The Man in the Smiling Mask

"Hey, Wally ... do you think I could ...?" She hesitated, trying to think of a way to brooch the subject. "Do you think it would be weird if I said I wanted to ...?" But again, she felt unable to verbalize it.

Setting the knife down, he regarded her closely. "You want to listen to the voice file you heard earlier on the bus, is that it?"

"Yes. Is that strange?"

He didn't answer. After a moment's hesitation, he said: "Strictly from a professional standpoint, could you try to tell me just how much you want that? Is it just curiosity, or do you feel an emotional urge?"

That made her frown. "I think 'urge' would be a pretty strong word." She stared at the tablet for another fifteen seconds, then reached out and traced one of the earphones with a fingertip. "Or maybe not. It's something that I think I'd really, really like to do. Did you do something to me while I was asleep? You told me that I was suggestible. Did you tell me to feel this way?"

Walking around to her, he reached out to touch her arm, but obviously remembering her earlier reaction, he backed away a step and sat down on a barstool. "Canna," he said carefully, "I want to be completely up-front about this. I need you to believe me. That recording was the first in a series that was designed to bring subjects into a state of hypnosis. There were twenty recordings that ranged from fifteen minutes to about half an hour. The first one was just a series of relaxation exercises. Despite a comment in the audio file about people falling asleep, none of my test subjects actually fell into a state of hypnosis by listening to it. In fact, most of the subjects only achieved a verifiable trance state during the third or fourth recording."

He took a breath. "The only actual suggestions in that particular file, as I recall, had to do with pleasurable feelings from being relaxed. Physically relaxed." He wrinkled his brow, thinking. "What I'm trying to say here is that I wasn't expecting you to fall into hypnosis this afternoon. It's not what I was trying to do. I only wanted to calm you, and I thought the recording might do that. I was pretty shocked when I realized you were under; and I was REALLY surprised when you refused to wake up. I've had that happen before, twice. Both were women subjects, but the occurrences were much, much further into the process, and eventually, it was relatively easy to get them to snap out of it. So, the answer to your question is a solid no. I did not suggest the urge to listen to the recording again. And, in fact, I never suggested anything, except that you follow me off the bus, which you were only too happy to do."

She nodded, then looked back at the tablet. "And now, back to my original question. Am I weird to feel this way?"

He smiled his special smile. "I'm a psychologist. I don't think anyone's weird to feel any way. I just want to figure out why they do. Would you like to hear the recording again?"

"I ... I think I would, yes."

He picked up the tablet and headphones and started toward another room. "Okay, let's set you up in the living room."

"Oh! I didn't mean right now! We could wait 'til after dinner."

He kept walking, though, and she hurried after him. "No time like the present," he said over his shoulder. "It's going to take me another fifteen or twenty minutes to prepare the ingredients, and then it has to bake an hour." He paused at the side of a couch and pointed downward as a silent order.

She glanced around frantically in an attempt to take in the room and its furnishings. The couch faced a fireplace, and she wondered how much the character of the space would change if a fire was lit. There were pictures and bookcases everywhere, and she longed to explore; but instead, she dutifully sat as requested. Things were happening quickly. Before she realized it, the headphones were covering her ears and the screen of the device came to life.

"Frist, I would like to thank you for helping me," Wally was saying in a booming voice inside her head. "This is an experiment in perception. I want to show you something, and I want you to remember what it is you see."

The quartz gem was very clear. Crystal clear. (Would she always smile when she thought that?) The edges of it were pink, but she knew that it wouldn't be too long before she would perceive them to be red. The voice was telling her to relax, but she already was. And soon, it would tell her that some subjects fell asleep, and that it was okay if she did, too; but again, she was already doing that.

And the voice was saying: "Canna? Come on, Canna; time to wake up. That's right. Open your eyes! You can do it!"

"Pleeeze," she begged, "just five more minutes!" She closed her eyes again and snuggled further into her teddy bear. Then, she shivered slightly. The covers must have slipped off the bed again.

The voice laughed. "Oh, no you don't, sleepyhead! Wake up!"

"Wally! Please! Just five more minutes!" Why was Wally in bed with her? Grudgingly, she blinked opened her eyes, then jerked herself erect, sitting up straight. "Oh, no! What have I done?"

