﻿Study Buddy

by Pan



Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:59:07
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,263
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/StudyBuddy/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: A son claims that hypnotizing his Mom will help him to study better.
Erotica Tags: in, mc, md, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4



	Chapter 1

“I don’t understand,” Mom said, her brow furrowed. “How is it going to help _you_ study if you hypnotize _me_?”

At the sight of my smile, Mom relaxed slightly. I’m not much of a looker, but I’ve been told I have an incredibly charming smile—and not even my own mother is immune to it.

“It’s simple,” I said, hoping that this would work. I’d spent hours trying to come up with _something_ , and this was the best line I’d managed to devise. “Self-hypnosis is difficult, but if I can practice on someone else first, I’ll be able to get the hang of it in no time.”

Not true. None of that was true.

Self-hypnosis, in fact, was total bupkis. The point of hypnotizing someone is to implant thoughts into their head…why on earth would you ever need to hypnotize yourself? If you want to get a thought into your head, you can just…y’know, think it.

But I hoped Mom would buy it. After all, she hadn’t done the months of research on the topic that I had.

That was why my grades were suffering, to be honest. I’d learned about hypnosis, and started experimenting. It had taken me a while to find someone who’d let me try it out on them, and then once I had…it was all so easy.

Okay, so “easy” might be overstating it.

* * *

“Okay Linda,” I said, flashing her my smile. “Deep breaths. Shut your eyes and listen to my voice. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…breathe out.

“I’m going to count down from thirty-nine, and each time I say a number, I want you to breathe in, and then breathe out.”

Why thirty-nine? Well, it was a bit of an in-joke between us, and she grinned when I said it. I hoped that the tinge of humor would help her relax, remove any suspicion.

If this was going to work, I knew she had to be completely trusting. Fortunately, Linda and I had known each other since we were kids.

My name is Terry, by the way. I’m a fairly average guy in most ways, I suppose. I guess I’m a little smarter than most people…that’s why Mom was so shocked to see my grades starting to slip.

That’s what made me realize what I could use as an excuse to hypnotize her.

I’m not really into sports, although I do like going to my Dad’s place to watch the game every couple of weeks. Not because I particularly want to watch the game, but it’s nice to have something that’s just the two of us, y’know?

Mom and Dad split up when I was twelve. Since then, Dad has had a new girlfriend every couple of weeks (or months, if they’re really getting along) and Mom…well, Mom tried dating for a couple of years, and then I guess she just gave up.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of me.

See, I’ve always been the jealous type. Nothing weird about jealousy, right? Sure…unless you’re a thirteen-year old kid who hates his Mom’s boyfriend.

And not just in the “someone is dating my Mom and it’s not my Dad” kind of way (trust me, after thirteen years of seeing how unhappy they were together, I was over the moon when my parents divorced). More like “I literally want to tear this guy’s skull out of his head and shove it up his ass if he even _thinks_ about touching my Mom” kind of way.

I never said anything, of course, but it’s entirely possible that Mom noticed how I acted whenever someone came around, and decided to stop dating—decided that it wasn’t worth how much it upset me.

Or I dunno, maybe she just got sick of dating.

Like I said, I think I’m a pretty average guy in most ways. A little smarter, a little less interested in sports, the owner of an unexpectedly charming smile…

…and I’m totally in love with my Mom.

Actually, no. “In love with” is understating it. I’m _obsessed_.

A year or two after Mom stopped dating, my hormones kicked in, and suddenly all I could think about was sex. Maybe that’s another area where I’m not really average—I was jacking it nine, ten times a week; it was non-stop.

And every time I came, it was Mom that I was thinking about.

And not that I think this is an excuse or anything like that (I get that my Oedipus complex that won’t quit isn’t normal) but my Mom is a stone-cold fox.

Whenever she goes out, she dresses relatively dowdily, but when it’s just me and her at home, she’ll often wear whatever. Yoga pants, nighties…the best is when she picks up one of my T-shirts and just wears that.

And yes, I mean _just_ that. No bra, no jeans. Just my shirt and a pair of panties. We’ve gone entire weekends in the past with the outline of her nipples clearly visible through my shirt, with me desperately trying to maintain eye-contact, and slipping out of the room to jerk it whenever possible.

Anyway. I am getting really distracted here. What was I talking about?

Oh yeah, Linda.

* * *

“Twenty…”

Linda breathed in, then breathed out.

“Nineteen…”

She breathed in, then out.

“Eighteen…”

In, out.

“Seventeen…”

In, and then out.

The deep breaths was important. That was the first thing I’d realized from reading about two dozen books about hypnotizing people. None of them really went into why, but I reckon it’s got to do with slowing down the heartbeat and causing a rise in blood pH. Like hyperventilating.

People don’t realize that something as simple as “breathing” can have such a massive effect on your brain, so they’re generally happy to do it without question.

Like Linda.

“Ten…”

In, out.

“Nine…”

In, out.

“Eight…”

In, out.

“Six…”

In, out.

