Tales of an Unethical Hypnotist Ch. 01

It was mid-October, just the beginning of fall; that time when you first start to notice that the days have progressively shorted over the past month. The weather was mild, indeed truly pleasant. Here along the Great Lakes, we have only about four weeks of pleasant weather a year, the two weeks at the beginning of autumn just before the snow falls, then two more about eight months later when the last snow has melted, and the oppressive humidity of summer has yet to manifest. It was at this time, on a Friday afternoon when everything began...

"Hey, Dad! What are you doing home?" It was 3:30 in the afternoon and my daughter, my only child was just arriving home from school. Something in her voice, a slight strain caused me to look up from the vegetables I was chopping near the kitchen sink.

"Oh hi, sweetie!" I replied. "Both of my afternoon appointments cancelled. They probably figured spending some time outside in the gorgeous weather would be better therapy than being cooped up in my office. Not that I blame them mind you."

I run my own therapy center. It started years ago when I turned my hobby of hypnosis into a side business seeing clients in a makeshift home office in the evenings and on weekends. Over the years I began to enjoy a comfortable level of success and eventually moved into my own office. Later I began to add additional services. I hired a massotherapist which soon became two. As time passed, I added a family therapist, another hypnotherapist. Now we've grown to an entire center which offers homeopathic medicine, physical and mental therapies and we even have an acupuncturist who comes in two days a week. Most of my time is now spent on administrative duties, but I still like to see clients when I can.

"Well that's awesome, Dad. What'cha making for dinner?" There was an overtly joyous tone in my daughter's voice. It was obvious to me that she was upset about something and didn't want me to know.

"Chani, you seem upset. Anything you'd like to talk about?" I was trying hard to sound concerned yet not seem overly interested. Of course, I'm interested in my family, but they prefer when the therapist part of me stays at the office.

Chani is my daughter and the most precious person on this earth to me. In all her 18 years on this Earth, she has never failed to make me proud of her. She won't be the valedictorian when she graduates at the end of this school year, but she's easily in the top 10% of her class. A strong student who works to the fullest of her ability. She's a hard and diligent worker. She always does her share of the housework and never complains. She's respectful to her parents and elders. She's active in extracurricular activities. Physically she mostly takes after her mother, very petite at 5'2" and I can't imagine that she weighs more than 105lbs soaking wet. Like most girls her age, Chani has changed a lot in the past few years, in intellectual and emotional maturity and, of course, physically.

It was just this past summer while sitting and reading the news, that I began to bemoan the latest drama in our nation's capital loudly. My wife called from down the hall giving me her own take on this current scandal, mentioning her hopes that the recently elected junior senator may be able to bring about some modicum of change. I looked up from my screen, as she walked into the room when I found myself at a complete loss for words. It turns out that wasn't my wife I was discussing politics with. It was Chani.

As I looked at my daughter, standing in front of me waiting for my reply, it was like something in my brain just snapped. I realized that in my mind my daughter had stopped growing at 10 years old. Sure I knew, intellectually, that she was driving, that she had a summer job. I'd even heard the occasional mention of boys. But somehow that intellectual understanding never made an emotional connection. Somehow my "dad" brain just blocked it all out. But here standing in front of me was a woman, no longer a little girl discussing the imagined social interactions of her doll collection, but a woman interested in current events, politics no less.

At that moment I felt a profound sense of loss, and in the months since then I've been a little distant from my daughter.

"No Dad, it's nothing," Chani said, bringing me back to the present conversation.

"Well okay, sweetie. I just wanted to..."

"Dad, I just can't take it!" Apparently, she decided to talk about it after all. "I'm just so overwhelmed! Every week we get more and more homework! Volleyball practice is being moved from three nights a week to four. I've got 300 lines to memorize for drama club. 300!!"

Chani's words had begun with such power, but as she continued her tone changed from anger to exasperation. Her arms dropped, and her shoulders drooped. I had a feeling that we'd need a box of tissues any second now.

"And...to...top it all...off," Chani was openly sobbing now. "Jessie is mad at me and won't even speak... to..." Her sentence trailed off as she brought her hands to her face, her upper body jerking in rhythm with her tears. I walked to her and put my arms around her, holding her close.

