and exhaled in warm relief. She hit the lights and shivered her way down the hall and across from the restroom into the large, wide-open space she had adopted as her office. She set her briefcase down and slipped off her jacket, hanging it in the closet. She adjusted the thermostat for now to a cozy 75° until she warmed up, and dropped into the restroom. Angela'd been in business since late fall of the previous year—to be exact, shortly before the winter solstice. She'd just graduated earlier that year from the Heartland University with her doctorate in psychology, and couldn't wait to get started practicing professionally after all those years preparing scholastically. Now licensed and qualified—to say nothing of being exhilarated beyond belief—her bank set her up with a generous loan, and she got her savvy brother to advise her on the business end of things, and help her locate an effective location for rent to transform into her clinic, which ended up being the most arduous part of the whole process and taking up the better part of the late summer and autumn. Her brother Bryan's input on the location was that it should be in the heart of downtown, where the city's business really took place, but Angela vetoed that idea, reasoning that because she wanted to practice hypnotherapy, her domain should be somewhere in a much more relaxed vicinity and atmosphere, which would make patients more inclined to feel at ease and not worry so much about the pressing concerns which waited on the outside of her building. A friend of Bryan's knew a real estate agent who specialized in businesses, so Angela lucked out, with someone whom she could trust to find her an ideal clinic. She showed her almost a dozen buildings, but none seemed quite right, until they pulled onto Columbia Street. Angela knew it was perfect the moment it came into view. It was spaced just right from its neighboring buildings, just far away that patients could feel a sense of guarded seclusion, but not so far that it was impossible to find, or would make clients feel they were in the middle of nowhere. Its atmosphere was peaceful and safe, with nature blooming on each side. The agent told her it needed a little maintenance, which Angela expected, but when she got inside she knew she'd found her palace. She fell in love with it. It was even more beautiful than she imagined. December was underway. She furnished the waiting room and ordered some magazine subscriptions. She put her name in the Yellow Pages and started circulating the word. What played out in her favor was that even if other doctors created competition for her, her name would more than likely still be the first listed alphabetically. Though she wasn't quite ready for any immediately, she was very hopeful for some business soon, figuring that there were lots of therapists in town, but very few combined their healing methods with hypnotism. With this extra little something to offer, she felt she could do some exceptional good with her spin on the vocation, and connect with her patients on a level traditional therapists could not. It was a unique craft, and one in which not everyone believed—she knew it made some folks skeptical—but she also knew that if she could just reel in her share of business, she could get herself off the ground. She had the perfect work ethic: she genuinely loved her fellow human beings, and was determined to do everything in her power to heal what ailed them. Who knows, she thought, one day her name might even be household words. Of course, while she'd welcome all the business thrown her way, it was the patients and the success in treating them that mattered, not the fame. Needless to say, when she got her very first appointment, she was excited, anxious and a bit nervous. His name was Martin Foley, and he needed help kicking his smoking habit. It was scheduled on December 13th at 1:00 p.m. She honestly hadn't expected any business quite this soon, and she actually hadn't finished prepping her office for the big opening. She also hadn't hired a permanent receptionist just yet. But there was no way she was going to turn this patient away. She shifted into preparatory second gear. She contacted an agency, had them send her over some temps, and chose one who would do for now, a young English lady named Lucy. Wow...my first patient! Angie told herself to keep calm. She'd had plenty of dry slumber runs with friends and family, but this was not just fun and games anymore. This was a jumping-off point of what could possibly be her career. This was a real non-acquainted individual, a real case, grappling with a real personal issue, coming to her for help and expecting treatment. She had to get her act together and be sure it stayed that way. This could either make her or break her. She talked him through the initial interview, and once he agreed to the treatment, she put him under and planted the message in his subconscious that his problem was mind over matter, and that his willpower could trump his compulsive desire to smoke. Eventually, she woke him up, asked him how he felt, and sure enough, he did feel his urge had decreased a bit. The news made Angie happier than she'd ever been in her life. She told him to go home and monitor his progress until the next time they met, and asked him how a week from now sounded. She also gave him a breathing exercise to practice, not totally unlike meditation, while he reinforced to himself that he was stronger than his addiction. Smokers, she already knew, were not going to be extremely easy to cure (not that anyone in particular would), but again, she did have a special edge virtually no one else had: her conduit deeper into the core of the human brain and subconscious where the conscious world could not reach or penetrate. This in mind, she approached her professional challenges with confidence, but also didn't allow her head to get too big. However, this didn't stop her from relishing and reaping the fruit of her labor. The Starr had as well held on to her sense of innocent wonder. She kept her cool as Mr. Martin Foley paid Lucy and set up his next appointment with her, and once he had gone, Angie quietly shut the door, quietly slipped her shoes off and quietly leapt into the air with as much quiet spring as she could muster, letting out a celebratory whisper-shouted "Yes!!" She was of course a professional now, but that still didn't hinder her enthusiasm about how well her very first appointment in her professional journey as a hypnotherapist had gone. Now, not only did she have a first patient, she had a returning first patient, who would be back to see her again in a week! She was officially in business. The timing wasn't ideal for a lot of patients right away, what with the impending holiday rush, but that was just fine; Angela needed the spare time in and around her first several weeks to get everything in order, and to obtain some additional office amenities for the benefit of the patients. Her second (new) patient was a young woman named Jennifer Richmond, who had a problem with overeating, and she also became Angela's second repeat client. And certainly enough, business did start picking up, even more rapidly than she'd anticipated. Before she knew it, it was a few weeks later, and she'd had not one, not two, but twenty successful sessions—which was to say that though not all of them involved actual hypnosis, all of them did involve a fair deal of progress. Though she wasn't aware of it at the time—and even if she were, she'd be too modest to say it out loud—the Starr had a true gift for her craft. She was a prodigy. Word got around fast. When the second week of February had concluded, Angela had seen forty-two different patients, most more than once, and kept their files in the cabinet near her door. While there was nothing wrong with this system (aside from its unspoken obsoleteness), Angela felt a more efficient database in which to keep her patient info would be beneficial to everyone. So she bought a laptop and began logging the clients into a spreadsheet. The application was magnificent, and perfect for her situation; as every patient was different, she could use different colors to indicate, for example, what sort of malady a patient dealt with, different fonts, she could insert as much space as she desired for notes...she loved it. She was so happy—it was as if all the pieces of her occupation were falling perfectly into place. Angela was already by nature a positive, upbeat individual, but once her dream job became a bonafide full-fledged career, she found herself often having to calm down to keep from going veritably airborne in ecstasy. As she entered the patients into her new database—she still kept the old filing system around, as a backup of her archives, as well as for a bit of sentimental value—she noticed something of a pattern. Out of all the separate clients she'd seen and treated in her career thus far, only slightly less than 30% were female. There was no such similar pattern on the basis of ethnicity or personality traits, but for the most part, men seemed far more comfortable placing their trust in her hands and letting themselves under her spell. Yet even a few male clients who visited proved skittish when presented with the idea of actual hypnosis, which Angela could understand. It was still a relatively novel art, in comparison with its non-hypnotic counterparts. It also made sense to her that leaving the hypnosis angle out of the picture altogether, the majority of men felt it easier and more satisfying to confide in a female therapist, whereas many women preferred a male therapist. So the pattern did not really bother her in the slightest; she simply accepted that this was the nature of the business. It didn't make a difference to Angela one way or the other who exactly the patients were; as established, the vital element was improving the quality of their lives. Yet simultaneously, as time went on and she saw more and more gentlemen, she eventually discovered an as yet rare glimpse into the "archetype," as it were, of the male psyche. Obviously, every man was different, which she loved—nonetheless, she also grew to love the categorization of these men in her database, overlapping frequently present characteristics—privately, of course; she was naturally obligated to keep client sessions confidential—to draw her own speculations and perceptions about how the male mind operated, and thoughts, feelings and ticks of men that were...she hesitated to say "typical," so she went with "commonly abundant" instead. She became intrigued to no end. She wasn't particularly surprised, per se, by the vast, multifarious spectrum of nuances the male persona stored in its capacity—on the contrary; she found it amazingly fascinating—what did give her more of a surprise revelation was the innate but widely unknown truth that they really weren't so very different from women at all. Messages from the outside world taught her from an early age of the various, incredibly numerous and diverse distinctions between the sexes—to say nothing of the groundbreaking tome insinuating such a striking dissimilarity in the two entities that they actually came to Earth from completely separate planets on either side. Angie Starr believed in these ideas as a child, only because she was fed them so relentlessly often...until her 30s. Once in private practice, she acquired the frankly startling first-hand knowledge for herself, that most (what seemed at least 90%) of all traits societally "assigned" to either one or the other, did in fact belong to both—to a given extent. The concept interested her beyond words. As she looked back on it, she realized that alarmingly enough, these instances of stereotypes and generalizations were not even so much addressed or debunked in her psychology courses in graduate school. How sad it was, she thought, that such widespread presumptions about a person could be made solely by what was displayed on the surface. Angela made up her mind that she'd never jump to such conclusions; she would take the person on a metaphorical hand-held walk until reaching their conclusion together, side by side, in normal, paced strides. No jumping. This broken sex myth also quickly shattered any and all stereotypical misconceptions Angie may have held concerning folks belonging to any other group. From this point forward, she would never judge a publication by its cover. As her first full calendar year in business was a leap year, its 366th day was squeezed in, today just happening to be that fateful extra, irregular day. For especially superstitious folks, any number of bizarre occurrences could take place in these twenty-four hours. More grounded people tended to muster courage to do something spontaneous and adventurous—to take the proverbial leap. Never one for superstitions herself, Angela wondered what sort of leap she might end up taking at any given point today. She got into the clinic herself each morning at 7:00, and officially opened it for the day at 8:00. She didn't really need an entire hour to prep things for business—which only really took about ten minutes, if that long. She spent the other fifty putting on coffee, downing it, and quietly coursing the structure in its entirely, either clockwise, or counterclockwise, or sometimes completely randomly, reveling in the splendor with which she'd been bestowed. Every morning, Angela traversed the dark clinic, shuffling along in her slippers inch by inch, like an angelic ghost passing through the hallways of an abandoned house. Wonderfully as the office came to life upon arrival of her receptionist and guests, she too vastly enjoyed the short time she had the building exclusively to herself, listening to the lonesome sounds of the wall clocks ticking and trees rustling outside. She wanted to be thankful for everything life gave her and take nothing for granted. During the months when it was still fall and winter, she got to also gaze outside and enjoy the varied beautiful sunrises. She let her fingertips guide her along the walls until she made her way to and alit each room: her office, restroom, kitchen/break area (where she made the coffee), receptionist desk...the only areas of the building she passed by but needn't enter nor illuminate were the supply closets, the electrical room and the additional office space the building provided, which was not in use, but for which Angie hadn't yet found a purpose. The truth was, her love of this building and its surrounding foliage-covered environment rivaled her love for her own home. As a matter of fact, she thought of the clinic as her other home. This just happened to be the home in which she worked and got paid. The building itself wasn't particularly massive in relation to the impressively large—thirty square feet—room inside which Angela obviously chose to be her office. The only part as wide open would of course be the waiting room and receptionist area, and furnishing it was pretty straightforward: chairs, end tables, lamps, magazines, and hopefully one day a mounted TV. The front desk was a breeze; Angie had a computer installed, provided the supplies and left the rest entirely up to the receptionist herself. As for the thirty-square foot office, Angela was looking highly forward to all the thinking she had to put into it. It needed to be comforting and relaxing, giving off a tranquil vibe which would shield the patient under a veil of protection and security. Having the patient's best interests at heart was and would always be priority one. It had an adjacent built-in washroom, the closet and window on the other side. The rest was all up to the Starr and her imagination. What furniture would she need in here, she thought. A desk, obviously...desk chair, her filing cabinet, a bookcase for her occupational library, a sofa bed, and...maybe a plant or two, for atmosphere... ...Gee, anything else? That appeared to have taken less effort than she'd anticipated. Well, should any more necessities present themselves in due time, she'd handle them in their course. In the meanwhile she knew she'd need to go with lots of—preferably lighter—blue, to help psychologically induce sleep in patients' minds. Clearly enough, a converse color like red would not very easily lull a person into the serenity of peaceful slumber. So she had a painter come in, then a couple movers from IKEA to deliver and assemble the furniture. The most crucial piece was of course the sofa bed. At Angie's request, the bed came with very soft blue sheets and bedding, and about a googolplex of pillows. While she didn't know about others, Angela absolutely loved pillows and felt there could never ever be enough of them. And she herself also decided to kick in some old stuffed animals from her childhood collection. How exciting! she thought. My dream is becoming a reality! Cut to a few more weeks later, on Leap Year Day, the initial excitement had worn off a bit, but the intoxicating thrill, the high she got from helping her clients—coupled with their visible gratitude to prove it—that rush sent Angie over the moon. The possibility of that wearing off was nonexistent. A couple hours in, Lucy and the first patient had arrived. The clock was about to tick over to 9:00 a.m. Her desk phone rang. "Yes, Miss Taylor?" "Good morning, Dr. Starr," said Lucy from the recep desk. "Your first patient is here. A Mr. Carl Blankman." "Excellent!" the Starr replied. She believed that was a new name. Checking her database just to be sure, she asked, "So this would be his first visit, correct?" "Indeed it is." "Terrific. Well, I'm ready anytime he is; go ahead and send him back!" instructed Angie. "Right-ho!" Click. A few moments later, back he came. When she caught sight of his shadow, she stood, brushing any accumulated dust from herself. "Hello there, sir!" she welcomed, extending her hand. "Thank you so much for coming to my clinic! I'm Dr. Angela Starr." He shook her hand. "Hi," he responded, rather listlessly. "Carl Blankman." "It's lovely to meet you, my friend," she smiled. "Well, why don't you go ahead, have a seat, and we'll get going." He removed his jacket and draped it over the sofa bed's arm. Obeying her request, he plopped down on the end of the couch closer to her desk. He propped his elbow on his thigh and deposited his cheek in his hand, studying the carpet pattern. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 05 The body language indicated something in the area of depression to Angie. Well, let's find out for certain, she thought. She turned the laptop screen towards the wall, opened a new folder to start a fresh page of notes, and clicked on the pen. "So, Mr. Blankman...should I address you as Mr. Blankman or Carl? Or does it matter?" "Carl's fine...I guess." "Terrific. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your charming company this morning?" she asked. "Erm..." He seemed to be unsure of how he wished to word his thoughts. "Yes?" she gently urged. Finally, he sighed. "I, uh...I'm not sure I really even know, to be honest," he confessed. "I mean, I know that's no help to you, and I know the minutes are ticking by..." Okay, something was clearly bothering this fellow. Angie made a quick mental note to be extra tactful with him. "...But, I...I'm just kinda...sad, all the time," he uttered. "And I..." He sighed again. "And the worst part is I don't even seem to have any idea why. I'd love to be more specific, but..." He shook his head. "I dunno." Aw. "Oh, well, I'm very sorry to hear you say that, Carl," said Angie, throwing him a look of sympathy. "Well, first of all, I don't want you to worry about the time. It may be limited, but if you want my services, I'm not going to allow you to leave until we've made some progress. And the only way we can't make any progress is to sit here in silence for two hours, so...let's just chat. Why don't you go ahead and tell me about yourself, I'll ask you a few questions—and you don't have to say anything you're uncomfy with, so if you don't want to answer a question, please just say so—and we'll see if we can dig into what's making you sad." He shrugged. "Well, um...where should I start?" "Well, how about your age, say, and what you do for a living?" "'Kay, I just turned 31 a couple months ago and I'm a printing designer." Oh, cool, same age as me. "Okay, good, good," she nodded, scribbling on the paper in the folder which would be Mr. Blankman's hard file. "Do you like your work?" "Well, it's not exactly the fruit of my childhood dreams, but it pays the bills." "How long have you been working there?" "Four years." "Nice job," she commented. Looking back up for a second, she quickly added, "No pun intended. Are you married?" He shook his head no. "Attached, or dating anyone?" "Nope." "Okay...live alone?" "Yep." "All right, so you might just have a little basic isolation going on," suggested Angie. "Do you have many friends?" He made an unsure face and gave her the waving hand signal, indicating, Well...kind of, but not really. "Well...kind of, but not really." "Oh, I see. Well, I'll just tell you, Carl, if you take the professional relationship out of our equation, you do have one more friend today than you did yesterday," she smiled with a wink, gesturing to herself. He tried to curl his lips up into a reciprocal smile, but the most he could manage was a semi-contented smirk. "I mean it, Carl," she added affably and gently. "Really. I do. We are operating on a professional doctor-patient parallel right now, and we mustn't forget that, but at the same time, I feel it's vitally important we are able to confide in one another and be as comfortable in each other's presence as two normal friends would be. Do you agree?" He shrugged with a bit of a chuckle. This lady was delightfully friendly (if perhaps a bit long-winded). "Yeah, I guess so." "Exactly," she reaffirmed. "That's the way I like to think of my relationships with my patients. A friend is someone with whom you have a positive connection and association, and someone you care for, wishing for them to be able to maintain the good things in life and improve the less good things. So on that level, technically, my patients are my friends. As long, that is, as we don't encounter any serious altercations. You see what I mean? I care about you, Carl. I want to make your life better. I don't want to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable at all. I'm here to listen, for you to unburden yourself. Also make sense?" "Sure." "Beautiful. Okay, let's continue. So would you say you have an active social life then?" she queried. Carl looked at her a moment, figuring that question was pretty much answered already, but he responded regardless. "Not very." "Do you keep in touch with your family?" she queried next. "Well, sometimes." "How would you say your childhood was?" "Wasn't too bad, overall," said Carl. "I didn't really appreciate it at the time, though. They kept telling me to enjoy being a kid, it just gets worse from here out, but I didn't really listen. And now I wish I could be a kid again." Angela nodded with soft empathy in her face. "I know the feeling," she agreed. "Did you have many friends growing up?" "Some, not a whole lot." "All right, so your depression could stem from a simple lack of human connections," said Angela. "Could. That's one possibility. Let's get a few more pieces of the puzzle together, Carl. What's your diet like?" "Oh...about normal. Meat, greens, fruit, bread, cereal...pretty even mix of everything," he replied. "Okay, good, good," Angie approved. "Needless to say, good nutrition's very important to all areas of your health. What do you usually have for dessert?" "I don't have dessert." She looked back up at him, eyebrows raised. "Ever?" He shook his head. "I had a weight problem when I was younger. Definitely don't wanna have to deal with that again." Angie nodded understandingly. "Well, I certainly admire your goals, Carl. While I don't believe an occasional treat now and then would really hurt most people, I also realize there are exceptions. So I respect your decisions. Was your weight issue due to solely overeating, or were there other factors?" "No, that was it. Once I found out the foods I liked were bad for me and the foods I didn't like were 'good' for me," he explained, finger-quoting the word "good," "I kind of became pessimistic." He stopped there for the moment. Angela wanted to know a little more. "Pessimistic about...everything?" she asked. "Or just food?" "Well...everything, I guess," Carl sighed. "I mean, I made this determination about food at a very young age—actually, I didn't myself; my parents brought it to my attention, dozens of times," he amended. "But I didn't want to accept it. And for some crazy reason, I don't know, but I thought if I just ate enough stuff that was 'bad' for me, I'd...beat it, somehow. Y'know, like, maybe I could just eat junk all the time, get away with it, and still be healthy." He chuckled wryly. "Typical kid thinking, huh?" "Well, Carl, bravo for getting yourself in good shape after all that," said Angie. "Really, that's great, I'm proud of you. But, I'd like to explore this pessimism thing a little more. Now, you say this food issue made you feel that way about everything?" "Pretty much," he nodded after a moment. "I mean, I guess...I found out about the food thing when I was real little, like I said, and it just seemed to me like a lose-lose situation. Really frustrating, you know?" He lowered his gaze to the carpet once more. "So I guess as I grew up, I kinda just let that outlook spread to the other areas of my life too." "Wow," Angie remarked, scribbling down her shorthand version of the story. "Quite a profound analysis, Carl. That actually explains a good deal to me. I think we're a step closer already. So then, if I'm understanding you correctly, let me ask you this...when it appears something good is happening to you, whatever it might be, are you already thinking there must somehow be a 'catch'? "Or even going a bit further, are you assuming there definitely is a catch and you're just wondering what it is?" she added. "Well..." He thought, letting his eyes dart back and forth. "Yeah, actually, I guess so. Like..." He tried to think of an example. "Oh, I know. Like one time when I was at the bar, there was this real pretty woman sitting across from me, on the other side. And we were just kinda looking at each other, and eventually she came over and started talking to me." Angie nodded with a smile, mouthing the word "Oh." "And we got to chatting, and after another little while, she said she had to go, but she gave me her phone number." "Really?" she asked. "Well, nicely done then, Carl. That's terrific news. So you were looking for the catch in that situation?" "Yeah, I was thinking, like...so what's the goof, is this a bum number, is she just messing with me, or is it more like she meant to give me the right number, but...maybe she has...absent-minded moments, and she accidentally wrote one of the digits wrong?" Angie nodded, gathering together more details. "I see...so in a case like this, it didn't even occur to you that the number could have been correct, or that she could have been interested in you?" "Well, I mean, I can't say for sure she wasn't interested. It's easy for me to believe that, but I can't say for sure." "All right...did you try to call the number?" she asked him next. This part made him feel somewhat sheepish, something of a hole in his explanation. "Mm...actually, no." "Oh, you didn't. So, this woman gave you her number—or, what might have been her number—and because you've been disappointed in the past—and because history does have a way of repeating itself—your pessimism automatically made you think there must be something wrong with the number," Angie processed. "Or with the situation." Carl looked up into her eyes. He had felt a bit embarrassed