The Hypnotist - A Fucked-Up Sequel

I got dressed quickly, kissed my mom and sister good-bye, and drove to a hotel. I knew there was no other way to stop the out-of-control downward spiral from continuing. When I got there, I called Gwynne to let her know where I was. Before I got the chance to say anything, I heard her muffled moans in the background and realized our mother had answered it.

"Oh, baby, you need to get back here," she gasped. "I love the way your sister licks my pussy, but we both really need your big, hard—"

I hung up quickly. It was all I could do to control the compulsion to drive back over there. Fortunately, once I managed to fall asleep that compulsion lost its hold on me. I almost expected that I would wake up to find out I had driven over there in my sleep.

* * *

The next day, after a few phone calls, I drove out to the prison. Despite the three-hour drive, I still had no idea what to say to the man when I finally saw him. He had been told I was coming, but I had not told them why I needed to talk to him. One guard stood right behind him, looking very tense, and another one stood behind my chair.

"Well, Mitch," he said uneasily. "What brings you out to visit? I'm assuming you didn't drive all this way just to gloat or yell at me."

"I need your help," I blurted. My voice was filled with quiet desperation, and the guard and hypnotist both looked at me with wide eyes. I turned my head and saw that the guy behind me was also staring at me. "Please," I asked him, "can you give us some privacy? This really is embarrassing enough as it is. I'll never get through it if you're both right here like this."

The guard gave me a hard look for several seconds before he nodded. He jerked his head to the left, and the guard on the other side of the glass slowly backed away to his normal post.

"I'll be right over here," the guy told me. "Just holler if he starts doing anything suspicious."

"Thanks," I replied, nodding. Then I turned back to face the hypnotist.

He looked radically different in that orange prison jumper, and his hair was just growing back. I winced when I realized they had shaved his head.

"I'm sorry you're here," I murmured into the microphone.

His head shot back, and it was clear from his expression that was the last thing he ever expected me to say. He blinked a couple of times and watched me shake my head sadly.

"When Gwynne and I signed those statements, and when they put us on the witness stand, neither of us wanted to do it," I explained. "We felt like we had to, but we weren't happy about it."

I watched him sigh and shrug, which wasn't the reaction I had expected at all. He looked resigned as he spoke.

"It's not your fault, Mitch," he murmured bitterly. "I just got too greedy."

He settled back and crossed his arms. I watched him sigh, and his eyes got a faraway look.

"When I first opened my office, all I wanted was to help people," he said wistfully. "I was really good at it, you know? People came to see me, and once I helped them sort out all the garbage they had locked in their heads, they really were better off. The money wasn't great, but I was getting by and helping people." He shook his head. "Then I had this gorgeous, big-titted housewife come in. I can't even recall what originally led her to come in, now. As soon as she was under hypnosis, she begged me to fuck her. She actually ripped her own panties off, she was so desperately horny. I knew it was wrong, but...well, you know how it is. I convinced myself I wasn't a horrible human being for taking advantage of her, because she obviously wanted it so badly."

He chewed his lip for a bit, and I could tell he was reliving that experience in his mind. I could practically see it, and of course it reminded me uncomfortably of the way my mother had thrown herself at me recently. He leaned forward and blew out a long breath.

"So, I had sex with her," he continued. "It was probably the best I had ever had, honestly. She was so sexy, and so horny. After I got her off a couple of times, she wanted to suck my dick. She wanted to feel appreciated, and her husband simply didn't appreciate her or desire her anymore. I tried, I really did, to actually provide her with therapy. Unfortunately, every time she came back, she wanted sex as soon as she was under and there was no way I could resist. She didn't remember having sex with me, but she really did feel better after each session.

"Then she started recommending me to her friends. Some of them had real, deep-seated issues that I was able to help them sort out. Most of them were just like her: horny, sexy, underappreciated women who desperately wanted a hard cock to make them feel better about themselves. And these were wealthy women with good insurance. I wasn't intentionally dragging it out—at first—but it always took longer to give them the actual therapy they needed. Of course, the sex just kept getting better and better. Then I got a bunch of whopping checks from their insurance and their rich husbands.

"At first, I felt terrible about it; like I'd sold my soul or something. It was totally unprofessional and unethical for me to have sex with those women, no matter how much they wanted it. I felt even worse about getting paid for it, but...shit, it was nice to have money. Eventually, the therapy made a difference and they weren't nearly as desperate for sex with me. That was how I justified it in my head. So, I kept doing it—kept seeing clients who wanted to suck my dick, wanted me to fuck them—and kept taking money for it.

"But then I got greedy. Whenever a really hot woman would come to see me with a problem that was easily sorted out, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have sex with her. It surprised me how easy it was to get them turned on, to get them to let go of their sexual hang-ups, and then they'd beg to suck my dick or do whatever I really wanted to do with them. I wasn't helping them anymore...well, not until I had enjoyed doing everything I wanted to try with them and charged their insurance or their husbands for the privilege. Hell, I even hypnotized and fucked all three of my receptionists, and there was nothing wrong with any of those girls."

He shook his head, and his mouth twisted into an unhappy little frown. After he blew out another long breath he gave me a wry smile.