I looked carefully at my friend. She hadn’t even noticed that we’d skipped “seven”—that was a really good sign.

Now, obviously hypnosis isn’t as simple as “get someone to breathe a bunch and then you can put ideas in their mind”. But Linda was in what some of the books referred to as an “early trance”—she wasn’t susceptible yet, but she was definitely slightly dazed.

The fact that she hadn’t even twitched when I missed a number meant that her guard was down. And that meant it was the perfect time to take her to the next level—a full trance.

“Two…”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“One…”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Okay Linda,” I said gently, trying to keep my voice as soothing as possible. Anything that jolted her out of this state would mean starting again, and while watching her breathe as we counted down from thirty-nine had been sort of interesting, it wasn’t really something I was keen to repeat. “Your mind is nice and clear for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, and I smiled. The counting really had worked—using a phrase like ‘your mind is clear’ would normally have resulted in a sarcastic look and a quick retort from Linda, but in this pre-trance state, she hadn’t even questioned it.

“Your mind is like a blank canvas, and we’re going to paint on it. We’re going to do it together, you and me. Are you ready to paint on the canvas?” I asked, and she simply nodded in response.

“You’re holding a nice, heavy brush.” I noticed her hand twitch slightly at my words, which I think was a sign that it was working. “There’s a big bucket of thick, black paint next to you. You’re going to dip the brush into the paint can, until the black paint is oozing off it, okay?”

Again, Linda nodded.

“Now, take that brush and paint the canvas. Long, strong strokes. Start from the top and go down. Are you painting the canvas for me?”

“Yes…”

“Good girl,” I said, and smiled once more when that didn’t get a reaction.

Linda despised being called a ‘good girl’.

“The black paint is so heavy, so dense. You can’t see anything through it…you can’t think anything through it. Keep painting, but the more you do, the more your mind slows down. It’s getting harder to move, harder to breathe, harder to picture anything. All you can see is thick black paint now, isn’t it?”

“Yess…” she said, but her words were slightly slurred. She sounded as if she’d just woken up, and I decided to use that imagery.

“It’s making you sleepy. So sleepy, so weary. But you can’t sleep—you can’t sleep, because your friend is here talking to you. It’d be rude to sleep, wouldn’t it?”

“Mmmm…” she said in reply, not even able to form words.

“The canvas is almost painted now, but you’re too tired to even finish painting it now, aren’t you?”

“Mmmm…”

“You’re so tired that all you can do is sit, sit and listen to my voice. Isn’t that right?”

She nodded, and her eyes fluttered.

“Don’t sleep,” I said sharply, and she sat up slightly at my words. “You don’t want to be rude to your friend, do you?”

Linda shook her head ever-so-slightly in response.

“The polite thing to do is listen to your friend, isn’t it?”

“Mm…”

“The polite thing to do is listen to your friend Terry, listen to my voice, and do everything I say.”

Again, a tiny nod.

“The polite thing to do is answer all of my questions honestly—you’re too tired to lie, too sleepy to hold anything back. You’re going to be completely honest with me, Linda: you’re going to do everything I say, right?”

“Mmm…”

“Let your body relax. Your body is completely relaxed—it’s like you’re laying in a comfortable bed, sleeping soundly. And most of your mind is asleep as well. You’re completely unconscious, except for your ears and mouth. You’re going to hear everything I say, and you’re going to reply to the best of your ability. Do you understand me, Linda?”

“Yes,” she said, slumping back. At a glance, you would have thought she was asleep, but her response was loud and clear, and I could tell that she was listening.

“Good girl,” I repeated. “You and I are going to work together, Linda, because we’re friends. I’m going to pick up that heavy paintbrush and finish painting the canvas black. You know that you can trust me, because I’m helping you—I’m finishing something that you couldn’t finish.”

She didn’t respond, and so I pressed on.

“I’m helping you. I’m your best friend, and I’m here to help—when I finish painting that canvas black, all your worries and fears will be painted over…and I’ll be the one who helped do that. Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Of course,” she whispered, and for a moment I felt a pang of guilt. Was I really about to fuck with one of my oldest friends? Just as an experiment?

Then I imagined my mother in this state, docile and malleable. An erection began to form in my pants, and it wasn’t long before my boner made the decision for me.

After all, you can’t do anything under hypnosis that the subject doesn’t _want_ to do. Every single one of the books had been very clear about that.

“I pick up the paintbrush and finish painting the canvas. The thick, black paint covers everything—it covers your mind, it covers your body. It’s covered every part of you—it’s tight, but not constrictive. It’s warm, thick, heavy, covering up your worries, covering up your anxieties. Your whole world is black paint, except for my voice. You trust my voice, because I helped you finish the painting.

“I painted over the parts you’d never paint over. I painted over your doubts, your worries. I painted over everything, and now all that’s left is trust. You trust my voice, because I’m your friend, and now you don’t have to worry about anything in the world. How do you feel?”

“Good,” she replied, after a moment’s pause. “Relaxed.

“Free.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Now, I want to ask you a few questions…”


	Chapter 2

“Well,” Mom said, after a few moments of thought. “I guess I can help you out.”

