Hypnosis and the Happy Hippy Pt. 04

"Socks!" I shouted.

He looked down and smiled. Nothing is more certain to put me off, like the sight of a man standing naked bar his socks. As he took off the offending items, I stood up and went to unzip my dress. Roger grabbed my hand and stopped me. Turning me around, he stroked my upper arms again. I trembled, and a noise escaped my lips.

"You seem to enjoy being touched there."

You don't know the half of it, I thought. "Yes, I do."

He drew down the zip at the back of my dress and kissed my neck as he did. Every muscle in my body tightened. I looked up, straight into the reflection in the dark windows. Not even caring if anyone could see in, I watched as he slipped the dress over my shoulders, stroking both arms again as he did. I watch the dress fall to the floor, leaving me in my lacy bra and knickers.

Back then, I was a curvy girl with ample breasts, a good protective layer on my midriff and fairly weighty thighs; at least they were when compared to Pam's. But I was okay with my body; men still found me attractive, sometimes more attractive than Pam aparently, and Jay couldn't get enough of me.

Roger wrapped both arms around me and we watched our reflections as he fondled my breasts. I put one hand behind me and found his massive manhood as he released my breast to unfasten my bra. I had to let go of him to allow it to slip to the floor, landing on top of my dress.

Staring at me through the window, Roger smoothed his hand down my stomach until he found the waistband of my panties. Without a break in the flow, he slid his hand right down until he found the warm, wet fold of my womanhood. He let out an appreciative little moan as he slid his fingers between my lips. As we both watched the couple in the window who watched us back, Roger took a half step aside for us both to have a better view of me fondling his well-endowed genitals.

It was too much for me now; as Roger brought his hand up to find my love bud, I felt a climax rising in me. I turned my head and reached around to grab his, bringing it down for a kiss. My knees grew weak as he rubbed and I clamped my mouth on his. I couldn't contain myself and my fires exploded, sending the heat searing through my body. I slid down, barely stopping myself from falling to the floor.

Roger lifted me up and placed me on the bed. He knelt between my feet and I slid my feet up the bed as he pulled down my panties. Spreading my knees as wide as I could, I invited his mouth to kiss my fiery fanny. He obliged, and then some. He kissed my labia like they were the lips on my face. Then he moved to my clitoris, first kissing it and then rolling his tongue around it. I was moaning and writhing on the bed; electricity coursed through my body. My hips bucked, pushing my sex against his mouth and pushing me to the very point of climax.

Roger stopped paying attention to my rosebud, knowing I was close, and kissed my trimmed pubis. Then he moved to my navel, kissing the indent. He kissed all the way up my stomach. Roger gave each nipple ample attention; as he sucked, I felt an intensely pleasurable pull in the muscles around my vaginal wall. He slithered further up and kissed me as he fumbled with his own equipment. I felt it sliding around my slick vulva, then separating the folds.

My eyes popped open and I let out a whimper as he pushed the head of his weapon into me. As he forced me open, I felt a confusing mix of pleasure and pain not experienced since my first shag. He filled me completely and I could feel my second, imminent orgasm careening closer as the discomfort dissipated.

Roger was near as well. His thrusting became more pronounced, and I rocked my pelvis to suit. Then he pounded my pussy with vigour. I was moaning louder and louder, panting faster and faster, thrusting my hips to meet his thrusts until I screamed out in ecstasy and dug my nails into the flesh on his back. That was the trigger to tip Roger into his climax. He thrust hard and I could feel his semen flood into me. He thrust again and again as squirt after squirt filled me up.

A slurping sound came from below as Roger pulled out and rolled off. The warm, wet liquid dribbled from me and rolled down my buttocks. It was a delightful feeling, even as it cooled.

"Shit!" Roger exclaimed. "You are on the pill, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, soft arse."

He turned towards me. "I guess you enjoyed that."

"Fucking right. Just what a girl needed," I replied. "I see you don't suffer from brewer's droop."

"I haven't drank that much."

He put his arm across me and fondled my breast again. My nipples responded well. He stroked my face and turned my head into a kiss. As he did this, his hand slid down my shoulder to my upper arm again. He stroked; I responded; those dammed fires were being stoked again. I grabbed his hand and pushed it down to my clit. Once more he obliged and played me, sliding his fingers down to my lips and back up to rub again. He did this several times until I grabbed his hand and held his fingers over my power button. In seconds, he invoked another orgasm, watching me as my face flushed and I moaned aloud. The spasms of orgasm forced more of Roger's juice from me.

