Stop Smoking Hypnotherapy Pt. 01

At 29, Rachel felt on top of the world. She recently became the youngest top executive in the West American branch of a multinational company. She felt like she deserved it: she had always been a hard worker, a dedicated employee and sharp as a blade. True, the fact that her uncle was a friend of the regional CEO certainly helped her a little. But, she was convinced that it was mainly her resilience, her determination, her work skills that got her where she was... not like Candace, she thought.

Candace was also a young executive. 34 years old, in charge of the customer department, while Rachel was the head of the accounting department. They were both brunettes, but that was where the similarities ended. Candace was a lively woman, who wasn't ashamed of emphasizing her plump body with short dresses and heels, whereas Rachel always dressed modestly. But Candace was far from being a bimbo. She had started as a salesgirl, before becoming supervisor, then store manager, then junior regional manager, then regional manager, and, finally, head of the customer department. Her incredibly fast career, along with the way she dressed, made her the subject of many nasty rumors (that Rachel loved to hear), but the truth was that Candace never stopped studying and even managed to pass her MBA while managing a store! She was a beautiful, smart, quick-witted, flexible, easy-going woman, whereas Rachel was the quiet type, introvert, meticulous and... irritable.

In short: Rachel hated Candace with a passion.

The regional CEO was going to retire next year, and it became increasingly evident that Candace was next in line.

Our story starts as a meeting ends. A meeting like any other, involving Rachel, Candace, and other executives. Rachel found Candace ill-prepared, unfocused, her work amateurish, but she was the only one who thought so. As usual, Candace charmed the room, made people laugh with some witty comments, while the work Rachel did went barely noticed. Once again, like every time she had to deal with Candace, Rachel felt humiliated. She knew she had to up her game and give 200% to her job if she wanted to beat her. It was time to make some changes in her life. She was smarter than Candace, so what was the problem? She decided to work harder. Maybe to start exercising. Stop smoking. Get rid of her TV.

So, that day, Rachel wasn't exactly happy. But as she was going home, driving her new compact, she cooled off. She was doing great. She was making great money. She was going to beat Candace, she thought.

And that's when some asshole decided to ram his car into hers. She managed to avoid the collision at the last possible moment.

He started to honk his horn. Without thinking, Rachel opened the windows and shouted the first insult that came to her mind before driving away. She quickly forgot what the exact slur was she had screamed at him.

