Tales of an Unethical Hypnotist Ch. 08

What a night.

It was hard to believe how far things had come in just a few hours. Not long ago, my wife Marsha, our eighteen-year-old daughter, Chani, and I were all enjoying a delicious meal at a fancy restaurant.

Now I found myself sitting on the couch, in complete astonishment, as the two most important women in my life put on a lingerie "fashion show" for me.

Marsha wore an all-black ensemble of leather and mesh with a fantastic hair and makeup job, a sort of punk/goth look. Her outfit was clearly designed to put all of her incredible assets on display. (And provide easy access to them.)

Chani was her polar opposite. Dressed in all white, she looked more like a young bride on her wedding night. Subtle makeup with her hair in pigtails, her demure and shy expression only heightened the sense of innocence she radiated.

As I stared, dumbfoundedly, at these two women, each the embodiment of pure sensual sexuality, my wife spoke...

"James, please remove your pants and take your cock out. I'm drunk, I'm horny, and right now, I can't decide which of you I'm going to fuck first."

At that moment, two things happened.

First, my hands began to move, seemingly on their own, before I could even consciously process what Marsha had just said. They unfastened my belt and feverishly began ripping my pants off.

Second I became acutely aware of a deep aching, a feeling bordering on pain, emanating from my groin. I had been aroused since we left the restaurant, and that was hours ago. I needed release, and I needed it now!

Generally speaking, I like to be in control when it comes to sex. But there seems to be some deep, instinctual part of the male brain that takes over when it sees a woman "in heat." As Marsha stalked toward me, her face a mask of pure lust, that part of me began screaming...

"Whatever you do, DON'T FUCK THIS UP. Don't move. Don't speak. Don't even blink."

I heeded that advice and went still. I can't imagine that I looked particularly masculine or sexy at that moment. My ass partly hanging off the couch, my pants around my ankles, my eyes wide with fear, and my cock pointed at the ceiling, but I certainly didn't care. Because with feline grace and a predator's intent, my wife was nearing me. She looked like some kind of succubus transported from 1984, she looked ready to feed, and I was more than happy to be this evening's meal.

As she approached, hips swaying, eyes locked on mine, she brought the palm of her right hand to her lips. Next, sticking out her tongue, she coated it with a copious layer of saliva.

Then in one fluid motion (had she practiced this?), she swung her leg over me so that she now straddled me, facing Chani. She reached down and both greased my cock with her spit covered hand and then used that hand to guide me into her as she quickly and forcefully impaled herself on my throbbing member.

I find it fascinating, but no matter how many times I've fucked my wife, when I'm horny (I mean really horny), entering her pussy is the most exquisite sensation I have ever experienced in my life.

This time was like that; it felt amazing! And apparently, I wasn't the only one who really needed this because we both let out an intense groan of satisfaction.

Across the room, Chani stood staring at our conjoined crotches, her own parent's genitalia locked together. She was transfixed. Her body language betrayed her understandable trepidation. But, simultaneously, the blush on her chest, her dilated pupils, and the cadence of her breathing demonstrated another emotion...desire.

I learned later that due to her mother's position and quick motions as she moved in, Chani hadn't actually seen my penis. She could very clearly see my ball sack, but that was it. Again, I was a little too preoccupied to care at the moment, but as I thought about it later, I was glad for that. It might sound silly, but I wanted our first experience of total nakedness to be private and shared only between us.

Marsha began a slow grind, and I knew, after hours of teasing, that I wouldn't last more than a couple minutes. Almost immediately, I had to grab her hips and take control just so I had even the slightest chance to avoid blowing my load instantaneously.

I tried my usual technique—thinking of work—but my mental fortitude crumbled when I noticed how Marsha focused on our daughter. For her part, Chani continued to stare at my wife's stuffed cunt and the juices slowly running down my balls. At least until she chanced a glance up and their eyes caught.

Looking back and forth between them, I saw as Marsha slowly nodded, then indicated, with her eyes, where she wanted Chani to be.

Obviously weak in the knees, Chani took tentative steps as she moved closer to us. She came to a stop right in front of us, standing between our spread legs.

