She's Just Not Susceptible

Dr. Edwin Turner, PhD, was not what Carrie Simpson had been expecting.

When she'd proposed doing a feature story on him for the Springfield Gazette, she'd pictured a grizzled old man with a beard, somebody in the Sigmund Freud tradition. Instead, he was a George Clooney look-alike who appeared to be in his mid-40s. The touch of gray at his temples took nothing away from the youthful vigor that seemed to radiate from him.

"Thank you for coming in so late in the day," he said now, as he ushered her into a large, well-appointed office. "I knew if we did this interview after my receptionist left, we wouldn't have to worry about interruptions."

Carrie took a seat in the unusually comfortable chair that Dr. Turner indicated and glanced around her. Every piece of furniture in the office looked both stylish and expensive, including the impressive desk behind which the psychologist now sat. She noticed, with some surprise, the large television on the wall behind him.

"So, Ms. Simpson, why did the Gazette decide they wanted to do a feature story about my practice?"

"Please, call me Carrie," she replied, flashing him her most winning smile. "It was my idea, actually. I suspect most of our readers don't know much about hypnotherapy. I thought they'd be interested in learning what it's all about."

This was true as far as it went. What had actually sparked the idea for the story, however, were Carrie's conversations with two women who had actually seen Dr. Turner for hypnotherapy.

The first of these women was a friend of a friend Carrie had run into at a post-work happy hour one Friday afternoon. The second was a former colleague who had quit abruptly the previous month. Both women reported that their sessions with Dr. Turner had changed their lives, and they spoke about him with a cult-like admiration. It was the glassy look in their eyes that had left Carrie feeling somewhat uneasy.

When she proposed the story idea to her editor, Carrie had visions of exposing Dr. Turner as a charlatan. On a more realistic level, she was just hoping to break out of the city hall beat she'd been stuck in since joining the Gazette a year earlier at age 24. After months of covering hearings and press conferences, she was longing to write a juicy feature story. She'd been thrilled when her editor agreed to the idea.

"So there's something I should confess from the start, Dr. Turner," Carrie went on now. "I'm a skeptic about hypnosis. It's always seemed like a lot of mumbo-jumbo to me. Is it true that if you don't believe in hypnosis you can't get hypnotized?"

If the psychologist was insulted by what she'd said, he didn't show it. "I appreciate your being up front about your point of view," he said with a smile. "And you're right that some people are not susceptible to hypnosis, particularly people who don't believe in the process."

"Why hypnotize people, anyway?" Carrie asked. "Why not just engage in regular talk therapy with them?"

"That's an excellent question," Dr. Turner replied, and Carrie felt an unexpected surge of pleasure run through her in response to his praise. She was also finding it difficult to tear her gaze away from his large, dark-brown eyes.

"What I discovered early on in my career," he went on, "was that hypnosis allowed me to get past a patient's defenses much more quickly than I could do using traditional talk therapy. In a remarkably short period of time, I could assist patients in breaking down the inhibitions that were holding them back and help them get in touch with their truest, deepest, most uninhibited selves."

There was something about the way Dr. Turner said the word "uninhibited" that triggered a momentary surge of warmth between Carrie's legs, and she looked away, embarrassed. "Get a grip," she told herself. "He's old enough to be your father."

Collecting herself, she glanced back at the psychologist. "So how does it work?" she continued in her best professional voice. ""Do you wave a bright shiny object back and forth in front of a patient's face?"

Dr. Turner laughed. "Nothing like that," he said. "Like people in other fields, hypnotherapists have embraced modern technology. Take a look."

He picked up a remote control and pointed it at the television on the wall behind him. The screen immediately sprang to life, and a huge black-and-white spiral appeared. With another push of the button, the spiral began to spin."

Carrie stared at the swirling spiral for a few seconds, mesmerized, and then quickly looked away. She wasn't sure what had spooked her—a momentary touch of vertigo, perhaps, or the memory of a scary movie. Whatever it was, she felt annoyed with herself for getting rattled.

"Everything okay?" Dr. Turner asked in his soothing voice.

"Everything's fine," she replied, turning to look at him. She was struck again by his eyes, so large and so deep. You could get lost in those eyes, she thought, before reminding herself that she was there to do an interview.

"So people just stare at that spiral for a few minutes and get hypnotized?" she continued.

"It actually happens in different ways," Dr. Turner replied. "Sometimes my patients look away, thinking that will keep them from falling under the hypnotic spell."

"And it doesn't?"

"Not at all. Once they've looked at the spiral, even if only for a few seconds, they continue to see it in their mind's eye, so to speak. It actually makes my job easier because the spiral isn't something external that they're looking at, but something inside their heads. I draw their attention to it, and however hard they try to resist, it is soon swirling through their brains, pulling them deeper and deeper into a hypnotic state."

Carrie was aware that she could picture the spiral turning in her own head, and for a moment she allowed herself to consider it. "But why would your patients want to resist? They came to see you for hypnotherapy. They knew that was part of the treatment."

"That's another great question, Carrie. It turns out that most people resist the idea of giving up control to another person. Even if they're seeking help, the idea of emptying their minds and letting another person take charge of them makes them nervous. It doesn't really matter, though, because most people are susceptible to hypnotic induction and are not able to resist however hard they try."

The warmth that Carrie had felt in her groin earlier was now a faint tingle, and she couldn't stop thinking about the spiral. At the same time, she was aware of feeling superior to the women who tried to resist Dr. Turner only to fall into his hypnotic trap. For some reason, the thought of the psychologist penetrating these women's psyches and taking control of them sent another stream of heat through her nether regions.

