“So, Florence, what brings you here to see me today?”

I had thought I’d be staring at spirals, or maybe looking at ink blots, or at least reclining on a couch talking about my mother, but hypnotherapy turns out to be nothing like I’d imagined. I’m just sitting here (on a couch, yes, but sitting upright) looking across the room at Dr. Cecily Ductress, Licensed Hypnotherapist, who’s perched on an armchair and surveying me calmly over her glasses.

The doctor herself is nothing like I expected, either. I had somehow assumed that all hypnotherapists were men, or possibly severe older German women (don’t ask me where that came from), but Dr. Ductress is young, all soft curves and wavy dark hair, long legs curled underneath her. In slacks and a blazer that hugs her waist, she looks professional but also somehow casual.

She’s still waiting for an answer, so I blurt, “I thought you were going to, uh, hypnotize me. With uh, y’know, spirals…” I swallow and trail off, feeling a fool, but she’s smiling, at least.

“No, Florence, no spirals,” she says with a laugh. “And the hypnosis comes later in the session. First I need to get to know you a bit, find out what you want from therapy. Then, once we’re on the same page, we use hypnosis to help you reach a satisfying resolution. So,” she prompts again, “why are you here?”

My palms are sweating. God, I don’t like talking about this, but the doctor is watching me expectantly, so I steel myself. “I’m having some uh, relationship trouble. My boyfriend Derek asked me to see someone, a therapist or… And so I thought a hypnotherapist might just, y’know…” I snap my fingers by way of demonstration.

Dr. Ductress nods her understanding “Might just snap her fingers and make all your problems go away? I wish I could, Florence, but hypnosis isn’t magic. Still, I bet that together, we can make some progress on your issues. Tell me more about what exactly this ‘relationship trouble’ looks like.”

“Compatibility issues,” I mumble.

Fuck, I can tell from her expression that she’s not going to let me get away with that. “What do you mean by ‘compatibility issues’?” she insists. “It’s okay, Florence, this office is a safe space. You can tell me anything.”

In a small voice, I manage, “He thinks we’re not compatible… sexually.” And then that’s it, I can’t make any more words come out, even as I see Dr. Ductress waiting for me to go on. I’m sure I’m bright red and my heart is beating too fast, and God, this was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come here.

Dimly, I’m aware that the doctor is talking to me: “...perfectly normal, lots of my patients can feel reticent or shy talking about their sex lives. It might help if I hypnotized you now, Florence. I would just put you into a light trance to strip away some of those inhibitions and let you talk more freely. Is that okay?”

Something about the idea makes my stomach do a flip. “You’re not going to make me… I don’t know, cluck like a chicken?” I ask.

“Of course not.” Her eyes twinkle at me. “Hypnosis can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Remember that.”

Somehow, I believe her, and that’s enough for me right now. My nerves are still jangling, but she’s a professional, and this is something that might get Derek off my back.

By which I mean, something that might help our sex life. That’s definitely what I mean.

So I drum up my courage and say to Dr. Ductress: “Okay. What do I have to do?”

She smiles gently at me. “You hardly have to do anything, Florence; just sit comfortably and breathe.”

I arrange myself on the couch as best I can, and as she instructs, I breathe, and listen.

“...noticing the ease of your own breath, noticing the softness of the couch underneath you, and how natural it is to sink back into it. Noticing the temperature of the air around you, how it’s warm and comfortable, how every exhalation makes it a little warmer and a little more comfortable still…”

She’s produced a crystal pendant from somewhere, and the way it catches the light is mesmerizing. As it spins, each new facet glimmers in a slightly different way, and I stare, transfixed. The doctor is still talking softly, and I need to strain just a bit to hear her.

