Like Winning the Lottery

I went to that session, and it was stranger than usual. We'd been working on my relationship with my sister that month. And he said he wanted to talk about the big falling out we had over our parents' wills. I didn't think it was that important, because she and I had mostly patched that up. But he insisted that there was more to talk about, and he insisted that hypnotizing me was the best way to uncover it.

This time, as I was about halfway under, he stopped. He said that it was important that I remembered everything that happened. That I would clearly hear and see everything, and that I'd remember all of it. What could I do? I was half in a trance. I just nodded and said "yes, doctor".

He took me deeper in the trance and said that nothing I saw or did or heard while I was in his office was ever going to bother me. That I'd find everything that happened completely normal, perfectly legitimate, and not worthy of mentioning to anyone. That I'd know everything that happened was in service to improving my relationship with my beloved husband, and that if anyone asked me about my treatment all I'd want to say was that it was working, and I never felt better. I nodded again. Completely enthralled, so relaxed and comfortable on that couch. Naked, of course. Always so hot in there.

Then a woman walked in, and Dean was behind her. I didn't recognize her at first because she was naked too. Then I saw she was Miriam, Dr. Sam's receptionist. We're opposites. She's got straight blonde hair. Not as long as my curly brown hair. I can almost sit on mine, and hers comes just to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She's got big blue eyes, and she's very tall; willowy.

She knelt down in front of the chair Dr. Sam was sitting in, and Dean sat in the other chair. I could see everything, and hear everything, and none of it seemed the least bit out of the ordinary. Miriam nestled between Dr. Sam's legs, kind of sideways. He was stroking her head, and playing with strands of her hair. She looked so calmly content. Her eyes were sort of half closed, and she had a graceful smile on her face. She leaned against Dr. Sam's leg, relaxing, completely sure of herself. I envied her for that serenity.

I felt my face split open in a broad smile. Then Dean said, "Cassie, Cassie, Cassie."

Suddenly I was so horny. I was instantly wet, my nipples were instantly hard, my hands flew to my pussy, and I used my upper arms to push my tits out so he'd favor them with a look. I wanted to touch myself, but I just spread my knees wider, pulled my lips open, and tilted my hips so he could see what he wanted to see. I didn't question anything. I didn't wonder why he was there and not at work. I just craved his look and fervently hoped that he'd allow me the privilege of sucking him off.

He said it again, "Cassie, Cassie, Cassie." Like you repeat a word to chide someone or almost as a joke. But the effect was an incantation, and the spell made me whimper and fresh liquid gush from my cunt.

Dr. Sam spoke next, as he was still stroking Miriam's hair. He said to me, "Cassie, tell Dean what you want."

I was crying with the relief of being able to express myself to my beloved. "I want you to be happy Dean. Please. I want to do whatever makes you happy. Please let me. Please, Dean, Master. Beloved. Allow me the joy of pleasing you, however you want. That's all I want."

I think about it now, as I'm writing down the words. I should be ashamed of my abject need, of this pathetic begging. But I'm not. Writing down the memory makes me realize how much it's still true. He is my beloved husband. My Master. I know my purpose when I'm pleasuring him. I know my purpose when he is happy. I am suffused with such contentment when I'm servicing him, when he's using me. That's all I have in life. That's all I need in life.

I can't keep going. I can't keep writing. I need to go to him. I want him to understand that I will continue to do anything and everything that he wants me to. Wait.

He was at the door just then. He called me, Cassandra, and told me that what he wants right now is for me to finish writing this. That I'm to take as much time as I need. He's benevolent. He let me lick his cockhead. He's so kind. He understands me so well.

That New Year's Day session. I remember it all clearly right now, but it seems unimportant. I told Dean that I wanted him to be happy. He showed me what would make him happy then. He used Miriam. She got to suck him. She got his fingers inside her. They laid her down on the coffee table in front of me. Dean took her throat, and Dr. Sam took her pussy at the same time. She writhed and moaned, and orgasmed extravagantly.

I sat there and watched. I should have been jealous. I should have been worried for her. But I was only content. I got to watch my beloved enjoy himself. He deigned to stroke my breasts and kiss me while he was fucking her throat. I beamed. He said it would please him if I could show Dr. Sam what an enthusiastic cocksucker I am. He said it would make him happy to watch me fellate Dr. Sam while Miriam licked my cunt.