I tried not to smile _too_ triumphantly, and just nodded in thanks.

“Although…are you _sure_ that this is going to help you improve your grades?”

“I’m sure,” I said firmly. “Trust me—hypnosis can do incredible things.”

* * *

“Okay,” I said, fumbling through my notes as Linda sat in front of me, slumped back in her chair, breathing deeply. “You’re going to answer all my questions honestly, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re never going to lie to me, are you?”

“No.”

Linda was firmly in what the books had called ‘trance’—a state of pliability where she wouldn’t be able to wake up without permission…and she would obey my commands.

Well, not really. She wouldn’t do anything that she wouldn’t do while awake, with one exception: while she was under, she would answer my questions with complete honesty, and I was no longer just her friend Terry—I was her friend Terry who she trusted more than anyone.

In real life, she probably wouldn’t strip her clothes off if I ordered her to.

While she was under trance, she still wouldn’t strip off her clothes just because I ordered her to. _But_ , if I told her there was a spider on her shirt, she’d probably take it off…just to be safe.

And if I told her that being hypnotized was really _good_ for her, really relaxing, something that she had to do normally…well, there was nothing suspicious about that, was there?

There was a lot that I wanted to experiment with. First, however, I had some questions.

“Are you sexually attracted to me?”

There was a long pause, and I wondered if I should have started with a softball instead of jumping in headfirst.

I continued mentally mixing metaphors until Linda interrupted my thoughts with her response.

“No.”

“Why did it take so long for you to answer?”

“I had to think about it.”

Huh. I don’t know about most guys, but I know immediately whether I’m sexually attracted to someone.

“Do you think you could ever be sexually attracted to me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Again, the pause. It was interesting, watching Linda think as she seemingly slept—we were alone at my house, but had someone walked in they would likely have just thought she was napping. Except for an occasional twitch of her lips, her face remained totally immobile.

“If things were different.”

I sighed. Linda was a fairly literal person, but I’d hoped that by accessing her subconscious directly, that’d change.

“Different how?”

This time, as she paused, I took the opportunity to check her out.

Like I said, Linda and I have been friends since we were kids. When you’re running around as ten-year olds, you don’t really notice what your friend’s body looks like.

When puberty hit, that definitely changed.

Linda had filled out before my hormones had struck, and I’d spent a few months teasing her about her new tits. I remember almost bringing her to tears a few times (what can I say? Kids can be monsters, and I was no exception) before my body started going through changes of its own, and suddenly the bumps on her chest weren’t something to be laughed at any more.

She more than got her own back over the six months my voice took to break. It took a few years for everything to settle back down, but we never stopped being friends throughout the whole process.

On the rare occasion I wasn’t thinking of my Mom while I jacked it, Linda’s curves were close to the top of my mind. One of my neighbors had shown me a dirty magazine once, and despite the difference in age, body type and hair color, it had been easy enough to superimpose the only pair of boobs I’d ever seen onto the body of both Linda and my Mom.

My lips curled as I watched her think, breathing deeply. Pretty soon, I wouldn’t be _imagining_ what her body looked like under those clothes—I’d know.

“If we weren’t so close,” Linda said, finally breaking the silence. “Or…if we were closer.”

My forehead crinkled as I wondered what she meant by that…and, more importantly, how I could use it. But I was starting to grow sick of asking her questions—I wanted to see some skin.

“Linda,” I said, going through the papers in front of me. I’d spent a while crafting the scenario. “I want you to take your clothes off.”

“No,” she said, without hesitation.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to see me naked.”

“Okay,” I said, having predicted that answer. “But what if I close my eyes?”

“No,” she said. Damn. I had been assuming there would be a little bit of a pause there, at least.

Now it was my time to stop and think.

You can’t make anyone do anything under hypnosis that they don’t want to do. So the trick was simple—make her _want_ to do it.

“Do you like being naked?” I asked, and she nodded immediately. That could have gone either way, but I remembered when we were kids, skinny-dipping was always her suggestion. “Why?”

“I like the feeling of being free.”

“Would you like to feel free now?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. Good sign.

“Why don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t feel free with you here. I’d feel exposed.”

“Okay…but what if I wasn’t here?”

“But you are.”

I sighed, before glancing down at my notes and remembering the spider.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me absolutely?”

“Yes.”

“What would you do if I told you there was a spider on your shirt?”

“Scream.”

“And then?”

“Try to swat it away.”

“And if you couldn’t?”

“Scream some more.”

I didn’t really want Linda screaming—Mom wasn’t home, but the neighbors were close enough that they might come running, and finding a seemingly-unconscious girl in the room where they’d just heard screams would be difficult to explain away.

“Okay…what would you do if I accidentally spilled paint on you?”

“I’d be furious.”

“Would you change out of your top?”

“Of course.”

“In front of me?”

“No. Obviously not.”

I hadn’t really thought this one through. Despite my preparation, I hadn’t come up with anything that made Linda _want_ to take her clothes off.