“...what’s called a depth test. Keep watching the crystal, and keep noticing how the room around you gets a little warmer with every breath you release. Eventually you can start to feel so warm and sleepy and relaxed that just instinctively, you take off your sweater—because that’s what you do when you’re warm and comfortable. And once your body and your mind have decided that you’re warm and comfortable enough that you want to take off your sweater…”

It is getting warmer in here, I realize muzzily. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but the room is definitely heating up, in a lazy and comfortable sort of way. Without thinking, I peel off my cardigan and toss it aside, and Dr. Ductress gives me a wide smile that sends a frisson of pride through my whole body.

When someone is under hypnosis, Dr. Ductress explains, it’s easy for them to speak openly and honestly about sensitive topics. I feel myself nodding along—what she’s saying makes sense, about how hypnosis removes inhibitions and puts you in touch with your innermost feelings.

“And of course, sex is a natural part of being human,” she’s telling me, still spinning that crystal before my eyes. My eyelids feel heavy, but I can’t look away from her pendant. “It’s one of our most fundamental urges, so of course, just like it’s natural to want sex, it should be just as natural to be able to talk about it.

“So tell me Florence: how often do you and Derek have sex?”

Something in the pit of my stomach clenches. I know the answer to this question—God knows Derek and I have talked about it enough—but saying it out loud to my therapist feels wrong, somehow, like confessing a sin. I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t make any sound come out. My stomach clenches tighter…

And then a flash of light off that crystal catches my attention, and just like that, the knot in my stomach is gone.“Maybe twice a month,” I answer automatically.

“And what’s it like when you do have sex? Is it pleasurable? How does he touch you?”

“No, it’s not pleasurable, not really.” I’m shocked at the ease with which the words leave my mouth, but I’m just so comfortable, here on this soft couch, in this warm office. “We kiss a little, he touches my boobs, he puts on a condom and some lube and fucks me, and then we’re done.”

Dr. Ductress is looking at me intently over her glasses. “But Florence, doesn’t he… seduce you? Touch you softly, build your desire, make you want it?” I shrug, shake my head. Dr. Ductress grimaces. “I see. Florence, do you ever masturbate?”

“Sometimes,” I answer, and part of me wonders at the calm tonelessness of my voice. “In the week before my period starts, usually, if I can find some time alone.”

“Tell me more,” the doctor prompts softly. “Remember, Florence—” she twirls the crystal, and I’m fascinated by the way the light bounces off it and reflects from her glasses. “It’s so easy to answer my questions when you’re under hypnosis, so easy to be open and honest with me. If you can help me understand your sexual responses, Florence, it can help us get to the root of why you don’t feel sexually compatible with Derek. So now tell me: how do you masturbate?”

“Well I, uh…” I don’t feel awkward, exactly, because Dr. Ductress just reminded me how relaxed I am, but I’m not quite sure what to do with this question. “Well I, I just touch my clit, I guess…”

“Are you wearing clothes, or not?” interrupts Dr. Ductress. “Tell me in as much detail as you can. It’s important. Paint me a picture.”

“I- I’m usually wearing clothes, I guess,” I answer. “I’m uh, probably lying in bed?” She smiles encouragingly. This seems to be the sort of answer she’s looking for, and emboldened, I press on. “I put my hand down my panties and I uh, I start touching my clit…”

“Fast, or slow? How many fingers? Are you already wet? These are important details, Florence.” I can feel the intensity of her focus, and it makes me shift a little in my seat.

I bite my lip, struggling to remember. “Slowly,” I answer at last. “Slow and light, with one finger. I’m not wet when I start, no, but once I start touching I can feel myself starting to get wetter.”

“Good, Florence.” The words tingle warmly down my spine. “Tell me more. Focus on the crystal, and really imagine what it’s like to be there, lying in your bed, touching yourself. Let yourself inhabit it as clearly as you can, and explain the details to me. The more you focus on the sensations, the more clearly you can explain them, and the more I can help you.”

I inhale sharply, because somehow she’s right—I know I’m sitting on a plush leather couch watching Dr. Ductress swing a crystal, but my eyelids are heavy and my body is warm, and somehow, I can feel the phantom sensation of my hand on my own clit.