Chani hesitated, clearly unsure, but Marsha—as she had done all night—took control. She reached out with both hands and began to gently stroke Chani's arms. The loving and sensual downward strokes worked to both soothe our daughter and to guide her down.

She obeyed the unspoken command and knelt between our legs.

The scene playing out before me was mesmerizing. (Well, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't see the whole thing. I had to lean over as far as I could to see around my wife, but I saw enough to know exactly what was happening.)

That part of my brain again started is screaming, "Don't fuck this up!" So, as before, I froze.

Marsha, noticing that I was no longer guiding her gyrations, increased the pace of her movements. It felt amazing, and it was taking every ounce of concentration I could muster not to come.

Still petting Chani's arms, Marsha picked up Chani's hands and placed them on her mother's thighs. Then she reached out her right hand and gently stroked her daughter's face before moving that hand to the top of Chani's head.

As Marsha began to pull Chani's face toward her sex, she said in a clear and commanding voice, "That's it, baby-girl. Taste your mommy."

It was more than I could bear. With a force I hadn't experienced in a very long time, I began to come. I groaned and growled as my hands dug into my wife's hips, holding her tight as I bucked beneath her.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one on the edge. Because within seconds of feeling my warm seed filling her up, Marsha clenched her eyes shut as her body was wracked with her own orgasm.

As she convulsed on top of me, her hand—thus far just resting on Chani's head—involuntarily grabbed a handful of Chani's hair and held her tight just inches from Marsha's spasming pussy.

We all held that position for what felt like an eternity.

Eventually, Marsha slowly came down from her orgasmic high. As she did, she opened her eyes and took in the scene around her.

She was straddling my lap—with my softening manhood still insider her—while her right hand gripped tight to Chani's hair, maintaining our daughter's face only an inch or two from our conjoined groins.

I couldn't see Chani's face from my position, but I could feel her labored breaths on my balls.

Maybe Marsha likewise felt those steady puffs of air, and perhaps that's what finally brought her to her senses because she reacted as if she was startled awake from a deep sleep.

Gasping in apparent shock, Marsh quickly released Chani and brought her hands up to cover her mouth, "Oh my god! What was I thinking..."

Leaping up and off of me, Marsha again cried, "Oh my god!" And ran down the hallway.

As Chani began after her mother, I also jumped up and quickly pulled my pants and boxers back into place, mostly.

"Chani, let her go," I called after my daughter.

"But what's wrong? Everything was going so good. Did I do something wrong?" Chani said, looking back at me, bewilderment written across her face.

"No!" I said a little too forcefully. "You didn't do anything wrong. Chani, you were amazing, and you look terrific. I think your mom just had too much to drink. What was only supposed to be a fun fashion show got out of hand. She's probably just a little upset, WITH HERSELF, for taking things too far too fast.

"At least that's what I suspect. Everything will be okay, but I need to talk with your mother," I said as I started down the hall toward Marsha and my bedroom.

Stopping, I looked back and addressed my daughter again. "Chani, I can't be certain, but your mother and I may be talking late. Get cleaned up and go to bed."

Smiling at her, I added, "And sweetheart, you look absolutely amazing. Thank you so much. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy," came her only slightly mollified reply. "Good night."

"Good night, Love. Sweet dreams." And with that, I turned and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

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I found Marsha in our bathroom with a pack of wipes scrubbing off her makeup. She wasn't crying—which I took as a good sign—but she was clearly agitated.

"You okay?" I asked, walking up behind her.

She paused her scrubbing and looked back at me in the mirror, "I don't know what came over me back there. What was I thinking?!?" It was clear from the tone of her voice that she wasn't just upset with herself, but rather, she was scared.

"We all had a bit too much to drink," I tried to soothe her. "Things got out of hand. That's all."

"No, I'm not talking about what just happened," she responded emphatically. "I mean, yes, what just happened, especially what just happened, but this whole day.

"James, it just seems too surreal. Chani is your 'girlfriend?' You're dating our daughter?...

"Mostly, it feels right. Mostly, it makes me happy. It reminds me of all these wonderful memories I had with my own father. But there's something else...