I could do better than this, I knew it.

“Do you like your body?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied immediately. Then there was a brief pause, and she added: “Sometimes.”

“When do you like it?”

“When I look at myself in the mirror,” she said. “And when I…”

There was another pause; the longest so far.

“…when I touch myself,” she eventually answered, and a slight blush had appeared on her face.

Holy shit. What did _that_ mean?

“What do you mean, touch yourself?”

“Y’know,” she said unhelpfully. “Down there.”

My mind was reeling. Did she mean…did girls jack off? In all my years, I’d never heard of such a thing. I’d never even suspected anything like it.

Did all girls do it, or just Linda?

…did Mom?

“Why did you hesitate to tell me that?” I asked.

“Because it’s embarrassing, and I was worried you’d think I was a slut.”

“How often do you touch yourself?”

“A lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“At least once a day.”

Wow. No wonder she was embarrassed to tell me—now I sort of _did_ wonder if she was a slut.

“Would you touch yourself in front of me?” I blurted out.

“No!” she said. “Of course not!”

“Okay,” I said, my dick so hard that it was threatening to burst through my pants. “Okay.”

I took a moment to collect myself. My mind was racing, trying to imagine what it looked like. In school we’d seen some medical diagrams of vaginas, but they’d _never_ mentioned anything about girls jerking off. How did they…how did it work? I couldn’t even begin to visualize it. Did they shoot stuff like I did, or…no, that didn’t make any sense.

When I had finally calmed down a little, I considered jumping back to my earlier line of inquiry, but I was just too fascinated with what I’d just learned.

“How do you do it?”

Again, that pause.

“Well,” she said finally, “I reach down between my legs, and I…I touch myself.”

“How?”

“I tease my lips for a few minutes, and then when my clit gets hard, I make little circles around it with my fingertips.”

“Wait…your clit?”

What followed was fifteen minutes of the most educational conversation I’d ever had. I learned about the clitoris, the G-spot, about vaginal lubrication and the female orgasm.

And the female _multiple_ orgasm.

By the time Linda had finished explaining—in great detail—the process she used to masturbate, I was more excited than I’d been since the summer Mom had bought her first bikini.

What’s more, I’d come up with some ideas of how I could use my new-found knowledge.

“Have you ever told anyone else about the way you masturbate?”

“No.”

“Have you ever told anyone else that you masturbate at all?”

“No.”

“It feels good, telling someone about it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you feel like you could tell me?”

“Because I trust you.”

“Why do you trust me?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

“And did you like telling me about it?”

“Yes.”

“But there’s a problem,” I said, and Linda frowned slightly in response. She was hanging onto my every word so firmly that just me suggesting something was wrong was enough to make her feel bad, even before learning what the problem was. “When you tell me stuff under hypnosis, it doesn’t count.”

Linda nodded; a small nod of acknowledgement, but not understanding.

“When you’re hypnotized, you’re mostly asleep. Repeat that back to me.”

“When I’m hypnotized, I’m mostly asleep.”

“Anything we talk about while you’re mostly asleep doesn’t count. It’ll only enter your subconscious, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

This time, her assent was much firmer.

“Do you know much about the subconscious?”

“No,” Linda said, and then immediately clarified. “A little.”

“Tell me what you know about the subconscious.”

“Well,” she replied, biting her lip thoughtfully. “It’s where our deepest fears and wishes come from.”

“That’s true. What else?”

“It’s where dreams come from.”

“Good girl. Anything else?”

There was a brief pause, and Linda shook her head.

“Let me tell you about the subconscious. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And I know more about the subconscious than you do, right?”

“Right.”

This was actually true—my reading had taught me a bunch about the unconscious mind and the subconscious and a bunch of Freud’s theories about the ego and the id. But it occurred to me that it didn’t really matter what I knew—what mattered was what Linda would believe.

And in her current state, she’d trust anything I said.

“The subconscious is what controls your waking life. You can never know what’s in your subconscious, but it determines what makes you happy and what makes you sad. Whenever you’re hypnotized, we have these conversations in your subconscious—you won’t remember them when you’re awake, but they’ll steer your actions…and they’ll make sure that you’re happy.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“It was nice, telling me about how you masturbate, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s something you can’t talk about with most people, but you can talk about it with me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Now your subconscious knows how great it is to talk to me about masturbation, you’ll want to do it while you’re awake, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do when you’re awake?”

“I’m going to talk to you about masturbation.”

“And how will that make you feel?”

“Great.”

“And it’ll make you trust me more, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

“We would never have learned how great talking to me about masturbation can be if I hadn’t hypnotized you, would we?”

“No.”

“Being hypnotized is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do if I ask to hypnotize you again?”

“I’ll let you.”

“And you won’t suspect anything, will you?”

“No.”


	Chapter 3

My mother chewed her tongue slightly as she thought. On anyone else I would have thought it was a bit gross, or a weird thing to do.

When Mom did it, I couldn’t help but imagine what else her tongue could be doing…and the resultant imaginings had me hard as a rock in no time.