about not even trying to call the number to find out if it was correct, but he was pleasantly relieved and cushioned by her gentle wording. She made him feel less of a cowardly cynic and a bit more a logical realist. He found himself staring deeper into her bright green eyes. Her expression was perfectly normal and matter-of-fact, and yet even when no words came from her mouth, he somehow felt her eyes "speaking" to him in a way. They had a soothing softness about them that made him feel that this kind, compassionate lady really was his friend. Not that he'd doubted her when she verbally told him that before, but... "Yeah," his voice lowered, injected with a touch of dejection. It was as if now that he had found this nurturing comfort in her eyes, he wanted it to stay with him and cradle him. He was beginning to really like just sitting here and confiding in Dr. Starr. She made him feel secure and at home. "Okay, well," she said, flipping over the paper on which she was writing, as she'd just run out of room on the first side, "Obviously, I don't have to tell you that you can't be sure the number's wrong if you don't try calling it; you know that." He nodded. "All right, so let's move on," she decided. "Now, I know you don't know for sure, but let's just say theoretically this woman was-slash-is interested in you, Carl," she supposed. "Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that we know for sure that's the case. How would you feel about that?" "If she was interested in me?" "Yeah." He took his time thinking it over. Angela could tell this was another instance in which he'd have a little trouble articulating. A few moments later, he said, "Well, I guess I'd feel kind of flattered..." His voice trailed off. Angela could tell there was an implied "...but..." after those few words, so she waited, nodding patiently for him to finish. "...Yes?" she asked. Finally, he fumbled out the inevitable. "...But...at the same time, I think I'd feel a little weirded out." "Really?" asked Angie. "How so?" "Well, I guess I'd want to know what it was about me she liked," elaborated Carl. "Women have never exactly found me irresistible. At least not visibly. So I'd kinda be thinking, wow, what did I do right with this one? Like, y'know...you actually like me? Could I have a few details? I mean, after mostly just striking out, I find it hard to believe I could improve my 'batting average' just like that overnight. So, I mean, you could probably see how something like this would leave me kinda...baffled." "Okay, yes, I understand, but at the same time, Carl, you said yourself you couldn't be sure she wasn't interested in you." "Right, no, I can't know for sure, but again, from the way things've gone in the past," he reiterated, "it's the way it feels." "Got'cha," she assured him with a satisfied nod. "So, Carl, tell me, how often have you dated in the past?" He shrugged. "Couple times, I guess." "How did they go?" "I dunno...didn't exactly get anything up and going," he admitted. Part of him wanted to allow a little sarcasm out and reply, Great; we got married and had kids. How do you think they went?! But he didn't. "Well, I can certainly understand your apprehensions, Carl," she said, furrowing her brows sympathetically. "After that kind of dating history, an invitation like this woman gave you—or didn't give you—would confuse anyone, I would think." And that answer was an example of the other reason he chose not to be caustic or aggressive with her, he thought. She was so nice. She was so delicate with him, so thoughtful and considerate of his feelings, and from the way things were going, he was starting to feel a genuine desire to be her friend. "Okay," she continued. "Now, in that little story you told me, you mentioned being at the bar. Do you drink a lot?" "Kinda, yeah," he mumbled. "Smoke?" "No." "All right, well, on the one hand, you've got alcohol, which is a depressant...on the other, there's nicotine, a stimulant. Not saying I recommend either, Carl, but as a side note, consuming a disproportionate amount of alcohol, you are likely gonna feel a little geared down, as opposed to remaining sober," she laid out. "Just an F.Y.I. "Now the next question I want to ask is, how much sleep do you usually get?" "Oh, probably about five or six hours...seven on a good night, I guess." "Ah," she accentuated. "Well, as a sleep specialist, I can tell you that that alone could be a big factor in your constant sadness right there, Carl. It's fairly common knowledge that insufficient sleep results in a depressed state of mind, but I don't think too many realize just how powerful this deprivation can be. If you can up that to seven and a half, or eight hours a night, I'm pretty certain that'll give you a bit of a boost right away." He nodded. "I know, you're right, but...I just have trouble falling right asleep." She nodded back. "You and a large percentage of our population have much in common. Luckily for everyone," she smiled, trying to sound modest, "That's why I am here. "Now then!" she said, closing the folder. "I think that's all the questions I'd like to ask you at this time. So this is the point at which I would begin the actual hypnosis procedure—with the patient's complete consent, of course. But before we do that, do you have any questions for me?" He let out a dry, low chuckle. "Nothing comes to mind right now. I'm sure I'll think of something, but that's the way it goes: when someone actually asks if I have questions, no, nothing." Angie let out a friendly, cordial chuckle. "That's all right. I'll give you a business card when we're done, and if you have any questions you can call me anytime. So then, are you ready to undergo the hypnotherapy?" His breathing picked up. "Uh...o-okay." She noticed. In her most soothing tone of voice, she told him not to worry. "It'll be okay, Carl. I personally promise you, you have nothing to fear. I hold my patients in extremely high regard, and I know how fragile they are. I treasure them; they're like family to me. So you have my word and my guarantee as a professional..." She smiled again. "...I won't let anything happen to you. Remember, I'm your friend." Carl relaxed. "Okay," he repeated without stammering. Angie nodded. "Okay," she responded. "Just one moment then..." She picked up the phone and pressed the button to connect to Lucy. "Miss Taylor, hold my calls, please." "Yes, Doctor," Lucy noted from the desk. "Thank you so much," Angela said, hanging up. She stood from her chair. "Okay, Carl, stand up for me, please, and remove your shoes. And if you so desire, purely for relaxation purposes, you may also remove any other constrictive clothing that might interfere with our progress." She unfolded the sofa into bed form. When she instructed him to set up his pillows how he liked and slip under the comforter, she remembered something. "Oh yes!" she said, going to the closet to retrieve an item she had just acquired. "This is for you," she handed it to him. "It's a sleeping mask. It Velcro-straps in the back, so it's one-size-fits-all. Go ahead and please put that on, tight enough so it doesn't fall off but not so tight that you can't relax with it." Once that was done, Angie made sure the door was locked, closed the window shades and killed the lights. The sofa bed could fortunately accommodate a total of five hundred pounds, about four times her weight—large weight capacity being a stipulation upon which she'd absolutely insisted when ordering the piece—so she returned to it and gently sat beside Carl's body. "Okay, Carl," she whispered just loud enough so he could hear her voice, "I'm right here beside you, so there's no cause for alarm. Now, you're going to feel me touch you, so I want you to expect that. I'm going to tell you what I'm doing so I don't catch you off-guard. So first of all, I'm going to feel for your pulse and heartbeat. So if you would, give me your hand, please." She silently exhaled on her palms, slipped one around his wrist and smoothed the other over his chest until she located his heart. "Good," she praised him barely audibly. "Now I want you to take a deep breath for me...breathe in, and hold it, for five seconds. One...two...three...four...five...good. Now out...and back in again, and hold it for five seconds again...one...two...three...four...five." She had him repeat the breathing process several times. After the first few repetitions she noticed the invariable decline in his heart and pulse rate. Her facial muscles pulled her lips up into her gentle smile. "Excellent job, Carl," she coddled. "You're doing great. You just keep that steady breathing up." She went on having him breathe for her and encouraging him. When his heart rate and pulse decelerated to her satisfaction, she leaned down and tenderly whispered, "Very good, Carl. Now I'm going to slowly bring you into your trance. Don't be afraid...you're okay...everything's good. I'm going to count down backwards from ten... "Just keep breathing for me, the same way I told you, Carl," she murmured down to him. "And here we go...ten... "You're slowly feeling the weight of slumber descending upon you...nine... "Your eyelids are growing heavier...eight... "Your whole system is shutting down...seven... "Just let it go, my friend...just let yourself under...six... "You're just fine...perfectly all right...five... "Trust me, Carl...just put your faith in my hands, it'll all be okay...four... Still holding on to him, she could read the signs that he was slipping beneath her spell, so she just finished counting. She kept her right hand over his chest, and slipped her left into his. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 05 "...Three...two...one..." Finally, in a fluid circular motion, Angie passed her hand over Carl's head, as if tapping him with a magic wand. "Wonderful job, Carl. You're under your trance. I am still holding your hand, to keep you used to my touch. I am now talking to you through your subconscious. If you can understand what I'm saying, give my hand a squeeze." She kept her words paced just enough so that they would penetrate, and that his subconscious could register them. His fingers curled and flexed around hers. "Terrific," she cooed. "You're doing amazing, Carl. Now I'm going to probe you, and set the wheels of healing in motion," she verbally caressed. "Carl's subconscious, I am speaking to you. What I will need you to do is complete a task for me. Subconscious, Carl's pessimism has created a roadblock in his journey to self-improvement. He has convinced himself that fortunate occurrences in his life are in one way or another tainted by misfortune. What he is in need of is some evidence to the contrary. "So what I want you to do, Subconscious, is to go through Carl's memory bank and perform something of a touch-up on it. A lot of his files have very happy memories in them, but they have been stained by repetitive misfortune, and stuck behind files of sad memories. So what we'll want to do is clean up and refilter those files. Just like a computer system. Get it?" He lightly squeezed her hand again. "Good. Subconscious, we need to remind Carl that his life is not and does not need to be permeated by depression. We can't stop disappointment from happening, but we can work on changing the way he perceives and reacts to such events. If he is reminded of the good things in life, they will cushion the blow for him." His hand gave hers one more soft hug. Oooh, that actually feels nice, thought Angie. She did normally always hold on to the patients' hands while chatting with their subconsciouses, but somehow, holding Carl's hand felt a bit different. It was large, strong, smooth, warm and robust. Her hand felt warm and cozy in his, and instilled her with an as yet unknown feeling. A pleasant sensation came over her following this most recent squeeze. She let a few minutes of silence pass so that the subconscious could begin carrying out its assignment. She closed her eyes and took her own advice, breathing in deep. It was almost 10:30. Sunlight peeked in the window blinds, giving Angie just enough light to look down at his peacefully sleeping body. She smoothed her other hand over his, stroking it like her pet. Carl's sheer masculinity was having a bizarre, unfamiliar effect on her. She didn't know what was happening, but she seemed to be inexplicably becoming... ...Turned on. Whoa, whoa, wait a minute here, she thought. What in the...what is this? She had seen and treated literally dozens of gentlemen now, held their hands to earn the trust of their psyches, and nothing anywhere close to this had happened yet. She was heterosexual, she loved men, she saw them as interesting, underappreciated, beautiful creatures—she saw attractive gentlemen out in public anywhere and everywhere she went—but yet she wasn't exactly prone to such flights of sexual fancy. At least she didn't think she was. She was a grown woman, in her 30s. How was she becoming aroused doing nothing but holding a man's hand? She looked back up into Carl's face, letting his subconscious continue what she told it to do. He wasn't a half-bad-looking man. Angela studied his features in the pale, narrow strips of sunlight leaking through the window blinds. Actually, reexamining him now in his state of blissful slumber, Carl Blankman struck her as more than just a little attractive. At 31, Angie had experienced a surprisingly sparse helping of romance in her life. Finding a mate or lover simply was not high on her list of priorities, as was making her career happen. Here today, in this moment, she began wondering if perhaps this deficiency in her life was catching up with her. Taking in his straight, thick, light brown hair, the strong creases in his relaxed face, his fresh shave, his unclenched jawline, his moderately broad shoulders, his smooth, yet semi-hirsute forearm, his warm, sizable hand barely covered by both of her petite lady paws...oh, this hand...she was beginning to think she could hold this hand all day. It was clear that no matter what, she couldn't let anything happen outside the rigid boundaries of their professional relationship, she reminded herself... Or...could she? Not while he's awake, she thought. But perhaps while asleep... She caught herself. Hey! she mentally chastised herself. What the hell do you think you're doing?! This man is a patient! Whatever you're thinking, put it out of your mind this instant! Her brain was functioning just as usual. She had treated almost fifty different patients, more than 80% of which were gentlemen, and at no point thus far in her career had this situation surfaced. But while her brain was standing strong, the longer she held Carl's hand, the greater became the sensation assaulting her inside. It was such a...good vibration... Suddenly, she could not let the man's hand go. Her brain was being surrounded by a surging wave generated by her hormones. Angela Starr found herself being dizzied by exhilaration, and moments away from the onset of a startlingly potent sexual arousal. Though she didn't know it, she was sealing the fate of her own sound mind. She didn't understand, as she was a qualified professional, trained for her mind and body to handle any and all such temptation with only the utmost self-control. And yet...she was succumbing. This patient's raw masculinity took an elusive, completely unforeseen hold on Angie's fragile, unsuspecting femininity, warming her blood starting at the hands and accelerating its circulatory stream. Her heart sped and began thumping her chest with sharp, weakening beats. Oh, she...she couldn't. She promised him she wouldn't let anything happen to him. But... Would I be letting anything happen to him?... Her mind was clouded, her logical thinking blurred. She could no longer discern right from wrong. Was this ethical, was it...would this be transference? I don't know, I...oh, my goodness...I don't think I can resist... This was an entirely new phenomenon invading the healing stillness of Angela Starr's therapy. She leaned down towards Carl's face, even though she thought she could still detect a faint voice ordering her— Don't you do it. Don't even think about it. But the voice was drowned away. She could no longer withstand the current of the gentleman's magnetism drawing her in. Had she been able to take a step back and examine and assess, she would surely have come to her senses and ceased her hormonal behavior to allow his subconscious to perform its task in peace. But it was no use; she was in too deep. She perspired. Initial beads of sweat materialized on her forehead, moistening her about the hairline and eyebrows. She lowered herself horizontally onto the bed, from her sitting position, until she could audibly whisper to him. Carl...Subconscious...if you can hear me...squeeze my hand. His hand ever so subtly pressed her fingers between his, and her heart skipped as her breath caught in her throat. The rest of her body slowly began to react in turn. He is asleep... she thought, reassuring herself. The man...is fast asleep. Even as she pondered that her hormones were forcing her to cross the borders of depravity, she groped herself and fondled her breasts, gasping in response to the rare sensation that rinsed over her. She gripped her right breast, squeezing it like the ripe melon it now was. She closed her eyes and let them roll back as her breath escaped. It felt sublime. Still holding on to Carl's hand with the other, she released her right breast and grabbed the left, rubbing the hardening nipple between her fingers. She needed immediately to stop her voice from moaning out in pleasure. She looked back up into Carl's face, he still peacefully breathing in and out, with the sleeping mask on. Her face had melted into a mask of smoky, overwhelming passion. She felt she could no longer be responsible for the ramifications of her actions. There was no even thinking about turning back now. She surrendered to the first impulse. Draping her body over his, Angela pressed her lips against Carl's. Breathing in through the nose, she let only a weak whimper emerge. Just paying attention to what was going on above the waist, she did not at first notice his unconscious reaction to the kiss, until she felt the proof brush her outer thigh. When she registered it, her vagina immediately dampened. Oh my God... she thought, drowning in exquisite delight. She had no additional thoughts or words to add. Oh my God. She had not even been considering the sensation of his penis stiffening against her, which made it all the more tantalizing. Now she was really burning up in desire. She desperately held herself back from moaning and groaning as she writhed on top of Carl, breathing her warm breath over his lovely face. She kissed him again, as discreetly as she could, which proved not very discreet, and ground her breasts into his torso. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't remember ever being this explosively aroused in her life before now. The small part of her mind that remained sane continued feebly screaming at her in vain. Angela, what, are, you, DOING?!! Stop that! Stop it right now! Do you have any idea what this could lead to, for God's sake?! HEY, hey, okay, just calm down, her libido replied. Look, look. He's asleep. We've done this a hundred times. They're dead knocked out until we bring them back to life. As long as a bomb doesn't go off, he won't wake up. CHILLAX. Oh, as if that makes it okay to molest him?! the brain retaliated. Starr, this is beyond unethical. Do you realize we could lose our license for this?? We could be sued! Hell, we could even be arrested! Okay, AGAIN, easy. Once more, none of that is going to happen, because the man is not, going, to wake up. Angie pried her face off Carl's and swiped at the sweat running into her eyes. She hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, whipped it open as carefully as she could and kissed his naked chest. Now unoccupied, her hands began to scoot downwards. She heard a sighing sound. Looking up, her heart all but stopped as he began to react. Thinking as quickly as she could in her stimulated state, Angie promptly slipped her hand back into his, leaned back up to his ear and whispered, You're okay, Carl. Just continue relaxing. Everything is fine. Just go on with your task at hand. And remember...trust...the doctor. Trust her. She is your friend. She wants to make you happy. Just relax. He settled back down to ground zero again. Angela exhaled in relief. That close call certainly threw a scare into her, but did not silence her sizzling libido. She was half-aware what an incredible risk she was taking, but by this point the decision was out of her hands, which were floating down south again to find that Carl had already undone his trousers himself once under the comforter. Dear God, Angie thought as her hand inadvertently rubbed him through his briefs. He had solidified into a three-quarters erection. She was dying. Both her pussy and her panties were soaked. She didn't know how she was managing to keep her hand off herself. She could only speculate she was too overeager to expose and touch him, having not fondled a man's naked cock in years. But what was she to do with it? Her excited vagina squealed up at her in overzealous eagerness with its idea. We can't have intercourse with him, she silently told her dismayed pussy. We simply can't. It's out of the question. She could attempt to manually masturbate him, but if she stroked him to completion, she would have an awful time disposing of the evidence. If only there was a way to— Of course! She chuckled quietly to herself as the obvious answer popped up right in front of her nose. Fellatio! She could suck him, and should he come, she could swallow it down and thus was no one the wiser. Her only concern was...could she do it? Now that she took the moment to think about it, she wasn't sure she knew how to effectively administer fellatio. Well, she thought, I really do want to give him a magnificent climax, but...if I can't do it, I can't do it. I'll just have to try my best. She again worked as cautiously as could be, shimmying Carl's trousers and briefs down around his legs, until his cock popped out. Oh my goodness, thought Angie, seeing his hardened dick. A hot shiver shot through her. I cannot...believe...I'm doing this. I must be out of my mind. You're damn right you're out of your mind! her mind shouted at her. What is wrong with you, woman?! You have more control over yourself than this! Not right now she doesn't, argued the relentless libido, hormones in ranks behind it like troops. We've got her. Suck it, Starr. Angie contorted herself into a more comfortable position to orally grip Carl's penis and, unable to wait any longer, plunged her hand into her panties, rubbing her impatient, sticky wet pussy. His dick stood still at full erection for her. Oh my God, this is nuts, this is crazy, I don't believe this, Angela repeated to herself over and over. But she couldn't stop herself. It was as if all the years' worth of sexual absence she had stored up was unleashed all at once, attacking her with unparalleled force. As her open, quivering lips descended upon the glans of the penis, she realized... This was it. She could never go home again. It was beyond impossible to believe, but it was happening; her lips opened wider to consume the thick, hardened cock she had seized from its undergarment cage, until she took it all the way down to the base. Being as yet inexperienced in the art of fellatio, she almost choked, once the tip of his cock triggered her gag reflex, but released it and caught herself in time, making a mental note to keep an eye on that. Figuratively, of course. This should be fun, she thought as she deliriously groped and thrusted at herself under her sopping panties. Even if you don't know how to do it that well, don't worry, she assured herself. Just have fun. Just enjoy it. It's a lovely dick. She considered how her pussy automatically produced its own slippery lubrication, a helpful gift from nature in the act of intercourse, and applied the same principle to her (face's) lips. She licked them all around a few times, and satisfied they were wet enough, again slipped Carl's cock into her mouth. This is amazing...so wild...and so bizarre. I still cannot believe I'm doing this, she thought in astonishment. This is so depraved. ...And yet... She thought for a moment. Carl Blankman was a sad person, he told her, and he wasn't completely sure why. This reminder prompted her to think about what she was doing. A sudden thought piqued her interest. Could it be argued that there was actual justification for putting this man under and then performing fellatio on him? Could this act serve as a supplement to his treatment, in order to booster his somber mood through sexual release? Could Angela do this and carry on with a clean conscience via this loophole? I guess I'll find out... She continued rubbing herself, feeling the mighty sensations growing within her, like a volcano about to blow. The warm, spongy tenderized skin of his hard cock rubbing against her palate and tongue made her ooze with hot lust on the inside and her pussy's love syrup on the outside, running over the entirety of her hand. Hair adhered with perspiration to the sides of her forehead. She helplessly swiped at her brow and eyes with the back of her hand, hastily breathing through the nose, unable to take her lips off him. She had long since left any vestige of rational thinking behind. Oh, God, she thought repetitively. How am I going to know when or if I make him come? If he did come in her mouth, she didn't know if she'd be able to handle it. The chain reaction might just send her over the edge and make her cry out uncontrollably, losing hold of his dick. She was already more turned on than she thought any human being in history could ever have been before. Even if she was apprehensive of the results of making him come, she didn't think she could stop. She vigorously hand-raped herself with a level of force she didn't think she was capable of. Her tearing eyes squeezed shut as she frantically strained for breath. She didn't think she could go on much longer whether he came or not. Angie had only been focusing on his dick, leaving his balls out of it. Had she been fondling him about the balls, she would have felt them tightening and drawing up to the base of his cock. She could, however, feel the veins in his cock bulge in her mouth, throbbing and pulsing intensely. She was all but suffocating, struggling for respiration, fighting to get the necessary oxygen in and out. Her fingers and cheekbones smarted with aching, but the aching was no match for the wild near-orgasmic flames shooting through her cells. Fifteen more seconds, and all hell would break loose. Fortunately for them, only five seconds later, his come shot from his balls through his dick and blasted the back of Angie's mouth. She had not been anticipating the climax in the least. She was so impossibly preoccupied with trying to find a way to hang on to his dick in her mouth, breathe and keep herself going all at the same time, she had completely forgotten about making him come until it happened. But when it did happen... Gasp. OHMYGOD!!... The Earth split. She had to concentrate like mad to focus on her proper order of immediate actions. She pressed hard against her pussy, trying fiercely to hold back her own orgasm until she could make sure she swallowed all his come. The sensation of simply feeling that she had successfully sucked him dry relieved her of any concern of the flavor or consistency. She didn't care how it tasted, how hard it hit her or how easy it went down. Her only thought now was, Oh, please...PLEASE let it all go down so I can come!! Come she did. The results were unprecedented. She felt beyond extraordinary, as if propelled from her own skin, having an out-of-body experience. She felt as high as a kite on helium. Her eyes still shut, she lost all sense of purpose, balance and equilibrium. She was riding an inner rollercoaster, immobilized by the centrifugal force. Psychedelic splashes of fluorescent colors and distorted shapes flooded her vision beneath her pinched, wet eyelids. Repeated surges akin to shocks of electrocution pricked her every nerve ending. Her first orgasm in what felt like months reached beyond description, and beyond compare. When she could think, see, feel and breathe once again, Angela blinked her eyes open and let them refocus. She needed several minutes to get her bearings back and recollect what had just happened. When she did, she gasped down at Carl's uncovered, now limp penis, lying lifelessly still. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 05 Oh my God... ...WHAT HAVE I DONE?? He was still asleep, but Angie was little consoled. She silently smacked her lips, tasting any leftover remnants of his come. The last of the salty, gooey treat went down her throat like guilt over what she had in fact just done. She had just orally raped her patient. Now sober from the dizzying effects of her fellatio, masturbation and blazing orgasm, she covered her face in shame, unable to comprehend what she had just allowed to happen. Suddenly she could hear everything her brain had been shouting at her earlier. She needed a few minutes to process this. She slowly pushed herself to her feet off the bed, and fell on her knees on the floor. "Oohf!" she exclaimed, trying to remain quiet. She had not factored in the drain of energy from her legs in the whole escapade. She whipped her head in panic back to where Carl lay again. He was still sound asleep. Angie exhaled, closing her eyes in remorse. Okay, so the good news, she supposed, was that she knew he'd indeed stay asleep until she was ready to wake him up. She wondered what time it was. She looked back in the direction of the desk, where the clock was turned away, the laptop screen had faded to black and the phone's bulbs were inactively steady. A terrifying thought shook her entire world. Holy smoke...what if the phone had rung? Thank God Lucy had not allowed it to do so. Even still, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to take an extra precaution from now on, and just unplug it instead. She didn't have the energy right now. She rubbed her reddened eyes and crawled on all fours into the restroom. *** February 29th, 11:32 a.m. So perhaps the planets and stars had aligned in such a way on this Leap Year Day to cosmically commandeer Angie's senses into such an inappropriate, unorthodox act. She shook and whimpered as she sat on the toilet in thought. She had taken off her sticky panties, but then realized she didn't have a spare pair to change into. Her mind had been right. She could get into an incredible amount of trouble for such behavior. Professional hypnotherapists didn't do this kind of thing. What on Earth had gotten into her?? She'd have to figure all this out later. She still had a sleeping patient in there, whom she'd have to wake up eventually. When she felt sufficient stamina replenish in her weak legs, she stood, staggered out to the sink, splashed some cold water on her face, rinsed out her mouth and finger-combed her hair, plucking the sweat-pasted strands from her forehead. The cold water felt nice, and did enable her to calm down a little and think rationally. She began compiling a mental to-do checklist, at the top of which she was inclined to chisel, DO NOT TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE PATIENTS!! But she was already set with this determination before this day began, and in fact before her entire career was underway. It did not take a genius to discern the bylines of proper office etiquette and ethics with her clients. Something had been jarred loose within her, and like it or not, she had to face the conclusion that she might not be as stable as she thought. As frightening a concept as it was, she honestly didn't know if she could guarantee herself she wouldn't do this again. The urge had been irresistible. Besides which, she again reasoned with herself, small comfort though this was, she still didn't know how he would feel when he woke up—i.e., if her fellatio had contributed to an improved quality of his life and state of mind. Nevertheless, she put the disturbing train of thought on hold. She felt sweaty, thirsty and underdressed, and her breath smelled funny, as she mentally listed her remaining beneficial tasks—some of which she'd been meaning to take care of for a while, others that had just very recently come to mind: Unplug phone before hypnosis begins...maybe get a "Do not disturb" sign to put on the door too. Bring extra panties...and entire change of clothes, for that matter, just to be safe. In fact, just stock the bathroom closet. Have air conditioner installed. Provide healthy supply of water—not tap—or have water dispenser installed. Buy mints...or Lifesavers...and also hygienic cleaning wipes...and maybe some lotion. Stock office closet with loose-fitting pajamas. Maybe get a washer-dryer combo in here if we can swing it... Actually, thinking about it, she could probably also just wear her own pajamas herself. It would be more comfortable, and...yes, actually, it would also help the patients, by initially setting them in a somnolent state of mind. What a wonderful idea, she thought as a smile passed over her face. My jammies are so much comfier than my regular clothes. She added it to her checklist. Carefully making her way back out into the office from the washroom, Angie shielded her eyes and turned the lights back on. When her eyes adjusted, she shuffled to the window and opened the blinds. Finally, she returned to Carl. Oh, God! she gasped. I forgot to put his dick away! It could use a little wiping off, she thought as well. Luckily, she had a few tissues left over in one of the desk drawers. As she again took it in her hand to wipe it off, she felt the knot of guilt in her belly tighten. But when she was finished, she disposed of the tissues, tucked his penis back into his pants and brought them back up around his waist, starting to refasten them before remembering— Oh yeah...they were already unfastened. His shirt, however, was not. She buttoned it back up, went over everything in her mind again, and decided she could finally bring him back to consciousness. She took his hand again and whispered into his ear, "Carl, your hypnosis treatment is finished. I will now bring you out of your trance." She counted back up to ten from zero and waved her magic "wand" over his head. When he woke, he wasn't certain where he was. A normal enough reaction. She took the sleeping mask from him, urged him to sit up and reminded him where he was. After a few moments of blinking, he remembered. "Oh yeah," he said faintly. "How, uh...how do you feel?" Angie asked, nervously but nurturingly. "I...eh..." He opened his eyes wide, then shut them, rubbing them with his fists. "I feel, uh...little wonky." "Oh, there's no need to worry about that," she told him sincerely. "That will pass. Can you tell me if you feel sad at all?" He removed his hands from his eyes. They darted back and forth as he thought. When he tried to locate some sadness and nothing immediately surfaced, he told her so, putting an elated smile on her face. This smile radiated relief as well as joy. Angela had been so hoping for a positive response, in order to alleviate her guilt, at least to the point of acceptance, rationalizing that she had partially healed him with this line-blurring treatment. Perhaps there was justification after all... "Oh, Carl, that makes me so happy," she gushed to him, patting his hand, almost feeling tears. "Wow, I'm...I'm not cured already, am I?" he asked in amazement. "Oh, no, no, Carl, I would not say so," she answered. "Admittedly, we can't say for completely sure, and anything's possible, but more than likely, we'll need to do a little more work. In the meantime, I'll give you a little 'homework assignment,' so to speak, and you can come back to see me again in a week if you like, or two weeks, whichever works better for you." "That sounds great," he said, looking up at her with a visible gleam in his expression which was absent upon arrival. "My gosh, what'd you do when you hypnotized me?" he asked with a chuckle. For just a second Angie's heart jumped. But it was highly apparent he suspected nothing out of the ordinary. She again had him stand from the bed, not realizing that his legs too would be a bit sore. Clearly, she had some reading up to do if this kind of thing were to happen again. She folded the bed back into couch form and asked him to sit. "Okay, Carl, very good work," she praised, hoping her cheeks weren't flushed. "Now for our next session, here's what I'd like you to do. You don't absolutely have to, but I think it would be helpful if you started writing down your feelings day to day, something in the manner of a journal, you know? Include whatever you'd like. What happened during your day, anything that might have made you feel happy, sad, whichever. Then perhaps you could bring the journal in to show me next time. How does that sound?" He nodded. "Sounds like a plan." "Terrific. The other suggestion I have has to do with your diet—and I know you told me you've been trying to refrain from having desserts and-or other fatty foods, and I think that's great. In keeping with that, first I would say watch your intake of sugar, which it sounds like you're already doing. But it doesn't mean you can't treat yourself. In lieu of sugar, you might try some sugar-free goodies now and then. Candy, gum, drinks, stuff like that—that're made with Splenda or aspartame instead. They do tend to have a similar effect to laxatives, though, so be careful," she added with her own little chuckle. "Okay," he chortled back. "And if you're consuming caffeine at all, I'd like you to limit that to at least eight hours or so before your normal bedtime," she continued, scribbling it on a blank piece of paper. "I'll write this down for you; I know it's a lot. In contrast to the sugar, I would recommend trying to increase your protein and vegetable intake...and finally, it might not hurt to shift your bedtime back a little bit, and perhaps this can help up your sleeping average. Especially since spring is coming." She looked up. "Deal?" "Sure, you got it," he agreed without hesitation. "Tops." She clicked the pen off, folded the paper, creased the fold, handed it to him and said, "Your prescription-slash-homework, sir...and when you go back out, you can make your next appointment with Miss Taylor if you like...oh! Or..." She went to fetch him one of her solid beige-colored business cards. "The girl with the English accent?" he confirmed. Angie smiled. "Yes, that's right. Or, here you go. You can use this too, if you prefer. There's our business number, and my cell number's there as well. Cool?" He chuckled again. "Very cool." She stood. "Fantastic." She opened the door and held out her (freshly washed) hand for him. "Mr. Blankman." He nodded, shaking it. "Dr. Starr...my friend." Just before he let go, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, giving her a nice feeling inside. She let her eyes close with a professional yet coy little smile. "Goodbye, my friend. Have a wonderful week...or two," she waved. When he exited her line of sight, Angela turned back around, let her breath out and dreamily dropped herself back into her chair with a plonk. She was going to need some time to put her thoughts in order. Fortunately, for right now, Lucy hadn't informed her of any more patients on today's schedule. Not that she wouldn't have treated them, but she could use a particularly light day today. She reopened Carl's folder which served as his hard file. She clicked the pen again and narrated to herself as she wrote down, "Depression, symptoms miscellaneous, hypnosis one, improvement apparent, update soon." Finally, she let the pen drop, closed her eyes for what felt like an hour, returned to her laptop and went online. *** Seven months later October 3rd, 6:34 p.m. "Dr. Starr," said Lucy, "Everything is confirmed for tomorrow." "Thanks so much, Lucy," Angie said, very grateful for Lucy's presence, but sad to see her go. It was Thursday, and tomorrow would be their last day together. She had been scooped up into a cushy, high-paying office job in a big corporation called SunComp, and so Angie'd put out an ad for a permanent receptionist several days ago when Lucy had given her notice. She was going to miss Angie too, but she didn't think she could turn down this opportunity. "May I head off now, please, Doctor?" she requested. "My boyfriend wants to take me to the movies." "Aw, how nice!" smiled Angie. "Absolutely! Go, go, have a great time." "Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Lucy, grabbing her belongings. "See you tomorrow!" She was gone in sixty seconds. Wow, thought Angie, She must be really eager to get to that theater. The girl was a wonderful receptionist, and deep down Angie really wished she wasn't losing her, but also, she conceded, Lucy Taylor still practically had her whole life ahead of her. She was only 19. She was just a kid. And Angie did want the best for her, so if she decided this new job was the right move in her life right now, then Angie was happy for her. The timing was a little unfortunate, but she couldn't tell Lucy that and make her feel guilty for leaving. It was her choice, and she had to do what she had to do. But would Angela Starr still be able to— Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the phone ring. She stepped into the receptionist area and picked it up. "Dr. Angela Starr." "Hello there!" said the voice on the other line. "I'm calling about the ad you've got out; you're looking for a receptionist?" "That I am!" said Angie, pleasantly surprised at the coincidence. "Yes indeed! Looking to apply?" They scheduled an appointment. The following day being a busy one for Angie, they went with Saturday, the day after instead. "Okay, great; I've got you down here for Saturday, the 5th, at 10:00 a.m. Please do be punctual! Oh, and your name, s'il vou plaît? "...Paula Saunders. All right, excellent. See you Saturday, Paula." Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 06 To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. ***Dr. Angela Starr: The Hypnothe-Rapist*** SS36: STARR SCORES VI—"Avenging Forthwith" *** 36 stories, six (square root of 36) now belong to this series. averaging out to one of each of these six "Hypnothe-Rapist" stories for every six of the Smokey Sagas thus far. Just a coincidence. Absolutely nothing to do with this actual story itself, however. Another coincidence: this is going to appear on the site, at the time of writing and submission, around the same point the original "Hypnothe-Rapist"—part one—will reach its 30,000th view. Okay, I am through with that now. On with the story. *** November 3rd, 8:00 a.m. Angela stepped out from her office, dropped by the water fountain for a drink and swung over to Paula's recep area where she had just gotten in and set her things down. She held a small package behind her back. "Good morning, World's Greatest Receptionist!" she smiled cheerily. "How are we doing today then?" Paula laughed. "Why, just splendid, World's Greatest Angie Starr," she replied impishly. "Thyself?" "Am I ever less than ecstatic?" Angie Starr queried rhetorically. She handed Paula the small box she'd been concealing. "Aw, what's this for?" asked Paula. "It's not my birthday, and...come to think of it, it's not yours, either." "No, but it is National Tell Your Coworkers The Truth About Themselves And How You Feel About Them And If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say Then Don't Say Anything At All Day," Angela explained. "And that's just precisely what this is." Paula gazed blankly at her with a knowing smirk. "You are totally insulting my intelligence with a lie of that size and transparence, and I frankly don't even care," she teased, accepting the gift. She opened the box, whipped out the protective tissue wrap, and found a royal blue coffee mug inside. "Aw!" Paula was touched. "A mug! Thank you!" "Read it." Paula obliged with a chuckle. "'World's Greatest Receptionist.'" Angie held out her hands. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but." Paula shined it up on her sleeve. "Oh, Starr, thank you so, so much, I absolutely love it, but you didn't have to." "Oh, but I did," Angela corrected. "You see, had I not, someone else may have given it to their receptionist, and consequently they'd have been mistaken in having done so, as only I actually do in fact boast the one and only World's Greatest Receptionist." Paula was so touched she almost got a tear welled up in her eye. Obviously, both knew full well that this mug and dozens of sales items like it were marketed in Hallmarks and gift shops all over, and this certainly wasn't the first time someone had gifted this particular objet to his or her esteemed front desk assistant, nor would it be the last. But Paula wasn't about to start being a stickler about such things this morning. "Well, how sweet," she said, choosing a prominent spot in her cube to display the fancy mug. "Now I just have to find one that says 'World's Greatest Boss.'" "Yeah, and be quick about it too," Angie joked. "So—oh! Did you have a chance to set the clocks back?" "I was literally just about to do that," replied Paula, starting with the one in the cube right beside her. "'Atta girl. So how was your Halloween?" "Oh," Paula exited the cube to fix the clocks in the waiting room and the hall. "Not bad. Dave and I dressed up like Jack Skellington and Sally, that was fun. The turnout was a little less than we would've liked, though. We gave out tons of candy to the kids who did come around, but we still had a heaping pile left over. But oh well, I'd rather have too much than not enough." "I know exactly what you mean," agreed Angela. "I've gotten to know a lot of the parents and kids around my neighborhood now, but where I grew up, after my friends and I got too old to keep going, our visitors got real sparse too. It's a little sad in a way, but y'know, the next generation could start showing up in droves any year now." "Right you are as always. And...all righty!" Paula wound back the last office clock, placed it in its spot on the wall and clapped her hands off. "There we are; Daylight Savings Time is officially over. And I'll take down the Halloween decorations when I've got a few spare moments. Then later on this week I'll bring in the Christmas stuff and start with it." "Good woman!" praised Angie. "So, whom have we on the books today?" "Well, let's just go ahead and find out, shall we..." Paula said, pacing her speech till she could get back into the cube. "Uh-huh, yes...here we are. A...Mr. Ben Bales first up today, at 9:00. Newbie, introductory session. Seemed pretty urgent on the phone." Angela loved new patients. "Awesome!" she smiled. "Well, just go ahead and send h—" Coincidentally, right at this moment the front door popped open, and in scurried a panting gentleman, whipping off his coat. "Whew!" He approached the front desk, shivering off. "Hi, uh...I'm Ben Bales, here for my appointment. Sorry I'm a little late. I got here as fast as I could." Paula and Angie stared at him for a moment, then turned to one another. Paula quickly double-checked the schedule. "Uh...good morning, Mr. Bales, pleasure to meet you..." Paula greeted, a bit hesitantly. "Eh, tell me, sir, do you recall for when exactly your appointment was scheduled?" Mr. Ben Bales looked at the two of them with an odd expression. "I'm...pretty sure it was 9:00, right? I mean, that is what time it is right n—..." He turned to the waiting room clock as he spoke. His voice trailed off as he noted the time its hands read. His own expression twisted into a facial question mark. He checked his cell, which unbeknownst to him had automatically adjusted to end DST. "What the..." He appeared dumbfounded. "Oh, dear," said Angie, having figured out this gentleman's confusion. "Mr. Bales, did you forgot to set your clocks back?" A look of embarrassed realization came over Ben Bales' face. Seeing what was going on, Paula jumped in to see if she could alleviate his uncomfortable situation. "Well...that may still be okay, Mr. Bales," she told him. "You're Dr. Starr's first patient today, and if we were losing an hour, that might be a problem, but we're gaining one instead, so you're actually early, not late. And..." She gestured to Angela. "If...Dr. Starr is ready for you right now, then we don't have to make you wait the whole hour. That's, eh...that's up to her, though." "Oh, certainly!" Angela confirmed. "Mr. Bales, why don't you give the World's Greatest Receptionist, Mrs. Paula Saunders here, your ID and insurance information, and I'll be right back in my office, across from the restroom. You can come on back anytime you're ready, and we'll get started!" Paula and Mr. Ben Bales got the formalities squared away. She Xeroxed his ID, gave him his new patient form and indicated him down the hall to where Dr. Starr was waiting. Angie looked up to see him with her warm, beatific smile. "Well, hello there, Mr. Bales!" she stood to shake his hand. "Long time no see!" she quipped. "How've you been?" Ben managed a smirk, but for the most part wasn't in the mood to laugh. He shook her hand, wandered to her sofa bed, slipped off his shoes and crawled up onto it like her pet. "Well, welcome to my palace, Mr. Bales," Angela grinned proudly. "It's lovely to meet you, and I'm so happy you've come. So then, let's get a file started for you..." She retrieved an empty folder and some blank paper and scribbled down his name. "...And...how may I help you this beautiful morning?" Wow, she's cheerful, he thought. "Well, uh..." he opened with a sigh, "It's...it's about my mother." "Uh-huh, okay, I see...please go on." He exhaled uncomfortably. This was plainly uneasy for him to talk about. "It's all right," Angie urged, in her familiarly calming manner. "This is the safest place in the world, Mr. Bales. You can trust me. While you're here with me, I'm your best friend, and anything you tell me will be both treated with the seriousness it deserves, and kept in the strictest confidence. Feel free to share anything and everything you wish with me." "Okay," said Ben. He shut his eyes and winced his face into a grimace. "...My mother is dead." Angie's face clouded with sympathy. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said. "And this happened recently?" He nodded. "Last week." Angie scribbled on the pad. "How terrible," she empathized. "Well, I'm very very sad to hear that awful news, Ben, but, I'm so glad you've come to me so I can help you through it." "Yeah, well, there's a little more to it than just that. And at this point I'm doubtful anyone can help me, but I'm willing to try." "Good. Now, Ben, obviously I can see that you're hurting, and I don't mean to abruptly flip the subject on you, or take time away from our work on your problem—it's just that at the same time, this is our introductory interview, and along with your issues you need help on, I want to collect some personal info so I can put it to use in assisting me to heal you." He nodded, taking a deep breath. "'Kay. I'll be strong for ya." Angela smiled warmly. "Good man. And the better news is..." She lowered her voice and leaned in towards him a few inches. "...We're not really supposed to do this, technically, Ben—and I won't tell anyone if you won't—but I'm gonna reward you for forgetting to set your clock back. Since you got here an hour early, and you happened to be my first patient of the day, I've decided to give you that extra hour's worth of treatment, because I feel you could use it. But I won't charge you more for it." Ben looked up at her with visible love and gratitude in his eyes. His lips seemed to curl up towards a smile for the first time. "Wow, that's...that's so nice. Thank you, Doctor, eh...Starr." She smiled back. "What are friends for? And why waste the hour, right? It wouldn't do either of us a world of good to just make you sit in the waiting room. And for me, I'd much rather be working with a patient than sitting here waiting myself. "Uh, unless, of course you have to be off somewhere, later on today, after this session?" "No, no, I'm good for the day," Ben assured her. "Fantastic! We'll go ahead and take our time then. Get as much out of this as we possibly can. And incidentally, I personally prefer Angie, but you can call me anything you want: Dr. Starr, Dr. Angela, Doc...whichever you like." Ben suddenly felt a good bit better about being here already. If this wasn't the nicest woman on Earth, she likely could have fooled him. "Okay...Angie," he returned. Her smile lingered, and broadened tenderly. "There you go. I may be a doctor, but in this clinic and this office I'm also your galpal, Ben, so no scary formality here. First-name basis all the way. Now then!" She gestured to him to hand her the new patient form Paula'd given him. "Why don't we go ahead and get this filled out. "Now Ben, mon ami, have you ever been hypnotized before?" "I have not." "Okay. Were you referred to me by anyone in particular?" "Yellow Pages." "All right, excellent, thank you. Now, I'm gonna ask you a few basic personal health questions. These may not relate directly to your problem, Ben, but they're status quo, for all patients. And you don't have to answer a question if you don't want to. "Any allergies?" Ben shook his head. "No, none." "Any mental issues or diseases?" He again shook no. "Not unless sudden depression over losing my Mom counts." Angie flashed him another short, sympathetic, loving look, ensuring him they'd get on with the treatment soon. "Any hereditary or personal physical issues, disorders or STDs?" Once more, he shook his head. "Okay, terrific. How is your appetite currently?" He shrugged. "'S...normal, I guess." "How're your eating habits?" Ben raised his eyebrows. "Well, admittedly, since last week I've been eating more 'comfort food' than usual," he explained, air quoting with his fingers, "For what are probably by now obvious reasons." Angie nodded. "Gotcha. How's your sleeping?" "Oh..." He made an unsure face, waving his hand in an uneven teetering pattern. "...So-so?" "Yeah, I'd say...again, not so great as usual since last week." "All righty then. Can I ask your age?" "34." "Are you married?" "Divorced." "Dating a woman right now?" Ben paused, a bit curious about the reasoning behind this question, but not enough to stop the interview and ask. "No." "Okay...do you have a healthy libido?" Again, he paused. "I reiterate that you're perfectly within your rights to plead the fifth if you so desire, Ben," she added. He looked back down to the floor with an additional shrug. "I...guess it's healthy enough," he replied. "Fantastic. Okay, Ben, now you said there was more to your story than you already told me. Please, go on." "Well, eh...my mother didn't exactly die of natural causes." "Oh?" He gave her another shake of the head. "...She was robbed and murdered." Angela's face filled, understandably, with shock. "My goodness!