"So, by the time your sister came in to see me, I really deserved to be here," he sighed.

I shook my head, and my eyes narrowed as I looked at him.

"Wait, when I called the police—before I ever saw you—they said you were already under investigation," I said.

He nodded and let out a breath through his nose.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Hypnosis isn't all that cut-and-dried. Some of those women recalled little bits of what had happened, or inadvertently dropped hints that they'd been getting laid. None of them were mad at me, but their husbands got suspicious. Also, I had them bring in their husbands for couples therapy if that seemed like it was necessary. A lot of those guys were really resistant to my suggestions. In several cases, it was because they'd been cheating on their wives and loved the women they were with more than their spouse anymore.

"But, a few times the police were called, and I was questioned several times. They even arrested me once, but the woman refused to press charges. Her husband threatened me repeatedly, and he wound up being arrested." He shook his head and frowned as he recalled the incident. "I really should have quit at that point, but I just couldn't do it."

I recalled that one time I'd been in his office, and remembered the gorgeous redhead who had eagerly pushed past me into his office after my "session" with him. As I nodded, I recalled the way that woman had moaned and eagerly sucked his dick.

"I understand," I murmured.

I really did. It was easy to imagine how I would have become hooked on having women like that throwing themselves at me. Hell, I'd been through it with my sister and my mom. That thought brought me back to my reason for visiting, and I opened my mouth. He saw my expression and quickly shook his head, cutting me off.

"Mitch, they're recording everything we say," he warned me. "Before you let me know what's going on with you, make sure you think it over carefully. 'Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.' They already know everything I just told you. I had to fill out a long, long statement as part of my plea deal."

"Oh," I replied. After a moment I added, "Thanks."

I thought carefully before I spoke, and was painfully aware as I selected each word.

"You know we were seeing a psychologist after our parents caught me and Gwynne having sex," I started. He nodded, so I went on. "I'm pretty sure she pulled a number on us," I said, shaking my head. "I can't actually remember anything that went on in most of my hypnosis sessions with her, except for every detail she helped me recall from that one session with you. I'm starting to think she hypnotized all four of us—me, Gwynne, and my mom and dad—and now things have...gotten really uncomfortable."

It was clear from his expression that I had been too vague. I thought for a second and leaned forward to whisper.

"I've been fucking my mom and sister this past week. And I really didn't want to. I don't think Gwynne did either. Mom's almost as bad as the two of us were before she caught us that first time. I think Dr. Jenkins hypnotized my entire family—"

"Doctor Jenkins?" he gasped, interrupting me. "Wait, you mean Lorna Jenkins?"

"Um," I replied. Then I fished out my wallet and found the card. "Yeah, that's her."

The card had her picture on it, so I turned it and pressed the card against the glass. His eyes shot open and he shook his head. A sick grin spread over his face.

"Son of a bitch," he chuckled. "I should have known. She used to work for me. Now she's a doctor, and she got me locked up...son of a bitch."

I stared at him and licked my lips nervously. "Can you help me, doc?"

"Don't," he said sharply, shaking his head angrily. "I'm not a doctor and never was. It's just Phil."

When he saw the smile that came to my lips, he shook his head again, but he was struggling not to smile.

"Yeah, I know," he said dryly. "The problem is we just don't have time, and I really doubt they'd let me hypnotize you at all, let alone long enough to figure out what she put in your head."

Before either of us could say anything else, though, we turned to see both security guards hustling over. The one on my side of the glass was accompanied by a gentleman wearing a blue jacket. The letters "FBI" stood out noticeably. I gulped and wondered if I was about to be arrested.

* * *

After that, my memories are a bit hazy.

I can vaguely recall being led into another part of the prison, and seeing Phil seated across a big table from where I sat. They had him handcuffed, and there was a gun pulled out at some point. Nobody got shot, though, so I think it was a warning how serious they were. One thing I recall with utter clarity was the recording device they set on the table between us. I kept leaning forward and speaking into it, and I know I was under hypnosis for a large chunk of that time.

Dr. Jenkins had turned my family into her personal sex puppets.

I can still recall the horrified expressions on Phil's face, as well as the FBI agent on his left and the prison guard on his right, when I came out of that hypnosis session. Then all those memories flooded my brain and I turned and threw up. The other prison guard held my shoulder and slid a small garbage can over so I could empty my stomach into it.

It was so much worse than I had imagined. Not only had I licked Dr. Jenkins's pussy and her receptionist's, but she'd invited other clients to come in and have sex with all of my family members while we were hypnotized. For those clients, she had been a pimp, offering us up as sex slaves while we were under hypnosis and incapable of saying no. The only restriction was that they couldn't leave permanent marks on us.

It was also clear that we weren't the only patients she had been taking advantage of in that way. Worse still, the compulsions she had left us with were supposed to make us have sex with each other, but be so uncomfortable about it that we would come back to her "for help." At that point, she would once again pimp us out.

The reason my memories are so unclear is that I begged to have them expunged. I didn't want to picture it—any of it. Everything was far too vivid in my mind, and it all made me physically ill. I threw up three more times by the time I had given the FBI sketch artist the details of all the men who had fucked me and the rest of my family members while I watched them do it.