I let my eyes flutter and try to describe the sensations to her. “I uh, I’m rubbing circles on my clit, slowly, and rolling my hips to meet my hand. I can feel myself starting to get wet, and I take some of that wetness and spread it on my clit, and touch myself a little faster.”

Dr. Ductress is leaning closer, eyes intent. “Very good, Florence. How does your body feel? Is your breathing changing?”

“My body feels g-good,” I tell her. The moment she mentions my breath, I realize that I’m breathing a little faster, starting to feel flushed. “I’m breathing h-heavily, and my body feels good, and I’m starting to speed up my hand…”

“Do you ever touch your breasts while you masturbate, Florence?” she interjects, and I nod. “Tell me how.”

“I, uh—” The pleasure in my body is distracting, and it’s hard to summon the exact details, though what I want more than anything is to answer the doctor’s question. “I touch my nipples sometimes,” I tell her. “I roll them between my fingers, pinching them just a little. Not enough to hurt, but every now and then I squeeze them hard, just to—” Vividly, I imagine the sensation, and I gasp with it. “Just to make it a little more intense.”

My body feels abuzz with everything I’m describing, and automatically, my hips rock against the couch. Dr. Ductress is watching me carefully, and says quietly, “Good, Florence. Thank you for telling me all that.'' At the praise, the buzz in my body intensifies, so that I almost miss the next thing the doctor says.

“...clear that you have a lot of shame and repression around your sexuality and your desires. I bet we can use some hypnotic techniques to help you move past these hangups, to let you embrace your own sexuality and tap into your own erotic desires. Would you like that?”

I’m not quite sure what she’s saying. “Would it help my sex life with Derek?” I ask. My voice sounds far away and strangely breathless. There’s something important behind her words, but my thoughts are too sluggish to really comprehend it.

“It would help you unlock your own authentic sexuality,” she replies. “And I assure you, it’s perfectly safe. Remember, hypnosis can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I’ll only proceed if that’s what you want.”

My eyelids flutter again. My body feels warm and languorous, and it would be so nice to fix my sex life with Derek, it would be so so nice to feel more of this pleasure…

Slowly, head heavy, I nod. “Yes,” I say thickly.

Dr. Ductress smiles widely at me. “Good girl,” she says in that low, soft tone. “We’re going to do another deepening exercise. Focus back on the crystal for me. That’s right. Feeling that warmth again, a tingling warmth, running through your body, spreading, filling you up…”

Reality is matching itself to her words. Every blink of my eyes, every flash of light off the crystal, sends warmth and comfort and tingles through me.

“...and just like last time, your subconscious can signal that it’s deep enough by giving into that warmth you’re imagining. Because as the room gets warmer and you get warmer and more comfortable, it would be so easy, it would be such a relief, to take off your shirt, and that’s how your subconscious can tell me that you are indeed feeling so warm, so comfortable, so uninhibited…”

My fingers twitch at the hem of my camisole. Something at the back of mind stirs, slow and muzzy, saying no, wait, something is wrong. I can feel my stomach start to clench again. I shake my head to clear it…

And I catch sight of the light flashing off the crystal, and my thoughts grind to a halt.

“It’s okay, Florence,” Dr. Ductress murmurs soothingly, and her words seem to echo in my head, in the space my thoughts used to be. “Remember, you’re perfectly safe here. It’s okay to relax, it’s okay to go deeper, it’s okay to let me in. Look at me, Florence.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she sets aside the crystal and shimmies out of her own blazer. “This is a technique called mirroring,” she tells me as she folds the garment and sets it aside. “I’m modeling the behavior, so you can see that it’s perfectly acceptable, perfectly safe, and some part of your mind can respond to what you’re seeing, knowing how easy it is to follow my example.”