“Are you ready?” I asked again, and she closed her eyes slightly and nodded. I could have watched her like this all day.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

It was two days before I hypnotized Linda again.

After she’d woken up last time, it was like nothing had happened. All of a sudden, she was sitting up in the chair, her eyes bright and her smile wide. I thanked her for letting me try it out on her, and she thanked me back—she genuinely seemed to have had a great time.

We hung around for the next half-hour without anything unusual happening…and then, she just blurted it out.

“Hey Terry…” she said, avoiding eye-contact. “Do you ever…y’know?”

“Touch myself?” I answered, and then wanted to hit myself in the face. God, what a stupid thing to say.

I’d been waiting for her to bring it up since she’d come out of trance, and so of course I knew exactly what she was getting at…but I _shouldn’t_ have, and so my instant response was just idiotic.

Fortunately, Linda was so excited to talk to me about it, she didn’t even notice the unlikelihood of me immediately working out what “y’know” meant.

“Yeah!” she answered excitedly, and without any further prompting, launched into a bunch of questions about it. About the process, about what I thought about, about what it felt like.

I answered honestly (except when she asked what I thought about, I gave some vague response about stewardesses) and then, when there was an expectant pause, started asking if _she_ did it.

I pretended to be surprised as she told me, and an hour later, we were still chatting about the details.

“Wow,” she said, shooting me a shy smile. “I…thanks.”

“Of course,” I said casually, but probably sounding like a total dingbat. “It’s really nice to have someone to talk about that kind of thing with.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, and I smiled as she walked away.

It had worked.

It had all worked.

* * *

“Five…” Linda breathily said. “Four…three…two…”

This time, she didn’t even get to one. I’d tried a different imagery this time—every number was another mile on the longest walk she’d ever taken. As she counted, she was getting more and more fatigued, increasingly tired, so exhausted…until all she could do was listen and speak.

Listen and speak. Every other bone in her body was too exhausted to do anything.

“Your mind is exhausted, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Your body is exhausted, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky that your friend Terry is here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You trust me completely, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Again, no reaction. I smiled.

“Did you like talking to me about masturbation the other day?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It feels good, telling someone about it.”

“That’s right. Did it change how you felt about me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It made me feel closer to you.”

Despite her facial expression remaining completely blank throughout the entire conversation, a slight tinge hit Linda’s cheeks as she said that.

I knew I had to explore further.

“How did it make you feel closer to you?”

“It made me trust you more.”

“Did you like hearing about how I masturbate?”

“Yes.”

The red deepened.

“Why?”

“It was fun, learning how boys do it.”

“Did it turn you on?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, her voice a husky whisper.

I couldn’t believe how well this was going. If it was this easy with Mom, I’d be fucking her within weeks.

I couldn’t wait.

“Do you want to watch me do it?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Yeah.”

I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Linda was in trance; she should have trusted me completely, told me anything and everything.

(And, just as importantly, believed almost anything I told her, too.)

So why did it feel like she was playing games?

“What does that mean?”

“I mean…kind of.”

I sighed.

“Would it turn you on if you watched me touch myself?”

“Yes.”

Hot.

“So why wouldn’t you want to do that?”

“I really value you as a friend. I’m afraid if we took things to that level, it’d get weird.”

“But…you’re okay talking about it?”

“Yeah.”

Huh. I had a decision in front of me. On one hand, I really valued Linda’s friendship as well. I’d hate for things to get weird.

But honestly? I didn’t want to date her. I wanted to use her to get the hang of hypnosis.

Well, maybe I wanted to do some other stuff with her as well.

“When you told me about masturbation, were you worried I’d think you were a slut?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you still feel that way after you told me?”

“A little, yeah.”

“I don’t think you’re a slut.”

Despite being in trance, despite being literally as relaxed as I’ve ever seen someone be, I swear I saw some tension leaving Linda’s body.

“I want you to store that in your subconscious. ‘Terry doesn’t think I’m a slut’. Say it back to me.”

“Terry doesn’t think I’m a slut.”

“Good girl. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, I’m never going to think you’re a slut.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“No matter what I do, no matter what I say, you’re never going to think I’m a slut.”

“Is that stored deep in your subconscious?”

“Yes.”

“It’s fun to talk about sex with your friend, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s even more fun because you can say whatever you like, and he’s not going to think you’re a slut.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to watch me jerking off?”

“Kind of.”

Still ‘kind of’? What had I missed?

“Why only kind of?”

“I really value you as a friend. I’m afraid if we took things to that level, it’d get weird.”

Ah. I’d assumed that Linda was worried that I’d think she was a slut, and that’d make things weird. Clearly there was something else going on here.

“Why do you think that would make things weird?”

“Sex makes things weird.”

That made sense.

I mean, I assume. I’d never had sex. But it made sense that she’d feel that way.

But if that was her only concern, that was an easy one to solve.

“Have you ever had sex?”

“No.”

“Have you ever…touched yourself?”

“Yes.”

“So touching yourself isn’t sex, is it?”

There was a brief pause.