"There's part of me that is uneasy. I feel so confused.

"And let's not forget that three minutes ago, I was ready to let my own daughter eat me out. Hell, I was eager for it! Where did that come from? My mother and I never had that type of relationship. Even the thought of it turns my stomach.

"Back there, in the living room, I sort of 'came to' and couldn't believe what we were doing. What I was doing. Hell, I instigated the whole thing.

"James, I'm scared." Her eyes were pleading with me in the mirror, begging for me to offer some simple solution that would make all this confusion just go away.

Well, I'm nothing if not a loving husband...

"Deep sleep, Marsha," I said in a commanding voice, looking into her eyes through the mirror. "Deep sleep."

My wife's eyes fluttered closed, her shoulders sagged. Quickly I stepped forward and steadied her on her feet. Then, gently turning her around, I guided her out of the bathroom and sat her down on the bed.

"I am speaking now to Marsha's deep subconscious mind and only to that deep subconscious mind. The conscious, waking part of Marsha will remain in a deep sleep," I began.

Calmly, and slowly I reminded Marsha about the special relationship she had (or rather that I hypnotically convinced her that she had) with her father. I walked her through similar imagery to that we did just a couple days ago.

As I did, I laid Marsha down, then positioned myself next to her. Reaching out, I begin to slowly and sensually rub her pussy and clit.

She was still wearing the lingerie from earlier, so I had easy access. And, since it had only been a few minutes, she was still incredibly wet—both with her own juices and with what I had deposited inside her.

As I continued reinforcing the "memories" with her father, her arousal began to grow. Good. The more intense the feelings, the more vivid the "memories."

Since it had been a couple days since our last session, I decided to do something a little different this time.

I knew that her subconscious had been busy filling in the details of the memory framework I had installed. So, rather than reinforcing the vague memories I installed (or creating new ones), I figured we could use the work she'd already done.

"Marsha, tell me about one of your favorite erotic experiences you shared with your father," I directed.

As is often the case in deep hypnosis, it took her several long seconds to respond. As she did, her voice was quiet and far away, but as she continued, it became louder and clearer.

She shared a memory that took place when she was just... well technically, that doesn't matter. At this time in her life, in her real life, she and her father shared a hobby of astronomy. (In fact, and I have no way of knowing, but I suspect that most of this event actually did happen. Her subconscious likely coopted it and added to it.)

Late in the evening, they had loaded up the car, said goodbye to Mom, and drove a couple hours to a "nearby" national forest. Then, with adventure in their hearts, they strapped on their gear and shlepped it up a large hill to a clearing near the top.

Naturally, Marsha's dad did all of the heavy lifting, and after the first load, he went back for a second as she started setting up.

She told me about how, as she watched him walk back toward the car, she reflected. She knew that astronomy was really her hobby. Before she brought it up, her father had never spent a second of his life thinking about it.

Yet, here they were. Together. He had read a stack of books. He'd spent a nice chunk of money. He'd stayed up on many a chilly night out of doors. And now, he was cheerfully walking back to the car, in the dark, to lug more stuff up this hill.

All of it, he had done for her.

That image, the starry night above, the blackness of the forest trail ahead, and the warm yellow light of the lantern barely illuminating her father's strong shoulders as he headed off, was burned into her psyche—both that image and the intense, nearly overwhelming feelings that went with it.

Feelings of loving and being loved were indelibly written into this image.

Marsha continued her story...

Soon enough, they were huddled around their telescope, everything ready for a night of scientific observation.

Interestingly, Marsha didn't remember what they hoped to see that night. But, she did remember sitting in lawn chairs with blankets draped over their shoulders. She remembered how hot chocolate, served out of a thermos on a cold autumn night, was the most delicious concoction in all of human creation. And, she remembered the presence of her father next to her. She felt so safe, so loved, so cherished.

She also remembered how, only an hour into what was supposed to be an all-nighter, a far off flash of lightening clued them in to the unexpected storm rolling toward them.

They waited for about ten minutes, trying to gauge the storm's trajectory. When it became apparent that they were in its path, they started packing.

Marsha's dad ran the first load down to the car, and when he returned—in record time—the sound of his labored breathing couldn't be heard over the howling wind.