I started to move off the couch but Dr. Sam stopped me. He said that I wasn't ready. He said that he needed to talk to Dean privately. He started to say something else, and it was like there was cotton in my ears, and a gauze over my eyes. A few moments or hours later, the gauze lifted, and Dean and Dr. Sam were back in their chairs. Miriam was gone. I was back in my usual spot on the couch.

Dr. Sam asked me, "Cassie, how are you feeling?"

"Wonderful, Dr. Sam." I remember laughing. "Horny as hell, honestly."

Dr. Sam nodded. "Dean will see to that when you get home. Is anything bothering you?"

"No. Nothing's bothering me. Nothing could bother me. Unless, is Dean unhappy?"

Dr. Sam looked hard at him, almost angry. Dean replied evenly. "No, Cassie. I'm not unhappy. I'm very happy, in fact. I made a mistake though, and we just wanted to make sure you're ok."

I stared right at Dean's eyes. With every cell in my body testifying to the truth of it, I said "I'll always be ok, so long as you're happy, Dean."

He smiled, and nodded, and I think his eyes were wet. Dr. Sam told him to leave and said he needed to keep talking to me. He kept me there for hours, I think. He showed me parts of the video of this session. Dr. Sam had been recording me. I know I didn't give permission, and I should have been incensed. I should have made a complaint. But I don't care. I can't question his methods.

I must never question Dr. Sam's methods. Clearly they work. Dean is so much happier. I'm so much happier knowing that I live just to make Dean happy.

God. It's getting so much harder to pull out of that glorious fog. But Dean said I was supposed to. Dean called me by my original name, and said it was important to him for me to write this down. So, I will.

Anyway. I stayed at Dr. Sam's office for another couple of hours. He was talking to me about changes that were going to happen. He was explaining that I would likely start having gaps in my memory, and that I shouldn't be alarmed by that. He explained that it was all part of the process to ensure that there was no relapses. I am having those gaps. Dean says another name, and suddenly I have no idea. It's not a fog; it's a blank space for hours. That's the part I can't write about. It should worry me, but I have to trust Dean and Dr. Sam.

When I got home from that session with Dr. Sam I was so horny I thought I'd die. With every move my pussy twitched and I moaned. My clit was swollen like someone had been sucking on it for hours. But no one had even touched it, not even me. I made it into the bedroom and Dean wasn't there. I don't know why I thought he would be. He was working a twelve hour shift.

I sat on the bed and cried. I needed him inside me. I couldn't breathe. I took off all my clothes and masturbated. I had an orgasm but it didn't help. I found a vibrator and had more, and it still didn't help. It didn't matter how many times I came, how hard, what I used. I knew the only thing that would sate me was his cum. Somewhere in me or on my body. And only when he'd had enough. I crawled over and buried my face in his pillow, hoping that the smell of his hair would help some.

I was lying face down on the bed, humping my hand like a teenager, breathing in the dregs of his scent from his pillow. I rubbed my clit until it hurt, until I was screaming as much in pain as I was in desire. The orgasms shuddered and rippled through me. I'd get a few seconds or a minute or relief, and then that unbearable need built again and again. Finally, I was so physically exhausted I passed out, hand still in my crotch. Pillow and sheets sopping wet; my body aching and desperate.

The next thing I knew, Dean was in bed with me. He was holding me. He was apologizing. I was shaking and crying, inconsolable, incoherent. But just the feel of his body, the sound of his voice, his smell, being able to see his eyes, that calmed me down some, and I could understand what he was saying finally.

"Cassie, baby, I didn't mean to leave you like this."

Like what, I had no idea.

"I didn't think. I got caught up at work. Are you ok?"

Am I ok? What does that even mean? He's here, he's upset, I can't have him be upset. I was nodding and shaking my head at the same time. I managed to croak, "need you. Need you..."

He nodded. He understood. He laid me on my back and took off his shirt. He lightly brushed his fingers along my stomach. He said, "Cum for me, baby. Cassie, I need you to cum one more time."

He reached down and grazed my clit with his fingertip, and he might as well have been pummeling me. Every muscle in my body contracted and I let out an animalistic roar and shuddered. I soaked his hand and started laughing, crying, and shivering at the same time. He kissed me gently and I rolled over so I could put my head on his chest. He pulled a blanket over us, and that's the last thing I knew until morning.