He laughed, but also flushed. "Hey, don't be mad. I didn't try anything. And ... it wasn't that bad, was it?" She had been snuggling under his left arm, her head on his muscular torso.

"I ... I drooled on your chest! I stained your shirt!" She leaned forward and tried to use the cuff of the robe to rub the spot on his cotton shirt, but the satin material had absolutely no effect on the moist spot.

She stopped rubbing, leaving her left hand resting on the center of his broad chest while she slowly regained a sense of her surroundings. Reluctantly, she moved the hand, sitting up straight without inching her body away from him. Looking down, she took stock of the short lounging jacket, which was gaping open below the belt to expose a fair portion of bare thigh. Her knees were thankfully still together, and the gap hadn't yet moved high enough to show her pubis. The top of the garment was in a similar condition. It hadn't slipped off of either shoulder, though it was threatening to on the left, and both the tops and inner portions of her breasts were showing a great deal of surface area without quite exposing her areolas.

She put her hands together on her lap, but made no move to cover herself. "How long have we ... been together like this?"

He cleared his throat. "Just a few minutes. I came in here, and you had fallen over on your side on the couch. I shook you a couple times, but once again, you wouldn't wake up. So, I propped you upright, but you kept toppling back over. I had to ... uh ... join you, so I could talk to you and ... uh ... bring you out of it. But when I had you beside me, you kept cuddling into me. I realize it was unprofessional, but I found the situation not unpleasant."

"Not unpleasant." She nodded. "How did you wake me up?"

"Well, I figured that if you were as suggestible as you were this afternoon, I might be able to talk you into believing that you were in bed, and that it was time to get up. I guess it worked."

She nodded and sighed. "You're telling me the truth, right?"

"I swear, Canna. I haven't lied to you. And, I won't. You have my word."

She let his comments settle into silence before she spoke again. "And you're a psychologist, huh?"

"Yes. I teach at Tulane."

"Okay. So, tell me, Prof ... No, the students call you doctor, right?" She gave him a moment to answer, but he didn't, and she went on. "Tell me, doc. If I ask you a some pointed professional questions, will you explain things to me?"

"I'll certainly try."

"A little while ago, you reached out to touch me, and I snatched my hand away. Why did I do that? I didn't want to. I think I really wanted you to touch me. After all, you had already touched my face, back at the bus stop, and I can't tell you how much I enjoyed that."

That grin flickered across his face. "There isn't a name for it. Not yet, anyway. A colleague of mine is calling it 'social contact anxiety.' For many years, there's been a documented condition called 'eye contact anxiety,' which is sort of self-explanatory. But until recently, anxiety from physical touching has been something that's pretty rare. Now, with the possibility of potentially fatal diseases being transferred through contact, we're experiencing a large number of individuals who are emotionally apprehensive simply being around other people. It's something that's especially prevalent in children, and it's an issue that really has to be addressed. But, even among adults, distancing is being ingrained in our psyches. Your reaction was perfectly normal."

"Alright." She reached over with her right hand and took his left. She held it tenderly. "And now for the big professional questions. I seem to be hooked on hypnosis. Wow, that's sort of alliterative, isn't it? Anyway, I really like it. It feels ... I don't know ... amazingly nice. And you say I'm super-suggestive. Hey, I'm really getting good at alliteration, huh? And anyway, I believe you. So, I'm just wondering ..."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Out with it, Canna. What are your professional questions?"

She looked over and up into his eyes. "Wally, I'm scared to death."

He started to give her a reassuring smile, but failed. There was nothing but compassion in his eyes.

"Are you making me feel this way?" she pleaded. "Is it some sort of suggestion from you? Have you MADE me love you like this? Because I gotta tell you, I am head over heels crazy in love with you! Have you made me want you? Made me want to be with you? Made me want to give myself to you? I want you so much that I'd do anything ... anything ... to have you take me in your arms and ... and ... and ..."

And she was in his arms. Just like that. Just like that, he had embraced her. Just like that she had thrown HER arms around his broad neck and pulled his lips to hers. And just like that, he was gripping her, clutching her, crushing her body into his. Somehow, they were standing. No, that wasn't exactly correct. HE was standing. She didn't know her exact altitude, but she was certainly several inches above the surface of the room, and the kiss made her feel even higher.

