Hypnotherapist Ch. 11

Chapter 11

Sam showed up right on time. Just before 11 o'clock.

Sam was an anxious mess, he had to apply for graduation and that meant he couldn't delay opening his business any longer. I spent most of the time helping him calm his nerves and giving him courage and confidence. I didn't understand his business, but he wanted me to give him confidence and it wasn't my job to make business decisions for my clients, just to help them as they requested.

His brain was so focused on those problems that even his subconscious couldn't be effectively led to anything else. I couldn't figure out anything to do with him other than actually work with him on his problems.

I gave him a phrase, or mantra, that he could use to calm his nerves, triggering a dormant suggestion like I had with others. Instead of making him orgasm, as I had with Mrs. Moore and Jessica's "That's my bitch" command, I made Sam feel calm and peaceful anytime he said, "What will be, will be".

I woke him up and taught him how his command worked. Unlike with the women I was working with, I could actually show him how his command worked. No one was going to be mad that they, and only they, could calm their own nerves by reciting a mantra. It wasn't even disruptive like falling asleep or anything like that.

He left and I sat back.

I had the frustration of the stress that had built up working with Sam, but I wasn't ready to fuck again. What was the point of having a fucktoy and cum dump for a secretary if you couldn't just fuck whenever you wanted? She'd happily come in and bend over the couch, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get it up. Fucking so much was definitely catching up on me. I lamented that all those internet ads on porn sites for supplements and such to make you be able to cum all day long were just a rip-off.

I stepped out and saw Desiree eating her lunch. Looked like she brought in leftovers in a Tupperware that she had heated in the break room. The chicken smelled okay but wasn't what I was wanting right now.

I headed out and went to my favorite Asian place, a hibachi grill. They cooked the food fast for a good lunch break, it was tasty and I could eat in peace before coming back to the office.

I nursed my head as I ate the food, rubbing my temples and wondering what the deal was. I realized that while the constant fucking was one thing, it was probably more stress than anything. My friends had spread out for college and were states away. I had just started my practice and while the weekly visits I had with my current clientele were great for the bills, I might have to move to bi-weekly, or even monthly, for one important reason: Insurance. Insurance was my primary source of income, and if I wasn't careful they'd realize I was abusing their system. Weekly trips for mental health had been approved, but if I kept milking it, then they'd pull it back. If I went bi-weekly now, then when the insurance company made that change, inevitably, then I'd be ahead of the curve.

But that doubled the number of clients I'd need. Forty clients would fill every hour slot I had for a week. I currently have six clients on Mondays, four clients on Tuesdays, three clients on Wednesdays, Thursdays no one yet, and Friday just had Karen. That was fourteen out of forty, just to fill a single week. I had others who had set up a first appointment, but I wasn't gonna count any of those until I met with them and they were set up for multiple weeks. You know what they said, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush".

I was getting worked up. Nine clients a week would break everything even. Anything more than that would be profitable. Theoretically, 36 clients in a week would pay for a month of expenses. So a full week of clients could keep me operating even if I only met with them once a month. That didn't need to be a stress.

I wondered if I could manage to hook a contract with a local school or business. If I could get that as an "on retainer" type fee, then I could relax a little more. The last thing I needed was losing clients and then losing my office and home. I thought I had several clients under ironclad control, but nothing in life was certain. All you could count on was death and taxes.

It was way too early to think about a vacation, but I wanted one. Spend a week just relaxing and calling Karen or Desiree if I wanted a fuck, or just swinging over to the Moore's house to plow Mrs. Moore. That sounded great. I'd have to wait a while for that, though, and hopefully get more clients to be safe. Maybe I could set a date for that first vacation? Maybe I could do it just after Desiree's youngest sisters turned eighteen, so I could spend the week making all the girls prance around naked, fucking them as I wanted in front of Mr. Moore. That was a plan.

