My Addiction

Robert's eyes were almost closed but still he struggled, hanging on to that last sliver of consciousness like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a bit of flotsam. But she was making it hard, almost impossible to stay awake. The vision of the large soft breasts that first ensnared him now danced inside his drooping eyelids. Her musky perfume filled his nostrils, tranquilizing him when he should be terrified. Her voice was cooing and inviting, promising him repose ... and relief. He could no longer push away the soft hand on his cock, massaging him, stroking him, making him want to come so bad. Still he resisted. He knew, somehow, that as long as he did not orgasm he was not lost. That was her teasing almost irresistibly tempting offer: let her make him come, give in to her touch; give in to the terrible sweet drowsiness that would melt his will into hers.

How did this happen? How could he have blundered from a difficult relation with his pushy girlfriend into this nightmare? If he had only known that Dr. Ruth was not just a psychologist, but a hypnotist! He had always feared hypnosis, sensing in his depths perhaps, that he was vulnerable, especially to a woman. That was his problem with Debra; he could never stand up to her. He made good money but her constant demands for expensive gifts kept him nearly broke. He suspected she knew about the trust fund that would vest when he was twenty five and had plans for him to make her pregnant so he would have to marry her. He knew he should extricate himself from her clutches before she sucked him into the mistake of a lifetime, but never quite could.

That's when he decided he needed psychological counseling to give himself enough backbone to send Debra packing before she triumphantly presented him with her bulging tummy. He had been taken aback by a woman with a figure and stature like Dr. Ruth, who greeted him in an erotic parody of medical garb and heels that made her still more imposing. But she had seemed so sympathetic, so motherly as she ushered him into the dimly lit office and had him sit down in such a way he could almost see up her smock. He was embarrassed to find himself constantly losing his train of thought, distracted by her large breasts and the flash of thigh flesh as she crossed and re-crossed her long, stockinged legs.

She let him talk about his weakness, how Debra made him do things, asking to describe the techniques Debra used to manipulate him. Before he knew it, she was paraphrasing his story back to him, explaining to him how weak he was, how vulnerable to domination by a woman, especially a woman with large breasts like Debra's. It was so unfair of Debra, making him stare at her breasts until he was so horny she could do anything she wanted with him. Debra knew that he could not keep his eyes off a pair of large, bouncy breasts when she unbuttoned her top, that he would stare at her breasts and listen to her voice until he was floating, feeling dreamy and sleepy, his mind open to her commands.

Only at the last moment did he realize what was going on: Ruth was hypnotizing him. But by then he was at a disadvantage. He did not know when or how she had pushed down his trousers and had a hand between his legs, doing wonderful things to him as she spoke. He fought her intrusion into his mind with all his waning strength. But a delicious weakness was flowing into his body and brain, borne on her fingers and lilting words. But he was still holding out. He had to hold out!

Then he felt it: the exquisite, insidious pleasure had loosened his mental grip just momentarily. That was enough. A tremble, a slight rictus and the reflex began, quickly gathering strength. She felt it too, too, and stroked him slightly faster. "That's it Bobby! You're going to come ... so good. You're going to let me make you come. Don't fight it, Bobby. Poor, sleepy baby. You know you want to come ... so bad. Come for ME Sweetie. Come and sleep. Come ... to sleep. Come ... to sleep. Come, Bobby!"

It was over. At her final command, Robert felt the orgasm well up and wash away his last grip on his senses. He did not explode; her manipulation of his sex had been too gentle. He overflowed, helplessly, embarrassingly if he could have felt embarrassment. He did not spurt; come dribbled and oozed into her hand from his softening prick. Not a little, for she had been stimulating him too well and too long. On and on, she encouraged, one gooey dollop after another trickled into the hand that continued to slide up and down his deflating penis, milking him, draining him. "Such a good boy, Bobby. Such a lot of nice cum for Ruthie, all your cum. Empty. Sated. Now Ruthie's baby can go to sleep. Sleep. Sleep, Bobby. Sleep for me." As the light of consciousness faded, the last word the young man heard were, "Goodnight ... baby."