Sexual Immersion Therapy
Chapter Twenty-Six
Two mornings after fucking Rosita all night in my office, meaning Sunday morning, I was awakened by the sensation of my mattress shifting under me. I blinked my eyes open and saw Mira on all fours, peeling the covers away with her hair descending like a fine curtain down to my crotch. My mind was hazy, right to the point that hot lips circled my cock-head.
“Jesus!” I said, my stiffening dick way ahead of my brain.
“Exactly,” Mira whispered, her hands wrapping around a growing flesh-tower. “It may not look like it, but I’m in church right now.”
I didn’t quite know what that meant, and didn’t care. The way she stared at my risen cock, with a line of drool connecting it to her lips, I thought I was about to receive a wake-up blow-job, but she surprised me.
“I think I really do worship this,” she said, kissing my cock before getting off the bed.
That was when I absorbed how she was dressed, in a short black skirt below a very elegant cream-colored silk blouse, with black stockings and heels. She almost looked like she could be going to a church service, except that the stockings were gartered and her expression was totally sinful.
First unbuttoning the blouse, then slipping her skirt to the floor, Mira said, “I thought about that this morning, how I worship your cock and you worship my legs. That’s the truth with us, right?”
“Worship” might not be the exact word I would choose—I would describe our truth as being that I was addicted to Mira’s body, especially her legs, and I had made sure that she was equally addicted to my dick.
Mira had a wicked twinkle in her eye when she said, “Just stay still, and let’s see what happens when the things we worship collide with one another.”
And so, with me still somewhat bleary-eyed, Mira’s legs were delivered to my head, along with her beautiful wet pussy as she turned around into a sixty-nine position.
The woman, who’d once said she was a little bit afraid of penises and had never tasted cum, sure had learned some things about giving head. For some years I had considered myself as pretty excellent at bestowing pleasure by eating a woman’s pussy, and with naughty Mira’s unbridled sex-drive and cock-worshipping providing extra fuel in Mira’s system, she became quite a gusher, letting loose just moments after I filled her mouth.
As we lay sprawled on the bed, recovering for another go at one another, Mira explained that Taylor thought she was at an Episcopal church service.
“I had no idea you went to church.”
“I haven’t been in years and I don’t intend to start. But Taylor will never go near one, and he’ll never ask anyone about it. We can have a couple of hours most Sunday mornings like this.”
“You look fabulous in church clothing. If you’d actually gone, I’ll bet half the congregation would have been thinking irreverent thoughts.”
“I’m built for sin, not church,” Mira replied, fondling my cock, already working to re-ignite it. “I went with my family until I was sixteen or so. There towards the end, my mother always got on my case for wearing skirts that were too short, which just made me choose even shorter ones. Ministers aren’t celibate and I loved teasing ours to distraction; he was fairly young and I made a point of giving him peeks at my rear or the occasional down-blouse views of my tits. I imagined him driven to masturbate afterwards, worried about his soul and all that. It was a form of torture; I see that now. I was such an wicked tease, even back then.”
She asked me to “punish” her for being so naughty, and maybe that was why I went all biblical on her that second time around, deep-fucking the holy living crap out of her divine body, sending her home with her upper thighs all red and her torn stockings in my trashcan.
Later that morning, I spent an hour having coffee and breakfast at Alice’s Teacup, the place where I’d tricked Mira into coming to my office to be hypnotized. I bought a New York Times and sat at a small table skimming through it, with most of my attention on two fetching women sharing the space. One was the young barista behind the counter, and boy did she have some thrust to a fine set of tits. The other, seated at a nearby table and dressed like she really might have been at church earlier in the day, was a thirty-something woman with excellent legs. I didn’t allow myself to stare too obviously at either of these beauties, but I had plenty of sinful thoughts about how their Sunday afternoon could take a turn for the wet and incredible if I could only get them in the immersion state.