"Why isn't Jessica speaking to you?" I asked. Jessica had been Chani's best friends for nearly a decade and while the occasional spat between friends was not unheard of I was sure that with all the additional stress, Chani was probably taking this one a litter harder then she might normally.

"I don't know, I mean I know, but it's just so stupid. She saw Cody kinda staring at me in the lunch room. Well, now she's convinced that he's going to ask me to homecoming."

"Sweetie, I don't quite understand why she would be angry with you because a boy asked you to a dance."

"That's just it Dad, he didn't ask me, and even if he did I would say 'no' because I really don't feel like going to a stupid dance, certainly not with him. She's all pissed at me because she likes Cody and wants him to ask her. The whole thing is crazy, the only reason I even know he was looking at me is because she was staring at him. I didn't even know he was there, but somehow this is all my fault."

While she continued to sob, I walked Chani over to the oversized easy-chair in the family room. I sat down and motioned for her to do likewise. Chani just continued to sob as she curled up on my lap and buried her head in my chest.

"I just can't stand all this pressure Dad. Why can't things be like they were when I was little? I would just run and play, and everything was fun. I never had to worry about anything." Her sobbing had stopped, and her breathing was returning to normal.

"Well sweetheart," I began. "You'll be attending university next year, and there'll be a lot more expected of you. Your teachers are just trying to prepare you. I know things seem hard, but you'll get used to it." It didn't take but a split second before I realized that my "life just sucks" approach was probably a bad idea. Chani began crying again, this time silently sobbing into my chest. I decided to take a different approach.

"Chani, baby, listen to daddy." I began. I was using a much softer and soothing voice than I usually would, more like the voice I use when hypnotizing my clients. I was trying to relax Chani after all, and this is one of the best ways I know how to do that.

"I know that there is a lot of stuff happening in your life, things which cause you distress and perhaps even pain, but those things are happening at school and perhaps with your friends..."

"And with mom." Chani interrupted, her crying once again subsiding.

"...and maybe even with your mother. But, right now, in this moment it's just you and me, a loving father and his smart and talented and caring and beautiful daughter." Chani's crying had stopped, and I noticed how her breathing was beginning to slow down as well. I decided that I should continue:

"Here...and now...sitting on...my lap..." I began to slow my words, timing them to her own breathing. "...you can be... that little girl... free from worry... free from stress. That little girl... who knows... her daddy will always... take care of her... who knows... her daddy will always... nurture her... who knows... her daddy will always... protect her... take care of... all her needs... will always love her... No matter what happens... with your friends... or with your mother... daddy will always... be here... for you. You're my little girl...Chani... I love you... more than anything... in the world... just as you love... your daddy. "

Exhausted by her outburst and coxed along with my gentle tone, Chani's eyes had closed, and her breathing was slow and deep. Most people would assume her to be asleep, but I knew there was still a part of her mind listening to my words; and so I continued once more, almost in a whisper:

"Chani... Listen to me now, Chani. You are a strong woman, capable of accomplishing anything. You are intelligent and resourceful. I know this because I have watched you grow since the day you were born, and as such I know, and now you too can know, that no matter what comes you will always have the strength to overcome, to succeed. And if the stress is building up and you feel like it might be too much know this: You will always be my little girl, and I will always be here to make you feel safe and secure. To love you completely. To take care of all your needs. When it's time to work, Chani, you are that strong, powerful, intelligent, resourceful woman, and when it's time to play, Chani, you are my carefree little girl."

Chani now seemed to be deeply asleep, so I kissed her forehead and carried her to her bed. Leaving her sleeping, I returned to the kitchen to continue dinner preparations.

About an hour later my wife, Marsha, arrived home. She talked about her day for a few minutes then inquired where our daughter was. I informed my her that Chani had a stressful day and was taking a nap, but since it was almost time for dinner perhaps she might go and wake her.

"Is she coming?" I asked as my wife returned to the kitchen alone a little while later.