I hopped back in my car and drove back to my office. Walking into the office, I almost missed a step. Thomas Maxwell, my next appointment, was there but he had someone with him. A young female someone. Okay, not that young, probably early twenties, but she was definitely easy on the eyes. She was probably 5' 6", fit, and fine, with natural blond hair, blue eyes, probably C-cup breasts, and a nice fit ass, though as she was sitting it was hard to tell too much more about her booty. She wore a tight shirt that looked like activewear, though I didn't recognize the brand. She had leggings on and tennis shoes to round out the look.

"Hello Thomas, who's this?" I asked cheerfully.

"Oh, hello there, Mr. Kent." The older gentleman said with a laugh, "I convinced Abby here to come see what I am always talking about. Told her how good you are and after pestering her for a week, she decided to give it a shot."

"Hello there, I'm Abigail Armstrong. I'm Tom's personal trainer and physical therapist." The young lady declared, standing and offering her hand for a shake.

I accepted the handshake and noted that standing, her figure was almost perfect. Physical therapist and personal trainer whose body was a testament to her skill in developing the human body.

"I'm honored. I am always looking for new clients." I told her thoughtfully, "But I don't want you to feel obligated or anything. Is there anything you're hoping to work on today?"

Abigail sized me up, "A few..."

"Well, since my good friend Tom is giving you a referral, and I have the time, I'll give you the first session free. Let me earn your patronage." I offered with a smile.

"You're not just doing that because I'm a pretty girl, are you?" Abigail countered. "I've checked and you're in network with my insurance, and I can pay my own way thank you very much."

Interesting... I noted.

"No, I'm just trying to put my best foot forward with a new client," I assured her. "You said you were a personal trainer and physical therapist? Surely, as a personal trainer, you can understand trying to expand your clientele?"

She nodded her head in concession. "Fair enough."

I grinned, "Then I'll see you right after Thomas." Then, turning to the older gentleman, "Shall we get going?"

"I'm coming..." The gentleman replied with a smile, rising from his seat and shuffling after me.

I went through everything with Thomas as fast as I could. I wanted his results to continue, but I really wanted information on this Abigail.

He was happy to talk about her and I found out a few things about her fairly easily. She was a proud feminist. She was proud of her independence and accomplishments. She'd gone to college and gotten a master's to become a physical therapist and personal trainer. The school was in state, but according to Thomas, Abigail was proud of the quality of her education.

Education and intelligence were good traits for seeking to hypnotize someone, but feminism and independence could make her hesitant to trust me. If she only partially trusted me she might not fully take the suggestions I gave, making them just that, suggestions, instead of behavior-changing commands.

I reviewed my notes. I encouraged him to continue working with her and even encouraged him to pay her a little extra, "like a tip" if she got good results from him. Thomas could afford it. I wanted him to keep her around so even if I couldn't get her totally hooked and coming back, I'd have a way back to her.

I wanted her as a client and I wanted to see what fucking that fit body would be like.

Finally, I ran out of time. Even with the key phrase dropping him right into a trance, it took too damn long to affect anything meaningful on him, then fishing the information I wanted out of him was like trying to get a toddler to flip the right light switch in a row of four. He kept dancing around the information I actually wanted. But finally, I was through with him and I sent him out.

"Um..." Desiree murmured nervously, sticking her head in, "How do I put her in the system without charging her? That's part of the process..."

"Oh, let me show you," I told her, and I went out and showed her how to bypass the payment in the process.

"Alright, Abigail, I can take your information now," Desiree called, and the fit woman walked over and started answering the questions.

I went back to my desk to watch as the information populated for the new potential client.

I knew most of it at this point. Her age, 22, however, was new to me. A 22-year-old feminist... How sexually experienced would she be? On the one hand, as a feminist, she would believe that women should be sexually free and that she could have sex without making her a slut or whore, but depending on how insufferable she was about her feminism that might have made finding a man difficult. She didn't strike me as the type to hop bars and just find any dude good enough to fuck.

I was getting excited.

Finally, she came in.

"Welcome, welcome," I told her and motioned to the seat.

"Okay, so how does this work?" She asked. "Do you wave a watch or crystal and make the magic happen?"