When the beautiful legs left the cafe, I found myself fantasizing more and more about the barista. She was probably a freshman or sophomore in college, and she had a very easy way of conversing with customers who must be regulars. I pictured myself returning morning after morning, learning her name and gradually becoming something between an acquaintance and a friend. Maybe she sometimes got sore feet from working her shift, and once she trusted me, I could tell her about my special relaxation technique. All it would take would be one immersion session, done someplace in private, and she’d learn that she could froth even hotter than the coffee machines.
Though I didn’t need more coffee, I got a cappuccino to go, and learned that her name was Athena, like the Greek goddess. I played things cool and didn’t say or do anything creepy, and before leaving I left a somewhat generous tip in the communal jar, hoping she noticed. It was a long shot, but maybe if I played a slow and steady game with this busty beauty, I could get my very first tit-fuck from the namesake of an actual goddess.
At home later that afternoon, I saw I’d received an email response from Amir Golden, about my wish to re the old volleyball team. I could fill-in to begin with, once the new summer season began near the end of June, and there would probably be a real slot for me in the fall. Not that I really cared very much, once I read on and learned that Susan Tinley had left the team. Amir added that as far as he knew, she had left the volleyball league altogether.
He would have her info, but calling or emailing Susan out of the blue felt too inorganic. I had to trust that new hot women like Athena, the barista with the tits, would emerge in my life, and that I’d eventually be able to sink my hypnotic hooks into some of them.
My subconscious mind was more active at prowling than that, because I dreamed of Susan Tinley that night. In that dream, I stealthily wandered the streets of an unfamiliar town at night, looking for women to hypnotize. The silvery blue of the moon’s light permeated the dream, which made the warm hues through lighted windows stand out. Like a voyeur peering into one particular window, I saw Susan getting undressed, and my dick immediately stiffened. The sight of her solid workout body had me licking my lips, wanting to hypnotize her and a hundred others like her, and soon.
She noticed me peering in, and rather than covering herself, she crooked a finger, beckoning me to come inside. Just like that I was in the room with her, and we embraced in a very sexual way. I ran my hands down her back, feeling its musculature, her generous breasts warming my front.
She whispered into my ear: “Have you ever had muscle sex?” I didn’t quite know what that meant, but it seemed that my dick did, and it wanted muscle sex right away.
When I awakened, I was surprised to learn that I hadn’t outright come in my sleep. Because of its sexual nature, I wrote that dream down in my secret notebook over morning coffee, wishing I could run into Susan for real. I stared at the words “muscle sex” for awhile—what was my subconscious mind trying to tell me there? Like Grace had surmised, I definitely had a thing for athletic women—just look at Mira and Rosita, and Joyce before them. Dee had been quite fit, too, keeping herself beautifully toned through swimming. So okay, sure, I guess I was a fan of muscle sex.
Though I really didn’t need more caffeine, I stopped at Alice’s Teacup on the way to work, hoping to see Athena, and perhaps chat with her again. She wasn’t there, which disappointed me more than it should have. It was probably very stalker-y of me, but I really hoped to get my immersion tentacles into her at some point.
I returned there the next morning, and Athena was there this time, all lovely and busty with big smiles for every customer. She was wearing a sage green t-shirt and the outlines of her bra were easily detectable, and the bra cups were large enough that I was even further intrigued.
I feigned trying to her name, then laughed and said, “Wait, Athena, the gorgeous goddess!” before she had the chance to remind me. There was just enough of a sparkle in her eyes to give me hope, that before too long I could have whole fields of sexual immersion fetishes blooming in her brain and body.
Fifteen minutes later, when I arrived at the office, Carlotta opened the door for me and I immediately knew that something was up.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know if I should ask you to sit down or not,” she began, worry lines on her forehead.
“What is it? A client…” I was going to say “died”, but stopped myself.
“It’s good news. No, great news, like I can’t even… Okay, straight to it. Last night, before we went to bed, Martin, my husband… He won the lottery!”
I stared, dumbstruck.