"Of course, you don't have to worry about any of that because you are not susceptible to hypnosis," he went on. "You are one of those strong-willed people who won't give up control. That means you would be able to enjoy two of the side benefits of watching the spiral if you chose to do that."

"What do you mean?" Carrie asked, puzzled.

"I discovered early on that staring at the spiral triggers two responses in most people. First, it makes them feel deeply relaxed. Second, it sets off a pleasant feeling of sexual arousal. People will experience these effects even if they are picturing the spiral in their heads, but the responses are much stronger when a person is actually looking at the spiral on the TV screen. And because you are not susceptible, you are one of the lucky few who could enjoy these sensations without becoming hypnotized."

Without really thinking about what she was doing, Carrie glanced back at the television. She was immediately struck by the size of the spiral and the depth of the vortex it created. It almost looked three dimensional, she realized, and as she stared at it she noticed a deep sense of relaxation flowing through her. She also felt the tingle between her legs turn into a gentle throbbing.

"It is certainly relaxing," she admitted, all her anxiety gone now. She didn't mention the throbbing. Dr. Turner didn't need to know that she was feeling sexually aroused, though come to think of it he probably did know since that was one of the side effects. It was all a little odd.

"If I might make a suggestion," Dr. Turner said, interrupting her thoughts. "If you start with a point on the outside of the spiral and follow it around until it disappears into the vortex, it will heighten the sensations you're feeling."

Carrie did as she was told. "Why not," she thought. "He's the expert." She picked a point at what appeared to be the beginning of the spiral and followed it around and around until it finally disappeared into the vortex in what felt like a sudden whoosh in her head. It felt so good that she tried it a couple more times, at the end of which she felt more deeply relaxed than she'd ever done before in her life.

At the same time, the throbbing between her legs had grown stronger and more insistent, and she was vaguely aware that the crotch of her panties was now damp. It occurred to her that Dr. Turner might be able to smell her arousal, but as she followed the dot into the vortex another whooshing sensation pushed the thought right out of her head.

"Does that feel good, Carrie?" the psychologist asked. Was it her imagination, or had his voice grown even deeper and more soothing?

"So good," she replied, her voice a bit slurred now. She could feel herself squirming slightly in her chair, trying to rub her thighs together and ease the throbbing that was making it harder and harder to think. Maybe she should look away, she thought, take a break from the spiral and clear her head.

"And you're lucky, Carrie," Dr. Turner went on, as though reading her mind. "You're one of those exceptional, strong willed people who doesn't have to look away because you're not susceptible to hypnotism."

"He's right," Carrie thought, feeling his praise move through her like warm honey. "Why should I look away? I'm not like those silly women who try to resist getting hypnotized and get hypnotized anyway. I don't even have to resist. I can just enjoy myself."

But the thought slipped away before she'd even quite finished it because she was following the dot again, round and round and round, as it swirled through the spiral and disappeared into the vortex in another powerful whoosh.

" And now, I suspect," Dr. Turner whispered into her ear, "that you are past the point of no return."

Through her fog of arousal, Carrie suddenly became aware of her danger. She could feel the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. "Look away," she told herself. "Look away." But when she tried to turn her head, she discovered that Dr. Turner was holding it in a vice-like grip.

"No," she whimpered. "Please."

"Shhh," he whispered again. "There's no point in resisting, Carrie. Just relax and let go."

Desperate to escape, she shut her eyes tight, but she instantly became aware that the spiral was swirling in her brain now in a way that made her feel nauseous. When she opened them again, her attention was drawn at once to that same point on the outside of the spiral, and she followed it, helplessly, down, down, down into the vortex.

Whoosh!

"That's a good girl, Carrie," the psychologist crooned. "You don't need to think anymore. You just need to obey. Just focus all of your attention on the sense of pleasure you're now feeling."

Without realizing what she was doing, Carrie had let her legs fall open and was pawing at the crotch of her panties with her right hand. She was vaguely aware that Dr. Turner had removed her shirt and bra and was now fondling her large tits and playing with her nipples.

"Please," Carrie moaned. "Please."

"Soon all you'll be able to think about is how much you need to get my big cock into your tight, wet pussy."

At the word "cock," Carrie fell to her knees and began to work frantically to undo Dr. Turner's belt and take down his pants. A moment later she had his cock in her mouth and was sucking on it as though possessed. Her right hand was inside her panties now, her fingers working furiously, and she was emitting a steady stream of high-pitched whimpers and moans.

"Such a good girl," Dr. Turner was saying now, stroking the top of her head. "When you're done here today, you'll go out into the world and tell your pretty, twenty-something friends how much they could benefit from my treatments. And, of course, you'll come back for more treatments yourself."

"Yes, doctor," Carrie said, pausing a moment to catch her breath. Her eyes were glassy, and it was difficult to tell where the spiral in her head ended and the throbbing between her legs began.

Carrie couldn't remember how she ended up bent over Dr. Turner's desk, legs spread wide. She knew from the cool air on her ass that her panties were gone now, but she was too busy staring at the spiral again to care what that meant. The psychologist was teasing her with his cock, running it back and forth in her slit and occasionally dipping the head into her wet hole.

"Fuck me," she pleaded. "Fuck me."

But then her eye noticed the by-now familiar dot, and she began to follow it—round and round—through the spiral. Her clit felt as though it was about to explode now, and the sensation of Dr. Turner thrusting his cock back and forth in her dripping cunt was pushing her to the very edge. At the exact moment the dot tipped down into the seemingly bottomless vortex her body was wracked by a series of delicious, seizure-like spasms that went on and on.

"Whoosh," she said.