"Oh, no," I assured her. "Hypnosis isn't magic, it's psychology. First, we'll establish what results you are looking for, and what your expectations are. Then I'll guide you to enter a trance. A trance is a natural state, like when you zone out, but more powerful. Then I'll guide you to make the changes to your own state of mind. It isn't mind control or magic."

"Wait," Abigail questioned, "I make the changes?"

"Of course," I assured her. "As a personal trainer, you should know the power of the mind and human spirit to overcome incredible things. Hypnosis merely puts your conscious mind to the side so we can work with your subconscious and help you make powerful changes in your life."

Abigail's eyes narrowed, then she nodded. "Okay, I guess I can see that."

"So, what do you want help with?" I asked.

Abigail's face worked as she tried to decide what to say. I could tell there was a lot she wanted to say, but she seemed to be trying to decide which bits to say.

"Okay, how's this?" She settled on, "I want your help talking with men."

I nodded, "Okay, that's a great place to start. What do you struggle with, talking to men?"

"Well, uh..." She seemed to be judging her words.

"You can speak freely. I won't let anything said leave the room, and I won't be offended." I assured her.

"Okay, fine." She conceded with a tick of her head. "Men are pigs. I saw you look at my body, and every fucking man does that! Do you care that I have a master's degree? No. Do you care that I play chess and read fantasy novels? No. All you care about is these."

Abigail accentuated that last statement by cupping her tits in her hands.

"How the fuck am I supposed to respect anyone when they don't respect me?" Abigail snapped, throwing her hands in the air. "How am I supposed to find a man who can hold a conversation without his eyes going to my boobs every five seconds? Go to a bar? Drunk men are worse than sober ones, and most of the men hanging out at bars are slobs anyway. I want a man who takes care of himself. Go to a sporting event? Most arenas or stadiums sell beer and men get wasted there too. Plus the men who I'd want to talk to are on the field or in the game. Can't really do that during a game."

She stood and paced, I carefully watched my pad as I took notes while she faced me, sneaking peeks at her ass when she paced away from me. Damn, she had a great ass.

"I end up working with geriatrics like Tom because anyone my age just wants in my pants!" Abigail continued. "Married men are just as bad, if not worse than the single ones! It makes me sick! I've only been doing this for six months and I can hardly talk to male potential clients."

She sat down, her tirade over.

"So, you think you could make it so I can talk to men without wanting to slap that pervy look off their faces?" She demanded.

I finished my notes, then looked up at her, careful to keep my eyes on her face. "Of course. Is there anything else we want to work on today?"

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "You think you can do that AND more?"

I chuckled, "Perhaps, but even if I can't get it completely fixed, I can work on it and other issues at the same time. Sometimes the core issues can even be linked... Though that is not likely here, I never rule out the possibility."

Abigail's chin shifted to the side as she pursed her lips in thought, "Okay. Can you help me with my cookie craving? I love cookies, but if I eat them, it wrecks my diet and I don't want to gain weight."

I nodded, noting again on my pad.

"Okay, anything else?" I pressed.

Abigail thought for a minute, "Let's start with that."

"Okay, so you want to be able to talk to men, without being bothered by them checking you out, and you want to be able to overcome your craving for cookies," I told her.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good start." She agreed.

"Alright, now for the trance. As I said earlier, you are the one who will enter the trance. I'll guide you and when you do as I tell you, it will cause your brain to enter a trance. In this trance, you'll be aware of what's happening and as I suggest things to you, you'll be able to make these changes." I explained.

I could tell Abigail was curious, despite herself, about how this would go.

"So the induction into a trance is a multi-step process." I began to explain and went directly into my first induction attempt.

It was nice, working with someone with strong mental faculties. Abigail followed my directions without question, as I was sure she expected her clients to follow her directions. Within a minute, her head dropped and she sat tall, as her trance kicked in.

"Abigail," I began, "I am going to count backward from ten. With each number I count, you will feel your relaxation deepen, becoming twice as deep and twice as pleasant. You will feel your conscious mind drift away from your body, being twice as far with each number. This is a pleasant experience and you'll find it quite delightful."