“Not MegaMillions or Powerball, just Lotto. Even so, after taxes it’s going to be more than six million dollars! Six… million… dollars!” she repeated, like every word had the taste of the best chocolate in the world.
April Fools Day had come and gone, so I jumpstarted my brain into hugging her and saying all the things I felt I should say. But money like that changes peoples’ lives, and it didn’t surprise me at all when Carlotta told me that Martin wanted them to fly to Paris before it got too hot, a vacation they’d been wanting for years.
“We barely slept last night,” she went on. “Then, at five this morning, I had to restrain Martin from immediately booking a flight. He’s insisting that we leave within a week, but I told him I needed to tell you about all of this first. We’d be gone for three weeks, maybe four… We started to think of Italy, too; I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. But if we did that…”
There was no need for her to complete the sentence. She might be gone for several weeks, or she might be gone forever.
“I could help you find someone to fill-in for me,” she tacked. “Whatever happens, I won’t leave you hanging.”
Was this a kind of emergency? On the outside I behaved as if it wasn’t; I said all the right things, and even participated in a ten-minute speaker-phone conversation where I got to congratulate Martin and tell the happy couple about my favorite cafe near the Louvre.
Alone in the inner office, though, I found myself almost dreading the coming change to my office routines. Carlotta was amazingly efficient and also personable with clients, a rare combination of gifts. She was also very predictable—she moved like clockwork when it came to her arrival and departure times. I, on the other hand, could no longer pretend that my office was some kind of fortress of purity where sexual mischief never occurred. Just a couple of nights ago I had hypnotized and fucked a former client multiple times on that couch over there, and it was absurd to believe I wouldn’t be doing similar or worse on an ongoing basis.
Working through the morning’s appointments, it was like Carlotta’s big news was a pebble in my shoe. I couldn’t shake the idea that Carlotta would end up quitting the job entirely, because why wouldn’t she? I paid her well and she was loyal, but millions of dollars would change everything. She was forty-eight years-old, both kids in college…
I wondered—was I ready for some sort of major change, too? Working with my clients on their varying issues almost felt too easy now, and often my interest wasn’t really there, not like it had been. There were instances where I was deliberately holding back from providing hypnotic suggestions that might serve as a complete cure, mostly because I didn’t want to attract any scrutiny about the scope of my abilities. No one should have any idea how well I could shape behaviors, or kill addictions.
Or amplify them, or perhaps even create them.
And there was the rub. To be able to continue using the immersion technique in the immoral ways that truly stirred me, I had to dumb things down with my professional work. No wonder I felt only a dull kind of satisfaction when working with legitimate clients now. If I let myself, I would be able to provide amazingly effective solutions to most of their problems, yet I was keeping my head down and my lips partly sealed, even when they were hypnotized and vacant.
During my lunch break, a thought came to me and I voiced it to the empty room.
“I’m fucking Clark Kent sitting here in this chair.”
No glasses, no change of clothing, and certainly no invulnerability. But I was keeping my true powers hidden, pretending meekness when there was an emboldened and enlarged panther inside of me that wanted to give dozens or even hundreds of women the kind of treatment I’d given to Mira and Dee and Rosita. And Terri Thorngood, somewhat. And, perhaps soon, a beautiful and busty Asian babe named Ruoya.
It wasn’t like I made a calculated decision to be different after lunch, but that’s what happened.
The first client of the afternoon was Alma Andersen, the E.R nurse. I was a little bit shocked when she entered my office, because for half a second I thought she must be someone else. Alma still looked like Alma, with her lovely Scandinavian features and luxurious blonde hair, but she’d lost more weight, and she was becoming downright sexy.
I learned that she was running every morning now, and she had almost entirely eliminated meat and processed snacks from her diet. And she beamed about being whistled at, twice, while running early this morning.
Later in the session, when I had her hypnotized and vacant on my office couch, I found myself contemplating her gorgeous Scandinavian features in a more desirous way. The additional weight-loss had revealed more of her bone structure, and I could imagine some of her patients becoming smitten with her. Hell, if she lost a few more pounds and tightened her body just a bit further, I could easily see myself becoming smitten with her.