“No.”

“Masturbation doesn’t count as sex.”

Linda nodded.

“Say it back to me?”

“Masturbation doesn’t count as sex.”

“You’re worried that sex makes things weird, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But masturbation doesn’t count as sex.”

Again, she nodded.

“If you saw me masturbating, that couldn’t make things weird.”

In response, I got the slightest of grimaces, but I pressed on.

“…because masturbation doesn’t count as sex.”

There was a long silence, as I let the ideas percolate inside my best friend’s mind. I had no idea if she’d accept the premises I was dropping, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.

“Was it weird when we talked about masturbation the other day?”

“No.”

“That’s right. That’s because we’re close friends. Talking about masturbation brought us closer, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You like being closer with me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Dad had given me some sales tips one time. I’ve no idea why; I think he just had them bouncing around in his head and wanted to share them with someone.

One thing he’d mentioned was that if you can get someone saying ‘yes’, they’re more likely to _continue_ saying ‘yes’.

“We’d be even closer if we saw each other masturbate, wouldn’t we?”

“…yes.”

“We’d be much closer if you watched me jerk off. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to watch me jerk off?”

I held my breath, wondering if I’d managed to move past ‘kind of’.

“Yes,” Linda replied, to my great delight.

Now that she’d agreed, I had a few choices. I could wake her up, and see if she wanted to watch me in real life…but I wasn’t one hundred percent confident that would work, and I was still navigating exactly how she’d react.

I could have just woken her up, and waited for her to take the next step.

But I was horny, and she was willing, and I’d never jerked off in front of someone before. I didn’t want to risk stage fright…and so I decided I was going to do it, then and there.

“How would you feel if I jerked off in front of you right now?”

“Excited.”

“Would it turn you on?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it would make things weird between us?”

“No.’

“Why not?”

“Sex makes things weird, not masturbation.”

“Have you ever seen someone jerk off before?”

“Once. I spied on my cousin in the bathroom. He didn’t know I was watching.”

It seemed my best friend was more of a pervert than I’d anticipated.

“I’m going to jerk off for you. Right now.”

Linda continued to stare straight ahead, but I saw the beginning of a smile tugging on the corner of her mouth.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes.”

I smiled at my hypnotized friend as I stood up and lowered my pants, and she smiled back at me. Her glazed eyes followed my hand’s movement as it undid my belt, unbuckled my fly, and dropped my pants in front of her.

Her mouth fell open as my erection came into view. I was pretty hard—it was my first time exposing myself to a member of the opposite sex. Even if she was hypnotized, it was pretty sexy.

Honestly, it was pretty sexy _because_ she was hypnotized.

Neither of us said anything until I came into a tissue a few minutes later. Even though she was heavily entranced, I still felt weirdly…nervous? I just focused on the task at hand, no pun intended, and after I’d disposed of the evidence, I sat down to talk to ask her a few questions.

“What did you think of that?”

“Wow.”

I could feel myself preening slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That good?”

“It was…yeah.”

You couldn’t have taken the grin off my face with sandpaper.

“How do you feel?”

“Good.”

“Do you feel turned on?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Is that something you’d like to do again?”

“Yes.”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to do it again some time?”

“No.”

Impossibly, my grin broadened. I almost woke her up, but then I realized—I had to be smart. Maybe she wouldn’t find it weird if we started jerking off in front of each other. Not straight away. But if I kept pushing it, if our relationship kept changing, she might start to associate what we were doing with the fact I was putting her under.

And we couldn’t have that.

Maybe the direction I took things wasn’t the smartest, but (despite having just filled a tissue) I was so turned on, it was the first direction my brain went.

“You’re going to wake up from this hypnosis session turned on, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to remember anything that happened, are you?”

“No.”

“But you’re going to associate hypnosis with sexy fun.”

“Mmmmm.”

“You’re going to crave being hypnotized, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Linda replied, after the briefest of pauses.

“You’re going to want it, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing is going to stop you from being hypnotized again, will it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s fun. Because it turns me on. Because it’s sexy.”

“Being hypnotized makes you feel sexy. Say it.”

“Being hypnotized makes me feel sexy.”

“Good girl,” I said, and woke up my childhood friend.


	Chapter 4

“Five…”

My mother’s breast rose and fell as she breathed deeply.

“Four…”

Her mouth was slack, and her eyes were closed.

“Two…”

She didn’t show any sign of having noticed that I’d missed a number.

“One…”

Breathe in, breathe out.

I smiled.

Time to get to work.

* * *

Linda was avoiding eye-contact. 

I hadn’t approached her about being hypnotized again; I’d wanted to see if she brought it up. She hadn’t said anything in over a week, not directly…but there were signs.

Her inability to look at me was a good one.

We were sitting around, shooting the shit, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Well, not at my face.

After waking her up a week ago, I’d realized that I hadn’t told her to forget what happened. Instead, I’d told her that it would enter her subconscious.

For seven days now, my best friend’s subconscious had contained an image of me jerking off in front of her.

Jerking off _for_ her.