But the guy didn't.

~~~

Let's talk about Paul Brightman now. He was a certified hypnotherapist, in a fancy part of town. Paul never really thought about becoming a hypnotherapist. His older brother, the favorite child of the family, managed to become a surgeon, so Paul also tried to embrace the medical career. In college, he discovered his talents at hypnosis and that became a passion. Thanks to his genuine desire to learn and his gentle personality, he had the opportunities to practice with the best hypnotists of the country. He became a talented hypnotherapist, but was bad at business.

The price of the office space in this area was mad and he didn't have enough patients. Most of his clients consisted of rich housewives with weight problems or over stressed executives. And for Paul, that was getting old quickly. After a couple of years, he was growing tired of the whiny clique of rich people and their laughable self-esteem issues.

So, that day, Paul was driving his old car home after another boring day dealing with the troubles of the upper class, when suddenly, a compact came from nowhere. He managed to avoid the collision at the last possible moment. Shocked, he was getting ready to leave his seat to check on the other driver when he heard her screaming "WANKER!" at the top of her lungs before storming off.

WEEK 1

When Rachel came into his office the next Monday, he almost didn't recognize her. Fortunately, he had spotted her car in the parking lot. It was her! The female driver with such flowery language. Another spoiled upper class bitch. A petite brunette, wearing a dark gray suit jacket and matching pants with flat shoes. Very professional. Paul found her reasonably attractive. Her deep green eyes, which were her best feature, offered a great contrast to her dark hair.

Rachel explained she wanted to stop smoking, not so much because of health concerns or financial reasons but mainly because she wanted to be free from her addiction, in control of her life and more dedicated to her work. She usually smoked after breakfast, at lunch, and right before going to sleep.

Paul decided to help her. With a twist.

"Is it the first time you try hypnosis?.... I see... Yes... Hypnotherapy is indeed a safe and effective way to treat your kind of condition.... Do you know how fast it is to enter a state of hypnosis?... Yes... please, let me do the talking for the time being. You only need to relax to prepare yourself for this enjoyable, helpful experience. Relax, and let my voice guide you. Are you in a comfortable position? Yes... Good. Now, in order to relax, breathe in deeply... Not too deep... That's right... And exhale slowly... Breathe in.... Breathe out... It feels good... Feel the oxygen into your body... Each time you breathe, you become more and more relaxed... Keep listening to my voice... To help you, you want me to talk to your unconscious mind... Your conscious mind is slowly drifting into a state of sleep... My voice is coming along with you... In this deep, relaxing place..."

She was a good subject and fell quickly under hypnosis.

"Now, as you continue to follow my voice, I want you to imagine a sunny day... picture yourself on a boat, slowly moving away from the shore... You are wearing a short summer dress, relaxing on a sun-lounger. Picture the soothing sound of the water, the warm sun, the gentle summer breeze on your legs. It's so pleasurable. So relaxing. Far away from you, resting on the shore, there is one big black case. Do you see it?"

"... Yes."

"In this big case you have abandoned all your worries, all your doubts, all your nagging problems... including your cigarettes... The case is getting smaller and smaller as the boat is moving you away, away to that place of leisure you deserve... You don't worry about the case... You don't worry about the cigarettes inside, because you don't need them anymore."

Easy work for Paul. A classic prompt he used a hundred times before. But today, for this client that called him a "wanker", he wanted to give a little retribution.

"You don't need to smoke to be relaxed. Every time you'll need to smoke, you'll remember that what you truly want is to be relaxed, to be pleasured... And you will picture yourself in that short dress, the soft summer breeze brushing your thighs... You don't need to smoke to relax... You don't need a cigarette to feel happy... Can you feel the warm breath on the inside of your thighs?

".... Yes."

"This soft caress on the inside of your bare legs is very enjoyable, isn't it?"

".... Yes."

"Now, think about tonight. You are ready to go to sleep, and you're about to take a cigarette from the pack. But you don't want the cigarette. You know what you really want. You want the pleasure and the relaxation. You want to feel this gentle breeze between your legs. You want to be free of the cigarettes.... That's why you'll put the pack away... That's why tonight, you won't smoke. You don't need to smoke."

Even if Paul's voice was soothing as usual, his heart was beating fast and sweat was dripping down his brow. He was afraid of what he intended to do next. That was the first time he ever tried something like that. Was she really in a deep trance? Would she get up and call him a pervert? But, he continued, his professional training helping him overcome any fears or doubt he could have.

"In your bed, you'll feel uneasy... Of course, it'll feel weird, at first, going into bed without smoking first... But you know what you really want... You don't want to smoke. You don't need to smoke. This isn't what you need. And every night, it'll be more and more easy... More and more true... You want to relax... to feel the pleasure... You want to gently stroke the inside of your thighs... to help you tranquilize... It feels good to gently caress your thighs, doesn't it? So relaxing... So enjoyable...

".... Yes..."

"I want you to imagine yourself, gently rubbing your inner thighs... Losing yourself in this gentle pleasure... And slowly, you'll move your hand up... between your legs... It feels so good... Leaving your worries behind... At ease... Now... Every time you'll think about smoking... This is what you really want. A gentle rub... A smile on your face... A gentle stroke... You're in control... Free from the cigarette..."

Paul knew he won when Rachel started to smile and twitch in the chair. He suddenly realized that his cock was pressing hard against his pants.

"Now, I want you to repeat after me: I don't want to smoke."

"I don't want to smoke."

"I want to rub myself."

"I want to... rub myself."

~~~

Her pack of cigarettes was already open when Rachel realized she didn't need to smoke. She had opened it up out of the habit, but, this night, she didn't have any of the usual craving. She pushed the pack away and took a deep breath. Rachel leaned back in her chair. No, she didn't want to smoke. Her hands felt on her lap. She needed to relax. Her fingers started to rub her thigh.

WEEK 2

The next week Paul saw Rachel, she seemed pleased with the result. She said she was already feeling her urge getting weaker and explained how she took a cigarette from the pack only to put it back several times this week.