She had told me that one of her male co-workers was becoming a bit of a pest, complimenting her looks too often, trying to get her to go out on a date with him. She itted that she sometimes liked the attention, not because she had a thing for the guy but because it was confirmation that she was on her way to becoming her old slimmer self as the pounds drained away. I pictured Alma trying on clothes that she hadn’t been able to wear for several years, iring her new figure in a mirror, feeling pleased by what she saw.
I wondered—what kind of effect did the weight loss, and the growing confidence she had described, have on her sex life? She’d never spoken of her sex life and it hadn’t been central to what she was here for, but there could be no hiding while hypnotized like this.
I probed, gently, and learned that Alma had no steady sexual relationships, and she liked it that way. She traveled to Colorado twice a year to do cross-country skiing and mountain hiking with a former boyfriend, and the intimacies they shared on those trips, plus frequent masturbation, constituted the whole of her sex life.
It made my cock pulse, imagining how my voice, uttering just a few well-chosen commands, could so easily shape-shift her sexual habits. I wasn’t tempted to fuck her… Well, at least for now. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t adjust her dials, gifting her with a degree of intensity that she had never experienced.
I was thinking about that when the words “muscle sex” flashed in my brain. They were from that recent dream with Susan Tinley.
Come to think of it, Alma was a little bit like Susan, or she could be. Susan was shorter by a couple of inches and a lot more built up in a muscular way… But then, Alma had a sturdy frame and could become just as pumped if she worked at it. She had told me that she’d been something of a star at both soccer and softball when she’d been in her teens. Her weight had crept up from a bout with depression while in nursing school, and until walking through my office door, she had never been able to do anything about it.
What if I took her desires to lose more weight and live healthier, and I put it into her that she needed to look really healthy, like Susan Tinley healthy? Alma made good money; she could afford a personal trainer if it came to that. She could lose pounds but gain muscle, until…
I almost said “muscle sex” out loud.
And then an earlier dream came to mind, the one where I’d been in a basement looking for the sculptor of beautiful female forms. Well fuck me—maybe I could be that sculptor even in a physical way. I’d been enhancing sex drives and sexual capacities for weeks and weeks, but with the right inputs, couldn’t I also sculpt bodies?
I stood and surveyed the form of the woman lying vacantly on my office couch, my eyeballs confirming the direction I would go. Riffing on what Alma had said about masturbation, I went hard at her about feeling a driving need to work-out while she also kept up her behaviors for weight loss. Fewer pounds, more muscle; even much more muscle. There were several ways to verbally thrust that mission into her, and I did so.
I asked whether she had any photos from when she’d been younger and thinner, and when she said she did, I directed her to send me a few later in the day. She would see it all as being therapeutic—showing her therapist what she’d looked like when her weight had been more ideal would reinforce her willpower on her quest to sculpting her body back into that lovelier form, and then some.
Then I asked about the specifics of her bedroom, specifically the size and placement of any mirrors. She had a full-length mirror in a walk-in wardrobe closet, and another large one beside her bed, attached to a dresser. When I asked if she could have a view of herself on the bed, masturbating, she said she did.
I decided to go with that viewpoint, putting into her that she would be driven to finger herself to orgasm several times in front of the mirror, as a way of rewarding herself for the pounds she’d already lost. In those celebratory sessions, her clitoris would feel like it was growing new and more responsive nerve-endings, that would result in more forceful orgasms than any she’d experienced before.
She would realize that the intensity of these masturbatory orgasms was directly tied to seeing in her mirror that she was healthier than she’d been in years, and that would strengthen her resolve to make her body look incredibly fit. The power of her climaxes would increase in direct proportion to how well she turned her slightly pudgy softness into firm feminine muscle.