Some of those guys were big-time criminals, and some of them were highly connected politicians. The rest were all wealthy and well-connected. The FBI had no problem recognizing almost every one of them.

* * *

Our family was taken into protective custody that very same evening, and we were spirited away to another town in another state. I was no longer "Mitch" and everyone had new names.

It was really tough for us for a very long time. The feds brought in several shrinks, hypnotists and hypnotherapists to help get us through it. One of them, ironically, was Phil. He was probably the most helpful of the bunch, and he now had a full-time job working for the federal government after the help he had provided with that case.

Dr. Jenkins was murdered in jail right after she was arrested, before she could ever stand trial. Gail managed to survive several attempts on her life. As far as I know, she is still alive and living under an assumed name like we are. My dad tried to kill himself. It took me and my mom both to stop him and pull the gun from his hand before he had the chance to blow his brains out.

I hadn't realized how much worse it had been for him than it was for me. The reason he and my mother hadn't been having sex was because he was under a compulsion to avoid having sex with his wife. Dr. Jenkins had wanted her to be horny and receptive to any other man when she came in for Gwynne's sessions, and later for our family sessions.

Whenever he had come to bed, Dad would utter a command word and my mother would fall into a deep sleep. Then he would go into Gwynne's bedroom and he would fuck the hell out of her until they were both completely exhausted. It wasn't his fault, but he still could not forgive himself for doing that to his daughter. The only way he was able to live with himself was to have those memories erased completely.

That was something we all begged for, but it was tricky for even the most skilled hypnotist to pull it off. In the end, we all wound up feeling like our brains were full of holes, like a Swiss cheese. Some stuff we learned to live with, other stuff we managed to forget or block out. That still left some pretty haunting memories for all of us. After three years, Gwynne and I moved out of the house we shared with our parents.

* * *

We got an apartment just a few miles away, in the same town. She had gone back to smoking again while we lived with our parents. At that point, it seemed like the least of our problems. However, once we had our own place again, she wanted to at least try to quit. I had readily agreed when she insisted on smoking outside.

"You can't let me smoke inside," she said, grabbing the front of my shirt with both hands. Her expression was so serious that I just nodded in response. "There's no way I'll ever quit if you let me smoke in here," she continued, but I already understood.

"Got it," I murmured. I gave her a weak smile. "You can do this, Terri."

After three years, we were used to our new names.

"Thanks, James," she replied.

When she leaned in and gave me a soft kiss, we were both tense. Of course, we were completely messed up in our heads when it came to any sort of physical expression of intimacy. It was tough, but I managed to wrap my arms around her and give her an awkward hug. She gasped but managed not to pull away from me.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"It's okay," she replied softly.

I was completely hard, and she could feel it. Neither of us had been laid in years at that point. The way things had gone, it was a wonder none of us had tried to commit suicide after that one time Dad had gotten hold of that gun.

"We really are a couple of freaks now, aren't we?" I chuckled bitterly.

My sister wrapped her arms around my neck and sobbed against my shoulder. That managed to kill my erection, but it still took a while. Despite all my messed up and conflicted thoughts about her, she was still undeniably sexy. She cried softly for another minute or so, and then gave me a brief kiss before sliding from my arms. We looked at each other sadly, and then went into our rooms because we both felt like we needed to get away from each other.

* * *

Two days later, there was a knock at our door. I carefully crept over to peer out the peephole, fully prepared to take cover and call for help. Then I had to blink in disbelief when I saw Phil (It's Robert, now, I reminded myself) standing outside. I opened the door, and he gave me a sad smile as he almost always did these days.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied. I glanced around outside quickly before closing and locking the door. Then I turned to face him. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Robert?"

"Terri called me," he replied. Then he gave her a warm smile when she emerged from her bedroom. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured. "How are you holding up?"

"Not so good," she replied, shaking her head. "But, maybe you can help me."

He chewed his lip as he regarded my sister, and then me.

"I'm really not supposed to be here," he said softly, "Especially without supervision. If I do what you asked me to do, I can get into a lot of trouble."

"I know," she sobbed, sinking into the couch. "I'm just so miserable, Robert! It feels like my life is over, and I don't know how I'll ever be happy again."

"Did she talk to you about this?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "I was surprised to see you here, honestly. What did she ask you to do?"

He glanced over at my sister, and I looked at her. She sniffed and then cleared her throat.

"I told him I want to quit smoking," she said. "I asked if he could hypnotize me again, like he did the first time. I don't want to smoke and...I want to be in love with my little brother again."

"Oh!" I blurted, and my eyes shot open. I looked over at him. "Could you actually do that?"

He spread his hands and sighed. "I absolutely shouldn't do it...but yeah. I could." He looked into my eyes intently. "But, James, I would have to do it to both of you for it to work. Is that something you would want?"

I only had to think for a second, and tears immediately came to my eyes. "More than anything!" I sobbed.

He nodded, and then he smiled softly and reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch on a gold chain.

"If you're absolutely sure," he said, swinging the watch gently, "then look at this watch and take a deep breath..."