Paul was confident it was the result of his suggestions.

~~~

"Rachel, can you hear me?"

"... Yes."

After the first session, he could gauge about how deep Rachel was able to fall into trance. He knew he could question her without waking her up.

"I will ask some questions to help you. It's safe. You know I want to help you. It's natural to answer me. You need me to question you. You want to answer me. You want me to help. Can I ask you some questions?"

"Yes."

"Did you smoke last week?"

"... Yes..."

"Where did you smoke?"

"... At work... And... At home."

That was expected. Now, to the big question.

"Did you masturbate?"

"... Yes."

"How many times?"

"twice..."

Paul was a bit disappointed, but relieved to see she didn't suddenly get up and threaten to call the cops on him. He decided to push it a little further.

"How often did you masturbate before seeing me?"

"... not... much..."

"Did you masturbate the week before meeting me?"

"No..."

"Did you masturbate the month before?"

"No..."

So, it did work, after all, thought Paul. It was definitely unusual for Rachel to masturbate 2 times a week like she did.

"You trust me."

It wasn't a question. He was establishing a fact. He needed her trust.

"I'm here to help you. Tell me I'm here to help you."

"You're here to help me."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Your life is going to change. You want me to help you change your life for the better. I'm helping you. Please tell it to me."

"You're helping me."

"Again."

"You're helping me."

"You trust me completely. Tell me how much you trust me."

"I trust you completely."

"I will ask some questions, to help you. You will respond honestly. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Rachel, do you like to masturbate?"

"... No..."

"Why not?"

"I'm ashamed..."

That was one of the main parts of his job -overcoming the guilt, the stress, and the shame. He was used to that.

"Rachel, do you remember the black case you left on the shore?"

"Yes..."

"I want you to picture, inside the black case, all your self-reproach, all your regret, all your remorse, all your shame. When you are going to that relaxing place, I want you to forget all about that. Can you do that?"

"Yes..."

"Good. It feels so good to relax and let it all go... It feels good to forget about the case, about your shame, about your worries."

He paused.

"I want you to think about tonight. I want you to picture yourself, just before bed, when the need... arises. What are you wearing?

"A tee shirt and... sweatpants..."

"When did you change?"

"After showering."

"What are you doing?"

"Working on the computer..."

"Remember the boat, remember the sun-lounger. Remember the pleasure of sunbathing, listening to the soothing sound of the water. You were wearing a short summer dress. It felt so good to have your legs free, brushed by the warm breeze. Tell me how good it felt."

"Good..."

"Yes. It was great. You love having your legs free. It's so liberating. So enjoyable. Pants feel so constrictive. You hate wearing pants. You can't wait to take them off. Repeat after me: I hate to wear pants."

"I hate to wear pants."

"It's so relaxing to free your legs from the constraints of pants. Repeat: It feels so good to free my legs."

"It feels so good to free my legs."

He made her repeat her new mantra several times and continued.

"That's why, tonight, you won't wear sweatpants. After the shower, you won't imprison your legs again. Now, I want you to picture yourself, tonight, after your shower, working on your computer. What are you wearing?"

"A nightie..."

"No underwear?"

"Panties..."

"Tonight, you will feel a need arising. It'll feel like a need to smoke, but you know it won't be a need to smoke. It'll be a need to relax from stress. A need to pleasure yourself. A natural, healthy need. Slowly, you'll gently stroke your inner thighs. How does it feel?"

"Good..."

"You'll pull your panties to the side. Feel how wet you are. Picture yourself. Picture yourself intensely. You are on your computer, wearing a nightie. Rubbing between your legs. Smiling. Does it feel good?"

"... yes..."

"It will be so liberating. You'll stop worrying. You'll stop thinking. You'll focus on the pleasure. And you will orgasm like never before."

~~

At home, after showering, Rachel didn't feel like putting her old sweatpants on. Something was off. Somehow, her sweatpants didn't look as comfortable as usual. She threw them on the dirty laundry pile and decided to turn up the heat and go pantless.

She went to prepare some herbal tea in the kitchen. Walking around the house only in her tee-shirt and her panties felt liberating. Sitting at her computer with a cup of tea, she knew she didn't want a cigarette. She sank in her chair, pelvis thrust forward... head tilted up... Both hands stroking the bare flesh of her thighs. It felt relaxing and so pleasurable. She closed her eyes. Her breathing quickened. She started feeling familiar butterflies in her stomach. Her left hand moved up to her belly, under her tee shirt. She cupped a breast while her other hand pushed her panties to the side. Why was she so wet? She never masturbated on a chair before. Her body suddenly did a little spasm as her middle finger hit her special spot. In the dim light of the screen, she smiled, getting lost in the rising pleasure waves.