I could have left things right there, but decided to put it into her that she would begin to fantasize about having sex with me. Interestingly, I didn’t even ask first about whether she found me attractive or not. I framed it as just the occasional masturbatory fantasy about me to begin with, because I was a man she saw regularly and I was helping her to achieve her goals. But as her body got fitter, and especially if I gave her compliments on her improved looks during our sessions, she would find herself fantasizing about me more and more, craving having an actual go at me.
After Alma was gone, I wondered whether the time would come when I would truly supercharge her libido, and make her desperate to fuck me. I had no such urge right now, but in the coming weeks? She was going to become a workout warrior; I had no doubt about that. Maybe I would direct her into asking me out for dinner, where I could watch her get hornier and hornier with every bite. Maybe she’d invite me to her place and I’d fuck her so deep and get her coming so furiously that she’d wonder whether she needed a nurse.
Cooling myself down in-between clients, I saw that my next appointment was the married lawyer, John, who was having an affair with a subordinate at his workplace. The workplace hottie’s name was Gina, and he never missed a chance to say how great-looking she was, almost to the point of bragging about his secret association with her.
When he entered and described the recent developments in his life this time, the news was not good.
“Yesterday, after I got home from playing racquetball, Mary said some things that have me wondering whether she suspects. She talked about our children, and how I shouldn’t take them for granted, and… I couldn’t really read her, like was she just saying I should spend more quality time with them? But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like a warning that I could lose them.”
“What did you say in return?”
“I started to tell her that I knew I’d been away too much because of work, the whole billable hours ethos, and that we should figure out a way to have a little vacation with the kids. Also a weekend away from them, something for us, quiet and romantic. And then Beth, our daughter, came into the room because Tommy had fallen off his bike and hurt his arm. That ended the conversation and Mary didn’t bring it up again in bed at night, nor this morning.”
“How do you feel about all of this? You’ve said before that you hate all the lying, and that the risk is eating at you. Is that any better, or worse?”
“Worse, now. Only what am I gonna do?”
This was all territory we’d discussed before, but there was a change. The danger he was in was becoming more real to him, more palpable and more urgent. He knew he had to give up the affair, or he would suffer the consequences. John’s bottom line, he said, was that he could not let his children down. But there was a second bottom line, an incompatible one, and that was his inability to end things with the workplace hottie.
“It’s not about hurting Gina’s feelings or anything,” he said, his eyes actually moist. “It’s not fear that she’ll become vengeful or file a complaint at work. Maybe that’s possible, but I just don’t think she’d do it. It’s… It makes me feel weak to it it, but it’s her fucking body. Plus, she’s great in bed, okay? Like animal heat with powerful wrap-around limbs, and she kind of craves me, you know? She’s got this thing about… She’s just really ionate, and she gets where she just wants it so badly from me. I feel like I’m in heaven.”
I nodded, thinking how this man was living his version of what I got to experience with Mira. His extramarital triad was arranged somewhat differently, and the reality of the children made the stakes so much higher, but I could certainly understand being overwhelmed by sexual attraction.
One thing nagged at me, though. If he wasn’t exaggerating his lover’s degree of sexual allure, why would a woman like that be locked into fucking a married man from her workplace? My client was a nice-looking guy and he made great money, but there had to be more to it than that. They could both be fired if news of their relationship slipped out—why take so many risks? Could she be setting up some kind of man-trap, leading to a lawsuit and a big payday? Or did she have some sort of thrill-seeking aspect to her personality, where risky situations enhanced her sexual pleasure?
I didn’t voice those thoughts, nor did I attempt to tell my client what I believed he should do. My role—my legitimate role—was to listen, and help him think things through. But even at this point, gears were beginning to turn.
After a bit more back and forth, I pointed out the obvious to John, that he was probably headed for disaster. He could pretend otherwise, but his wife’s suspicions had not come out of the blue.
“I know I have to call things quits with Gina,” he said, unconsciously twisting the wedding ring on his left hand. “I’ve tried; I’ve even made vows to myself. I told Gina last week that we had to stop, that being discovered could ruin both of our careers, and she gets it. Sometimes I think she’s as determined to move on as I am, but… It’s like we’re trapped, unable to give up what we have.”