With thunder and lightning filling the night sky, they haphazardly grabbed the remaining gear and started out of the clearing. They were moving quick, all things considered, but not quick enough, because before they could make it to the relative shelter of the forested trail, the skies opened up.

Within seconds Marsha and her father were soaked to the bone. Even the shelter of the forested trail was only partly effective against the deluge. Such was the downpour that when they finally reached the car, they were drenched and shivering. Indeed they were as wet and as cold as if they had jumped into a mountain lake with their clothes on.

They threw the remaining gear and sopping blankets into the car's trunk. Marsha was about to climb into the passenger seat when her father stopped her by shouting above the storm.

"Wait!" he called. "Our clothes are too wet. We're going to ruin the car seats!"

Marsha stared at him, blankly for a moment before he clarified, "Strip!"

She hesitated for only a second before, promoted by seeing her father struggling to pull off his sodden shoes, she began to strip naked.

Quicker than her dad, she stood there with what felt like 50lbs of wet clothes in her arms before her father took them from her.

"Get in the car," he shouted. She didn't hesitate this time.

As she sat there, shivering naked in the cold interior, Marsha watched her dad. He finally managed to get naked, then to the best of his ability, he wrung out the clothes and tossed them on the floor of the back seat.

Finally, he opened the driver's door of the car and began to crawl in. That's when he noticed Marsha shivering.

"Climb into the back," he said. Then he transferred the sopping clothes from the back to the front as Marsha climbed over the seat.

Marsha's dad jumped into the driver's seat, started the car, and set the heater to full before he too climbed into the back seat.

"Why are we in the back?" Marsha inquired, speaking loudly over the rain pounding against their car.

"Because it's cold, and we're wet, and it's going to take the car time to heat up. So I think it will be best if we huddle together. There's no way in hell I'm driving in this, so we should probably get comfortable and try to get warm."

Father and daughter, cold and wet, huddled together listening to the storm rage as the car slowly warmed, and their bodies slowly dried.

After about thirty minutes, and feeling much better, Marsha's father spoke again, "Feeling better, Sweatheart?" The question was innocent enough, but a subtle quavering in his voice belied his excitement at the situation.

"Yes," she replied, snuggling in tighter against him, enjoying the intimacy and eroticism of this skin on skin contact.

"Well, we're in a bit of a situation here," we went on. "The storm's not letting up. We're just going to have to wait it out. I'm a little concerned about our gas lasting through the night, so I'm going to turn the car off. If we start to get cold again, then I'll turn it back on."

With that, he leaned over the seat, reached out for the ignition, and turned the car off.

Sitting back down, he wrapped his arm around his daughter and said, "Let's just focus on staying warm. I'm wide awake, so feel free to sleep if you'd like."

Marsha wasn't quite ready for sleep, so she told her dad as much before adding, "And, since we're both awake, I have an idea about how we can stay warm..."

She crawled into his lap then, reaching up, pulled his head down to meet hers.

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Marsha shared with me what happened next, in great detail. And, she seemed to really enjoy recollecting this incredibly loving and erotic memory (which was undoubtedly aided by the motions of my hands between her legs.) I'd love to share those details with you, but some people get a bit prickly about such things, so maybe it's best left to your imagination.

Suffice to say, they stayed nice and warm for the next couple of hours as the storm continued to rage outside.

Eventually, around 4am the storm died down. Marsha's father, who had been dozing in the backseat, snuggled up with Marsha, noticed the break in the weather and decided it was best to head home while it was still dark.

Marsha was mostly unaware of this as she remained deeply asleep until they arrived home just as the sun was coming up.

The rest of her memory is pretty boring, mostly involving her ravenous appetite and eating pancakes her mother prepared while nude, wrapped only in a blanket.

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When Marsha's story came to an end, she felt great, as best as I could tell. So it was time to move on to the next phase of tonight's session.

So far, we had worked to reinforce the idea of her romantic and sexual relationship with her father. During tonight's activities, that idea seemed to be mostly intact. Still, some things she said after she stormed off told me it was probably a good idea for a reinforcement session.