A thoughtful silence filled the gap between us. "God! I'm desperate for a piss!" I sat up into the now-cold puddle beneath my arse and slid off the bed.

"Ooh! Can I watch?" Roger echoed my earlier words.

It was my turn to surprise him. "Certainly, handsome," I said and walked to the bathroom, sticky liquid sliding down both thighs. How bloody much did he have in there?

I had just settled my bum on the toilet seat as Roger walked in. He was already half mast at the thought.

"So, I'm not the only kinky one," I observed.

"It's not kinky, just normal."

I had no trouble opening up the waterworks, as my bladder was at bursting point. He watched the straw stream issue from between my folds, and I watched as his penis twitched back to life. If he is so interested, I'll give him a better view, I thought in my state of drunkenness, and rose into an unsteady half-standing position. Good God, I'm pissed, I thought. His eyes nearly fell from their sockets and his manhood was now at full mast. Unable to resist, I sat back down and reached out to grab the sticky flesh. Still pissing, I massaged his stiffness till his foreskin retreated to expose his glans and his shaft achieved the rigidity of a stick of Blackpool Rock; a very thick stick.

As I finished peeing, I pulled him forward. My face was just at the right level to get a mouthful of manhood. Roger made no objection, and I wrapped my soft mouth around his hard appendage, cleaning off our sweet secretions. It was a bit more of a stretch than I was used to. Roger thrust forward, touching the back of my throat; I baulked and pushed him back.

"Uh, uh!" I said. "You stay still."

I sipped at the bell end while running my tongue up and down. It wasn't long before he twitched, leaning his head back and moaning. I continued moving my tongue along the length of his glans until I felt it pulse and fill my mouth with more hot, sweet, sticky nectar. I held the vacuum of my mouth around the bulb while he emptied himself. Twice in half an hour was impressive. With his penis still in my mouth, I swallowed it all down like a good little girl.

"Fucking hell, girl! That was fantastic."

"I know." The tone sounded arrogant, even to me. wiping myself clean with a bundle of toilet paper, I announced, "I have to clean your mess out of me." I had to grab a second bundle of toilet paper to finish cleaning up.

"So," he said, "Am I seeing you again?"

"God no!" I was abrupt. "You know I'm engaged, don't you?"

I was already beginning to feel that day-after shame.

"Didn't realise." He said.

"And, if I get to hear any comments about this, any little sniggers as I walk past your buddies, or any crude comments, I'll make sure everyone knows what a lousy shag your are and how tiny your dick is." I realised how cruel I was being, but I had to make my point clear.

"But that is blatantly untrue!" His jay dropped in shock.

"We know that, but how many others do?" We walked back to the room, and I picked up my panties. With Roger examining every bit of me before I covered up, I pulled them over my bum.

"I didn't realise you could be so nasty." He was staring at my tits as he said this.

"I'm not. I'll say nothing to anyone about this, as long as you don't. The last couple of hours was incredible." By this time, I was fastening my bra. "Let's just keep it as a memorable experience and never speak of it again."

"Okay. I'm really not like that, either." He looked disappointed as I pulled up my dress.

"I just don't want to take the chance."

"Understood." He said and smiled.

I showed for him to zip me up. As he did so, I noticed my reflection in the window and giggled.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just the curtains."

I turned my head to grin at him. "Oh." He realised. "Shit!"

"Right, so you're going back down first. I'll follow in a few minutes," I instructed, ignoring the potential audience across the street. "If anyone saw us leave and asks, deny everything. Tell them you went out for a walk."

"Have you ever worked for MI5?" Roger joked.

"Just go."

"Okay, see you down there." He turned to leave.

"Oh, and if you're not dancing, you'd better dance with me just so it doesn't look awkward."

"Ah. Stasi, then." He left.

"And you have a go at me!" said Pam as I sat down, after slipping the key back into Charlie's pocket.

"What?"

"Roger from personnel?"

"I've got to explain something," I began.

"Oh. Is it juicy?"

"Depends how you look at it." I said and proceeded to tell all about being hypnotised and being left with these unusual and uncontrollable erogenous zones; the small spot on each upper arm, the backs of my knees and, sometimes, a tiny spot on my forehead.

"So, I get so turned on, I can't help myself. I either have to rub myself off or shag. And the girlie wank isn't always convenient or desirable."

Simon and Roger returned to our table with another traffic light for each of us.