I could see the ime in the shaping of my client’s posture in the big chair, like he was a tree that was beginning to lean and twist. “Logically you both need to move on,” I commented. “But logic doesn’t always win.” Then, thinking it might be helpful to get into more granular detail, I said, “Describe what happened most recently, that derailed your vows to stop.”
“We see each other almost every day, for one. So two days ago, the last time we did it, it was being in the parking garage at the same time at the end of the day. I was at my car but not inside it yet, and I knew it was Gina coming up from behind before I even saw her, from the sound of her heels. I turned and looked, and like… See, she was wearing this gray skirt and a thin button-up blouse… Her fucking body, okay? She has these power legs that just slay me, and the same with her ass. And her tits in that blouse… I mean, she’s got it all!”
He went silent for a bit, and I nudged him on. “And so…”
“Her car was just a couple from mine and she stopped, and just stood there for a few seconds. I said, ‘I need to be getting home’, that simple, only as I said the words my thing was getting hard, and she knew that.”
“Go on.”
“She said back to me, ‘I really need to be getting home, too’, and it was all like code, because I could almost feel her pulsing over there under her skirt. After that no words, nothing else said. We got into our cars and I followed her to her apartment, just like she knew I would. There’d been no plan, no intention that we’d end up doing any of that ahead of time… But we just had to have each other again.”
I nodded and let some time , wondering if he would add anything else. Eventually I gave him my honest assessment: “You have to end this and probably very quickly, if you care about your children as much as you say you do.”
He knew it. The pain of it was in his eyes. “Nothing works so far,” he said, sounding defeated.
I’d seen a couple of photos of his wife. She was quite lovely in an aristocratic way, very different than his descriptions of his lover.
I became curious, and fuck not knowing what his lover actually looked like. Once I had this client in the immersion state, I could open just about any doors that existed—why not the hottie’s social media information? In fact, so much could be changed if I wanted to intervene in his situation. Intervening was completely unethical—it would be like a referee deliberately choosing a side in a sporting event. But knowing it was wrong didn’t blunt the certainty I felt, that I was going to end up shaping some destinies here.
Once that path was set in front of me, I didn’t waste any time getting John into the special state. In just a couple of minutes I had his lover’s full name—Gina Delucca—and I had images of her pulled up on my phone.
I came close to whistling, but stopped myself. From what I could gather, she was of Italian-Irish ancestry, twenty-five years old, and she really was one sexy woman. She had curly brown hair, so dark that it was almost like black coffee. Also a very strong neck, and above that a nice angular jaw and pillowy lips that broadened beautifully whenever she smiled.
And then her body, fucking hell. There were quite a few selfies with exercise equipment in the background, where she absolutely rocked gym shorts and leggings. Her legs and ass looked especially powerful; one gym post asked the question, “Glute Queen?”, and a bunch of irers agreed she was. That bulge of her glutes and quads got my heart beating fast, and also the pronounced roundness of her calves. She was definitely worked-out, and the best part was that she did indeed have big breasts, that I’d already been told were real.
“What size bra does Gina wear?” I asked my vacant client, certain he would know.
“Double-D,” came the slack-mouthed response.
Like Joyce from my past. In fact, Gina Delucca’s body was a whole lot like Joyce’s, all fit and curvy with the extra-dynamic legs. I also thought of Alma, who’d been on this same couch about forty minutes ago, and how I’d directed her towards losing weight while working to acquire a work-out physique. Here in these photos was a woman with a more petite body that was already there.
I understood now why John kept failing when he tried to give her up. And the idea was immediately there, that I might be able to solve this particular marital problem by getting hold of the tasty workout babe for myself.
Motivated, I asked a series of questions that brought much-needed information into the light. The first was that my client’s penis was a good bit larger than average. Just over eight and a half inches and quite thick, he said, and in his current mental state there would be no exaggeration. The size of his package was one of the key reasons why Gina couldn’t quit him in return—she had told him that he had the biggest cock she had ever experienced, and that the feel of his meat stretching her insides was a massive turn-on.