WEEK 3

Paul was conflicted: as a hypnotherapist, he wanted to help people, and he knew the worst thing a doctor could do was to take advantage of a patient. Besides, he was worrying about the effect of his suggestions on Rachel. What was he thinking? Was he a deranged pervert? No. He rationalized that he only took a little revenge against "her kind" (those snooty self entitled people), he had punished her, and didn't want to go any further.

But, when Paul saw Rachel in the waiting room, he quickly forgot his newfound resolution. The brunette had the same cold, spoiled, obnoxious attitude as usual but... She was radiant, glowing with joy. Somehow, that made him angry. All week, he was worried about what he had done to her and now he realized he didn't punish her at all! What an idiot! He was feeling once again like an insignificant powerless plebeian. That's why he decided to go one step further.

"Rachel, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"How many times did you masturbate last week?"

"Every night."

"How many times did you come?"

"Every time."

She smiled. That made him both angry and horny.

"Do you still smoke before going to bed?"

"No."

"It feels better to rub between your legs than to smoke. Do you agree?"

"Oh... Yes."

Paul's cock twitched at the idea of Rachel frigging herself.

"Picture yourself, tonight, masturbating. Can you feel the pleasure?"

"Yes..."

"Repeat after me : I love to masturbate."

"I love to... I..."

"Do you love to masturbate?"

"... yes."

"It's alright. Why do you masturbate so often?"

"To feel... the pleasure."

"You love to masturbate. It's perfectly natural. Everybody loves to masturbate. Say it to me. Everybody loves to masturbate."

"Everybody loves to masturbate."

"You love to masturbate. Say it to me."

"I love to masturbate."

"It's so natural. It feels so right. Please say it again."

"I love to masturbate."

"It's the truth. You can feel, deep inside, that it'll be forever true. It's a part of you. It's so liberating to say it out loud. Please say it again."

"I love to masturbate."

Wanker. She called him a wanker huh? She'll see.

"What are you wearing when you are masturbating?"

"A nightie.... Or a tee-shirt..."

"Why don't you wear pants?"

"I hate to wear pants."

Good. The answer was quick and determined. A plan to humiliate her was forming in his mind.

"Do you hate to wear pants?"

"Yes."

"You are wearing pants right now. It feels so constrictive. You know you'll feel better wearing a skirt, right?"

"... yes."

"Tell me what you want to wear instead of slacks."

"A skirt."

"Will you wear a skirt tomorrow?"

"No."

Paul knew he went too fast. He quickly devised a strategy.

"When you will put on pants tomorrow, you'll feel them really uncomfortable. Picture yourself arriving at work. You are sitting on your chair. What are you wearing?"

"... pants... suit."

"You hate wearing those pants. Tomorrow, when sitting on your chair... Picture yourself... sitting on your chair, you'll strongly realize how the pants itch your inner thighs."

He wanted another trigger. Suddenly, he had an inspiration.

"Picture yourself, sitting in your office chair. Can you feel the seat under your thighs?"

"Yes."

"You also feel how uncomfortable your pants are. You can feel how restraining it is between your legs. Almost like a cramp inside your thighs, as you sit. Feel how hot and sweaty you are. You want to free your legs, as soon as you sit. You can't wait to go home to remove those pants. Picture yourself, sitting on a chair. What can you feel?"

"My pants."

Paul wanted that every time she would sit, which is something she would likely do a dozen times a day, she would realize how much she was hating wearing pants.

"Now imagine yourself, getting in your car. Sitting in your car. Something is uncomfortable, itchy. What is it?"

"My pants."

"What do you think about wearing pants?"

"I hate wearing pants."

To strengthen the idea, he wanted a last suggestion, a classic he always used. He wanted to give her a role model.

"In your office, do you know an executive wearing skirts all the time?"

"... yes."

Of course, Rachel was thinking about Candace.

"Do you like her?"

"No..."

It wasn't a problem. A rival worked even better than a role model. What was important was the strong emotion the person was feeling toward the other.

"I want you to focus on her. You envy her, because she never wears pants. It's unfair that you have to wear constrictive pants, and she gets the chance to wear skirts. You deserve the same freedom. Focus on her. She is so free. And repeat: I can wear a skirt, too."

"I can wear a skirt... too."

"You know you are better than her..."

"Yes..."

"You deserve to wear a skirt. Picture her. What's her name?"

"... Candace."

"She is so carefree. Why does she wear a skirt and you can't? Are you jealous of Candace?"

"Yes..."

"That's why you'll start wearing skirts, too."

"Yes."