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Ben, I'm—again—so sorry! I..." She was about to add that she didn't know what to say, but it was just as well, as he went on with the story. "Not as sorry as I am. This is the worst part of it. I found out later it'd happened while she was coming out of the drugstore. She's, uh..." He slipped a hand over his eyes. "She was on medication for these anxiety episodes she has somet—...had, sometimes. And, she had them, but I don't; they didn't get passed down to me. But anyway, earlier the same day, I was at her house—and we got into a fight because she'd forgot to get the meds filled, and I got aggravated with her about it because, well, she needs them. Y'know, to take decent care of herself. "And she got defensive, and said she just forgot. And I said, well, yeah, but, Mom, y'know, you can't just forget! I mean, the doctor put you on them for a reason! And unfortunately, it kind of set her off. She was already without the medication, and, I shouldn't have gone off on her like that, but I was adamant about it, and finally she just...snapped. For lack of a better word. She jumped up and yelled at me to stop nagging her, and that she would get dressed and go get them right now. And...she did. She just, that exact moment, took herself right down to the drugstore, at 15th and Saxon Street." 15th and Saxon Street...for some reason that intersection rang a bell with Angela, but she wasn't immediately sure why. Oh well, she thought. The location's not vitally important right now. She nodded somberly. "I see...and then she..." "Yeah." Ben blinked several times, trying to keep his emotions under control. "And when I found out, I...I..." He sniffled, unable to keep his voice from cracking just a bit. "...I felt so horrible—and guilty. I pushed her into going to the pharmacy-drugstore just then, and it's true that if she had gone to get them before, this wouldn't have happened, but it also wouldn't have happened if I'd left her alone just then. I know it may not be completely true, but it... "...It felt like...I killed her." Angie's mouth dropped ajar. She shook her head vehemently. "Oh, Ben, dear, it's not true at all!" she asserted. "You had no way of knowing this was going to happen at this particular date and time. If you had, you never would have sent her there, would you? Or, you would have made her go to a different location. It was plainly and simply an awful coincidence the person who did this terrible thing to your mother just happened to be there at the same time. You did nothing wrong here, trust me!" "Yeah, I know, but I...I..." He let out a melancholy breath, covering his face still. "I can't help feeling like I should have gone to get them for her. I mean, it...it should have been me. She just went by herself, and that's just the way it happened. I could have gone with her, but at that moment, we...we just felt like we could use a few minutes to ourselves, I guess. It—we—th—..." He sighed. "If I'd gone with her, I might have been able to protect her when this happened. I-I-I might've seen it coming. If...even if nothing else, I could have called for help. I could've...I-I couldn't done something! But the...the whole last week, all I've been able to think was that it...it should've been me!" His voice cracked and his body trembled. "It should've been me! "It should've been ME!" This repeated declaration cut Angela in the heart. She rose from her chair and joined Ben on her sofa. "Oh, Ben, hon, please don't say that!" she implored, sitting with him and gently taking his wrists, prying his hands from his face. "Don't do that to yourself! It's not going to do you any good to put yourself in your mother's place. It's not your fault. I'm so, so sorry for your loss, I know you're in agony, I know how painful it is to lose a loved one, and I can understand your guilty feeling, but you can't punish yourself for this. Ben, please, listen to me, this is your friend talking: it is not, your, fault." He sniffled, turning to her. "Thanks, uh, Doc...Angie." She smiled back. "Hey, I'm your pal!" she encouraged, giving him a light clap on the arm. "Now, eh..." She stood and briefly returned to her desk to grab her pen and his file, squatted down to reach underneath the desk and grab a box of tissues, came back to the sofa and sat with him. She whipped some out, dabbed his eyes dry and placed the others in his hands. "Here, blow." Ben did as she said and told her more about his relationship with his mother. She had been widowed when Ben was at a young age. Ever since, the terrain between them had been a bit rocky. The aspect of drama was played up to maintain things intact, but the love would never be denied. Ben had lost one parent, and definitely wanted to hang on to the other one, come what may, and so he had grown especially adamant about seeing to it that she did whatever it took to look after herself. "So...all that being said," he explained, "You can understand how I still kinda blame myself—or part of me does—for this ironic twist things took last week." Angela nodded and stroked his shoulder. "I do. But that's why you're here now, my friend. You came here in search of support and help, and I am going to grant you that help. "Now, Ben, bravo, first of all, for doing the smart, sensible thing, and seeking healing. Some would not have handled the situation using good sense the way you did. It's also good that you're allowing yourself to feel your emotions and bring yourself to terms with this; denial's not healthy for anyone. Since you've brought yourself along this far, it makes it easier for me to guide you further down your path to closure. "Now, Ben, I'm truly sorry to hear about your misfortune, especially since this happened to you with your father when you were little. Because, since this traumatized you at that easily impressionable age, that trauma has always stayed with you, like it does with all of us, at any age. So when this happened to you again with your mother recently, even though you're a grown man in your 30s, that young boy inside you who lost his Dad just became re-traumatized, at the loss of your-slash-his Mom. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 06 "So what we must do now is conjure forth the strength and power inside you, for this 34-year-old man to reach out to that little boy, and tell him, '...It's okay! Things are going to be okay. We can make it through this. Together! It is going to hurt, for a long time, but one day, the pain will begin to subside. But not because we'll stop caring about them; on the contrary. We'll remember them and keep loving them forever, and that way we'll always keep their memory alive.' You see?" Ben's eyes softened as he gazed at her. "Wow," he repeated, his voice all but a whisper. "You're a really wonderful person." Angela blushed and glanced down. "I do my best. It may be my job, but my job is my life. Nothing matters more to me." She stayed over on the sofa with him for a little while longer, as he did a bit more confiding in her, and finally decided it was time to bring him to light of her procedure. "Okay, Ben, good work. We've taken care of the actual therapy part of our session, so now I'll go ahead and tell you about the hypno part. The first thing you should know is that there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Many patients accept the therapy and opt, at least for their first visit, to forego the hypnosis and perhaps give it a try next time. And this is fine; I leave this decision entirely up to the patient. And so, I give you my word that nothing shall happen to you, and that you'll be completely under my care and protection, but I understand if intimidation lingers. So if you choose not to undergo the hypnosis, whether only this visit or any future appointments as well, I promise you my feelings won't be hurt." He nodded. "Okay..." "Good. The next thing I'll tell you, Ben, is that I've been professionally practicing as a hypnotherapist for six years. And as immodest as it may sound, I am the top hypnotherapist in the city. Which I'm not saying to toot my own horn, honest to goodness. I'm saying it because in my six years, I've treated hundreds of patients, most for spans of multiple sessions, with steadily building successful results, and never once have I either lost a patient to suicide, or had a patient decide to cease therapy of their own choice without my agreement and approval. "Now, should you choose to have the hypnosis, you can still stop things at any point if it feels uncomfy for you. But for both personal and professional reasons, I cannot and will not start the procedure without my patients' absolute and total consent. So if you do wish to have the hypnosis, I'm going to need a concrete yes. If you do not, or you're unsure, that's also fine; we can just continue talking. Either way, we have plenty of time left. Now, in case you're interested, I'll also give you a little warning, that hypnotherapy is more intimate than traditional therapy. There is some subconscious probing, and physical contact involved." "...Really?" "Yes. What I'd be doing is holding onto your wrist to monitor your pulse and keeping track of your heartbeat with my stethoscope. After I've brought your pulse and heart rate low enough, I'd softly caress you with my fingertips, which helps lull you down some more. Which reminds me: are there any extremely sensitive or ticklish spots on your body?" "Well...kinda...I guess." "Okay, how sensitive? Like, one to ten?" "Maybe...seven, eight." "Okay, that's manageable. I'll go easy on you then. Well, Ben, the ball is in your court, my friend. What would you like to do?" Ben shrugged. "Sure, sure, anything might help right now. Let's do it." Angela smiled cordially at him. "Excellent." She stood. Out came the phone cord, off popped the work shoes and on went the slippers. "Please stand then, and I'll unfold the sofa bed...would you like a pair of pajamas?" He accepted and changed in the adjoining washroom built into the office. As he went inside to shut the door, Angie turned her back to it and smiled giddily ear to ear. At this point in her career, whenever a patient agreed to be hypnotized under her care—which didn't normally require all the convincing in the world if they had already come to see her of their own volition—she was thrilled inside, for several reasons. Her patients really were her best friends, and the joy of taking them under her unique care elated her to no end. She pulled out, unfolded and made up the sofa bed. Ben emerged from the restroom, now clad only in a set of her relaxed-fitting silk sleepwear. Angela turned to see him, and softened. Like so many others, he looked adorable in her jammies. If only she could say so. "Wonderful," she commented, retrieving the eyeshades from the desk. "You can go ahead and lay down, Ben—there're lots of pillows there, some stuffed animals, anything you'd like to make you comfier. Go ahead, fix it up like it's your own bed. Here's your sleep mask, please put that on when you're ready. Meanwhile, I'm just gonna dim it down in here... "Oh, yes! Ben, would you like me to launder your clothes for you?" "...Pardon?" "Well, I've got a washer-dryer back here in the bathroom, as you may have noticed. And as a little bonus, I do offer to wash and dry my patients' clothes for them, if they so desire...just an additional service, free of charge. Anything I can do for you." "Oh, well, gee, you...you don't have to do that." "It's not a problem, Ben. In fact, quite the contrary; it's a privilege. I wanna do everything in my power to make my patients feel they're well taken care of. And I guarantee you they won't shrink or fade or anything." "Well, that's...that's really sweet of you, Doc—er, Angie. Sure, why not, go ahead." So Angie collected his outfit and deposited it in the washer. As Ben gathered together some pillows to set up a little support, Angie drew the shades, put the laptop to sleep and turned out the light. The next she did was of course to collect the stethoscope from its assigned desk drawer and slip the earpieces in. She adjourned to the closet to grab her own infamous kneeling pillow—which also served that pesky additional personal purpose—and tossed it on the floor beside the bed. Oh! That reminds me! She quickly trotted into the bathroom, squatted down and rummaged to the back of the storage space underneath the sink to locate the fairly sizable rectangular box that sat farthest back. Ah! Good, it's there! Okay. She returned to the office, grabbed one of her scrunchies, tied her hair back, picked up her bottle of hypoallergenic lotion from the desk, pumped a bit into her palms, gave her hands a light coating, and soundlessly shuffled back to the bed. "Okay, Ben, I'm here," she told him in a voice just above a murmur, kneeling down on the pillow. "Are you ready?" He nodded. "Okay. Good," she whispered. "Now, you needn't speak anything more, my friend. Just relax...relax...take it easy...try to go to a peaceful place, where everything is tranquil and calm and serene. Once more, I'll remind you that there is nothing to worry about, and you are completely safe and protected here. "Now just so you don't get caught off-guard, I'm going to take your wrist now, for your pulse, and find your heartbeat." She gingerly did so. "Good...very good. Now we're going to do some deep breathing to gear down your system, all right? I'm going to count to eight—please inhale, through your nose, while I do so. Ready?" She counted. Ben followed her instructions. "Excellent. Now please exhale through your mouth, and I'm going to count again... "Splendid. You're doing a wonderful job, Ben. Now repeat for me: inhale, nose... "...And, exhale, mouth. "Again—inhale, nose... "And exhale, mouth." As per her normal routine, Angie had him repeat the breathing pattern until his pulse and heart inevitably slowed down. This was also very soothing and therapeutic for Angela herself, as while she was an already naturally tranquil, zen person, being a normal working middle-class American citizen, not even she could maintain a completely stress-free living. Though perhaps not to quite the degree of others, she too needed her calm quiet time. Getting to spend it curing a patient was just a lovely bonus. When his system settled to her preferred level of serenity, she removed the stethoscope. "Fantastic, Ben. You're doing so great. Now I'm just going to let go of your wrist, slide my hand down a little and hold on to your own hand, just in order to get your psyche used to my touch." Ben began indeed to feel himself slipping beneath her divine spell, as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. The cause for his visit remained at the forefront of his mind, and yet his worries and concerns were being slowly washed away. Angela had told him the truth; there was, after all, a reason she stood at the very zenith of her profession. Ben was starting to really like her. "Okay, I'm going to caress you now." She began with her right hand at the left side of his face, letting her fingertips ever so lightly stroke his cheek, his ear, his jaw. As she descended to his neck and shoulder, she applied just a bit more pressure to penetrate the pajamas. At last, she reached his left hand, held on to it, and repeated the soft caressing pattern on the right side of his body, with her left hand's fingertips. As a final touch, she lowered her head to his chest, listening to his heart beat. "Mmm," he purred, all but inaudibly. "'Atta boy," Angie purred back. "Now you just keep breathing deep for me, just imagine I'm still counting...I'll do the rest." The woman's warm touch and soft voice were just so soothing. He really did feel genuinely secure and comfortable with her watching over and taking care of him right now. If he let himself get too carried away, he would start to feel as if he were lying in her arms, being cradled like a baby...almost even in a way as if she were his... ...His... He heard her voice. "Okay, Ben, excellent job. Now we're going to gently bring you down into your trance." He was almost totally dead to the world already as was. "I'm going to count down backwards from ten, and then you'll be out, Ben. Remember, you'll be just...fine. "Ten... "You're feeling yourself just completely shut down the rest of the way from your current state... "Nine... "You just keep up the relaxing, my dear... "Eight... "Before you know it... "Seven... "You'll be floating free... "Six... "Through the Angela Starr district of Dreamland... "Five... "Trust me, Ben, everything's going to be all right... "Four... "Fret not, my angel... "Three... "It won't be long now... "Two... "One...and..." Angie waved her hand over his face, palm down, in a circular motion, as if putting him down by telekinesis, and silently snapped her fingers. He was out. She leaned down closer and whispered in his ear. "Wonderful. Now, Ben, I'm going to communicate with your subconscious, and thereby make him override the thoughts that have been occupying and tormenting your mind since your incident last week. "Subconscious, if you can hear and understand me, give my hand a soft squeeze." Ben's subconscious mind stimulated his carpals and flexed his fingers, closing his hand around hers. Angie had her mind trained by this point when a patient squeezed her hand to allow herself to become a bit excited, but not too much so just yet. She closed her eyes, exhaled and gave a happy shiver as the warm feeling rose and welled through her. Yay, sighed the giddy part of her mind, the part with a direct conduit to her libido. "Fabulous. Okay, Subconscious, as we know, Ben is feeling deeply saddened, and partly to blame himself, by the tragic loss of his mother. What we must do for him are two things. First, I will need you to perform a search on Ben's mental files to locate and bring up any and all of his fondest memories of times and thoughts spent with his mother. And while you are at it, Subconscious, if you can manage to dig up any memories he may have of his father as well, that would be terrific. We want to retrieve, renew and refresh those files in order to remind Ben of the love that still exists between his parents and himself." She paused to lean down and placed her lips on the knuckle of his index finger. "If you understand, flex your finger I just kissed." He obeyed. "Tremendous. Now then, Subconscious, once you have found and gathered together all these memory files, what I need you to do next is reconcile them. Scan them, again, process this information through to the forefront of his mind, and also, take any content you can find in them that may be relevant and applicable to Ben's life today, and...sort of...merge them, if you will. The purpose behind this is to reconnect Ben's present-day self with the little boy inside him that was traumatized by this the first time, when he lost his father. This little boy may have been traumatized, but he understood that the loss of one parent was not his doing, and that he was not and is not a guilty person, or a martyr. By this token, he will begin accepting and comprehending that he can neither be held directly accountable for his mother's demise." This time she kissed his pinky. "Do you copy, Subconscious?" The pinky twitched. "Marvelous. Please go ahead and set to work now, Subconscious. I shall do the rest. Now bear too in mind, Subconscious, that no matter what may happen, or what you may think you detect, you must stay to task, and continue following the instructions I have given you. Squeeze my hand if you understand." He did so. OOOoooh, yes... said Angie's libido. Patience, her brain scolded. It'll happen when it happens. Angela began to pull the rest of herself, and finally her feet, up onto the bed. Then the small alarm went off in her mind. Grab the pillow! Aha! Yes! she thought. For once, I am NOT going to forget the stupid pillow! She obligatorily snatched her kneeling-slash-humping pillow from the carpet and flung it behind her on the sofa bed. Now that that simple but annoying task was taken care of, Angie pushed herself back up above Ben's sleeping body and once more started folding herself down over him. As was status quo around this point, she felt her own heart rate accelerate. She gulped back the generating salivation in the back of her mouth and licked her lips. Finally paralleling Ben's horizontal position, Angie rested her breasts on his chest, discreetly negotiated the rest of her way down, and nurturingly pressed her plushy lips to his smooth cheek. Holding on to one of his hands still, she ran her other through the layers of his thick hair. Hot, lusty breath emitted from her nose and mouth. Tingly chills tickled her spine. She nuzzled his face with her nose and her lips, laying an aimless pattern of kisses, with varying degrees of pressure, at random spots upon his skin. Oh, was this such fun every time it happened. Angie knew she wasn't in the game to have fun, and she knew she had better exercise some discretion here if she wished to keep her practice and her license, but...sometimes she questioned whether at this point she could even begin to help herself. She had fallen so deep into the pattern of putting her patients under, healing them, and getting them off, if she one day were to hypothetically force herself to cease with the Starr Happy Ending Treatments*, it would feel akin to giving up one of her most prized possessions. Her conscience asked her if she wasn't just a little bit sure she should hold off with the physical affection on this particular man. Come on, it said. The guy's mother just died! Why don't you show a little sensitivity? Hey, she shot back, arguing with herself, In case you've forgotten, first of all, we've already put his subconscious to work reconfiguring his brain and thought process so that he'll come to terms with that, have his closure, know that his mother will always love him and the feeling mutual, and everything'll be okay. And two, we've given the Treatment* to gents with much worse and sadder problems than this! So, be a pal and...just...kinda...get lost, how 'bout it. Hey, if you feel you can live with yourself. Her blood warmed and hastened through its stream as her and Ben's collective body warmth melded. He stirred a bit, but Angie wasn't worried in the least. By this point in her career she was all too familiar with the patterns and the signs to be uneased by such a slight, innocuous twitch. Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Bales, she mouthed in the direction of Ben's ear. Dr. Angie's gonna make everything okay. Finally, she once more moistened her lips and delivered the first mouth-to-mouth kiss. A warm, silent moan found its way out from Angie's muted larynx as their bodies circulated oxygen and erotic heat. She breathed out as Ben breathed in, and vice versa. Her body began to perspire of passion. Wow, she thought. Either these patients are getting more enticing, or my resistance is getting weaker. One way or the other, her pleasure was building, and fast. She slipped her free hand beneath Ben's pajama shirt and caressed his chest and stomach, sensually brushing the tufts of hair forming his bunny trail along the way. When she peeled her lips off his, she slid them down his chin, reaching his neck, and eventually his chest. Kisses frequent and subsequent followed, as she worked her way further and further. She reached his midsection, kissed his uncovered belly button, and it was at last time to unwrap the gift she gave herself on such regular occasions as this. Angie surreptitiously as always snuck her one still unoccupied hand under the blanket covering him from the waist down. Turning back to gaze at him with her loving smile, so began the fondling through the pajamas. It was at this point he began to react just a bit, as she knew he would, so she addressed his subconscious once more. "Do not be alarmed, Subconscious. No matter what, you must continue and stick to your assigned tasks. Please go on." He obeyed. Angie went on smoothing her hand gingerly over his cock under the sleepwear, until she inevitably felt him begin to stiffen against her fingers. Her smile spread. Good lad...that's my lad...just lie back and let the nice doctor do her job and take care of you. Ben's lips pulled ajar as he needed some more air. Angie closed the fingers of her other hand tighter around Ben's to keep any wandering focus away from the activity now taking place between his thighs. Angela's nipples were beginning to solidify and her pussy to tickle, but she kept the fondling of his penis to a controlled, slow and steady pace. Sooner or later, she knew it was coming, and sure enough, the little voice addressed from below. Did you get the condoms?? For crying out loud, I told you, I am not buying condoms! I already got you your toy, and now you're just going to have to be patient until it's time to play with it. You know the deal. Until we're done with the fellatio, the pillow's your boyfriend. And frankly, you should be glad I didn't forget IT this time! Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 06 Yes, yes, yes... Ben's dick hardened in her palm until Angie finally decided it was time to expose it. She carefully removed the blanket with her right hand, while raising his own hand to kiss each of his fingers with the other. She slowly released his hand and shifted position, exercising as much caution as she could, placing herself between his feet. She paused for a second, ascertaining the steady pace of his breathing, took hold of his pajama bottoms by the hips and lightly tugged them down. Hips, thighs, tushie, she reminded herself, like so many times before. Hips, thighs, tushie. The jammie pants slid down finally far enough for Ben's semi-erect cock to pop out, to Angela's delight. She slipped them down just a little lower, until she could also see and touch his balls, and gave the pajamas just a little more wriggle. Okay, lady, now come on. Please, came Little Angie's voice. PLEASE. FOR GOD'S SAKE. We NEED this. No, we don't. You think you need this. Forget it. No dice. Oh, c'mooooon...you know you wan—mmmph! Into her crotch went the pillow. Pussy temporarily silenced, Angela took Ben's cock in her hands and leaned down to kiss its head. He continued hardening up towards a full erection. Rubbing the velvety flesh in her fingers, she slipped out her tongue and gently but penetratingly flicked at the tip. Ben's breath picked up to release a hushed moan from deep inside. "Okay, Mr. Bales, I, Dr. Angela Starr, am now going to suck your dick," she playfully mouthed to him. Once she coaxed him up to full erection, Angie produced some saliva, wetted her tongue once again, and graced his cock with the first long, thorough, full licks up and down each side. The penis gratefully responded by rushing blood into every last spare cell, eventually graduating to the next stage, of bulging and throbbing, as she brought him into her mouth. His texture was smooth, soft and spongy, which she liked. She could tell his cock certainly enjoyed it in here, and she was also guessing it had been a little while since he had enjoyed any form of sexual satisfaction. She was a big advocate of masturbation, and subtly passed it along as a possible suggestion to patients, thought she it necessary. She always found it such a shame when men did not spend quality time making love to themselves if they had no one else with whom to do so. Religious beliefs or other outside factors aside, it simply wasn't healthy for a sexually active gentleman (or lady) to abstain from sex or masturbation, and deny him( or her)self this refreshing, destressing, rejuvenating release. Of course, speculating that Mr. Ben Bales had gone for a long time without an orgasm was simply that, speculation. Well, however long it had been, it wouldn't be that much longer now. Angie sucked and sucked, more heartily all the time, just as with each gentleman on whom she performed her famous Treatment*. Now and then, she might wonder if she had some kind of a problem, or was addicted to giving head, but each time she removed the thought from her brain with the reminder that if she knew a man was married or attached, she had no issues with treating his malady and leaving it right at that. Angela kept the act and its novelty fresh and exciting by reinforcing the very nature of what was happening to herself every time she did it. She had a man, in her office, in her clinic, in her sofa bed, sleeping, completely unconscious, under her spell, only to be awoken by her transitive revival, and right now she could do absolutely anything she pleased to or with him, an idea which in and of itself was quite intriguing. And had she a single cruel or evil bone in her body, the possibilities might be open to a number of new areas. But she didn't. She would stick to her integrity and treat him—skipping the actual mental healing could result in an eventual loss of her actual career—but each time after, she was performing fellatio. Fellatio! It was surreal. When she stacked this against everything she had learned in her life about professionalism, proper office and workplace behavior and etiquette and so forth, the excitement of "breaking the rules" to this magnitude shot off the charts. It resulted in an essential win-win situation for everyone: the men woke up in most cases happier than they could remember being for a good time in their lives, and most if not all returned to see her again...because she was terrific at her job, and because they genuinely seemed to like her, and because she made them feel good. On several levels. She thought, How can this be wrong when it feels so right? How am I being so bad when this feels so impossibly good? This is why I am here, she told herself again and again. This is the reason I was placed on this planet. My purpose in life. She popped her lips off his dick just long enough to mouth another naughty message in his direction. "All right, Mr. Bales, let's tickle that come-honey out of your balls." She would never talk to a patient in such a way under normal circumstances, awake or asleep, but this was the privilege she so relished in simply moving her lips, hindering sound from coming out. It was the same reason she was often thankful no one knew what she was thinking or what was going on in her mind. We can stop and filter ourselves from speaking tactlessly, she thought, But we can't always stop these thoughts from floating their way on in. Fortunately, others don't get to be privy to mere thoughts unless they're voiced out loud. Which is the way it should be. She closed the skin between his jewels and the base of his dick between her fingers until that of his balls was stretched to the point of maximum sensitivity, without harming him. Still sucking, she lightly scrawled her nails over them. She thought she felt his cock respond to the added stimulation inside her mouth. It pleased her so. She was starting to become increasingly aroused. So aroused in fact, she slightly lost her grip on the pillow as she could swear her vagina actually threw out an exasperated sigh. Can we hurry it along here?? Little Angie complained anxiously. Boy, you are just getting more and more impatient every single time, aren't you, you little troublemaker?? I just wish you would take care of me first once in a while. You know the rules. Look, I'm trying to be polite and not too intrusive here, and I don't want to play this card, but, you do realize that when you get turned on, I'm in charge of you, and I've got you by the libido, and you do what I want, right? I am not having this conversation with you again. The hell you are not. Listen, I've been threatening to make you have actual vaginal sex with the patients for a long time now, and you're a nice person, and I'm a nice pussy, so I haven't forced you to yet. But I get the feeling you've never for a second taken me seriously, so you know what? I think I might just make you do it today. Oh really? I'd like to see you try. Calling my bluff? Mistake, lady. Big mistake. Get ready to regret it. A hot rush swept over Angela as a surge of sheer, unadulterated pleasure sizzled through her body. She was so exhilaratingly dizzied by sudden passion she audibly groaned. She almost had to release Ben's cock from her lips just to adequately circulate her breath. Little Angie hadn't been full of beans in her threats. She ejected hot pre-come onto her thighs, almost victoriously, it seemed. If Angie didn't know better, she would almost think her vagina was scornfully laughing at her, wicked and triumphant. Ha ha ha! Didn't think I could seize control so aggressively, now did we?? Well, have I got news for you, Miss Angela: your sex drive has the capacity to carry you light years beyond your wildest erotic dreams. Maybe next time you'll think twice before doubting me! And just for that, here's another one! "OHHHH!" Angie cried out, again all but losing Ben's dick from her oral grip, as one more wave of unforeseen lust drenched her to the bone. Her nipples poked out from her tits so hard, her bra was stretched to the slack of its hooks in the back and almost snapped right off. Her clit throbbed and pulsed as blood-red as Ben's dick. "Oh my God!" Ha ha ha ha HA!! her pussy seemed to cackle. Please stop! He might wake up! Angie pleaded with her. Oh, is that so?! Yes! Please, don't do this! Fine. Fuck him and I'll stop. WHAT?! No! Please! You can't do that! You can't! OH, but I can. It's you who can't do anything to stop me. You see? You've doubted my power over you one too many times, and now you are really going to pay for it. But I can't! You have no idea what you are doing! Fuck...him. Stop sucking his dick, and FUCK...HIM. Oh, please! Look, look, I'll...I'll give you a couple of my fingers! Okay? Angie shoved her hand beneath her panties, made her way inside herself and began masturbating. Nope. Nice try. I've had it with fingers. You've stuck me with fingers for five wretched years now, and I...want...DICK. Another injection of forceful, almost blinding pleasure attacked. "OH GOD! Oh God!" Angie cried, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible. Never more in her life than right now did she wish she had laryngitis. But I...I can't do this! We mustn't! It's rape! I could lose my...my...lic—... Suddenly, Angie was having much more trouble considering the detrimental ramifications of the act than before. Yes, well, right now it's either your license or your mind, Starr! You shouldn't have pissed me off! What sweet irony, hm? But, we don't have a condom! We have no protection! Wh—...what-what if— Tough! Anything happens, you'll find a way of dealing with it when the time comes. Oh, but, dear God, please don't make me do this! I'm begging you, please! FUCK HIM!! After five years of intercourse deprivation in favor of digital masturbation, Angela Starr's pussy had had enough, and would now wield no mercy. Angie indeed did not priorly understand just how potent her libido and sexual drive were, as her vagina had said, and just how far she could dare to go if provoked. Just as with the first time she had given a patient a blow job... She...just...did not think she could resist. It would appear the outline of the Starr Treatment* was about to be redrawn. Angela whipped off her own pajama bottoms and her panties at the same time. "Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God!" she whimpered as she pushed herself up to hover over Ben's still-erect dick. She opened her autolubed, soaked pussy, and sank. She gasped with trepidation and let out one more "OH MY GOD!" as she felt the tip of Ben's cock enter her and gradually slide up inside. She could not believe this was happening. She was officially out of her mind. She had gone too far. The line had been crossed. She was inarguably, irrefutably, undoubtably, raping a patient! Oh my God! Oh my God, I can't believe this! I'm going to jail! I am going to jail, and then I'm going to HELL! Shut up. Just shut up and keep fucking. If you take all the fun out of this for me, I'll make you do it all over again. But...you don't understand! This...this is abuse! OH, yes, not at all like the abuse of forced fellatio, huh?! Angela shut her eyes and grimaced as the intercourse drew on. Her pussy was in charge, but she couldn't get over just how wrong what she was doing was. Now she understood how bad it could be to be truly bad. This pleasure was unprecedented, but forbidden! It felt utterly incredible, she could not deny, but... ...How would she go on from this after having let it happen?? Stop it, her pussy ordered. You're turning us off. Listen to me. I'm your pussy. I'm in charge. But you're going to get me into such trouble! Not if you just do what I tell you. Now look. I really did want the dick, but I can do without the come. So I'm gonna give you our orgasm first, just about a minute before he hits his, then you stop fucking him, get down and suck him off the rest of the way...or...jerk him off, whatever. I don't care; I'm done by that point. And boom: we come, he comes, everybody wins! As Angela formulated and went over the plan in her mind, it did sound like a decent way to handle things that had already been taken to this point. As for how to live with herself having done this...she'd have to figure that out later. Okay, now, focus, again commanded the little voice from below of which Angie now was starting to grow just a bit weary. Yes, ma'am, she thought sarcastically. Difficult though it was, she tried to think past the even more surreal reality which was going on now, and concentrate on the intense pleasure emanating through her as she pumped Ben's thick cock into her torrid pussy, squeezing and clenching on it like mad. But the pleasure was...tainted, in a way. Perhaps even poisoned. Angela Starr was a good, kind-hearted, wonderful person, and doing something to another human being which she felt was the least bit wrong in any way did not give her pleasant reassurance. Her conscience would not allow her to enjoy the intercourse. She felt as if a good angel and a bad angel sat on her shoulders, both trying to influence her mind in their ways. You mustn't do this! the good angel, representing her conscience, seemed to say. It's a terrible thing to do, to anyone! You know full well you can come up with a dozen reasons you shouldn't be doing this! Stop it right now! HEY. We already blow the patients every blasted day, argued the bad angel, who of course represented her libido. What more's a little penetration? We know the consequences, and we're gonna end this before they have a chance to appear. Angela was just about as thankful as ever right now that her patients didn't wake up unless she awoke them herself, or something else exceedingly disturbing and/or loud did. She wanted to fold herself down over Ben again, and cuddle and kiss him, but she didn't want to risk bending his penis back too far and possibly disturbing him this way. Well, perhaps there would be time later. The sensations began to really pick up as Angela continued riding him, pinching herself about the nipples and massaging her clit as well. Her eyes and head rolled back as she started surrendering. Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!! her cunt celebrated, swollen and pulsing with sweet carnal delight. God, FUCK, yes! The rest of her body woke to the raw, steamy, heated passion undulating through it. It was abruptly easier now to focus on the pleasure. Angie planted her hands in the mattress to steady herself and maintain her balance. Her currently manageable level of quiet was not very quiet anymore at all. Even if her moans were not that audible, her breaths certainly were. Angie felt her pussy rejoicing, and she wasn't far behind it. The sex didn't feel so poisoned anymore. It just felt so fucking mindblowingly good...she could only determine she needed a man's cock inside of her to achieve such an effect, as she couldn't remember bringing herself to such stupendous heights with her own hands. Forgetting momentarily about the good angel, she thought, No wonder Little Angie was so insistent. I guess maybe I didn't know what I was missing. Sweating, gasping, heaving, burning, she closed her eyes and saw the edge near. This was it. She was closing in on the first intercourse-induced orgasm of her life since...since...she couldn't even remember when, if ever. She held her breath, strained, clamped and gripped down on Ben's dick with her pussy as hard as she could muster. The fireworks began going off. Oh, God, yes! Oh, God, yes! OH, GOD, YES! OH! GOD! YES!! Her faculties gave out. She all but collapsed on top of Ben's body in the bed. Her sense perceptions turned psychedelic as the stars burst inside her, one by one. Every last inch of her went searing hot as her toes left the edge and she soared headfirst into Climaxland. There would never be any turning back now. Her circle was complete. "OHHHHHHH..." she desperately whined. Holding back from screaming her lungs out was immensely tough under the circumstances, but Angie proudly made herself keep it controlled. The orgasm was volatile, explosive, and literally awesome. Angie was dizzied—almost to tears—by this Earth-moving phenomenon. Fireballs of passion buffeted her like a pinball through Climaxland's infinite reaches. By the time she hit the summit and descended, she couldn't see straight, let alone think straight. Her mind felt like it had been smashed with a sledgehammer. She honestly hadn't anticipated this level of delirium resulting from such a performance. She couldn't explain if her guilt and shame had been slung out the window in favor of the excitement given leeway to this time blaze off the proverbial charts like never before, or...what. Somehow, she came back to her senses. Miraculously, Ben had remained asleep through the entire fiasco. Angela summoned her strength and pushed herself up and off of him. She had to do some careful maneuvering to discreetly let herself down from the sofa bed, and...and... Oh no...did I make him come inside me?? She turned back around. Ben's cock still appeared to be standing erect, so she felt a bit of relief. But she supposed she would not know for sure unless... ...Unless I perform the fellatio anyway, she calculated. She wasn't sure how good she felt about sucking a penis that was now coated in pussy juice, even if it was hers. This was normally the point whereafter having drained a patient's balls, she would scurry into the washroom, rip her own clothes off and make vigorous love to her own fingers—or more recently, her vibrator—until she too was blissfully drained. It was her vibrator for which she'd checked under the sink this most recent time, and it had turned out she'd not even needed it. She reversed course and crawled on all fours to her desk, checking the clock. It was almost 10:00. If Ben Bales had arrived at his appointment at his scheduled time, it would almost be 11:00 right now, and she'd soon be coming up on her next patient of the day. Well, at least she had that. She pushed herself to her feet and wobbled unsteadily into the washroom. She washed and dried her hands, removed Ben's clothes from the washer, placed them in the dryer and started it up. It was the least she could do at this point. Perhaps she would be lulled down by the soothing hum of the dryer. She lifted the toilet lid and sat. As she relieved herself, she shook her head, feeling guilty and ashamed. She soon after stopped shaking her head, and dropped her face in her hands. The tears welled up, spilling out from her eyelids, and gravity took over. A different liquid poured from her as she finished peeing. Now no longer occupied, Little Angie piped up. OH...that was won-der-ful... Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 06 Angela glared furiously down between her legs. How dare you be happy when I hate you?! I am SO angry with you right now!! Hey, now you and your pie hole know how I feel. I would like to strike you! Think it through, lady; that might shut me up for a while, but it'll only land you in blinding pain. Her pussy had a point. Angie ignored it and went on crying, getting it all out. She was quite thankful the dryer was humming, and that Ben still would not awaken until she brought him back to consciousness. She just felt abysmal. She guessed she had grown accustomed to thinking of fellatio as one thing now, and intercourse as quite another. She couldn't remember feeling like this for...almost six years. Like it or not, she had now become an official rapist, in every sense of the word. Oh, how could I...how could I??! I violated this man! And...and after he came to me for help...because his mother died!! This reminder felt like having shot herself in the heart. And she had thought she could feel no worse. Her weeping intensified in both action and volume. She and her evil, vengeful cunt had made a mess of this morning. She thought she needed to seek some help now. What was she to do?? Well, the first thing she was to do was to calm down, take some deep breaths, follow her own breathing regimen she had her patients perform for her, and figure this out rationally. So she did her best to accomplish just this. She did not even want to go near thinking what might happen if she had in fact brought Ben to orgasm while he was inside her. She was too terrified. Were there consequences, she'd have to handle them herself when the time came. For right now, she thought back to her psychology classes. One technique they'd instructed was "baby steps," i.e. not taking in all the immediate tasks one had to accomplish at once—thereby overwhelming the mind and discouraging it from taking action—but focusing on, and only on, the very first thing to do, and then only on the second once the first was complete, and so on. And so the absolute first sequence of things she had to do right now was calm down, get up from the toilet, clean herself and flush. The second was to rinse her face, return to the office, deposit some Visine drops in her eyes and take an aspirin so she could deal competently with the situation at hand. She did these, blinked in the soothing artificial tears and assessed Ben Bales. She noticed with greater relief that his dick was still stiff in the air. Whew, she exhaled. Okay, she thought, if he was still this hard, he obviously hadn't ejaculated yet. She hadn't made him spurt into her vagina, and she was safe. So to speak. This in and of itself was already quite a load off. Still, she needed a minute to sit. She poured her body into her office chair, turned the laptop on and brought up her applications. She saw no blinking programs on the taskbar. She opened her Instant Messaging communicator she and Paula used while she was in session. There were no new messages. She double-clicked. HEY, BEST RECEPTIONIST EVER! I HAVE DECIDED TO GIVE MR. BALES THE EXTRA HOUR OF TREATMENT, BECAUSE I FEEL HE WILL BENEFIT FROM IT. ANY OTHER APPOINTMENTS SO FAR TODAY? She made sure the sound was turned off. Paula noticed the message, typed back, and her response flashed on the monitor. HEY, MOST FACETIOUS BOSS EVER. JUST ONE: NOONERS, ANOTHER NEWBIE FOR YOU. NAME'S JEROME LESKER. Okay, good. She took stock again. All right, she had made a mistake. A big, big mistake. It was done; she couldn't undo it now. She didn't know if she was "entitled" to a mistake of this magnitude by being merely human and thus imperfect, but thinking about it wouldn't do any good. It's in the past, she told herself. You can't change it, so just go forward. Angela closed the laptop again and turned back to Ben. Oh, she didn't really want to do this now. But... But, his erection didn't seem to be going down on its own, and she had to wake him back up at some point. And if he awoke to find a tent being pitched in his pants, she couldn't really... ...Well, actually...actually, she could. Men achieved unconscious erections in their sleep all the time. It wasn't uncommon at all. That she could explain to him. Yet even so, she couldn't predict how he'd react to such a surprise when he reawoke, and...she had to admit that as always with her gentlemen patients, Angie was still curious how his come-honey tasted. It was about twenty minutes after 10:00. How fortunate that Ben had forgotten to set his clocks back! She didn't have to do it right this second. There was time; she could relax and let him continue resting for a while. Just for a bit of comfort, she opened her patient database spreadsheet. Sometimes she spent time here when she needed cheering up, or just when she wanted to reminisce a little with individuals she'd treated throughout her career who that meant so much to her. Scrolling down a bit to reach the alphabetical region where she would insert some new space for Mr. Ben Bales and his digital file, she proceeded to do so. Perhaps she would just kindly leave out what she'd done to him this morning. She saved the file, closed the laptop again, grabbed some tissues and returned to Ben's body in the bed. Now that she was in a more pleasant and tranquil frame of mind, she could settle down, wipe him off and give him his tender mouth hug. And this time, she wouldn't have to worry about her pestering pussy interrupting. ...Hopefully. *** November 3rd, 10:56 a.m. Angela sucked him dry, savoring and swallowing his lovely come-honey. It was salty but good, a bit like thick sweet-and-sour sauce, and it left her feeling nice and warm inside, as if she were back to her pleasant, sweet routine. The fellatio worked out as well as could be expected. Her pussy did not torment her, and the amount of essence he blasted into her mouth hammered in the final nail of confirmation for her. He could most definitely not have come earlier. This was far too much to be left over. She felt about a hundred and fifty both times and percent better than she had half an hour ago, going about her post-fellatio hygiene routine. Everything was going to be all right now, just like she always told her cherubs as she was putting them under. She could callously look at this as having gotten to rape the man and get away with it, but she'd rather think of it this way. Though she still felt she could use some help with this newly discovered super-high libido thing. Perhaps a sexual compulsive workshop, or support group or something. Oh well, that would all come later. She reopened the database to update Ben's info, and again went over the facts she'd already logged on him to make sure it was accurate. As she did, her eyes fell upon the words indicating where his mother met her demise, the pharmacy-drugstore at... ...15th and Saxon Street. There it was again: 15th and Saxon Street. Why did that intersection seem so familiar?? She did herself as she instructed her patients' subconsciouses to do: she went in her own memory bank to search any files that came up with this data. Then she found one. She had to think hard to dust it off and make out its details, then she remembered. 15th and Saxon Street was also the intersection on another side of which stood a doctor's office where Angie and her brother and sister went for checkups for a couple years as kids, before their family physician relocated. As she thought it through further, she also remembered their parents telling them they'd be going to see the doctor at his new practice because this old locale was earning itself a bit of a reputation involving crime. Apparently, it had gotten worse since Angela had grown up. Oh...why do people hurt each other... she thought solemnly. She again felt so terrible for Ben and his Mom. What an awful shame. If only there were something she could... ...Hmm... A small inkling of an idea popped into her head. Just a little on something of a lark, she went online, navigated to the website of the local Gazette and clicked on the obits link. Let's see, she thought, 15th and Saxon, that'd be in Hemdale. She searched Hemdale alphabetically, and found one Bales listed. First name: Jeanette. She clicked on her and silently read the biography. "Jeanette Ambrosia Bales...murdered October 27th—'kay, that adds up—so and so and so and so and so and so and so...oh, aha—widowed by husband, Peter, there we go...so and so and so and so and—ah! Boom. Survived by sister Gabriella, brother Edward..." She nodded. "...and son Benjamin. Well, there we have it; that's her." Okay, so now she had a little more of the puzzle. The next link she clicked was the news articles, starting with the 27th and going forward. On the 29th, she found it. "'Right, let's see here...woman murdered...15th and Saxon...victim has been identified as Jeanette Bales from Kimball...so and so and so and...a'right, police have determined the murder was committed by a...oooh!" She had to stop reading for a moment as the story took a turn for the gruesome, describing for her the details of the killing and the variety of pistol weapon utilized. She finished the article, then took a little leap of faith and Google-searched the name of the pharmacy plus the brand of the murder weapon to see what she'd come up with. "Whoa!" she exclaimed. The top results almost unanimously dug her up the name of an assassin: Justin Demar. He'd been hitting a semi-patterned series of pharmacies, convenience stores and the like, with the same packed heat. Well, this seemed like good news to Angela. If he was already this...well...famous, they certainly must be after him. If they hadn't already...hmm... She tabbed back to the Gazette and used its search engine to look up Justin Demar. Her eyebrows jumped at what she saw. It seemed evident word made its way to the publications and their respective web sites a tad earlier than the broader search resources like Google. Because the Gazette reported to her that just last night, Sunday, the 2nd, Justin Demar had in fact been apprehended, and brought up on charges of robbery and manslaughter. Angie blinked and read the paragraph over several times. There was no mistaking it; the man had been arrested. He was officially off the streets. The corners of Angie's mouth curled up into a smile. Oh my gosh, that's fantastic! she thought. The assassin who had killed her patient's mother had been caught and was now where he belonged, where he could not rob or harm anyone else. Angela felt proud of herself for being able to perform the detective work to deduce this. And even though she'd done nothing vis-à-vis this criminal herself...she still felt in a way like she'd helped avenge Ben's mother Jeanette somehow. Oh, Mrs. Bales, good for you. I'm sure you're in Heaven watching down on this all right now. I'm, eh...I'm sorry I took advantage of your son the way I did, that feels a bit awkward. But I'm happy that justice was served in this case. Angie went into her patient database and updated it with this new discovery. Sneaking another peek at the clock in the bottom corner of the screen, she noted that it was 11:25. Uh-oh, just over half an hour till her next appointment. Time to finish up with Ben. Making sure he was toweled off and his cock was back in the jammie pants—and that the dryer was now finished with his clothing—Angie turned on the lights, flung the hump-pillow in the washer, replaced it, and perched beside him again. She took hold of his hand. "Mr. Bales...your hypnosis is now concluded. I will count to ten, and then I will snap my fingers, and you will awaken." Snap. He blinked and stirred back to life. "Ta-da! Arise, Mr. Ben Bales!" "...Hm? Wh—...where am...what happened?" Angie gently took the elastic velcro sleep mask and lifted it from his eyes. "You're in my sleep clinic, Mr. Bales," she explained as he blinked things into focus. "I'm Dr. Angela Starr. You've just undergone my hypnotherapy procedure," she reminded him. "And you did great, Ben. You really did." He nodded as it came back to him. "So it...went well?" "It went beautifully. How do you feel?" "Um..." He gave his head a little shake. "Kinda...strange. Kinda...dizzy. But...not too bad, I guess." She smiled her magical smile that could charm the metaphorical socks off of anyone or anything. "So delighted to hear it. And don't worry, it's normal to feel funny and dizzy. No cause for alarm; they'll wear off shortly. And Ben," she added, "Even though I'm only a hypnotist and I can't perform séances, I am certain that I can tell you this: your mother still loves and misses you very much." He smiled at her as her face came into clear view. "I know. And I her." Ben rose to use the bathroom, following Angie's usual advice that his legs were going to be tired, so he was to take it easy. Angie folded the sofa bed back in and told him he could now get his clean, dry clothes out of the dryer. When he changed back into his day outfit and returned to the office, Angie bade him a fond goodbye. "Well, believe it or not, Ben, you really did sleep all that time, and I have another patient coming at noon, so I hope you understand I'll now have to kick your posterior out of here, but I hope you feel good about the way this session went." Ben shrugged. "I—yeah, I do, yeah," he agreed. "It almost feels kinda like a...like a weight's been lifted off me, somehow." Angie's heart burst with happiness and danced a pirouette. "That makes me so happy," she said. She for now left out the part about discovering that his mother's killer was apprehended, thinking that might be a little abrupt for him to process just now. "Well, then, if it's all right with you, I would like to see you again to see how you're doing, in, say, about...two weeks?" He shrugged again. "Sure, no problem." "Great. See Paula outside at the front, and she'll set you up with your next appointment. "And Ben?" She held out her hand for him, and accepted his in both of hers. "It was very lovely meeting you." He smiled warmly back at her. "It was very lovely meeting you as well...Angie." Ben Bales departed, a newly acquired bounce in his step. Angie resumed her seat and delivered a message to her little friend. I would like you to know that even know I allowed you to overpower me today, and you did get what you wanted, that is the first and the last time it shall happen. I call the shots with my own body, and as of now, I am in complete charge of you. Oh, we'll just see about that, lady, countered Little Angie. You're a big talker with no hot naked men around. We'll SEE. Oh, yes, we WILL. Angela had a plan to which her sneaky, sinister, cock-hungry pussy would not be privy. OKAY, WORLD'S GREATEST RECEPTIONIST, PLEASE SEND MR. LESKER BACK WHEN HE'S HERE AND READY. WILL DO, STARR. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 07 To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally. ***Dr. Angela Starr: The Hypnothe-Rapist*** SS44: STARR SCORES VII—"Divorce Awakens" *** January 16th, 3:23 p.m. HEY HEY STARR! LAST CHERUB OF THE DAY HAS JUST LANDED AT OUR DOOR. NEWBIE: MR. SEAN MCMANUS. FILLING OUT HIS FORM RIGHT NOW. ID AND INSURANCE XEROXED, JUST NEED YOUR O.K. TO SEND HIM BACK. THANKS, NICE LADY!! JUST FINISHING UP WITH MR. BROCKWELL RIGHT NOW, SO AS SOON AS HE COMES OUT TO SCHEDULE HIS NEXT APPT., MR. MCMANUS CAN SWING RIGHT ON BY! ROGER THAT, STARR-FISH. OH, AND P.S., P.S. YOU'RE THE BEST. I KNOW. Paula minimized the IM window and peeked over her monitor to where Mr. Sean McManus sat filling out his new patient form. He'd wisely arrived ten minutes before his scheduled appointment, ample time for everything to be squared away: Dr. Angela Starr finishing up with her current appointment, Paula doing her thing behind the recep desk and the ever so polite Brits on the waiting room TV's public broadcast programming sipping their tea and munching their crumpets. He finished the form with about three to four minutes to spare. He didn't feel much like watching the television. There was a pretty decent and varied assortment of magazines around, but he didn't exactly have a huge urge to pick up one of them either. He had difficulty imagining anything could cheer him up right now. As Paula had greeted him when he came in, she thought it might have just been her, but sensed something was troubling him. She was semi-accustomed to seeing clients—new and returning—at less than their best, but even so, this gentleman appeared a bit more under the mental weather than most. Proper office etiquette of course prevented her from indulging her curiosity, but she wasn't wrong. Sean McManus had come into the office on this day looking particularly sad and downtrodden because he was. Paula was willing to wager something was eating at him, having a hunch about these things, and it sometimes plagued her wondering what sort of maladies the more crestfallen, downcast individuals grappled with. Sometimes her curiosity almost got the better of her. But, she had signed on to be the receptionist here, a position which did not grant her the perk of client privity. So oftentimes, just to satisfy her interest, she found herself making up stories in her mind about the patients, which she was simply obliged to keep to herself. In a case like this, however, Sean McManus got her more curious than normal. She wasn't the therapist, she knew her place in the clinic, but one quality Angie and Paula had shared since the beginning was a sincere concern for the patients' collective well-being. It was a point on which Paula stood adamantly, bringing it up herself to Angela in their initial interview five years ago, and one of the persuasive traits that swayed Angela her way and asked if she could please start the following Monday. At the same time, her curiosity regarding patient conditions more often than not simply dissipated without being satisfied. Which was fine; she'd seen dozens and dozens of folks waltz their way into the clinic, right past her down the hall to see the wizardess, and she could barely if ever remember any patients not emerging feeling better. There'd never been any question about it—as Paula reminded herself time and time again, the Starr had a true gift of brilliance. After six years in the therapeutic arts, she'd gotten fairly famous around town. City-wide, Angie's powers of healing could by this point be considered almost legendary. So Paula told herself not to worry too much about Mr. McManus; she was certain he'd be okay a couple of hours later, or at least bucked up a little. Finally at 3:28, Mr. Jim Brockwell strutted his stuff back out towards the waiting area to meet up with Paula, who subsequently gave Sean permission to see the doctor, and set up Jim's follow-up bimonthly session. Sean followed the hallway until he came to the restroom, turned across from it, and there sat... ...A chestnut-haired woman...with slippers...giraffe-speckled pajamas...and a pale blue ribbon on her head...scribbling something on a pad, and then turning to a laptop to tap a few keys. Interesting, he thought. ...This is the doctor? He understood he was coming to a hypnotherapy clinic, but he wasn't positive this was what he'd had in mind. Hesitantly, he gave a double-rap on the door. "'Lo?" The woman turned to see him, and he caught first sight of her bright, kind, tender, sweet and attentive green eyes. The next thing he knew, she popped right up from her seat and welcomed him in with a two-palmed handshake and a glowing smile. "Hi there!" she greeted, looking happier than he could believe a human was capable. "Bienvenue! You've gotta be Mr. McManus?" "Yyyyyep," he confirmed uncertainly. "'S me." "Fantastic!" she beamed. "Dr. Angela Starr! I'm so happy to meet you! Welcome, and thanks for coming to my healing palace!" She gestured around to show him her enormous office. ...Wow, Sean thought to himself, marveling at her über-cheerful demeanor. Did...you used to work at the North Pole? But he didn't say this. He was in sure need of some healing, and it made sense that he wanted a quite happy person to cure his sadness. And he was certain smart remarks wouldn't win him any points. He worked his facial muscles into a smirk. "Thank you," he uttered. He made his own gesticulation, towards the sofa. "So, should I, eh..." "Oh! Yes! Yes, of course, by all means!" Angie granted him a clear path to the sofa bed with a flourish, accepting the patient form. "Why don't you let me please take that for ya, and do sit down, my friend. Or lie. Whichever makes you comfier." He began to thank her again. She encouraged him further. "That's it, get cozy," she smiled. "Kick off your shoes! Make yourself at home. I like my patient sessions to simulate just hanging out with a good friend. The only differences are, the conversation's kinda one-sided, and I'm writing stuff down as we go." "Okay," chuckled Sean, removing his shoes, settling in to stretch out and lounge on the sofa. "'Atta lad!" she said, plopping back down in her chair and starting a new hard copy file for him. She performed her signature Sharon Stone-esque leg cross and slipped on her eyeglasses, halfway up the bridge of her nose. "Well, like I said, my name's Angela...I like to be called Angie, but you can call me whichever works for you. So what is your preference, Mr. McManus?" "Oh, Sean. Just Sean." "Just Sean it is. Okay! Well, Just Sean, Dr. Angie's in. And this is our introductory interview session, so as with all my new patients, I'm gonna give you a max of three hours today, instead of the normal two. First, I wanna talk to you, get to know you, so forth, then should you decide you'd like to proceed from there, I'll explain the rest. "So then, Sean, consider me your best buddy, and tell me, what's on your mind? Lay it on me." Well, so far, this wasn't too bad. This lady seemed to have a way of being extra friendly with practically zero effort. "Well, uh...okay. Basically..." He held up his naked hand to show her the faint tan line where his ring used to be. "My wife and I separated a while ago, and the divorce was finalized just recently. It's all the way through now, and...and...I'm-I'm not having money troubles or anything like that. I just...I'm trying to get myself through the whole transition: relocating, living alone, starting over..." He paused, tossing out a sigh and letting his face drop into his palm as Angie sympathetically furrowed her brow. "...And it is just...so hard...just knowing the rest of my life is turning out to be something so dramatically different from...y'know, how and what I thought it was gonna be." Letting her eyes drop like ping-pong balls down to her pad, she quietly scribbled a quickhand version. Glancing at the top of his patient form, she noted the date of birth field, where he'd written: 4-28-77. Oh, he's my age, thought Angela, doing the math in her head. Thirty-seven. She was actually a little disappointed he wasn't younger, knowing it could be harder to begin life anew and move on at a later age—not that it was a piece of cake at any age—but luckily she was here to coddle and console him to recovery. "Aww...Sean, I'm so sorry to hear that." "I...I-I just...we-we really got into it—I mean violently, Miss Angie—like, things were actually thrown—especially toward the last couple months, and I thought, at the time, I just wanted out. But, now that I am out... "...I...guess like the old adage says, I didn't know what I had till...till it was gone." Angie nodded solemnly. "I understand. Okay, well, Sean, just so I've got a handle on your therapy goals at the moment, I presume you're coming to see me on your own—i.e., you're not planning to seek therapy together with your ex-wife?" "Oh, no. You're absolutely right," Sean assured her. "It's definitely over between us." "Gosh," Angela shut her eyes, shaking her head. "I'm really sorry, Sean. How heartbreaking. I always find it a true shame when such a union of love is severed. But as with all my patients-slash-pals, I'm so glad you've come to me so I can help you through this." "Yeah, I just thought it would help to talk to someone about it," Sean shared. "A friend of mine told me about you and gave me your name and number, and I just thought..." He gave a shrug. "...What the hell." "Oh, really?" Angie asked, secretly feeling flattered as she always did upon finding out she'd been referred. "May I ask who it was? "I make that inquiry only for my own edification," she added, "As by comparing notes in the common denominators, it's possible I may be able to offer more help to all parties involved. But you don't have to tell me this, or anything else you don't wish to." "No, no, that's okay. His name's Mike Sandbern." Okay, good, she thought, noting it. She'd have to remember to look him up in her patient database once finishing up with Sean. "All right, thank you. And that's an important point that bears repeating: if you feel uncomfy discussing anything with me, I won't make you. At the same time, though, the more you tell me, the more I can do to take care of you. Just something to keep in mind. "So then, Sean, the next thing I'd like to ask you is, can you tell me what you really want right now, as a result of this? In what direction you'd like your transition to be taken?" "Well, I mean, I definitely wanna achieve some closure," Sean confided. "It's-it's kinda weird, 'cause even though our marriage ended in such a mess, and there was some physical and verbal abuse going on...somehow, there was always still passion there. And I do miss that about her. Things were good sometimes, and they were bad sometimes...but they were never boring." Angie gave him another nod. "Gotcha. How long were you married?" "Three years—...well, two and a half, technically. Although we were already together four years before that." "I see...did you know her for very long before you started dating?" "No, actually, someone set us up on a blind date," he told her. "So we actually met as we started dating." Ahhh, thought Angie, arching her eyebrows as she jotted down this tid. That explains a good little bit. She did another mental calculation and determined this meant Sean had met the woman when he was about thirty. So it seemed he wasn't the type to rush into things with a girlfriend. And Angie had never felt there should be a standard statute of time to elapse, long or short, prior to marriage. Maybe one of them pressured the other into commitment, maybe there were other outside factors involved...anything was possible. Oh well, there would be plenty of time to pare away at it later on, in this or future sessions. "Well, it must have been a pretty good initial blind date if it got you two going to the point that you decided to get married," said Angie. "Tell me something, Sean: have you done a lot of dating in the past?" He waved his hand. "A little...you might say...but I don't know if I'd say I've done my share. It hasn't been quite that much." "Okay. Well, I'm not saying this is true in your case, but sometimes if we don't date very much, and then along comes a really good prospect—a potential mate for life—it's a little easier for the mind to wanna pursue that. Y'know, maybe your mind says, 'Hey, I think I really like this person,' or maybe you're scared that if you let this go, you might not find someone as good again. Bottom line, though, Sean, is the simple fact that nobody's perfect. You follow me?" "Yeah, but you know, it's funny you should bring that up," Sean remarked. "I was kind of scared I wouldn't find anybody else again. Even when things got ugly, I would keep catching myself thinking, wow, thank God I'm married. I just don't wanna be alone." "Well, that's understandable. Have you thought about whether you're ready to date again or not now that you're divorced?" "I don't know," he admitted. "When I was with my wife, sometimes I was upset, and even scared for my safety...but I was never lonely. She always stood by me. I kept trying to figure out why, you know, what it was I had to offer in our relationship. "You know, Miss Angie," he went on, "When she and I first met, I knew the moment I was falling in love with her. I was lying in bed by myself that night, and I couldn't sleep. She was literally all I could think about. I was just lying awake practically that whole night—and probably for a few more nights after that—just dreaming about what could one day be our life together. "But, now...I've had to get used to sleeping alone again, and that's no fun. Just feels so solitary now. I really don't like it." "I'm sorry to hear that," Angie told him sincerely. "What do you do for a living?" "Oh, just stocks. Nothing really Earth-shattering." "Okay. Do you and-or your ex-wife have any kids?" "No. We thought about it, maybe, one day, but...no." "Pets?" "No. My lease doesn't allow them." "That's too bad. Do you have many relatives?" "Yeah, a decent amount...here and there." "Good relationship with them?" "Good enough, I guess...although, just between us, I think we kinda all have that relative or two we could live without seeing again...not naming any names or anything, but, y'know, you love them. They're family." "I hear ya," she chuckled. "Okay, then; do you have many friends?" "A couple...some of 'em are probably more just acquaintances than real friends." "Well, still better than none," Angela rejoined. "Depending on the nature and extent of your friendships, one idea that comes to mind is to simply ask a friend to stay over. Not in the same bed, of course, but just to have someone else around so you're not focused on being lonely. Of course, that's my idea of fun for you: being a hypnotherapist, I'm very big on sleepovers." "Eh..." He shrugged. "I...guess, but...somehow, I just don't think it'd be the same as having my wife with me." "Well, certainly not. It's very important to know where to draw the line between friends and romantic or sexual partners. Your friends can be there for you if things go awry with your significant other, and vice versa. I'm your friend, Sean; I'm here for you. As I'm sure are your other loved ones. I think there are more friends around than you may realize." He worked his facial muscles up into a half-smile for the first time since having arrived at the clinic. "Thanks, Doc...Angie." She smiled her warm, loving smile. "Of course. Well, then, Sean, I think I have a better handle on you now: your current situation, your future goals and so forth. Now, if you still wanna continue with me, the next batch of questions I'd like to ask you are pretty standard and routine, things I ask all my patients. Health-related. Shall we?" "Sure, why not; fire away." "Very good, a'righty then...ever been hypnotized before?" Sean shook his head. "No." "Do you have any allergies?" "Peanuts." "All right, well, there are no peanuts before, so we shan't have to worry about that...mental issues or neurological disorders?" "I...don't know." "Okay, we can explore that some more later on. "Any diseases, hereditary, physical or STD-related?" "God, I hope not." "I'll take that as a no. How's your appetite?" "Normal." "Eating habits?" "Well, I mean, I've been eating alone since...y'know...but otherwise, normal." "Got it. How much did you sleep last night?" "Oh...nine hours, probably?" "Oh, good. Very good. Okay, how's your libido-slash-sex drive?" "Ummm..." "It's perfectly okay to say you don't want to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, Sean." "...Well, it's not really that, so much as...I guess I...don't really know anymore. I haven't been with anybody since my wife. I...have to presume everything's still, uh...in working order...I just haven't really been able to summon the will to find out." "I see. Okay, well, that's something else we can go more into at another time." The folder, pen and glasses were returned to the desk, as status quo by this juncture. "All right, now, Sean, that's all the questions I have at this time, so if you're potentially interested in the hypnosis procedure, I'll explain it to you... "Unless you have any questions for me before we go on?" she checked. "I'll probably think of them later," he answered. "You know, it's one of those things where I'll probably leave, and then as soon as I get in my car I'll think of fifty things I wanted to know." Angie laughed, good-naturedly as always. "Well, feel free to write them down if you plan to see me again, and we can tackle them at your next session. I strive to make my patients feel that they can talk to me or ask me about absolutely anything. "Well, then, shall I go on about the hypnotherapy?" "Sure, let 'er rip." Angela giggled again. "Right. Well, Sean, first and foremost, you've got nothing to be alarmed about. Some patients go right ahead with the hypnosis from session one onward, and some prefer to skip the hypnosis the first time and try it at a future date. But I'm totally cool with your decision either way, Sean. The patient has the final word on that. So if you'd like to go ahead with the hypnosis right now, that's perfectly fine. If you'd like to wait on it or think about it, then we can just continue talking; that's perfectly fine too. Please don't let me influence your choice one way or the other." Sean shrugged. "Well, that was pretty much what I came here for today, right?" "Okay, well, hang on first, because there's more I need to tell you," said Angie. "The procedure is completely safe, you're under my care, I won't let anything harmful happen to you or your subconscious. I've been running business in this clinic for six years. And making this sound as modest as I possibly can, I am the number-one hypnotherapist in town." "Oh, I know," he agreed. "You don't have to tell me; Mike gave me an article on you to read." "Oh, really?" Angie beamed. "Well, how nice! Thank you, Sean, I really appreciate that! "All right, well, I'll just continue then. I've treated hundreds and hundreds of patients, most of whom I've seen multiple times, and I've never lost a patient until I felt they were ready to stop. If you would like the treatment, again, it's a hundred percent up to you whether or not you wish to cease. If at any point things begin to feel uneasy, or you get scared for any reason, you can tell me to stop, and I'll gladly honor your wishes, and refund your fee. Cool?" Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 07 "Sure." "Tops. All that being said, one more thing: while highly effective, the procedure is not for everyone—it borders on the line of intimacy for some. While the patients are under, I probe into their subconsciouses and communicate with them this way. And there's some physical contact involved as well, in the form of monitoring the pulse and heartbeat, and a soothing fingertip massage to help lull them down to sleep. Are you okay with that?" Sean actually felt he would be much more than okay with this; it sounded like quite a nice form of affection to him. But he told himself not to get overzealous about it. "Sure," he nodded matter-of-factly. "Okay then. Next thing I'll tell you is, cures very rarely present themselves in one session. And this is just the way it is. It's possible you could be cured right away—it has happened before—but very seldom, and I can't guarantee it, so you oughtn't expect it. I'll likely need to treat you in the span of at least three to four sessions, but I don't think anywhere upwards of ten will be necessary. At the same time, however, Sean, I'll need you to work with me on your end, and do the homework I give you. Sound like a plan?" "Sure," he repeated. "Terrific. I let the patients know these things upfront, because besides just being formalities, this process is anything but to be taken lightly. It's expensive, and it's thorough, but Sean, my friend, I promise you, it is worth it. "Okay, so! All this in mind, do you definitely want to undergo the hypnosis? For both professional and personal reasons, I need total affirmation before I will allow myself to do this." Another shrug. "Sure," he reiterated. "Let's go for it." "Excellent." She was all grins, he noticed, as he watched her turn to the wall to unplug the phone on her desk. It seemed the news that he was ready to proceed gave her a bit of a thrill. "Okay, Sean, please stand up for me, I'll take your shoes for you and unfold the sofa bed," Angie offered. "Can I get you a set of jammies from the closet here? I've got a bunch of different styles and patterns. One size fits all." Heck, he'd gone along this far. "I guess so." "Would you like me to launder your clothes for you?" "What?" "Well, there's a washer-dryer combo back here. It's built into the bathroom. And I like to throw that in just as an additional service and privilege, free of charge. Just a nice little bonus for my patients. No shrink, no fade. Up to you." Wow...this lady wants so much to help. What a sweetie. He chuckled. "Okay, why the heck not." "Yay!" said Angie. "Okay, you can go ahead into the bathroom there and change. And I'll unfold the sofa bed, so when you're done, you can give me your clothes and lay down." *** January 16th, 4:42 p.m. The phone was off. The lights were out. The door was locked, "SESSION IN PROGRESS, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB" slate in plain view. The laptop was in hibernation. The washer was running. The doctor's hair was scrunchie'd back. The patient was lying in the left side of the sofa bed, wearing the pajamas and sleep mask. The doctor was beside, on her trusty-dusty kneeling pillow, stethoscope at the ready. It was time. Here we go again! Angie thought enthusiastically. The excitement never wore off. "Okay, Sean...can you hear me? You don't have to say anything, just nod for yes." He nodded. "Good. Now what I'm gonna have you do is just power down your entire system. Unclench, and relax everything for me. Just let it go...just let it all, wash, away. Leave your worries at the door. And we're going to take you to a good place..." Sean took a deep breath and did as she asked, best he could. So far, he was finding this very soothing. "Now, Sean, once your mind is clear, I'd like you to try to create a mental oasis for yourself, where everything is tranquil, calm and still. Where things are, and will always be at eternal peace. Take yourself there on my wings, Sean. I'll fly you. Let me remind you, there's nothing to worry about; you're completely secure, and under my protection. I'm going to take care of you." He was really, really liking this doctor lady. "Very good, Sean...very, very good. Do you feel you are in your safe, happy place?" He waited a moment, then nodded again. "Wonderful. Now I'm just going to take your wrist to get your pulse, and find your ticker..." She did so, and placed the stethoscope on his chest, locating his heartbeat. "There we are. Now, Sean, next I'm going to have you take some deep breaths for me, okay? I'm going to count to eight, and I want you to breathe in through your nose. Ready? One...two...three...four...five...six...seven, and...eight—good. And now out for me, through your mouth, again for eight. Ready?..." She had him go through and repeat the breathing ritual as usual, until his heart, pulse and system inevitably retarded down to the point where she could gently bring him under her spell. She smiled beatifically down at him and continued. "That's my lad, Sean," encouraged Angie, taking off the stethoscope and laying her fingertips to rest, gliding as lightly and gingerly as humanly possible down his face, his neck, his arms. "You're doing so fantastically. Keep up the breathing, just the way you are, nice and deep, and don't worry about a thing—we're going to take you into your trance. Remember, you're just fine. You're under my shield. You're in your happy place, and I'm looking after you. Nothing can harm you. Nothing. "I am now going to count down from ten...and after I reach one, I will silently snap my fingers, and you'll be under. Just keep breathing, Sean...everything'll be just fine... "Okay, and...ten..." Thirty seconds later, Angie waved her hand over him in a circle, soundlessly snapped and Sean Ryan McManus was out like a light. "Brilliant," she whispered, barely audibly. "Sean, you are now completely unconscious. You'll do as I decree. You must listen to me. Listen...to the doctor. Remember...she's your friend. I am communicating with you via your subconscious. I am also holding on to your hand to keep your psyche accustomed to my touch. We'll use this contact as a conduit to bridge your reception with my transmission. For instance, if you can hear and understand me, Sean, please flex your carpals to give my