Her legs felt useless, since her feet couldn't touch the floor; so, she hoisted herself up an inch, crunched the muscles in her stomach, and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking herself to him with her ankles, grinding her bare sex against him in the process. How long had his tongue been in her mouth? And hadn't they been holding hands? Oh, never mind. It wasn't important. Nothing was important except him, and what he was doing to her. Her breasts were mashed hard against him, and the left one had obviously sprung free of its satin confines, because the nipple was rubbing harshly against his cotton shirt.

They were moving. She felt it in her entire body, but especially between her legs. Every time he took a step, her pussy rubbed against his waist. Up, down, up, down. Her tongue was tired. Maybe she shouldn't be twirling it around his so enthusiastically. Stealing a quick peek, she saw pictures going past, only they were hung on a diagonal. Ah, he was carrying her up a flight of stairs.

He stumbled, and for a moment, she thought the friction between her legs would carry her into orgasm, but she lost track of it as her hands and ankles lost their hold on him. She was falling; but he scooped her up in his arms before she could hit the surface, and she was now lying flat, like a small child being carried by a father. Reaching up, she snaked her arms around him again, then nestled her cheek into the side of his neck.

They made it to the top of the stairs and started down a long hall. The doors were open, and she saw into one bedroom ... but it had been converted into an exercise room, with a weight machine, treadmill and stair climber. Ah, that's how he remained in such shape during all the stay-at-home orders. The room they now entered was large and comfortable, with a private bathroom beyond an inner door.

He set her on her feet for a moment and used his left hand to fling back the covers of a queen-sized bed. And the next instant, she felt the belt around her waist loosen. She had been in the process of reaching up for him again, but he grasped the shoulders of the garment and pulled straight down, drawing her arms downward in the process.

And she was naked. Her hands went to the center of her chest for some reason, clasped there, while her large breasts bounced on either side, the nipples distended and hard.

Staring open-mouth and mute for a long, long second, he finally found his voice. "Beautiful. So beautiful, Canna."

She looked up at him pleadingly, but his eyes were now incapable of leaving her body. "Wally, I need to tell you something. Something I did."

"It doesn't matter," he whispered.

"I ... I've only done this once. Just once. And Wally, I was awful at it!"

He smiled placatingly. "It doesn't matter, Canna."

"No, really! It was with my date to the senior prom. I'm not sure what I did wrong, but he obviously hated it! I wanted to please him; I really did! But I didn't know what to do, and he got impatient and started yelling. Everything I tried was all wrong, and I never did figure it out. He even hit me, and I'm sure I deserved it. Finally, he just yanked my legs apart and pushed right in, and he pounded me. Pounded me. God, it hurt! I tried not to cry, but I couldn't help it. Finally, he squirted inside me, and he got off of me, and he pulled up his pants, and he walked out, and I never saw him again! So, I never did find out what he didn't like about it; but it was obviously something. And I felt so ... Mmph!"

He was kissing her. She made a feeble attempt at pushing him back enough to keep telling him about the worst failure in her life, but he wasn't letting go. Oh, the hell with it! Kissing was nice. Kissing was really nice. Her arms were around his neck again, and he was courteous enough to bend slightly toward her, so she wasn't straining so much on tiptoes. But now she was feeling his hands everywhere. On her bare back and her bare butt and her bare breasts and her bare sides. And, when he gently broke the kiss, she was suddenly too concerned about getting enough oxygen into her lungs to mention the incident further.

"Canna," he told her gently, "whatever happened to you before is not what's going to happen to you now. This is different. This is new. Please make love with me."

"Yes!" she answered huskily.

He pushed her down into a sitting position. Reaching forward, she tried to help him pull his shirt up and off, but she was only getting in the way. His leather belt was thick and stiff, and again she was forced to let him do all the work. She was glad he hadn't put on shoes or socks after changing clothes, and soon, only the underwear briefs were left. They sported a huge lump in the front. This time, she slapped his hands away and performed the task herself, licking her lips inadvertently as his erection sprang free.