~~~

This week, Rachel built a new set of beliefs from the suggestions that Paul had implanted in her subconscious mind. Her conscious mind needed reasons to start wearing skirts, reasons believable enough for Rachel to maintain her internal consistency. The truth was she rarely wore skirts. She only had a couple of old ankle length skirts in her closet. But, as she was squirming in her increasingly uncomfortable pants at work, she started to rationalize that changing her fashion style could actually help her in her personal life. So, she went shopping.

The shopping was exhilarating. She tried some pants, but quickly turned to skirts. And because Rachel was getting used to walking around the house bare-legged every evening since the last two weeks, she considered clothes that she would have been ashamed to try in stores some months ago. She wasn't against bare legs anymore. And after all, she thought, that bitch Candace was wearing short skirts all the time.

Rachel came home with half a dozen shopping bags full of dresses, blouses, skirts... and no pants.

At work, the changes didn't go unnoticed. She spotted a few appreciative glances from her male co-workers.

WEEK 4

Paul tried to hide his grin when he saw her the next week. She was a sight. Gone were the ugly pants, she was now wearing a dark pleated skirt, ending just below her knees. He was ecstatic. It was rare for him to witness so blatantly the result of his work. He could already see her in a shorter skirt, some high heels... But this week, he wanted to focus on the wanking part again.

"Do you still smoke during the day?"

"Yes..."

"When?"

"Morning... Home... With my... coffee."

"Picture yourself, right before smoking this cigarette. What are you wearing?"

"A jacket.... A skirt..."

"Do you need to smoke?"

".... yes."

"It's the morning. You're drinking your coffee. Do you need to smoke or do you need the pleasure?"

"... mmm..."

"You know you don't need to smoke. You need something, but you don't really need to smoke. What is it?"

"... pleasure... Relax..."

"You need to masturbate. Tell me."

"I need to masturbate."

"Every morning, you need something. What do you need?"

"... I need to masturbate."

"What do you need every morning?"

"I need to masturbate... every morning."

"That's right. Hand under your skirt. You look so happy. Now, can you picture yourself, in the mornings, masturbating in your kitchen?"

"... yes..."

"It feels so right. So natural. This is a normal part of your morning routine. You get up. You shower. You dress up. You drink your coffee. You masturbate. You brush your teeth."

Paul then asked her about her evenings.

"-... I'm in front of my computer. About to masturbate."

"Good. You masturbate in front of your computer every night, right?"

"Right..."

"What do you do after masturbating?"

"I work..."

"And after that, you go to bed?"

"Yes..."

"Do you masturbate in bed?"

"No..."

"Do you remember the last time you masturbated in bed? Do you remember the pleasure?"

"Yesss..."

"Do you remember how well you slept after masturbating?"

"Yes..."

"Repeat after me: I need to masturbate to sleep."

"I need to... masturbate... to sleep."

"Again."

"I need to... masturbate to sleep."