"Yeah, she said she was going to change out of her school clothes real quick and be right out." My wife and I finished setting the table and were just about to start when Chani came bounding into the room, apparently, the nap had done her some good.

"Hi, mommy." She smiled, with a level of exuberance beyond her norm, "Hi daddy!" as she skipped over and gave me a big hug.

"Well, thanks, sweetheart. What was that for?" as it did seem a bit out of character.

"Nothin' I just love my daddy!"

It was at this moment that I noticed two more oddities, in addition to her cheerfulness that is. First was that her hair was tied up in pigtails. It was charming mind you, but I hadn't seen pigtails on my daughter in years. Secondly, and accentuated by her bouncing and bubbly movements, was her apparent lack of a bra. Now I have no idea what size bra my only child wears. I've just always left those sorts of things to the woman of the house, but I would guess she's probably a large C or small D-cup, not particularly conspicuous for a high schooler, but bigger than average for her age, and prominent on her diminutive frame. After what was, hopefully, only a split second I realized that I was now staring at Chani's breasts and I quickly averted my eyes.

The rest of dinner and the rest of the evening continued in much the same manner. When Chani finally went to bed, she asked me to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, something I hadn't done in years.

As my wife and I were, ourselves, preparing for bed, she commented on Chani's unusual behavior.

"What was up with Chani tonight? She was acting like a little kid."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," I replied, trying to sound disinterested. "She told me earlier that she and Jessica were fighting, maybe they made up over the phone, and she was just a little giddy about it. Whatever the case I'm sure it was no big deal."

"Maybe I'm just over analyzing it." My wife agreed, as she leaned toward my side of the bed and gave me a goodnight kiss. "Good night."

"Good night, Dear," I answered. "Oh, sweetheart," I said as if I had just remembered something. "I wanted you to see this.", I finished as I reached over with one hand, pulled open the drawer in my nightstand and began to feel around.

"Oh, um honey, I don't want to be rude," she replied with just a hint of exasperation in her voice. "but I'm exhausted, and I've got to be up really early for work. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"I know, I'm sorry. It will just take a... ah, here it is." I said as I pulled the object out of the drawer and held it up for my wife to see.

Annoyed, my wife opened her eyes and turned her head to look. Her obviously exaggerated sigh was cut off mid exhalation as her gaze landed on the object. At first, a look of confusion came over her face, but only for the briefest of instants as within a single heartbeat all the muscles in Marsha's face went slack and her eyes glazed over.

Then effortlessly and without complaint she flipped off the covers, came up into a kneeling position and leaned forward toward me, her eyes remained unfocused as she bent her head down and reached up to pull her hair out of the way, exposing her neck.

I took the object, the catalyst of these strange events, and looked at it. In my hand, I held a simple leather collar. It was rather plain, black in color with a stainless-steel buckle style clasp. The only ornamentation was some plastic, glittery letters on the front which spelled the name, Ashley.

An outside observer, having seen the effect it had on my wife Marsha, might begin to wonder if this was some ancient magical relic, imbued with unspeakable power. They would, of course, be wrong, that's just silly. As I said, it was just a simple leather collar (from the pet store I might add) with some cheap plastic letters super-glued in place. (Which, if you're wondering I purchased at the dollar store.) I guess I could have ordered a custom leather collar from a BDSM leather worker and paid a couple hundred dollars, but why? Especially when I get the same effect with one that set me back about twelve bucks?

After securing the collar around my wife's neck, I gently patted her on the head indicating that I was finished. She let her hair drop and sat back up.

Then as if waking from a deep sleep Marsha's eyes brightened, she took a deep breath, and the biggest smile formed on her face. Well, that's not entirely accurate. You see my wife Marsha was asleep. After all, she had to get up early for work. No, as the collar indicates, this was not my wife Marsha, this was my slave...

"Ashley," I said a smile evident in my voice.

"Oh, Master!", she beamed back at me. "This one is so happy to see you!"

I love my wife. She has been my closest companion and my dearest friend for years. She is my lover and the mother of my only child. She supported my ambitions when I was struggling to build my business. She cares for me when I get sick. She believes in me and trusts me. The list just goes on and on.