Right then I knew I had to have the woman, because if she was enthralled by his equipment, how hooked might she be if she ever got hold of mine?
I didn’t have a specific plan, some grand strategy that could guarantee a successful outcome for everyone involved. I knew what I wanted—some hypnotically-fueled go’s at John’s schlong-loving hottie—which meant my client needed to quit her and also steer her my way. And I figured that as long as I was taking something from him—the hot, fit lover—I might as well try to balance my karma by giving him something valuable in return.
I told him, again and again, that he needed to convince his wife to come to me for couples’ counseling, with the goal of improving their sex life. Whether she cared about that for herself was beside the point—if it took convincing her or tricking her or using their children’s welfare to guilt her into coming to this office, anything was good as long as he got her here within the next two or three weeks.
Simultaneously, he must convince Gina Delucca to book an appointment with me. If that proved impossible, he needed to bring her to me in some other way, through persuasion or trickery or whatever. I repeatedly told him that this was the only way to ensure that Gina wouldn’t sabotage his marriage, costing him his relationship with his kids.
And then the bottom line, his bottom line, from the depths of his soul—sex with Gina Delucca would never and could never happen again. He would feel this so strongly that his dick couldn’t even get hard for her anymore. If he engaged in any sort of sexual activity with Gina, even just teasing or foreplay, it would feel like the air itself became saturated with the tears of his heartbroken children. No man’s penis could grow hard in that kind of atmosphere. No man could want to have sex with a woman who made him feel that much grief, no matter how sexy she was.
What I was doing was so out of bounds that it might as well be therapy from a different universe, yet I felt pretty damn good at the end of that session, like a wizard casting invisible spells that benefitted the greater community. My client may or may not be able to convince the women in his life to come see me; I had hypnotized him, not them. But I could be assured that he would try like hell to get them here, and that he would no longer be fucking the workplace babe.
I had two more clients to close out the day, both male. I suffered a bout of total boredom with the first, and it was when he was leaving my office that I heard something of a commotion, raised voices coming from the outer office.
I went to the door and saw that my earlier client, John, had returned, and that he had somehow managed to convince Gina Delucca to accompany him. Something close to pride swelled inside me, because this was like hypnotic results on speed-dial. I had no idea what John had said to get his lover here so fast, and Gina did not appear to be happy. Her face was tight and her eyebrows were twin storm clouds above very attractive brown eyes. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, and it was a very impressive chest, and those were some very well-muscled arms.
Carlotta, sitting behind her desk, appeared to be flustered, which I didn’t think I’d ever seen in my life. Our eyes met and I tried to project calm.
“Miss Delucca? Would you please come in for a few minutes?”
A motion of my hand signaled John to stay where he was, and I told Carlotta to make apologies to the client I wouldn’t be seeing today, and to reschedule him.
For a few seconds I didn’t know if Gina would accede to entering my office; her head was lowered and somehow that made the curls of her dark hair appear angry. I wondered again what my client had said to get her here—we were only an hour removed from that earlier session, so there must have been some real drama involved.
Gina didn’t budge at first, and in those few moments I absorbed some of the details of her beauty. I could easily see the Italian blood in her. I liked her mouth, but her eyes right now looked as hard as marbles, like she wanted to punch something or someone. She let her arms fall to her sides and it stirred me, the way her bra cups put some strain on the fabric of her white blouse. I wanted to see this woman naked and fuck the living hell out of her, and that meant I needed to hypnotize her.
“You’re here,” I said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. “And you can leave anytime you want, right? What is there to lose?”
Her autonomy, I hoped, because holy fuck. Like my client had said, that body.
I was keenly aware that she could walk out my office door at any moment, never to be seen again. But my cock believed and that meant I believed, that with even one tiny shred of luck, I would have this woman hypnotized and needing my cock like she’d never needed anything before in her life.