"From now on, you'll gently masturbate until you fall asleep."

~~~

This Thursday evening, the empty apartment resounded with the squishy sound of Rachel's finger pumping fast in and out of her pussy. Her computer was displaying an empty Excel spreadsheet, waiting for Rachel to regain her senses. Some weeks ago, she would have been downstairs, at the windows, to fulfill her need to smoke a cigarette. Now, to satisfy her new compulsion, she was sitting in front of her desk, eyes closed, half naked, legs open, one hand working furiously on her pussy while the other was pulling on her nipple. She felt her orgasm slowly building... Wave after wave... she started to hyperventilate... and she came with a muffled grunt.

As her orgasm subsided, she was able to think clearly again. She didn't understand why she was masturbating so much lately. It wasn't even so pleasurable anymore. The orgasm was now a need, almost a chore, something she had to get out of her system to be able to function properly.

She worked for one short hour on her computer, and went to bed. Immediately, like every night this week, her hand found her pussy. She slowly built up the pleasure before drifting to sleep.

Her sleep was agitated, a testament to her confused mental state. She woke up groggy, her fingers sticky, her panties pulled down.

When she dressed up, of course, she wore a skirt. And it was a good thing because during her morning coffee, while sitting at the kitchen table, she felt the familiar need. It was the time to smoke a cigarette before going to work, but she didn't want a cigarette. She needed the pleasure. She gave a few strokes to her needy pussy through her pantyhose.

It slowly became a problem at work, too. Rachel was now conditioned to experience sexual release in lieu of her smoking habit. So, at the times she used to smoke, usually right after lunch, she got horny. Sometimes, when it was a slow day, the horniness would persist all afternoon until evening, when she could finally orgasm at home.

In summary: her days were starting to revolve around her needy pussy.

WEEK 5

"Do you masturbate in your kitchen every morning?"

"... yes."

"How does it feel?"

"Frustrating."

"Why is that?"

"Because... of... pantyhose."

Paul did not understand immediately, then it hit him.

"You find pantyhose uncomfortable. Constricting like pants. Do you hate pants?"

"I hate pants."

"Do you hate pantyhose?"

"I... hate pantyhose."

"You hate it when you can't rub your pussy."

He wanted to guide her toward wearing stockings.

"Do you own some stockings?"

"... no."

"Why not?"

"Too... much."

She means too slutty, thought Paul. He had a girlfriend like that. He had bought her some stockings, and she had refused to wear them, saying they made her look like a whore.

"Think about Candace. Picture her. She is wearing stockings. She is always wearing stockings. You know it. She is so free. You want to be free, too." He didn't know what kind of underwear Candace was really wearing but... neither did Rachel.

"Candace is always wearing stockings. You can wear stockings too. It's frustrating to wear pantyhose. It's annoying. It itches. doesn't it?"

"... yes."

"You'll wear stockings. It's perfectly natural to wear stockings. Everyone wears stockings. Repeat after me."

It was another big step but Paul was confident that, in the end, she would be wearing whatever he wanted.

~~~

That was not the week Rachel bought stockings. She was too distressed about her new compulsive masturbation habits to indulge in a new conditioning. She knew she had to talk about it to someone she could trust. And naturally, after all the suggestions about "trusting him" Paul had implanted in her (he did that with all his clients), she turned to Paul.

WEEK 6

"I have a problem, doctor. It's... kind of private. I... I don't know how to say..."

It was easy to convince her that further hypnotism was the solution.

"You masturbate a lot, right?"

"Yes..."

"You think it's keeping you from working in the evenings."

"... yes."

"Now listen to me. It shouldn't keep you from working. You used to smoke while working, right?"

"Yes..."

"Everyone masturbates. Say it to me."

"Everyone masturbates."

"It's ok to masturbate all the time. Repeat after me."

"No... I..."

"It's alright. Masturbating won't keep you from working. You love to masturbate. Say it to me."

"I love to masturbate."

It was one of her mantras. Easy for her to accept it.

"You don't want to stop masturbating. Say it to me."

"I don't want... to stop masturbating."

"You want to masturbate while working. Masturbating won't keep you from working, so it's ok to masturbate all the time. Repeat after me: it's ok to masturbate all the time."

"It's... ok... to... masturbate all the time."

"Picture yourself. This evening, you are working on your computer. Do you see yourself?"

"Yes..."

"You have one hand on the mouse. The other hand between your legs. Giving you pleasure. Can you picture it?"

"Yes..."

"You trust me. It's healthy. You know there is no problem masturbating all the time. Masturbating isn't a problem. Say it to me."

"Masturbating isn't a problem."

"You want to masturbate all the time. Say it to me."

"I want to masturbate all the time."

"Now. First thing in the morning. You're in bed. What do you want?"

"I want to..."

"Do you want some pleasure?"

"... yes.."

"But sometimes, the pleasure is too much to bear, right?"

"Yes..."

"When you feel that the pleasure is too strong, you'll stop. You don't want to orgasm. Say it to me."

"I don't want to orgasm."