"Please don't tell anyone about Roger and me," I whispered to Pam.

"Not a word. Promise," she reassured me. "You keep enough of my secrets."

At the end of the night, we said our goodbyes to everyone and left. Pam and I shared a taxi as far as the bedsit and she took it the rest of the way home. This time, Jay was already home and in bed, but he wasn't asleep. I undressed immediately and donned my passion-killer nightie; I slipped out to the bathroom.

"You weren't busy tonight?" I said, as I came back in.

"No. Another calm before the Christmas storm. How about you? Was it a good night?"

"Oh, yes." I thought about my hour with Roger.

"Cop off?"

"What?" I was taken aback. Could he read my fucking mind?

"I know what office parties are like. Did you cop off?"

I looked down, a little embarrassed.

"My God! You did. I was only joking."

I slipped into bed next to him as he sat up.

"Spill." He demanded.

"I'm a bit drunk, so can we..."

"No," he cut me off. "Tell me."

"What can I say? I'd had a bit to drink, and we had a few dances."

"Who?"

"Some guy called Roger. He works in Personnel."

"So you danced?" Jay asked.

"Yes."

"Slow ones?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Stop avoiding the issue. Did you screw him?"

I looked at the blankets.

"You did, then?" I couldn't tell if he was angry at the thought, jealous or just curious. "Where?"

"In one of the hotel rooms."

"I hope he fucking paid."

"Not exactly," I said. "But I didn't."

"Was he good?"

"Jay. I'm not gong to give you a detailed account."

I turned the bedside lamp out and slid down into the bed.

"I don't want a detailed account. Did you enjoy it?"

"Of course I enjoyed it. It was sex! I enjoy sex," I reminded him, as he lay down.

"So he was good?"

"He was," I hesitated, "satisfying.."

"Is he as good as me?"

I turned and embraced him. "No one can ever compare with you, my love. Not a patch." I was confident in that truth.

He rejected my embrace. "Is he bigger than me?"

"He was muscular. I think he might be an athlete."

"You know fucking well that's not what I mean!" He sounded jealous. Angry even.

"Fucking hell, Jay! You seriously want me to compare dicks?"

"Yes!"

I felt the pain of Roger's erection again; a memory in my vagina. "No, he wasn't!" God, forgive me for lying.

"You sure?"

"Jesus! Jay! I think I would remember.

"Did you think about me?"

"All night," I said, stroking his face.

"Even when..."

"Especially when..." I said. "All I could think of was getting home to you." I guided his head to mine, placing a tender kiss on his lips.

"Whoa!" He stopped me. "You've just shagged someone else. I can't." Well, it wouldn't be the first time, I thought.

"Well, how would you like me to..." I slid down the bed, kissing his bare chest, his stomach and, finally, his lingam, which was already showing more appreciation of my story than its owner.

"I could be persuaded." He said.

I went to work, teasing his cock with my expert tongue.

"Hang on," he grabbed my head. "You didn't do that to him, did you?"

"Of course I didn't," I lied. Well, I didn't want to spoil his enjoyment.

True to our agreement, Jay didn't give me a hard time about screwing Roger; in fact, we didn't speak about it until a few weeks later, in the same way you wouldn't speak about your partner's night out that didn't end in sex with a stranger.

While I felt a little embarrassed on the odd occasion that my path crossed with Rogers, neither of us said a word. No-one ever mentioned my indiscretion, not even Pam, and I didn't get any hint that Roger had told anyone. Threats often do work.

The Sunday following the party, and a week before Christmas, Julie rang me and said that the job behind the bar was there for the taking. Even though I'd never worked a bar before, Julie had sung my praises and promised to train me up on the sly.

"With your brains, you'll pick it all up in an hour," she assured me. So, on the Monday before Christmas, I began working behind a bar; talk about trial by fire!

Jay worked every night until Christmas Eve, when he chose to spend the last couple of hours propping up the bar, watching me flirt with customers, pull pints and fill up my tips jar. He knew he could make a killing on the cabs over Christmas, but he chose not to.

Christmas day, with its awkward dinner arrangement, arrived. Jay went to his parents, and I went to mine. We vowed that this arrangement would cease as soon as we were in our own flat with its own cooking facilities.

We had a good Christmas, all things being equal.

New Year's Eve came and went. It was less than eventful, with me working at The Riverside and Jay being my appreciative audience. Storm and Big Dave went out of their way to be friendly to Jay and, finally, they persuaded him to sit with them and the resident hippies. Yes, bikers and hippies got on with each other in my pub, as I came to refer to it.