I started to countdown.

It was great seeing Abigail's body just relax as the tension washed out of her body.

"Now, I'm going to count down from ten again," I told her. "Each number will cause your relaxation to double again, and you will feel your trust in me grow. Each number will cause your trust in me to double until you know that I am totally here to help you."

Not a twitch. Good good.

I counted down again. Abigail was visibly as relaxed as she could be, so there was nothing I could see except her lack of resistant reactions to judge the success of my attempts. Abigail seemed to take the suggestion. I gave her a minute to settle in that state before I moved into working with her.

As always, I wanted to make sure I was secure in my control of Abigail before I moved into anything else, but I'd gotten overconfident one too many times recently. First, I set up my trigger for re-entering trance. "Sleep, Abigail, Sleep" would cause her to drop back into a trance, but only when I said it. I told her that she enjoyed this experience and would want to come back for weekly visits. Then I implemented hypnotic amnesia, when she woke she would just remember the peace, calm, and relaxation of the trance when she woke up.

I looked at my notes. Abigail had given me two problems to work on. The cookie craving was a simple issue. I could just tell her that whenever she craved cookies, she would remember the reasons she didn't want to succumb to those urges, and should she decide that she didn't want cookies the craving would go away. That was easy. I implemented the suggestions and there was no contention as she accepted the suggestion.

The issue with talking to men was harder. She was an attractive woman who took care of her body and had done a great job making it extra appealing. But she raged whenever a man looked at the results of her efforts.

"Abigail, you said men are pigs. Have men actually done anything to you, or proposed anything inappropriate, or do they just look at your body?" I probed.

Time to see if she was genuinely meeting trash men, or if she was just interpreting their actions in an extreme way. I wouldn't be surprised either way. Did horrible men exist? Absolutely. But having researched a lot of the supposed 'rape' or 'sexual assault' statistics, they were horribly inflated. One research study included when women felt uncomfortable because a man said 'hello' to them as sexual assault, and then other research studies used those metrics and changed 'sexual assaults' to 'rape'. It made filtering out the incorrect data nearly impossible but gave women the impression they were being assaulted constantly. If that was the case here, it could literally just be a case of Abigail being attractive and men appreciating it, while Abigail took umbrage to the attention.

"They look at me." Abigail declared in the soft breathy voice of a hypnotized individual.

"Have men done more than that?" I pressed.

"Yes." Abigail answered.

"What did they do?" I continued.

"They ask me on dates. They expect to sleep with me." Abigail replied.

"Okay. And you said married men do this too, do they ask you on dates?" I verified, taking notes.

"No. They just look." Abigail admitted.

Okay, we had oversensitivity and interpretation of attention as assault. I smirked. What a young lady like her was ever going to do when any appreciation of her body was interpreted as an attack was a mystery to me. I didn't know who led her to think that a glance was an assault, but whoever it was had failed her.

"Why do these looks bother you?" I asked.

I wanted to verify there wasn't a history of assault or anything she was hiding from me.

"My professor said that anyone looking at me like that was harassing me and I shouldn't stand for it," Abigail explained, still in that soft breathy voice. "After I learned that, I saw it everywhere. When I told my professor about it, she said it was a symptom of the patriarchy that men feel safe harassing and assaulting women like that."

Man, freaking extremist feminists. How did they always end up in places to influence young people? I thought I wasn't a young person, or that I wasn't influencing people. At least the suggestions I used would not really do anything if I were to disappear. Okay, there were a few that I had gone a bit far on. The Moores would struggle if I disappeared, I needed to fix that. Otherwise, my disappearance would not hurt anyone. Putting these ideas of victimhood and terrible interpretations of normal actions was intentional and damaging.

Time to see what I could do to undo the harm.

"Abigail, the next time you catch a man looking at your body, especially your breasts or your butt, you'll realize that your body is appealing and there is nothing wrong with that. It will give you pride in your appearance and confidence in your body." I told her. "Short glances are normal, though staring will be something you can still take offense at."