If I hadn’t been looking for it, I don’t think I would have noticed it, but it was there. Little glances at my crotch, whenever she thought I wasn’t looking.

I wondered if she’d thought about it when she’d masturbated. I wanted to ask her, so bad.

But more than that, I wanted _her_ to ask _me_ to hypnotize her.

* * *

“Okay Mom,” I said, speaking softly and calmly. “Your mind is nice and clear, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied gently.

“I want you to imagine a crackling fire. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” she repeated.

“It’s bright, but not blindingly so. It’s pleasant to look at. Look at the fire for me, will you?”

My mother nodded.

“It’s bright, active, and fascinating.”

Again, she nodded.

“That fire is your mind. Your mind is bright, it’s always active, and it’s fascinating. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Mom responded softly.

“We’re staring at your mind, as it crackles and pops. It’s always so active, always so full of thoughts. Sometimes it feels like you can’t turn it off.”

Mom nodded emphatically. She had a lot of trouble sleeping, and she’d once told me it was because she felt like she had an overactive brain.

“The fire is made of two parts - the flame, and the fuel. The flame is your conscious mind - dancing around, flitting, so full of life and light.”

Another nod.

“The flame might be the most obvious part of a fire, but the fuel is what really…uh, fuels it.”

My mother didn’t blink.

“The fuel is your subconscious. Your subconscious feeds your thoughts; it’s what gives you stuff to think about, stuff you can reflect on.”

Mom nodded.

“I want you to picture the flame - that ever-moving, fascinating flame - starting to fade a little, okay?”

“Yes,” Mom responded. Her voice was a little more firm than I would have liked.

I wanted to make sure she was really in a trance before I got to work.

“The flame is dimming. I want you to put all other thoughts out of your mind, and focus your attention entirely on the flame.

She nodded.

“You’re not thinking about anything except the flame. You’re leaning in, focusing entirely on the flame. All other thoughts have left your mind…but since your mind is the flame, that means the flame is continuing to shrink.”

As I spoke, Mom’s face relaxed slightly.

“You’re only thinking about the flame. As the flame shrinks, you have less to think about, which makes the flame shrink even more.”

My mother nodded at my words, slowly. Calmly.

“Soon, you’re trying to focus on the flame, but it’s so small. It’s so small, because you aren’t thinking. You aren’t thinking, which makes it hard to focus on the flame. Your conscious mind is fading, dimming, burning out.”

Another nod.

“As the flame disappears, all that’s left is your subconscious mind. Do you know what your subconscious mind is?”

“Yes,” Mom responded. Her voice was thick and slow, drowsy.

It had worked!

“All that’s left is your subconscious mind. That means I’m talking directly with your subconscious mind, doesn’t it?”

“Yes…”

“Even though the flame is out, the fuel is still warm. Your subconscious mind is warm. It feels nice. Comfortable. Safe.”

Mom gave me a small nod.

“The embers of the fire are still glowing, but the glow is starting to fade. Let your body relax, as the flame totally fades away. With the fire out, it’s easy to relax, isn’t it?”

“Mmm…”

“Let yourself totally relax. You’re lying by the fire, warm, cosy. The fire is out, which means your conscious mind is asleep. You’re completely unconscious, except for your ears and mouth. All you can do is listen. Listen and speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mom said. Her voice was clear, but her body looked totally relaxed, completely out of it.

I was hard as a rock.

“It’s just you and me, Mom. I helped you get to sleep; I helped you put that fire out. I helped you relax, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Without me, that fire would have continued to flicker forever. I helped you sleep, helped you get to this relaxed state. I’m here to help.”

“Mmm…”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You trust your son absolutely, don’t you?”

Mom hesitated.

“You trust that you’re going to be safe with me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing,” I said. “Now…do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

* * *

It was getting late. I knew that Linda had to go - she doesn’t have a strict, like, curfew…but her parents get crabby if she’s out too late.

And yet, she showed no signs of leaving.

She just chatted, avoided eye-contact, and occasionally glanced at my cock.

Finally, Mom knocked on my bedroom door.

“Come in!” I said immediately. The last thing I wanted was Mom thinking there was something up. If she got suspicious of Linda’s presence, that would make everything way harder.

“Linda!” she said, surprised.

My cock had been sort of hard all night, just from Linda’s subtle attention, but…fuck.

Seriously, my Mom has got to be the single hottest person in the world. She wasn’t even wearing anything particularly flattering - her work jeans, and one of her old painting T-shirts, covered with splashes of color.

Still, I was hard as a rock the moment she entered. Hopefully Linda wouldn’t work out what had moved me from half-mast to full.

“Hi, Mrs D,” Linda said.

“What are you still doing here?”

“What time is it?”

Maybe Linda was covering, maybe she’d genuinely lost track of the time. I mean, if you’re in the same room as someone you’ve been sexually obsessing over (as I hoped was the case), it’s not hard to lose a few hours.

“It’s late,” Mom said gently.

“Oh,” Linda said, picking up on the hint. “I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I said. Mom smiled at the two of us.