hand a little squeeze." Predictably, it worked. Sean curled his fingers around Angie's and applied a tiny bit of pressure, and that familiar tingle of heaven swirled through Angela's body, tickling her inside and out. She gave her little shiver of pleasure. "Ex-cel-lent..." she praised, like so many times before. "BEAUtiful work. "Subconscious, this is where you will come into play," she murmured. "Sean's lack of confidence and self-esteem has kept him fast in his abusive marriage, in order to alleviate his fear of being alone, a fear which was and is greater than his courage and his will to divorce his wife of his own volition. As his situation presently stands, Subconscious, Sean would rather be in a bad relationship—being beaten, struck or yelled at, perhaps even on a daily basis—than live in solitude. "I am now going to give you a two-step assignment to carry out, Subconscious. I will need you to conduct a couple of mental searches on Sean's memory files. The first search I want you to do is to yield positive results. Find anything and everything you can in Sean's bank that documents events, situations and achievements of happiness, of pride, of love, of approval. It is for these we must look first, Subconscious, to resort them in Sean's mind so that they will be fresh in his memory. Recent events have drained him of self-confidence and esteem, so the first thing we must do is reinstill that confidence. "Once you have done this, Subconscious, save that search, open a new search, and then look for all memory files to be found involving Sean's ex-wife. Do not delete them...do not place them in the recycling bin; her presence is still too recent to healthily lobotomize her from his mind. Keep the documentation you find on her, and do just the opposite: file it further back in Sean's memory. Not far enough back in the deepest reaches that he can only retrieve vague recollections of her, but...we'll say about halfway. Keep her memory semi-fresh, but this way the emotional sting of his divorce will dull and lessen on him. "Please perform the positive affirmation filing first, Subconscious, and then the ex-wife filing. Do you understand your tasks?" She lightly felt him close his fingers around hers once more. She shut her eyes and smiled. "Yessss..." she murmured. "Very good. You must stick to task, Subconscious, and do only as I have instructed you. Do you copy?" Another hand squeeze. Angie's heart fluttered. A few butterflies were let loose through her belly. "Outstanding," she breathed, her system accelerating in anticipation, holding on to his hand. "Fantastic. Once more, Subconscious, I cannot emphasize this enough, no matter what you may think you detect, no matter what happens, you absolutely must commit to the assignments I have given you. Please continue doing just as I say." This time she didn't have to ask if he comprehended her imperative requests. He squeezed her hand again automatically. "Ohhhhh, my gosh..." she exhaled, as the first degree of pleasure swelled through her like a balloon. It was time to proceed. Initiate phase two. Now having drilled it sufficiently into her mind, Angie did not forget her trusty hump pillow nowadays, instead grabbing it from underneath her knees as she pedally pushed herself to standing position. She kept their hands stationarily together and placed the pillow at the foot of the bed, just beside Sean's feet. Now of course came one of her favorite parts of the entire procedure. The bedsprings were oiled semi-regularly to reduce creaking and squeaking to nil. It was also good for Angela to keep her body in light, trim shape, as she crawled up on the mattress together with her gentlemen callers. The sofa bed could hold up to five hundred pounds, but Angie was no gambler. She'd always erred on the side of caution, and believed in the mantra of "better safe than sorry." Her body warmed as the heat from Sean's own body wafted above to meet hers. She had encouraged Sean to take his slumber on the fold-out bed's left side, as she now did with all patients who underwent the procedure. And she wouldn't have objected should Sean or anyone else insist on sleeping on the right, but while on this, the left side, right-handed Angie could settle in with them, cuddle them and caress them with the hand which—she had to face it—knew what it was doing. Fortunately for her, very few patients did not heed the left-sided advice. Most presumed the suggestion had to do with an angle of light from the window or some similar...but whatever the motive, they went with the proposition, willing to trust Angie as the healer of their ailments. And so they did pretty much everything she said. Angela was practically purring like a kitten as she lowered herself to Sean's level on the bed, gently lifting the blanket to sidle herself under. She let go of Sean's hand and laid her right arm over his chest, petting his hair with her left hand. She kissed his ear. "Don't worry about a thing, my friend," she cooed into it seductively. "It'll all be okay." Leaning forward, she massaged his slightly stubbled face with her nose and lips, right hand fondling and caressing about, his shoulder, his arm, his neck. She laid her head down on his chest to listen for his heartbeat. Still slow and steady. He gave off no signs of alertness to her affectionate actions. She sent her lips wandering on a uniquely aimless pattern of more soft kisses, no two patterns, like patients, ever the same. She bridged the kisses with tender words of encouragement. Kiss. "...That's it, hon..." Kiss. "...Just relax..." Kiss. "...Let it all go..." Kiss. "...Just let me take care of you..." And then, while occupying the senses of his upper body with her sweet nothings and her lip love...Angie slipped her leg over his... ...And ever so gingerly shuffled it her way, along the mattress, inch by inch, tug by tug, prying his legs wider apart. "There we are, sweetheart..." she breathed. "Now, remember, listen to me...and do as I say..." Time to set her right hand to task. It rerouted course from Sean's torso, just above his ribcage, and tippy-fingered directly south. Thank goodness for loose p.j.s, thought Angie. She kissed his lips as her fingers limboed under the hem of his jammie bottoms. Here we GO... she sang to herself. Starr...Treatment*...time! By this point, the anticipation of fondling a velvety cock beneath slacks, pajamas, shorts, what had they, had begun to excite Angie as early as the actual hypnotherapy stage, when she was in the middle of giving the subconsciouses their jobs to carry out while she did what she needed to do. She had to be careful not to accidentally slip and let her libido deliver instructions instead of her brain. She started breathing through her own nose, keeping her lips snugly fixed on Sean's as she stroked his penis back and forth under the pajamas, until it inevitably began to react. The arousal spread to Angie's hand, through her arm, and as usual, branched gradually off to begin turning on her other areas. The kiss was so beautiful and felt so good, it alone had made her heart beat faster, which wasn't easy while also starting to melt like wax. But now the stimulation triggered by his hardening dick was coursing her veins at a rapid rate, soon to overtake the merely pleasant kissing sensations and kick everything up a peg. Sean's cock grew and grew in Angie's enthusiastic hand until she could wrap her fingers around it like the joystick that it was. It wouldn't be containable much longer, so she subtly slid her left hand down the mattress to help, digging underneath and surreptitiously inching down the pajama pants from his waist. Down they crept, little by little...and finally... ...Out he jumped. The newest stiff, erect cock to be played with in Angela's palace of healing saw the light of day (or lack thereof in the dark room). Maintaining as much discretion as her zeal would allow, Angie shimmied herself further down the mattress until she could grab the blanket, toss it out of the way and artfully scamper between Sean's legs, where her reliable pillow waited. Here it was, she thought, once again. She couldn't imagine the anxious fun of the Starr Treatment* ever wearing off in her lifetime. Making certain she'd yanked his jammie pants down far enough that his balls could be out to play too, Angie sat up on her knees, stuffed the pillow up under her nightgown, right between her legs, where it belonged, leaned down closer while keeping the pillow in position, and took the first good look at what she was dealing with here. My gosh, it's gorgeous, Angie thought, all but breathless. He was decently endowed. It stood seven and three-quarters inches at full erection in parenthetical curving slope, and would reach an even eight if manually straightened out upright. Its now crimson-tinted skin gave off a sleek, satiny texture, the flaccid sponginess stretched thin when stiff. The head, while also reddened from the blood inside, was a solid, smooth pink knob which looked literally just about good enough to eat. His balls weren't too bad themselves, especially for those belonging to a 37-year-old man. They weren't too saggy; gravity appeared to have not taken a great toll on them. They simply hung neatly together at the base in their pouch. Angie figured he probably wore briefs, although she had just tossed everything of his together into the washer; she hadn't exactly examined the garments in detail. But never mind that; Angie marveled at his downright lovely setup. Not that she could tell so effectively in the dark, but she found virtually no imperfections, no discoloration, nothing. It was remarkable; this man seemed to have... ...The perfect package. Good Heavens! By God, Sean, if it didn't go against everything I stand for in the formality of our relationship, I'd marry you! Oh my good Lord...well, what the hell am I waiting for?? Down she went. She wondered if it were too much to hope that he also taste good. Smoothing the balls between her tips and nails, Angie could barely even wait to apply her normal coating of saliva to all sides of his manhood before just swallowing it whole. To her astonished delight, it even tasted sweet and lovely. Her mind was blown. Where had this man been her whole career? Her whole life? Needless to say, when she finally tongue-lubed it all around and deep-throated as much of it as she could handle, her heart went insane. It pounded wildly through her chest wall, dripping the aforementioned melting cardial wax. Her tummy became a meadow where not one, not a few, but hundreds of giddy butterflies took to dizzy flight. Her libido and hormones were on fire. Her breasts extended their own eyes, trying to get a peek. They wanted to be tit-loved by this colossus of a phallus. But the next thing that happened, Angie could have felt and even heard coming a mile away. Hee-hee-hee-hee-HEEEEEE... Angie shook her head as much as she could. DON'T, EVEN, THINK, ABOUT IT. "Uh-uh," she vocally gurgled down at Little Angie. Didn't our mother ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full? Shut up and listen good to me: you're humping that pillow, you're getting my vibrator, and that's it, and that's all, from now on. Oh, is that so? Darned right that's so! Hmm...now, I seem to remember you being taught something of a lesson about that back in November... You're pitiful. Like I've been telling and proving to you since then, that was November. This is now. It's a new year. New leaf. You got away with it once, two months ago, but I've overridden your will dozens of times since. Don't even try. Give up. Who says I'm trying anything?... What are you talking about? You're always "trying" something; it's your job. What are you trying to do, confuse me? Oh, like I'd even have to try if I wanted to do that. Angie smushed the pillow further up between her legs. I'm tired of you. We are back to our old arrangement, permanently, and that's that. Mouth gets the cock, you get the toy. If you say so... I do say so. For the zillionth and final time, I'm in charge here. If you say so... And another thing: you can't bluff worth a fig either. And that's why we don't play poker. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 07 If you say so... Satisfied Little Angie would behave herself—despite her incessant nagging—she carried on the fellatio. Oh, was this sumptuous. Sean bulged and throbbed inside her, just about triggering her gag reflex before she realized the limits on how far down she could go and reversed course again. She was getting off on this so much, she only had one hand playing with his balls where she normally would do so with both, just so she could touch herself. She folded down the cups of her bra and let her anxious titties out. When she got up her courage and felt brave enough, she leaned down, and manually hugged his cock and balls with her naked breasts. She'd been sucking his sizable cock for close to fifteen minutes, and didn't know how long it would take him to come, but found herself in no hurry. She LOVED sucking this beauteous work of art. Her pesky pussy was in check, and as far as she was concerned, things were back to normal. She let off soft, silent moans as she sucked, reproduced saliva, and sucked some more. She was purely happy. She felt the way she had felt prior to last November, when Little Angie had not yet been willful enough to overcome her brain and force her to vaginally rape one of her patients. Just like those she fellated, the gentleman she'd raped never found out what happened, and while keeping it secret made her feel guilty and devious, her career and patients meant far too much to her to risk losing them...not to mention the magnitude of trouble she could find herself in beyond just revocation of her license. But that was all in the past. She didn't feel similarly guilty giving blow jobs, as this was her way of expressing intimate friendship and love. And she hadn't counted, but she was pretty sure she had yet to meet anyone whose day was not brightened by her generous lip service. She was unsure how exactly to feel. Much as she was loving sucking this dick, she was growing considerably anxious to make him come like crazy. She was also eager to finish him off, get up, and take another stab at proving to her manipulative pussy that she was in fact the one in control. Her hungry cunt came out victorious exactly one time, and had not allowed her owner to live it down since. She grew euphoric and triumphant as she felt Sean begin nearing his climax. She was going to "win," so to speak, again. She already had done so dozens of times since that one anomalous day early the previous November, but the feeling that things were back to normal and that her impatient wet pussy was resigned back to the vibrator was a great sensation, with a great double meaning. Such a good vibration...such a sweet, sweet sensation. Here came the countdown. Angie went deep as she could on his dick, fastening her left hand's grip around the loose skin connecting his scrotum to his cock, giving him a squeeze just enough to sensitize his balls, and tickling them with her right. She wanted to make this the orgasm of a lifetime for him, even though he unfortunately couldn't be consciously aware of it. But Heaven help her, he would wake up in a much more pleasant mood than having come in for his visit. Ten...nine...eight...Angie began sliding her right nails up between his thighs in a pattern, teasing him from the taint up to the balls over and over as she adhered her tongue to him. She could feel the rumbling coming, like a drumroll from deep inside... Seven...six...five...she tightened her lips around him, holding on hard to him between her palate and tongue, filling her veritably drooling mouth with his bulging, pulsating, quivering dick... Four...three...two...she always wondered at the two-second point whether she had miscalculated, but she was usually pretty accurate with the anticipation... One...finally hither came his essence, directly from his balls, shooting with staggering velocity through his hot, wet, majestic cock... Boom. "MMMHMHMHMHMM!" Angie giggled deliriously as his thick come-honey blasted her in the gullet. He exquisitely splashed her in what must have been a dozen fiery spurts. The inside of her mouth warmed with her sweet, saline and only marginally bitter reward. Her big smiling mouth pressed on him with her grin, making each last bit squirt forth. She gurgled to keep it all inside and hastened to swallow it before any could leak out. It was pretty good—not the absolute best she'd ever tasted, but not half bad whatsoever. She could thoroughly see having more delicious sessions with this charming gent. Once she was done, Angie slicked off the excess, let him deflate, made sure he was clean, and retucked him into the pajamas. Not least but last, she draped the blanket back over him to let him relax through the rest. Back down on the floor from the mattress, she felt so great. Just to make her vagina wait another moment—and because it was time to do so, anyway—she put Sean's clothes in the dryer and sent them spiraling through a delightful cycle. Then again, pretty much everything felt just a little more delightful in Angie's World right about now. And then of course into the delightful washer went the delightful hump pillow. All right, you, she communicated down to her deprived coochie. Your turn. I hope you know and appreciate your place. Little Angie didn't seem to reply. Her owner crouched under the sink, opened the cabinet, retrieved her toy, stripped, lined the chair with the towel, lay back, smiled with a contented groan, flipped her vibrator on its low setting and eased it into herself. "Ohhhhh," she half-purred and half-growled, her big stunning smile almost starting to hurt her cheeks. She shivered in her seat, twitching her limbs with more moans and rejoicing as her clit released flushes of intense passion through her every cell and pore. She normally fantasized about the man whose dick she'd just sucked in the office while she was pleasuring herself, most of whom sent lovely waves of joy wreaking havoc on Angie Starr's purring feminine libido. Sean McManus was no exception. Angela was born with a natural nurturing Care Bear instinct; part of the reason she'd gone into her line of work was that a "dude-in-distress"—as she affectionately thought of them—made her just want to take him in her arms and protect him. His guardian angel. At the same time, she was grown, sexually active, and the other half of it was very consequential as well. As happy as it made her heart and emotions to look after a fellow in this way, it made certain other parts of her hot as hell. As she sat and garnered herself happiness in her washroom in this tucked-away little nook of her office, Angie liked to shut her eyes, picture the patient at hand, and reflect on the things about him that made her sparkle. And while she wouldn't play favorites, she had to admit if she were totally honest with herself that something about Sean McManus struck her a little special. He had just come off a rough divorce, but she wished he could see it from the angle that now that he was on his own, he was free from his abusive marriage. The feelings he shared with her, while limited, were pure and true—one of the perks of being a therapist was that people paid her to be able to tell her the honest and real truth about themselves, shielded from fear of being mocked. He had bared his soul for her, like so many others, but what was it about him that was special to her? This, unlike her clit, she couldn't put her finger on. Could it be his physical attributes? Angie didn't judge men solely on their looks, but if she did, she wouldn't have too many harsh criticisms about this man. He seemed to possess an old-timey handsomeness, his facial features and his height reminiscent of Clark Gable, with just a bit of Henry Fonda mixed in. Ooooh, she thought. When she formed this similarity in her mind, her pussy gripped down on the vibrator, released a flush of goodness through her system and leaked wet approval on herself and her towel. Nothing against handsome modern-day movie stars in color, but something about the old black-and-white classics distinctly appealed to her. Here was an area of fantasy she sometimes visited in her more romantic moods while jilling herself off. And why it took her this long to realize it she couldn't say, but with this person who'd come to see her today, she didn't need to fantasize. She went back through their session and looked for the moments which stood out to her. One was his story about how he lay awake in bed that night when he realized he'd fallen in love with his girl. It was such a beautiful description of his devotion. It was all the more unfortunate when she considered the vast significance she must have held in Sean's life for this period of time before they'd gotten married and things had turned sour. What a shame it was; he was obviously capable of feeling great measures of real love. As it turned out, he simply wasn't able to share it with the object of his affection. The other moment she definitively remembered was when he'd confided in her how difficult it was for him to face the fact that like it or not, his life would now be dramatically different from what he had expected. Her heart had wept a bit for him upon hearing this. She figured that his ex-wife was also going through some substantial life changes, but from the way things sounded to her, as in a lot of divorces, he was the one who had to go through the motions of being uprooted, packing his things, hiring movers, finding a new place, et cetera. Angie was not a fan of divorce, but she understood its necessity in given cases not unlike Sean's. Sometimes two people were deceived by love into thinking they really did belong together, but once they cemented their union...well, who knew what would happen next. Some lived happily ever after, some didn't. Simple as that. This philosophizing was harshing her lady-boner. She put it aside for now and concentrated again on his classic masculine beauty. His strong, rugged face, his thick dark hair, his large, smooth hands, his long, strong legs, his...prodigious manhood... Oh my God... her mind gushed as her swelling hot soaking pussy stretched to take in and swallow the vibrator, imagining it was Sean's great, succulent dick. She kept repeating to herself that as wrong as it was back in November, it wasn't rape if it was only happening in her mind. There is nothing wrong with fantasizing... she told herself. There is nothing, wrong, with fantasizing... Little Angie asked her to flip up the setting, a request she gladly obliged. As the vibrator accelerated, Angie again tossed her head back and shouted in ecstasy. "OHHHHH!..." she cried helplessly. Her quivering feet levitated from the floor as she slid her ass down further in her seat, using her glutes to fulcrum herself up as she vulnerably completely exposed herself to the open air. She froze a still of Sean's face in her mind, of just the moment when she'd told him she would bet he had more friends and loved ones around him than he might realize, and he had smiled at her for the first time. She focused on his chiseled cheekbones which were wonderfully hoisted into the smile, which she didn't get to see too often, but definitely made a point to imprint sharply in her mind. And oh, how his smile made her spirits soar. In fact, she flipped the vibrator up to the very next level for just this reason. She had to scoot back up an inch and put her feet back on the floor to keep herself from falling out of the chair. She was going categorically insane in her seat. "OHHHHH...OHHHHHHHH...GOOOOOD...OHHHHHHH...GOOOOOD!!" she adulated, her apex coming at her faster than she could see it coming. Little Angie was racing. This was unreal. This was a virtually unheard-of feeling. She was out of her mind. She could all but literally stand outside of her body watching herself jill off from the exterior. Though the blazing sizzle destroying her mental faculties blinded her to it, her killergasm would hit her before she even had time to kick her vibrator up one more setting. She felt like she was rocketing through space, being ecstatically buffeted at every turn by vertiginous stars. Her screams only intensified as her Earth-splitting orgasm finally assaulted her, tossing her uncontrollably, unstoppably about like a pinball. Then, something else happened. She actually did fall out of the chair. She was shaking so voraciously, as if she had just been tased, she shook herself right out of her seat and hit the floor on her bottom. The good news was that she didn't even notice. She was so high, dazed and intoxicated by the orgasm crashing all over her, she could feel no pain. And thanks to the fact that her butt broke the fall, fortunately neither Little Angie nor her vibrator was hurt either. She had only now to wait for the stars and chirping birds circling her dizzy little head to disappear. By this point in her career, she habitually checked in with Paula right after she jilled off to see how they were doing on time, if her next patient had yet arrived, if she'd had any cancellations or reschedulings, and so forth. And she was going to do just so today as well, but...first she thought after this motherlover of an orgasm, she might need to hypnotize herself for a few minutes. *** January 16th, 6:04 p.m. "Sean, your hypnosis is now concluded. I will count back up to ten, snap my fingers, and you will awaken." Everything was fine; Angela had forgotten how late it already was, and that Sean was her last patient of the day. She wouldn't have had time for any more patients today anyway. She'd done her cleanup ritual, restoring everything back to normal, touched base with Paula, who this late in the day—with less than one hour of operational business left—was likely finished with all her tasks, and now probably competing in her online Solitaire tournament. She reached ten, waved her hand, snapped her fingers over Sean's head, and he stirred to life. "A-RISE, my friend!" she warbled, performing her theatrical telekinetic finger wiggle to "pull" him upwards. Sean sat up, yawned, stretched and pried off his slumber mask. Angie waited for him to get his bearings and give his head a shake. "Welcome back, Sean," he saw her smiling at him. "Uh...thanks," he chuckled. "The hypnosis went great," she promised him. "Couldn't have been better." "It did?