The next morning the fog was still there, sort of. I didn't feel it at the time.

But look what I wrote: 2 January 2019: We're having New Year's a day late. Dean was at the hospital all day yesterday, but we both have today off. I have the rest of the week, he has to go back on Friday. We spent all morning in bed. Dean woke me up by, well, going down. I don't know what kind of wheaties or vitamins that man has been taking, but he's had a serious increase in stamina in the past few months. Seriously, we've already had sex twice today. Maybe it's because his nightmares have pretty much stopped. Anyway, we've just been lazing around. I made Hoppin' Jon, and cornbread so we'd have our black eyed peas. He watched me in the kitchen, and kept molesting me while I was trying to cook. BTW, all I'm wearing is an old sweatshirt of his. It's long enough to be a dress, sure, but that's, ahem, LITERALLY all I have on. And, again BTW, that was a compromise. I said it was too fucking cold for me to be completely naked... I swear. I really don't know what's gotten in to him, but, I kinda like it. When I was chopping the onions for the hoppin jon, he stood behind me and kept running his hands under the shirt, pulling it up, playing with me. That's really the best word. He was playing with me like a toy, giddy like. He wasn't even trying to get me off just then, though... almost. But he'd stroke my stomach and then tweak one of my nipples. He'd pat my ass and then he just reached around and. I'm not sure how to describe it. He just...fiddled? Anyway, it's the kind of thing that I usually find annoying, being handled like that. But today it feels really good. It feels like that's how it's supposed to be, like I'm supposed to be here for him, however he wants. And that's ok. Actually, the only reason I'm writing this now is that he went out to get some beer. I haven't let him out of my sight all day, and as soon as he gets back... Something more serious than 'fiddling', I promise... Again...

The thing I didn't write, that I remember now, is that he had almost a mantra when he was saying my name. He didn't just start talking or holler 'hey' like he usually does. I mean, it's just the two of us in the house, it's not like there's a question of who he's talking to. Anyway, what I'm remembering is that he kept saying "Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia" all four of those names, before he said something to me or asked me a question. As the day went on, I got foggier; half asleep almost.

After dinner, we were laying on the couch. I'd started out sitting on his lap, which I hardly ever did, and then we just kind of stretched out. Me on my back and him on his side, back against the back of the couch. My legs are draped over his, and he's propped his head up on one arm. I'm snuggled right against him, one arm trapped between us and the other flung over my head. He's running his free hand up and down my stomach, under the sweatshirt. There's something so soothing about it. Something so comforting about the contrast of the cool air on my legs and pelvis, and the warm air trapped under the shirt, and his warm hand. He's just wearing sweatpants, so my cheek is against his bare chest, but the backs of my thighs are resting on the soft sweatpant material and his strong legs.

His hand is stroking up and down, gradually pushing the shirt higher, and he's murmuring, softly. I'm half asleep, feeling weightless, and he's just methodically stroking me.

He drops his voice lower, and starts in with those names again, "Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia. Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia." Softer and softer, and I'm lighter and lighter, surrounded by warm air, somehow floating and sinking at the same time.

He keeps going, "Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia, tell me your heart."

Glides his hand from my hip to the opposite breast, softly. "Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia, tell me your dark."

His hand slides across to the other breast, and down to the opposite hip. "Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia, tell me your soul."

A little more firmly, across from one hip to the other, barely grazing my vulva. "Cassandra, Cass, Cassie, Sia, tell me it all."

Then up the center of my stomach, spreading his fingers out at my heart. Then gliding down to the hip. Over and over. Again and again. Too many times to keep track of. Softly, gently, rhythmically. I'm drifting away, the world is disappearing, the only things in it are his hand on my torso and his voice him my ear. Drawing something out of me. Another kind of incantation. And then I'm talking. Just as quietly as him, but talking, telling him... things. What scares me now, is that even today, when I'm remembering so much, I don't know what I told him.

What I have been able to figure out, is that after that, he started asking me to do kinky things that I'd never admitted to myself I wanted to do.

And I did them.