Without the crystal to hold my gaze, my eyes are glued to Dr. Ductress. She’s wearing nothing underneath her blazer but a lacy black bra. Maybe it’s the mirror-whatever technique or maybe it’s just the sight of her curves, but my hands move to strip off my shirt, following her example automatically. Her whispers of praise send heat coursing through me.

“Florence, it sounds like you’ve experienced pleasurable masturbation, but maybe don’t feel the drive to do it very often.” I nod vacantly. “But for some people, sexual fulfilment isn’t just something they can take or leave. It’s a spontaneous desire. It’s a need, a primal urge. I suspect that this is true of you, deep down, and you just haven’t let yourself feel it. But here, now, with me, under my hypnosis…” She pulls her chair closer, until her perfect breasts take up my whole field of vision. “Let yourself experience that. You’re safe with me, so let yourself imagine that unrestrained urge. The ache, the throb. Can you feel it?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer. The heat that blossoms inside me at her words is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I’ve masturbated, sure, I’ve had orgasms, I’ve had fine sex, but this… this is raw need thrumming through my entire body.

“Lean into it,” Dr. Ductress murmurs. “Practice feeling that need, feeding it. Letting it build. Practice acknowledging it. There’s nothing shameful here; it’s beautiful and natural and pleasurable. Practice acknowledging what your body wants so desperately. Embrace it, and give in, surrender to that need…”

I feel fingers slick against my clit—and realize that they’re my own, my hand moving automatically against me. I open my eyes, and Dr. Ductress is sprawled in her chair in only that lacy bra and a matching set of panties, eyes drinking in my body with calculated professionalism. “That’s right, very good Florence, give into those urges, let that pleasure grow. This is the most natural thing in the world, to touch yourself, to follow your desires, to feel that warmth and to explore your whole body…”

Unthinking, I strip off my bra and slip out of my skirt and panties. “Here, mirror me,” she murmurs, and I watch, transfixed, as the doctor’s hands glide sensually over her body. I mimic her motions automatically: I touch my breasts, fondle my nipples, run my hands over my thighs and scrape fingernails up my sides. I watch the minute expressions on the doctor’s face as she sets an example for me, and I follow it greedily. “That’s right, Florence. Let yourself really experience those desires. Let yourself realize what it is that you want.”

Languidly, she unfolds herself from the chair, and my eyes don’t know where to go first: the creamy expanse of her long legs, the soft curve of her breasts, the hollow at the base of her throat that I somehow want to kiss…

Dr. Ductress is standing over me, her pillowy breasts inches away from me, and her eyes trace my gaze easily. “Do you like my breasts, Florence?” she asks with a grin in her voice. “Answer me, and sink ten times deeper.”

“Yes, I—”

“Yes what,” she demands gently.

“Y-yes, Doctor,” I say, and the feeling of trance hits me like a ton of bricks. My eyelids flutter, and it's all I can do to keep my eyes open—but I do, because I want to keep staring at her magnificent breasts and the way they strain against the lace of her bra.

She traces a languid line across one breast as she asks me, “Do you find your boyfriend attractive? When you see his body, what do you want to do to it?”

I shake my head, even though it's hard to muster the energy. “No Doctor. His body doesn't make me want to do… anything.”

She inclines her head, and into my ear, she breathes: “And how about my body?”

The words spill out in a rush: “Oh, Doctor, oh, I want to do everything to your body, I want to know what your tits feel like against me, I want to kiss every inch of you, I want to taste you, I want, fuck—”

“Very good, Florence.” She cuts me off with a chuckle, and strokes my hair softly. “Good, good girl.” I shudder into her touch and press into her hand, wanting more of even this innocuous touch. “I’m so proud of you for realizing what your body craves.

“And this is behavior we want to reward. If you’re honest about your desires”— tantalizingly, her long fingers undo the front clasp of her bra—”and we connect that act to pleasurable sensations”—she lets the garment drop to the floor—”then we reinforce to your mind that owning your sexuality feels good. That it feels good to speak your desires, to give into your urges. Does that make sense, Florence?”

