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."