15 January 2019: Dean has started calling me "Cassie" sometimes. I used to hate that name, but it's kinda cute coming out of his mouth. It's like a personal endearment that I won't let anyone else get away with. Our own thing. We have a lot of those now. We have a lot of sex now, too. Not that that's a bad thing. And it's getting more inventive. It's almost like we're both so much freer now, no inhibitions. Dr. Sam asks about my fantasies a lot. Which, I don't know. It's kind of strange. But we wind up talking about them together. And Dean's obviously talking about his to Dr. Sam too. Neither one of them has been the least judgmental about the weird shit I fantasize about. NOT WRITING HERE!

3 February 2019: I quit my job. Folks at work were surprised, and I guess it is a little bit of a change for me. Right after we won that money I insisted I'd keep working. But, why not quit and enjoy life? My last day is the 22nd. Just in time for my birthday. Happy birthday! Dean's happy. He says he'll feel so much better knowing that I'm safe. Like my job was somehow more dangerous than his. Like no one ever beat up a doctor? He keeps reminding me how much bigger he is than me. Bigger. Not tougher. Anyway, I'm guessing I'll chillax for a while and then figure out some kind of volunteer work to keep me from going crazy.

25 March 2019: I don't miss work as much as I thought I would. I spend most of my time at home piddling around until Dean's shift is over. I keep reading trashy romance novels and outright smut. I watch silly stuff on Netflix. I crochet. A lot. But it's ok. Dean keeps talking about the lottery money and how we need to spend at least some of it on stupid stuff. He keeps saying what's the point if we're not enjoying ourselves. He says "We have all this money, why not hole ourselves up in a cabin and fuck each other to exhaustion? Why not, rent a private island so we can run around naked all the time. Why not, convert the basement in to an adult play room. Why not, go to a club and fuck in the bathroom." Why not. Why not. Why not. I'm no prude, and I surely have been enjoying our increased, um, experimentation. But. I just guess I never knew that was in him. We'll see. He makes a good point. What's the point of having more money than you could ever spend if you can't be silly with some of it?

18 May 2019: We're so much more adventurous with sex than we used to be. I'd venture to say than most people are. Just in the last few weeks: we went to the movies and he dared me to blow him in the theater (I did); he asked me to give him a handjob while we were driving, just going out to dinner one night (did that, too); we had anal for the first time (stellar), and he keeps talking about wanting to try a threesome (not sure, but thinking about it). The other night we went to our favorite sushi restaurant and he followed me into the bathroom. I didn't realize it, and he was just there leaning against the door when I came out of the stall. He locked the door and pushed me up against the wall. He pulled up my skirt and fingered me until I orgasmed, all the while whispering in my ear a bunch of filthy things I'm not going to write down. I don't really remember the rest of the night. I must have had too much sake. The next day I was sore and had some weird bruises in some strange places, and he was acting full of himself all day. It's all stuff I never would have thought about doing a year ago. But it's fun, and he seems to be enjoying himself so much. And we're both adults, so what's the harm, right?

It happened again. I saw Dr. Sam, and Dean was there unexpectedly. They did something, said something. I don't know what. I don't remember hypnosis this time. But by the time I got home I thought I was dying from sexual desire. Dean was waiting for me in the bedroom. I literally ran to him, stripping naked as I did. He caught me. Called me Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. He shoved me down on the bed, and his eyes were so dark. He dropped down on top of me, smothering me.

He pushed his fingers into my aching cunt and I instantly orgasmed. And instantly knew it wasn't enough. The need just built again, stronger. All I could do was shake and whimper. His hand moved again, and the cycle repeated. And again. I was on fire.

Then he whispered something I never imagined to hear from him. "Cassie. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you so hard I'll leave bruises. I want to hurt you. I want you to enjoy it."

I spread my legs wide as I could. I nodded, as he was wiping the tears off my face. I took his head in my hands, "Anything, Dean. Beloved. Anything you want, is what I need."

He picked me up and we walked to the kitchen. He bent me over the kitchen table, which is flush against a wall and wouldn't move. He said my ass wasn't high enough, so he moved two of the chairs and I kneeled on those. The table edge hit the front of my thighs. He stood behind me, and I could feel his heat, hear his breathing. My god, just the smell when he undid his pants and pulled down his underwear. It made me whimper, moan, I begged him, please, hurry.