Her hands in my hair guide my head to nod. I’m not sure I would have mustered the energy for that movement on my own, but it’s okay, because my whole body is singing “Yes!” I can’t tear my eyes away from her perfect breasts, can’t think of a single thing other than how badly I want to suck on her perfect nipples. A drop of drool escapes my mouth to run down my chin. I hardly notice.

“Do you want this, Florence?” She’s guiding my head closer to her. “Are you ready to give into your desires and own your sexuality? Are you ready to admit what you really want?”

Yes yes yesyesyes—my mouth can’t even form words but I’m trembling with the nearness of her and the strength of my need. Somehow, though, I know I need permission. I look up at her. “Please?” I mouth.

In answer, she pulls me to her, and I bury my face in her chest. My mouth finds her nipple and it’s electric on my tongue, and the noises that escape her almost make me come on the spot.

“O-oh,” she gasps breathlessly, and it goes straight to my clit. “Oh my, Florence, you’re v-very good at that.” Her hands are pulling hard against my hair now, directing and guiding, and I give myself over to the sweet feeling of her shuddering against me. It’s all I can do to focus on her words: “You’re a natural, Florence dear. And doesn’t it feel good to know now what your body can do? What your body was meant for? To know what your body craves, after hiding it from yourself for so long?”

And then the breasts in my face are gone, but only because Dr. Ductress has knelt and started feathering kisses all over my torso. She runs her hands and her nails along every inch of exposed skin, pulling and tweaking at my nipples until I think I might scream with the pleasure of it.

“Did you ever feel anything like this with your boyfriend?”

“N-no, Doctor,” I manage through the white-hot bliss.

“Florence, the pleasure you’re feeling right now is the pleasure of acknowledging your true sexual desires. The more in touch you are with your own sexuality, the better it can make you feel. And doesn’t your body feel good right now?”

I can only moan my assent.

“Repeat after me,” the doctor instructs calmly: “‘I feel good when I give into my desires.”

As the words drop from my lips, I realize just how true they are.

“Again,” she prompts, and I comply—and again, and again, the pleasure in my body building higher with every repetition and every caress of her expert hands. My own fingers slide slickly against my clit—when did I start touching myself again?—and the sensations blur together into a rising tide that threatens to consume me.

The scary thing is, I want it to.

“Are you still deep in trance for me?” the doctor asks, but it’s not really a question, because every word she says becomes my truth. “Are your body and mind easily and effortlessly building these connections for you? Very good, Florence, you’re doing so well.” I gasp, and rub harder at my clit—and then suddenly, I can’t anymore.

Dr. Ductress, I realize, is holding me by the wrist, moving my hand away from my aching pussy. Instantly I feel my body crying out for touch. I would struggle, the need is so all-consuming, but I can’t bring myself to move against her grip.

“Now let’s solidify all the excellent work you’ve done today,” she tells me. My body is warm and loose even as it vibrates with pleasure. Anything Dr. Ductress does must be right, and so I allow her to pin my hands beside me on the couch, even as I involuntarily hump the air, desperately seeking more stimulation. Her fingers play across my nipples, her tongue is on my neck, and every bit of pleasure she gives me only makes me more aware of how much my clit needs to be touched.

She’s murmuring to me even as she kisses my neck and bites my earlobes, I realize dimly: “I know you want to touch your clit. It’s okay, lean into the feeling. That need and that desperation will make all of these discoveries stick even better.” She bites the meat of my shoulder hard, and I cry out. “Good girl. And we can use a powerful hypnotic technique called ‘anchoring’ to tie all this growth and good work to pleasure. We’ll help it really take root in your subconscious, so that being in touch with your sexuality will be second nature.” Her hand brushes maddeningly close to my clit, and I wonder if I could come from desperation alone.

“So let’s solidify these lessons,” she says silkily—and she pushes my legs apart and brings her mouth within an inch of my aching, desperate pussy. I can feel her breath warm against me, can feel myself clenching with nearness and need.