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "Mm-hm! How do you feel?" "Erm...tired." They shared a small giggle. "How else do you feel?" "Well..." He rubbed his eyes. "Rested...relaxed..." She waited for it. Finally, he ceased pawing at his eyes, blinked a dozen times, and his original smirk crossed his face. "Pretty...good, actually." Angie's spirits soared anew. "Yeah?" He blinked some more. "Yeah... "...I feel like a weight's been lifted off me." Tears of joy came to her eyes. "That makes me so very happy to hear, Sean. And I know you're feeling a little funny right now, a little disoriented; that'll pass. It's like when you first wake up in the morning after a really intense dream, and your eyes haven't adjusted yet. That'll work itself out," she assured. "Well, as you know, the restroom's right that way, behind me. Can I help you up?" She let him know he could get his clothing from the dryer and change while he was in the bathroom. Once he'd redressed in his day outfit and returned to the office, Angie had folded the sofa bed back in and was sitting at her desk, eyeglasses on, typing at her laptop. She had her patient database open, inserting some space for Sean and entering him in. "Hi," she heard him greet her from behind. She spun back around. "Oh, well, hi there, stranger!" she rejoined cheerfully. "Long time, no see!" "Indeed," he chuckled. Wow, thought Angie. She knew she was good, but sometimes still she surprised herself. Mr. Sean Ryan McManus seemed to have reversed moods, almost completely, from that in which he'd first appeared earlier this afternoon. He looked really, truly happy now. Wow. "Soooo...you feel pretty good about how the session went for you?" she asked, a bit coyly. "Yeah! Yeah, I mean...I can remember why I came: 'cause I was feeling bad over being divorced and alone now. But...my God, Miss Angie...you must be some kind of genius! It's like you just turned everything around for me!" WOW. This time the tears came straight from her eyes. "Oh, Sean," she blinked, her moist eyes glistening at him. "You have no idea how much hearing that just made my entire decade." "Can I hug you?" he asked. She popped right up from her desk chair and opened her arms. He embraced her and kissed her cheek. To her further surprise, her body tingled. "I don't know how to thank you," he expressed as they broke from the hug. "Hey, we're friends!" she grinned at him. "Yeah, well...I may have to shell out some bucks to be your friend, but I'll still take that," he chortled. "Well, maybe, but look at it this way," said Angie. "Therapy costs a pretty penny, especially my particular variety of it. But what a lot of people may not grasp is, after taxes and revenue, I really don't take home that much more than you, or most others who are working for a living. I mean, I do make a decent income, but I am still going paycheck to paycheck like anyone else. So, I know this is stretching it a little, but, in a way, you might say that I'm spending some dough to be your buddy too." He shook his head, smiling at her. "I know you're just saying that, trying to make me feel good, and I don't even care," he proclaimed. She blushed. "Okay, busted. "Well, then...I've got a little while left before I must close up shop for today. Anything else you'd like to talk about?" Sean shrugged. "'S like I said before. If there are, I'll probably think of them the second I walk out of here." "Okay," she giggled. "Well, Sean, keep on your regular schedule of eating and sleeping, take loving care of yourself, and I hope to see you soon again. So if you like, you can see Paula outside and she'll schedule you a follow-up appointment." She found and gave him a business card. "Or you can get in touch with us at an undetermined later date, there're our numbers. Cool?" "Very cool," he answered, waving the card. "Well, thanks, Miss Angie! I'll see ya later!" She waved after him as he departed. "I'll see you later too...Sean..." *** January 16th, 10:50 p.m. That evening, as they did often, Paula and Angie had gone out to dinner together. But Paula noticed something out of the ordinary seemed to be going on tonight. Angie wasn't appearing to be focusing very hard on the matters at hand. When the waitress approached and asked if she could take their order, Paula gave hers, but Angela hesitated. After a moment, Paula waved a hand in front of her glassy face and gestured to the waitress. Angie noticed, and asked if she was talking to her. Back at home, Angie was again in her pajamas, under her covers. Her normal bedtime was 10:00 p.m., and most days she had no trouble putting herself right to sleep on the dot, or shortly after. Hypnothe-Rapist: Starr Scores Ch. 07 Tonight, however...was something of a different story. Her mind was too occupied...although, until another moment later, she would not know by what. Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee... Wha—...oh, for Heaven's sake. What do you want? You know what I want. No. Forget it. We're going to bed, and that's it. No orgasm tonight. Orgasm? Why, who said anything about an orgasm? ...I believe you do, just about every day. Hmmm...I think you may be confusing me with something else. ...I think you may be trying to confuse me again. How many vaginas do I have? Vaginas?... Yes? said her pussy. ...What? thought Angie's bemused brain. Go to sleep, Vaggie. We weren't speaking to you. Wait, what?? But you're my... ... Angela's eyes suddenly popped open in alarm. It's me, Angie... ...Your heart. Her mouth descended ajar. She felt it beating harder in communication with her. WAIT a minute...you mean... That's right... Vaggie's been quiet all day. It was me in the office too, Ange. Angie suddenly sat up in bed. ...What?? Don't try to deny it, Angela Starr. You know what happened. And you know deep down why the orgasm was so incredible today. It wasn't Vaggie. It was me. You knew the moment he walked in. This one wasn't for Her Highness the Vaginess. He was mine. And that's why you haven't stopped thinking about him since the first you saw of him. Her eyes widened. But...but wait a minute! What about that business today with you "teaching me that lesson" back in November? Ah, ah, ah...what I said was that you were taught a lesson. I never said I was the teacher. But...but... The pounding in her chest intensified. You're in love with him, Angela. She audibly gasped. It's just like he said. He was lying in bed that first night thinking about her, and that's how he knew he was undeniably in love. And so are you. Angie sat up in her bed, stock-still, heart thumping, sweat appearing on her brow. It was true. She couldn't fight it. She was in love...with Sean McManus. But...it...it's impossible! I...I can't fall in love with a patient! No, no...what you can't do is make that decision rationally. Your brain doesn't handle love, Ange...that's my job. But...it can't be love! It can't be! I just met him for the first time today! It doesn't matter, Angela. I'll say it again: rational thought has no pull in the game of love. Emotion...always...wins. She couldn't. She just couldn't. It was simply off-limits. It was too far over the line. It was beyond unethical. It was beyond bedside snuggling, beyond fellatio, beyond even unconscious intercourse. Somehow, in some microscopic way... ...The enigmatic presence of this man, Mr. Sean McManus, who had found his way into her healing palace this momentous afternoon...had blurred the line between devotion and sex. She was blinded to it. To his introduction into her life, she had lost the capability to separate her feelings of friendship and affable oral affection... ...From true, heartfelt lust. She could not do this. She could not allow herself to fall in love with a patient. And yet...it was out of her control. No! She couldn't be emotionally enamored of this man! She simply couldn't!— But she was. "...Uh-oh..." Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee... Hypnothe-Rapist Ch. 01 "Good, honey...very very good. Now keep breathing deep, in and out, and we're going to slowly take you into your trance. I'm going to count backwards from ten." She leaned in close to his ear again and whispered...barely audibly... "Ten...remember, my angel, you might still feel sad for right now, but it's going to be okay..." His head lolled over to the side, indeed descending into blissful somnolence. She felt the rate of his heart fall a bit more. "Nine...you are now just a little less sad...your depression will continue to decrease, bit by bit, each time I count..." His eyes fluttered drowsily under the sleep mask. He could already feel himself drifting off. She waited a few more moments between each count. "Eight...you're still all right...gaining more control all the time... "Seven...and more control still...remember, you're strong... "Six...it's gonna be okay...keep in mind, I'm your friend, and we're going to overcome this together... "Five...okay, we're halfway there... "Four...it's all right...Dr. Angie's going to make it all better... "Three...don't worry about a thing...your guardian Angel-a won't let anything happen to you... "Two...you're a hundred percent sheltered under my protection...okay, ready?... "One...all right...I shall now put you under...and..." She silently snapped her fingers above his head, and he was out, as if she had just waved a magic wand over him. "You are now completely unconscious..." she breathed, removing the stethoscope. "And you will do precisely as I tell you, Timothy. Listen...to the doctor," she lullabied him. "You have been locked inside a cage of depression for a long time...and now, the nice doctor is going to release you." She leaned her head downwards just a bit further, just barely nuzzling his cheek with the tip of her nose, as she let her right hand ever so softly glide down his stomach... Satisfied that his pulse was behaving, she slipped her left hand out from under his wrist and caressed his hand and forearm... "Remember...Dr. Angie's your friend," she cooed in his ear. "And you trust her. "Now, Timothy, I am speaking to your subconscious. You may not be aware just whence came your depression, but you rest assured, my lovely gent, we're going to get to the bottom of it and bring you through it. "In the meanwhile, Subconscious, I have a task for you to carry out in Timothy's mind. I want you to activate Timothy's limbic system, where, as you know, things are a bit drab just now, and sort of...freshen things up. Open the windows. Put some brighter wattage in the lights. Paint some bright colors on the walls. Get some love and some life in there!" Her right hand continued finding its way south... And to distract his subconscious from the trek her right hand was making, she daintily stroked his cheek and chin with the back of her left... "And while your subconscious is doing this, just remember... "...Trust..." she repeated, "Is the most important thing, Timothy... "...Just place your faith in my hands...and I'll take care of the rest." Finally...her right hand settled...upon its final destination... ...And methodically...deliberately...began fondling him, through his silky khaki slacks... ...Until she felt the response...slowly but surely rising...from underneath the zipper... ...Sending a tingle of excitement through her arm... "That's right," she purred, her lips just barely brushing his cheek. "Listen...to the doctor. You are in good hands with her." She smiled at her little pun. "She's gonna make everything okay." Her left paw drifted from his neck down to his chest to again feel his heart, which was now starting to speed back up. She did the usual quick mental calculating. With five years' experience under her belt, she had become expert at balancing the arousal in a man so that his heart accelerated just enough to rush the necessary blood to his stiffening member, but not enough to actually awaken him from his trance. He stirred a bit, but she soothed the top half of his body back down again. A couple of minutes later, he had solidified enough inside his pants that she could trace the outline and shape of his penis between her excited fingers. Growing more quietly fervent by the moment as always by the time the treatment reached this point, Angela could feel her own heart quickening as well. She had carried out this procedure with dozens upon dozens of men, and yet in five years, her enthusiasm never dimmed. She softly kissed his cheek. "Timothy, my dear..." she whispered seductively, her mind turning lightly to thoughts of erotic sensuality... Angie discreetly unbuttoned his pants, silently pulled the zipper down, forced her eager hand to behave itself, and let it gracefully, gingerly slip beneath... "The doctor..." She smirked lasciviously. "...Is in." Feeling the spongy, tender flesh of his twitching cock against the skin of her own warm hand made her tingle once more. Timothy did not wake up, but Angela's pussy did. She felt the tiniest trickle of enjoyment between her legs, and her vagina now wanted to be allowed out and play too, but she had to make it control itself. At the same time, now began the challenge she relished so much: keeping him under while carrying out the full treatment... He stirred again, beginning to tighten up a bit. She kept soothing him, keeping the top half of him calm and relaxed while simultaneously keeping him stimulated below the waist. "It's okay..." she assured him, "It's all right. Everything's...just...fine. "Now Timothy," she whispered to him, "I'm going to need you to just lift your posterior a little for me..." As his subconscious obeyed, Angela reached around to the back of his trousers. "Very good," she continued whispering. "You're doing wonderful." In linked her fingers, guiding the trousers down his thighs, until his manhood could finally be released...and settled his body back down into the mattress. Just before his stiff member emerged, she paused and softly instructed, "In just a second, my dear...you're going to feel a twinge...but, whatever you do, Timothy...you mustn't acknowledge it. Subconscious, you must stick to the task I have assigned you, and our dear friend Timothy must remain calm and tranquil in his happy place..." ...Which is about to be even happier, she finished thinking to herself. For the first time, while remaining gentle as could be, Angie, satisfied that his subconscious was securely locked in slumber, rerouted her full attention to the region between his thighs. Finally, his slacks were subtly tugged down just enough to expose him to the open air. At last liberated from its khaki cocoon, Timothy's hardened penis leapt into the air with such spring that it almost whapped her right in the nose. She giggled to herself like a young girl. She felt her bra hug her just a millimeter tighter as her nipples now also noticed what was going on. She raised her voice just enough to carry to his brain, accentuated her words with more emphasis, and said, "Now, Timothy, I will need you to continue to do as I say...just lie back...and don't move." She groped the base of his dick and kissed it tenderly. "And remember...trust...the hypnotherapist. Again, she is your friend... "...And she knows...what she is doing." Now be a good patient...and kindly let your dutiful Doc suck your beautiful cock. Timothy stirred a bit more, but Angela could read the signs of his arousal. She knew he wouldn't wake up. Once she touched his balls, she silently gasped. They were incredibly tight. And full, she could tell. They were almost turning blue! Looking back up at him in astonishment, she thought, Well, for Heaven's sake! Timothy, honey, no wonder you're so unhappy! Good grief, man, whenever was the last time you had a release?? She could see now her mission was clear as day. As she stroked and rubbed the head of his cock, she ran her tongue up the shaft, playfully teasing his frenulum. She cupped his balls and tongue-waggled a circle around them as well, which made him stir and jump just a bit. She instinctively whipped her gaze to his face. Even though she knew he wasn't going to awaken, she thought, Oops! Ticklish spot, huh? Okay, no more licking the jewels. She instead toyed with his sensitized testicles with her fingertips and put her tongue to work around the rest of his member, coating it with saliva top to bottom...and once another minute had passed, finally decided the paramount portion of the Starr Treatment was urgently imminent. Once the moment was right, she proceeded to take him, fully, into her mouth, very slow, very discreet. This further aggravated and frustrated her vagina, which desperately wanted in on the activity. She again told her Little Angie to be quiet, and continued to caress Timothy's balls, keeping one alert eye on his face, lightly tweaking the base of his cock, which did not receive as much oral attention as the rest. She looked up and noticed a few fingers of each of his hands twitching, and she temporarily abandoned his balls to soothe his hands with her own. It's okay, Mr. Jacobs, I understand, she thought, interlocking their fingers and affectionately hugging his cock with her lips. I can see you're fragile—heavens, you're practically a virgin for goodness sakes, and your poor dick has obviously been in need of some serious tender loving care for a long time. But worry not, my lad; you've come to the right place. The minutes elapsed away in the dark, quiet, peaceful room. Angela's lips slowly, warmly made their way up and down his trembling erection over and over again. And when enough time passed, eventually...the inevitable: the growing sensation was such that his testicles were drawing and tightening up. Clearly agonizingly long as it had been since Timothy'd enjoyed any sexual relief, she could tell this particular case would not take especially long. Of course, her tremendous skill and talent accumulated over years of practice did not hurt either. As was usually the case when the treatment heated up, however, her unfortunate pussy became insanely jealous of her mouth. It hated being excluded. No matter how many times she performed the procedure, this pattern never failed to occur. She could hear it shouting at her in longing and desire, wetting her with its horny weeping, and as much as she didn't want to, still she ignored it. Reading the signals and counting down the seconds in her head, Angela slowed down her pace to heighten the intensity for both of them. Timothy was stirring once more, and his mouth was letting out soft, silent moans. She patted and stroked his arm to keep him as calm as he could be, and when her mental timer reached ten, she slid her oral grip back to the top, riding her tongue up and down, back and forth across the especially sensitive small area just beneath his glans, and returned her hands to their tasks. She gently rubbed his balls between the fingers of her left hand, and glided her right hand's nails and fingertips down the bottom half of his dick, her cheekbones, jaws, lips and tongue handling the top half. Her own legs were beginning to quiver. She could squeeze her arms tighter against her torso to give her breasts a little soothing, but her vagina was dying, yearning and hungry, literally crying tears all over her panties and thighs. She had to take a second to lean down, reach to the floor, grab the pillow she'd been kneeling on and wedge it between the bed and her legs, just to have something to push her desperate pussy against. As much as she adored the final seconds, she always wished she could slow the time down, to just eternally savor the last moments as much as possible. Yet she counted them down at normal speed... Nine...eight...seven...her mind settled in for the remainder of the pulsing sensation bulging through the tightly stretched skin... Six...five...four...his body quivered, still under her spell but certainly not oblivious to the treatment... Three...two...Angela braced herself as always, squeezing her lips tight on him, going down to the base to even more sumptuously coax out the essence, as she felt the familiar throbbing volcano effect inside... One...feeling it coming at last, she culled it up and through with her lips and tongue... Finally, Timothy's body shook, wriggled and locked, until he emitted a silent, lust-drenched, pleasure-soaked yowl only audible in Slumberland, and splash after hot splash of Angie's salty, sweet reward exploded in the back of her mouth like fireworks. Inaudible to Angela as they were, the orgasmic celebrations proved equally rewarding and gratifying to her nevertheless, and she would always blush with modest pride at the visible—and tasteable—fruits of her labor. And at long last, her own moment of relief occurred, just as did every time. The nanosecond she didn't need her hands for him anymore, tired as they were, they knew they had their next piece of work all cut out for them. *** November 25th, 3:46 p.m. Thirty minutes later, Dr. Angela Starr had returned from her office's private washroom where she had performed the normal ritual of cleaning herself up, tossing the spare pillow she'd humped to oblivion into the washer, replacing it on the floor with a clean one, and restoring her face from its flushed state. She had subsequently dispensed herself a glass of fresh water, downed it, taken a breath mint, straightened out her nightgown and put her glasses back on, done everything to restore the original picture to which Timothy's memory became accustomed. Once she had given his penis a light cleaning with a damp cloth and made sure that no trace of his discharge (or hers) had found its way onto his trousers or the bed, she pulled his pants back up, tucked in his genitals, re-fastened them, did a final mental checking of the situation, and decided the time was right to awaken him again. She knelt back down on the fresh pillow, leaned down to his ear and said, "Timothy, your hypnosis is concluded. I am now going to count forwards to ten, and when I reach ten, I will snap my fingers, and you will come out of your trance fully awake." She started at one, and thirty seconds later, had gotten to ten. She snapped her fingers above his head, audibly this time, and Timothy regained consciousness. "Arise, Timothy!" she giggled, waving her hands theatrically like a hypnotic David Copperfield, greeting him with her big smile. "You can take off your sleep mask now." Timothy slowly sat up and his hands unsteadily found the mask and removed it. He blinked several dozen times, rubbing his eyes and trying to refocus everything. Finally, the doctor's face came into clear view again and he noticed her kneeling at his side. Angela took his hand and shook it vigorously. "Sir, you did wonderfully! Honest, no kidding, things could not have gone better." Her beaming eyes sparkled at him. "R—...really?" he asked. She nodded. "How do you feel?" Still slowly getting his bearings back, Timothy said, "Uh...a little disoriented...and kinda dizzy...but, uh, other than that..." He lightly shook his head and said, "...Pretty good, actually." Angela felt like blushing again. She couldn't let her smile fade. It was simply indescribable how much she loved her career. "Aw, that makes me so happy," she said. She then added, "Oh, and rest assured, the dizziness and disorientation are completely normal. They're the result of the activity of your eyes. It's called the REM state: Rapid Eye Movement. It happens when we have our most intense and memorable dreams. That's why sometimes when you wake up, your eyes feel weird, like they've been rolling around your head all over the place. It's just like normally waking up in the morning; it'll just last a few minutes." He nodded, taking it all in. "So let me ask you," she said, already knowing the gist of the answer, "Do you feel depressed at all? Can you remember the feelings and effects the depression had on you?" He thought a moment. He thought for a few more moments. Finally, he returned his gaze to her. "Y'know, it's weird..." he said, blinking some more. "I can...kind of still remember it, but...all of a sudden it feels...so much less...severe. Like...like I can handle it better now." Angela nodded, grinning her big lovely grin at him. "I told you you did great, sir." She stood, and offered him her hand to help him up. "Oh, by the way, there's the restroom," she said, gesturing towards it. Timothy looked back and forth from it to her. "Thanks, but...how did you know I needed to use the restroom?" "Oh, Timothy, it's been two hours!" she said with a chuckle. "I'd be surprised if you didn't have to." As he shakily ambled in, Angela quickly mentally congratulated herself, plopping down in her chair, picking up her glasses, pad and pen and scribbling down, "Timothy Jacobs, introductory interview, session one, depression ostensibly linked to sexual repression. Starr Treatment—" next to which she placed an asterisk, "Update progress soon." A few minutes later, Timothy returned. "You know what's weird though?" she heard him ask, and turned around to face him. "What's that?" As if she didn't know exactly what he was about to say. Timothy made a gesture with his hands that he didn't exactly know how to explain this. "I...it...it didn't really feel that different from just a regular night's sleep, but it seemed like, while it was going on, I was...having this weird dream..." Her eyebrows rose. "Oh?" she smirked, feigning. "Well, we have got a couple minutes left...want to talk about it?" It was his eyebrows' turn to raise. "Um..." he turned a little red, feeling sheepish and a bit embarrassed. He clasped his hands together, holding them down over his lower torso, as if to cover himself. "I...dunno." "Oh, it's okay," she said, adoring his shyness of the whole situation. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. What I'll tell you, though, is that particularly strange and out of the ordinary dreams are not at all uncommon under hypnosis. It's like I told you about the REM state. In fact, believe it or not, it's really fairly normal to have hypnotic dreams with bizarre undertones, be they frightening, disturbing, simplistically nice, unplaceable, or even sexual." Timothy visibly reddened. "You don't say," he remarked. "Yeah, I mean, actually, for some reason it almost feels like I..." She waited. "...Yes?" About to finish, Timothy waved a hand and said, "...Nothing. Never mind." She shrugged. "Well, okay. So how do you feel about the way the session went?" He shrugged back. "Well, good," he said. "I mean, like I said, I do feel happier and better now. I don't really know why, but...I..." He let his sentence trail off. Hypnothe-Rapist Ch. 01 Angela smiled and looked down coyly, feeling herself gleefully melt inside. "Well," she said, "We do seem to have made some good progress this opening session. Now, if you like, you can see Mrs. Saunders outside and she can schedule you a follow-up session for whenever you like, and..." She took a business card and handed it to him. "Here. Feel free to update us, or call me on my cell if we're not in the office—both numbers are on there—to reschedule your appointments at any time, or if you just wanna talk for a minute. "In the meantime," she continued, "Besides a reasonable bedtime and a good night's sleep, I would recommend you take yourself out a bit more, Timothy. Treat yourself once in a while. Don't go overboard, but just indulge yourself sometimes. Try to meet some friendly people, make some new buddies...maybe find yourself a nice girl." She winked. "Yeah?" he said. "Absolutely. And, if you don't happen to meet a woman you like, or vice versa, just remember..." she said, "...And I don't mean to be indelicate here, but, a little bit of...shall we say...'self-love' never hurts either." Timothy nodded, taking this information in with a certain degree of surprise in his face, it not exactly being the sort of advice he might have anticipated. "It doesn't?" "Certainly not. While lack of sleep would tend to make just about anyone depressed, satisfactory sexual activity may not affect everybody, but it could hardly put a dampen on your day." "Well, I...I don't really know what to say..." he said. "I mean, I-I really didn't think I'd feel this..." "...Relieved?" He gazed at her in wonder. "...Yeah. Exactly." She modestly fluttered her eyelashes. "That's what I'm here for, my friend." "Geez," he said, "Y'know, if I thought it was okay, I'd say I wanted to hug you. But, that's probably not someth—" Hearing the word, Angela promptly grinned, stood up from her chair and opened her arms, gesturing with her fingers for him to come right into her waiting embrace. "Hug away." Another moment later, he thanked her, said goodbye and left. Angela sat back down, plugged her phone in, powered it back up, pressed and held down the intercom button and said, "Hi, Paula. Mr. Jacobs is on his way out." In another moment Paula would ask Timothy if and when he wanted to see the doctor again. Another moment after that, she would return the information to Angela. "Anybody else?" she asked Paula. "No, that's it for today," she cheerily replied. "We're done!" "Awesome!" said Angela. "Wanna go grab a bite?" "Okay, but only if I get to buy this time." "Hmm, let me think about that. Oh, all right." Both packed up their purses, put away all relevant work, turned off the lights, and departed, locking the door behind them. Just another day in the office of Dr. Angela Starr.