Linda came in to give me a hug, glancing nervously at the door Mom had gently closed behind her.

“Hey, Terry…” she said nervously. “Maybe tomorrow…”

“Mmm?”

“Maybe you could hypnotize me again?”

“Sure thing,” I said casually, pretending not to notice my neighbor’s excited blush, or the way she glanced at my pants before leaving.

I was in.

* * *

“One…how do you feel, Linda?”

“Good,” she said breathily. “Good.”

“Remember, I’m your friend. You can be totally honest with me. How do you really feel?”

“Excited,” Linda admitted. “Turned on.”

“Why?”

“Being hypnotized makes me feel sexy.”

“Do you like being hypnotized by me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Linda hesitated.

“Remember,” I pushed again, “you can be totally honest with me.”

“Because,” she said reluctantly. “I think you’re sexy.”

Wow. It had only been a week and a half, and already I’d reversed my friend’s sexual attraction to me.

My cock hardened as I started to imagine what hypnosis would do to Mom.

“Do you want to talk about masturbation with me again?”

“Yes.”

“It’s fun and sexy to talk about masturbation, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Masturbation isn’t sex, is it?”

“No.”

“But it can still be sexy, can’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you’re attracted to me?”

Linda didn’t answer, and I realized my question had been a bit vague.

“Why are you attracted to me?”

There was a pause as my friend thought, but when she answered, it was firm and clear.

“Because you hypnotize me,” she said. “Because I trust you. Because I can talk to you about masturbation. And because when I touch myself, I imagine you touching yourself.”

Perfect.

“Do you want to watch me masturbate again?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to show me what it looks like when you masturbate?”

“Yes.”

“If I asked you to masturbate in front of me, what would you say?”

“Yes.”

I was tempted to wake her up right then and asked her…but I’d already come so far.

I wanted to see how much further I could push it.

“What if I asked you to touch my dick?”

There was a long pause, as Linda thought. Finally, she shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said eventually. “We’re not dating.”

I was sure that was something I could fix, but I wanted to know more.

“Why does that matter?”

“We’re just friends,” she said.

“But I thought you were attracted to me.”

“Yes, but we’re just friends. I don’t want to do anything sexual with someone I’m not dating.”

Ah, that old drum.

“Masturbation isn’t sex, is it?”

“No.”

“So it would be okay to masturbate in front of me, even when we’re not dating, right?”

“Yes.”

“Masturbation is just touching yourself, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just a hand on a cock, or a hand on a pussy.”

Linda nodded.

“So putting your hand on my cock, that’s not really _sex_ , is it? It’s just…mutual masturbation.”

There was a pause as Linda considered my words, but eventually she shook her head.

“Why not?”

“It’s sexual,” she said. “It’s pleasuring someone else.”

I could have just woken her up and asked her out. She definitely would have said yes. I bet I could have been fucking her by the weekend.

But if I couldn’t get Linda to play with my dick, there was no way I was going to convince Mom to.

No, I needed to persuade her to jerk me off as a friend.

That was the only way I’d know for sure I could get Mom to fuck me as a son.

“If I were to masturbate in front of you, you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” 

“So it would be bringing you pleasure?”

After a short pause, Linda agreed.

“So if we were to masturbate in front of each other, we’d be pleasuring each other.”

“Yes.”

“But it wouldn’t be sex.”

Linda shook her head.

“So pleasuring each other isn’t sex. What makes touching someone else different?”

Again, a long pause. And again, Linda had an answer.

“It’s the contact,” she said. “Touching your dick would be physical contact. That’s sexual.”

“What if we held hands while we masturbated? Would that be sex?”

“No, but…-“

I interrupted. I didn’t want her to get a train of thought going.

“What if we kissed? Would that be sex?”

“No, but…-“

“What if we kissed while we masturbated? Would that be sex?”

Linda thought about it for a long while, before answering.

“No. But…-“

“So touching isn’t sex. Is it?”

“No, but..-“

“Touching isn’t sex.”

Linda nodded.

“So why would touching my dick be sex?”

“Because,” Linda said. “It’s your dick. I’d be touching it to make you cum.”

“If we masturbated in front of each other, wouldn’t we be trying to make each other cum?”

“No,” Linda responded, her brow furrowed. “We’d be touching ourselves to cum. The other person would just be…someone to watch.”

“Okay,” I said, after a few seconds of thought. “So it would be sex because you were trying to make me cum?”

“Yes.”

“So what if you just touched me but it wasn’t to make me cum. Would it be sex then?”

“No,” Linda said, after thinking about it for a moment. “No, that wouldn’t be sex.”

“Great,” I said. “What if I asked you to touch my dick, just to see how it felt? Would you do that?”

“Yes,” Linda said, without hesitation.

“What if I got you to stroke it just to…to learn what that felt like. Would you do that?”

“Yes,” she said again.

“And what if while you were doing that, I _accidentally_ came. Would that be sex?”

“No,” Linda said, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy. “I guess it wouldn’t.”


End file.