She’s still talking, so softly I have to strain to hear her, even as I can feel the vibrations of her voice resonate through my whole body: “Florence, tell me what you’ve learned today”

“T-that I feel good when I give into my desires.”

“Good girl.” I feel the faintest whisper of a tongue against my clit, and almost come on the spot. Patiently, the Doctor prompts, “What else?”

“That my body can feel s-so—oh! S-so g-good…”

I’m rewarded with another lick, hotter and wetter than the last—and in that moment I know I’ll say anything to make her keep going.

“That Derrek never made me feel anything like this, that women make me feel so incredible, that y-you feel so good, oh God, th-that I never want this to stop...”

With every statement, she licks me again, warm and wet and impossibly precise. I’m babbling, helpless, trembling with need and willing to say anything for her tongue to be on me again. I lose track of what I’m saying, I lose track of time, I lose track of everything except the pleasure. I can’t tell which words are the Doctor’s and which are my own, but she’s kneeling between my legs and licking me hard and fast, so it must be my own voice chanting “It feels good to give in, it feels good to give in.” I imagine that I can hear her speaking, or maybe I can feel her words inside me as she buries her entire face in my pussy.

When she sucks my clit into her mouth, the vast growing tide inside me finally crashes down. My body spasms, my hips rock, and still she keeps licking, and still my mouth keeps chanting: “it feels good to give in, it feels good to give in...”

I emerge from a daze to find myself in a limp, boneless puddle on the couch. Guess that whole “hypnosis” thing really does work, huh?

I’m naked, I realize, and my clothes are beside me on the couch in a neat pile. Dr. Ductress sits in her chair across from me in her fashionable slacks and blazer. She’s surveying me over her glasses—and my eye catches on the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts, before returning to her face.

“Hello Florence,” she greets me. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” I reply uncertainly, stretching. “A little sore. A little fuzzy.”

She smiles and takes a note on the pad beside her. “That’s perfectly normal. Anything else? Remember, this is a safe space: you can tell me anything.”

She shifts in her chair just a bit to expose a long stretch of creamy leg, and it somehow lights a spark in the pit of my stomach. I’m turned on, I realize with a start—and she’s my therapist! That’s so improper, so weird!

On the other hand, you’re supposed to be honest with your therapist, right? And besides, it’s good to be open about my sexual desires, and so I say haltingly: “I’m horny, Doctor. I-I want you. I want you so bad.”

Dr. Ductress beams at me. “Thanks for telling me Florence. In just one session, you’ve gotten so good at being in touch with your sexuality.” I glow with pride at the compliment. “And I imagine that once you’ve noticed that arousal, it’s hard to stop noticing it, isn't it? Or rather, it’s easy to keep noticing it. The need just builds on itself, and gets stronger and stronger…”

As she says it, it becomes true. The tingle in my body becomes an ache, then a throb.

“And what else have you learned in today’s session?”

In a whisper, I say: “It feels good to give into my desires.”

“Good girl.” She beckons me with one hand. My body responds before I can think: I slide from the couch and crawl to her on my hands and knees. She parts her legs invitingly—she’s not wearing panties. I can see her cunt glistening. My mouth waters at the sight of it. “I want—” I gasp, “please, Doctor, may I?”

“Yes,” she growls, and I dive into her desperately. There’s nothing I ever wanted more than to taste every drop of her that I can. My world becomes a blur of wetness and heat and the textures on my tongue. There’s nothing but the smell of her, the taste of her, her trembling and mine. Moans of pleasure fill the air, and it takes me a moment to realize that some of them are my own.

Later, much later, we’re both lying in sweaty heaps—her on the chair, me on the floor beside her—limp and boneless and utterly spent. My Doctor caresses my face, and it ignites a pleasant warm feeling in my belly. “Florence,” she tells me indulgently, “you’ve made excellent progress today, but there's still a lot of work to be done. Going forward, I think you should see me at least twice a week.“