She couldn't help making comparisons in her mind. The one other guy she had been with had been black, of course. However, color aside, there were other differences. Wally was circumcised. The big difference was that, even though Wally's cock appeared to be just as long, it was not nearly as thick. Perhaps that's what had caused her so much pain the first time. Maybe she wouldn't bleed as much because of it.

This was certainly a mesmerizing piece of flesh, though, that was for sure! She explored it with her hands, and was surprised by how soft the skin was, particularly on the back of its bulbous head. He shuddered and moaned when she stroked it, and he laid a hand on her bare shoulder to support himself during her examination. He seemed to be waiting for something; waiting to see what she'd do, how far she'd go. Ah. She'd read about this. All men wanted their women to suck. And she DID want to please him. She really did. And ... she was an adult woman, who could make up her own mind. She could choose to do this, if she wanted. He smelled a little musky, but it wasn't a bad odor at all. So, she gave it a little lick, just to judge his reaction. Yep, that was a reaction, alright. Oh, what the heck! She slurped the head of it into her mouth.

He groaned and shivered and tensed and shook for a few seconds, and then he pushed her back forcibly. For an instant, she was afraid he was getting violent, but he was only moving her to the middle of the bed, joining her, lying atop her.

"Don't ... don't you want me to suck you?" she asked breathlessly. "Was I doing it wrong?"

"You were about to make me finish too quickly," he growled. "It felt too good."

"Isn't is supposed to feel good?"

"I want it to be good for both of us, not just me."

She sighed heavily, running her hands up his sides and around to his back. The hair WAS soft! She knew it would be. "I could classify this as good," she whispered, "but I think our social distancing level has just reached absolute zero." And it had. They couldn't possibly be any closer than this.

He was scooting down, rubbing his chest hair against her nipples, until their faces were level. She was about to kiss him again, but she stopped and stared into his eyes, wondering if there was this level of lust in her own.

He took the initiative with the kiss. That was okay. She didn't mind him taking the initiative. In fact, she didn't really mind if he took it all night long. He was so much taller than she was that the tip of his erection was poking gently against her vulva, and she spread her legs to give him access. But he moved further down, robbing her not only of the feel against her pussy, but of the kiss, as well. Groaning in protest, she tried to pull him back up, but too late. He was kissing her neck now, and that erased all of her objections. The kisses thrilled her, then tickled her, and when she giggled and canted her head toward him, he nibbled her ear, and that sent her pleasure-meter soaring.

She was somehow losing track of time and events. His lips were at her breast now, sucking, licking, biting gently. He had this thing he did, where he'd pull the nipple with his teeth until it almost hurt, but not quite; and then he'd roll it gently to and fro while flicking the tit with the tip of his tongue. That was nice. She wanted to convey that opinion to him, but she didn't seem to be able to draw enough breath to form the words; and so, she just continued clutching his head, with her fingers in his hair. She couldn't quite remember moving her hands there, but that didn't seem important at the moment. At least, not as important as that thing he was doing.

She left those fingers in his hair as his head moved again. She had no idea where it was going, but she knew instinctively that she lacked the wherewithal to do anything about it, anyway, so why worry? And suddenly, her entire world shrank to the size of her pussy. That was all she could feel. That was all there was. The very concept that his tongue was snaking its way up inside her wasn't so much understood as felt. So was the notion that he then locked his lips around her clitoris, and was both sucking and licking simultaneously. The question of how he was forcing these feeling on her was superfluous. The only thing that really mattered was that he didn't stop.

But he did stop, at least momentarily, and he said: "Now, surrender to me, Canna. Do as I say. Let go, and let it happen." And so, as he resumed this magic, she did. She simply relaxed her entire body, her entire self. And everything just exploded.

Her orgasm hit her like a Mac Truck, building to a monumental peak and never coming back down. On and on it went, squeezing her guts like a vice, shaking her body like a leaf in a gale. Her toes cramped, and her ears rang from her own shrieks of pleasure. Even after his mouth stopped doing that ... that thing it had been doing, it took her a long, long time to find reality again. Her breaths were coming in gasping gulps, her chest heaving, and she put a shaky hand to her brow. But she felt something foreign in her hand, and she forced her eyes to focus on her fingers.