Story by All These Roadworks (2021).

 

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She shouldn’t have volunteered.

 

It had been her friend’s idea to attend the show.  Aria hadn’t really been interested in “Jack Mephisto, Master of Hypnotism”, but she’d gone along anyway.  And when the hypnotist had called for volunteers from the audience, Aria had raised her hand.

 

Standing on stage in front of a theatre full of spectators, Aria had felt incredibly self-conscious.  She’d worn a dress that emphasised her voluptuous figure, and now the whistles and catcalls from the audience were making her regret it.

 

She let the hypnotist take her into a trance - she dropped surprisingly quickly - and once she was receptive, “Jack Mephisto” gave her her instructions.

 

“Can you hear me, honey?” he said.

 

Aria nodded, blank, the crowd forgotten.

 

“Do you like being called ‘honey’?” he asked.

 

Aria shook her head.  It was demeaning, diminutive.

 

“Good,” said the hypnotist.  “Let’s fix that for you, shall we?”

 

The crowd laughed appreciatively.

 

“Do you like masturbating, honey?” asked Mephisto.

 

Aria nodded eagerly, the trance leaving her uninhibited about admitting her sexual behaviour.

 

“Then I have a suggestion for you that you’re going to like,” said the hypnotist.  “I suggest that from now on, whenever you heard the word ‘honey’, you will feel an overpowering urge to immediately find a private place and masturbate to the edge of orgasm.  Don’t cum - just edge.”

 

The crowd roared with laughter.

 

“Do you like that idea?” asked the hypnotist.

 

Aria shook her head, no.

 

“Will you do it anyway?” asked the hypnotist.

 

Aria paused, and then nodded.

 

“Good,” said the hypnotist.  “Now wake up.”

 

Aria blinked, her eyes clearing, the trance vanishing.  She became aware that she was squeezing one of her tits with one hand, and that her pussy was soaking wet.  Her face turned crimson with shame.

 

The hypnotist looked at her.  “How do you feel, honey?” he asked, deliberately.

 

She opened her mouth to reply - but found herself staggering to her feet.  The audience hooted and hollered with amusement as Aria fled the stage, desperately looking for the female toilets, filled with the need to find a private stall and fingerfuck her pussy.

 

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Her friend wouldn’t let her live it down, joking about Aria and her slutty cunt all that night and most of the next day.  It was humiliating, and Aria was filled with shame at her behaviour - and at her foolishness in volunteering to be hypnotised in the first place. 

 

But it got worse - because the urge didn’t go away.  Whenever someone said “honey”, Aria would flee to find a private place and pleasure her cunt.  She started to become wet just *thinking* about the word “honey”, and to have an aroused reaction in her pussy when she was called other diminutive names like “pet” and “sweetie”.

 

Finally, after a month of humiliation, she paid to visit another hypnotist and have her problem corrected.

 

The second hypnotist, though, was not nearly so experienced - or competent - as “Jack Mephisto” had been.  His first attempt to fix her was a complete failure - his instruction to “forget your previous instructions” didn’t take hold.  When she reported this failure to the frustrated hypnotist, he suggested that perhaps she didn’t really *want* the command removed, that she liked being compelled to masturbate randomly.

 

“That’s disgusting and offensive,” Aria snapped.  “I can’t believe you’re suggesting that to a paying customer.”

 

The hypnotist bit his lip, and dropped that line of enquiry.  Instead, he took her back into a trance, and decided to try something less confrontational.   “Whenever you feel the urge to masturbate,” he told her, “just tell yourself to stop it.  Tell yourself that you’re being a slut, and that sluts who masturbate all the time deserve to be raped.  If necessary, pinch yourself.”

 

The instruction took - but none of it overrode her initial programming.  It only made it worse. 

 

Because now, when someone called her “honey”, and she ran off to play with her pussy, she would be compelled to speak out loud as she masturbated, saying, “I need to stop it.  I’m being a slut.  I deserve to be raped,” painfully pinching her clitoris as she did so. 

 

Even trying to stuff her shirt or panties into her mouth to gag herself only reduced it to an incoherent whorish moan.  The shame of wondering who could hear her - women in the next toilet stall, her housemates outside her bedroom, her friends when she ducked into a guest bedroom during parties - just made her wetter...

 

(END)