Even though Jay knew about my hour with Roger, the sex between us improved as I managed to get him stroking my sensitive zones without him realising and encouraged him to practice the twitching trick. I practiced my version of it a lot as well.

Towards the end of January, Pam and I decided on a rare mid-week pub visit. We didn't get a chance at weekends since I began working at the bar. Rather than a busman's holiday at The Riverside, we decided on something new.

Some pubs on the dock road would have mid-week entertainment, including lunchtime strippers, so we selected a random ale-house from the adverts in the Liverpool Echo. We left about eight-thirty, so no strippers, and took a bus; we may have had more money coming in that ever before, but Jay and I were saving for a new flat and he was already working, putting in some extra hours in the evenings.

Our weird sense of irony being what it was, Pam and I dressed up as posh as we could manage. For me, it was my trusty old pale blue party-dress with a fake fur jacket to keep me warm. For Pam, it was a skimpy, little, figure hugging, black cocktail dress, offset by her long, straight, golden hair. She really knew how to show a fat friend up. Of course, the leather bomber jacket was for warmth rather than show.

Now, the dock road in 1978, while not as bustling as its heydays of earlier in the century, was still a busy area. On its four-mile stretch must have sat about a dozen public houses frequented by foreign sailors and rough-as-arse-holes dockers. The pubs had fancy names like The Bramley Moor, The Atlantic Hotel and The Langton Castle.

At night, a train of heavy goods vehicles lined the road, having joined the queue twelve hours before schedule, allowing their drivers a few beers and a good night's sleep in the cab; the lucky ones had custom made sleeping compartments that were not standard in those days.

We arrived at the first venue of the evening. It was a spit and sawdust affair and we stood out like a pair of well-dressed sore thumbs. The entertainment was an out of tune four-piece covers band. We were getting appreciative looks from some of the toothless, one-eyed clientele, so we hurried on.

We walked into the second pub in the middle of a song. The band comprised two guys in their mid-twenties and a reel-to-reel tape deck. One of them played bongos, and the other played an amplified acoustic guitar. They reminded me of The Everleys at their rockiest and they played all their own material.

I looked around at the punters. There were four foreign merchant sailors huddled together in a corner and the other dozen or so were well built, roughly dressed men. I assumed they were truckers. We seemed to be the only non-working women in there; yes, there were a couple of hookers, which is what we called them in those days. We soon attracted the attention of the sailors.

We stood by the bar with our drinks, watching the band. When we were halfway through, two of the sailors who had, I assumed, won the toss came up to us. In broken English with a heavy accent, they offered to buy us drinks while the two working girls cast us disparaging looks.

"We've got some thanks," Pam responded, ever the one to be in control.

"Go on. Keep lonely sailor company," One of them said.

"You've got company." I pointed to his shipmates.

They both became quite insistent, fuelled by alcohol, no doubt. They became very 'handsy.'

"Listen mate, we don't want company, now fuck off!" Pam became so assertive, I thought she might hit one of them.

One of them grabbed my arse. I pushed him off, telling him I wasn't interested.

"Come on Scoose Girl," I think he meant 'Scouse Girl.'

A thick Glaswegian accent butted in. "They told ye to fuck off, so fuck off before I make ye fuck off!" The owner of the accent pushed my suitor away. They both left.

"Sorry, Lasses, I hope ye didn't mind ma coming to your rescue. I could see it were going to get nasty," he said.

"Not at all. Glad of the help. Thanks." I said.

The band just ended their last song before their interval, so everything was quiet.

"Always happy for a knight in shining armour to rescue me." Pamela flirted.

"Jimmy McGregor." He shook our hands in turn.

"I see you've picked up a couple of locals then," Another Glaswegian approached.

"This is Mac," offered Jimmy, and Pam held out her hand in a manner that invited him to kiss it. He obliged.

"Just Mac?" asked Pam as he kissed my hand, an action guaranteed to make me weak at the knees. I'm sure I whimpered, but the jukebox starting up masked the sound.

"Aye! Just Mac," he answered.

Jimmy was slightly larger than Mac, but both of them were overweight, their chequered shirts stretching over their beer bellies. Jimmy wore his hair cut very close, almost a skin-head, while Mac had short, curly red hair. I would class them as rough-as-arse-holes. I would guess their ages at about forty for Mac and mid-thirties for Jimmy.