And even beyond all of that, it's just so easy to love her. She is smart and kind and caring. And she is the most gorgeous woman I have ever known. I'm no slouch, but let's just admit it, physically, she is out of my league. Keep in mind, she was with me when I was poor, so while she might have the body of a 26-year-old trophy wife, in reality, she is the 41-year-old mother of my child and my absolute partner in life.

Knowing all that you likely won't be surprised to hear that not only do I love my wife, but I love making love TO my wife. However...

She is just so vanilla in the bedroom. Now, she does have a minor submissive side, and she desires to please me and meet my needs. In fact, early in the relationship, she allowed me to get a little kinky, but she just never got into it, and for me that's most of the fun, knowing that my partner is into the depravity.

And, while I have the skills to do it, I learned in my first marriage that trying to alter someone's core personality can have unintended consequences. So that was never an option with Marsha. Instead over the course of about 9 months. I slowly and gently began to discover, encourage and develop the aspects of Marsha that would suit my desires. But, rather than empower them to change Marsha, I merely bound them together into a new personality, and her name is Ashley.

Ashely has been my devoted sex slave since before my daughter was born.

"I'm happy to see you too.", I finally replied as I reached out and caressed her face with my hand. In response she melted into my touch and cooed, her whole body relaxing as she stared into my eyes.

"Are you ready my dear?", I asked, knowing the answer.

"This one is ready, Master.", she responded.

"Good, then come here." I laid back on the bed and stretched out my arm indicating she should cuddle up against me. "Let's begin. Ashley, what is your purpose?", I asked.

Ashley assumed her usual position cuddled against me with her head on my chest and my arm wrapped around her. "This one's purpose is to strengthen the bond between Marsh and Master." Her tone was full of pride. She obviously felt very strongly, very positively about this purpose.

"How, Ashley, is that purpose achieved?", I continued with my ritual questioning.

"This one helps to meet master's sexual needs. When master's needs are met he able to love Marsha fully and completely."

"Good, Ashley. How does this benefit me?"

"This one's actions help master to feel satisfied, contented and happy!", She responded. Obviously taking great joy in knowing that she pleased me.

"And, how does this benefit Marsha?"

"When she feels loved fully and completely she feels happy and fulfilled. Feeling this way improves all areas of Marsha's life."

"As always, my pet, you are correct." My simple praise caused a shudder of pleaser to course through Ashley's body. "Now, my slave...", I said, my tone becoming more authoritarian. "What is the purpose of your body?"

"...my... body?", she asked after a moment of confusion. "Master, this is your body and it exists only to serve and please Master.", she responded taking on a more serious tone.

"Good, and what, Ashley, is most important in life?"

"That Master is safe, loved, and all his needs are met. It is all that matters in the universe, it is the reason I exist!" In this declaration Ashley's voice carried the firm resolve, the absolute conviction of a religious zealot reciting the pillars of their faith. It was twisted and depraved that she believed such a thing, and my god hearing it turned me on.

"Very good my dear, I am so proud of you!" This time my exuberant affirmation elicited an audible gasp from Ashley. I noticed her face beginning to flush as she squeezed her thighs together and squirmed in place just a tiny bit.

After years of conditioning, this reinforcement ritual was no longer needed, Ashley was a permanent fixture within my wife's mind. Even so, I kept it up; mostly because I enjoyed hearing it.

Well trained, and with plenty of practice, Ashley remained still as I continued to cuddle and caress her. But, despite the overall illusion of calm, I could hear her breathing becoming ragged. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes began to take on a frantic continence. I knew what she wanted, but I feigned ignorance to her condition by continuing my gentle petting.

Soon though, it became apparent that Ashley was reaching her limit and wouldn't be able to contain herself. But, I was having fun and wanted to see how long she could last. So, I said nothing.

I didn't have to wait long though, as just about 30 seconds later a meek and somewhat forlorn voice rose up from Ashley, "Master, has this one angered you?"

"No, no my pet, I was having a little fun. Perhaps though I was being cruel? I know what you desire, and you may begin.", I said reassuring her.