"Listen to me: masturbating isn't a problem. Orgasming too much is a problem. That's why from now on, you'll stop pleasuring yourself right before orgasm."

~~~

Rachel was at home, working on a report. What a pretty sight. A young woman, half undressed, working hard to get a document perfect for her bi-monthly meeting with the other executives. Suddenly, as if something had bitten her, she quickly removed her left hand from under the desk. She couldn't repress an animalistic grunt, as her pussy clenched around an invisible cock. She was breathing short, on the verge of cumming. But she knew she shouldn't cum. She knew that if it was ok to masturbate, it wasn't ok to cum. She waited for herself to calm down, for her breathing to get back to normal... and her hand went under the desk again, as she continued working on her report while playing with her pussy.

It wasn't the familiar quick fingering sessions, that was over after fifteen minutes or so that she had done every night after the third week. No. Masturbating was now a systematic and methodical act she dragged out for several hours every evening. And once she got in bed, she masturbated again until she slept. The first thing she did in the morning was to frig her pussy, until it was time to get up. Sometimes, she would also frig herself in the bathroom, and then, of course, under her skirt, while drinking her coffee. In fact, at home, she almost always had one hand busy between her legs.

At the end of the week, it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist masturbating at work. She was already considering the act natural, and she was already used to playing with herself fully clothed (the mornings) and while working (the evenings). In fact, even if she had somehow stopped seeing Paul at this point, she would still have ended up masturbating in her office every day.

WEEK 7

"That's why you'll masturbate at work."

"Yes."

Paul was almost where he wanted Rachel to be. She was in trance, relaxed on the sofa. The hemline of her skirt was pulled up over her thighs, exposing what was, without a doubt, the lacy band of stockings. The sight of her was driving him crazy. He should have stopped there, he had his revenge, but the evolution of Rachel was so enthralling that he wanted more.

"It'll be easier to masturbate while wearing shorter skirts, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You don't like those long skirts. You'll buy some shorter skirts, right?"

Paul went straight for it. He wanted her to consciously decide to buy a shorter skirt in order to help pursue her masturbation addiction.

"At the store, you'll look for short skirts. You'll picture yourself masturbating in each one. You need short skirts. Say it."

"I need short skirts."

"You need to buy a short skirt to masturbate."

"I need... to buy a short skirt to masturbate."

"Now, picture yourself, trying a skirt..."

~~~

Rachel was at the mall. Lately, her knee-length skirts felt constrictive, drab, and impractical. And, after all, Candace was wearing short skirts all the time. She could too. Besides, she reasoned, it'll be easier to masturbate in a shorter skirt. More discreet. She selected a mid-thigh navy blue pencil skirt, high-waisted so it would still look professional, and took it to the dressing room. When she put it on, she knew she made the right choice. It was so liberating. She knew she could never return to those long, heavy, ugly pleated skirts. Or, even worse, pants! Rachel was amazed at how cute she was. She sat in the dressing room, the skirt still on. She was delighted to discover how easy it was to access her ever-aching pussy. She started to rub her clit through her panties. She didn't want to stain the skirt but... It felt so good. It didn't occur to her that it was the first time she had masturbated in public. Her hips began to thrust back and forth, rubbing her ass on the plastic bench. Rachel was building the pleasure very slowly, as she had learned to do. Several minutes later, the whole little room was rocking, the plywood cracking audibly.

"Is everything all right?" asked a concerned voice. Still fingering herself, Rachel told the salesgirl that everything was fine.

"I'm right there, if you need anything." Rachel didn't respond. She wanted to rub just a little more... A little more...

After a while, she stopped reluctantly. She had to get out and try another skirt, anyway. And maybe new shoes?

She found a cute asymmetric wrap around black skirt. She hurried to the dressing room to frig herself.

WEEK 10

The Rachel that was in front of Paul looked nothing like the cold professional who had ruined his car. She was wearing a blue skirt with the hemline above mid-tight, her long stocking-clad legs ending in black high-heels pumps. She was in trance, mouth agape, one hand slowly stroking her pussy through her skirt. The transformation in two months was unbelievable. The clothing changes were the most obvious, but the mental changes were spectacular. Paul found out that Rachel was now constantly masturbating. In her bed. In her bathroom. In her kitchen. In her car. At her desk. Even when she wasn't in trance, she was sporting a perpetual "just-fucked look". Her face was flushed, her hair somewhat disheveled, her agitated eyes always looking for the next opportunity to stroke her ever swollen and wet pussy. And the smell. She was without a doubt driving all her male coworkers crazy.

This was what he had in mind. She had become a wanker. A restless, incessant wanker. Fitting punishment. Paul was surprised at how easy the process had been. He didn't know he had it in him. New perspectives were opening up for him. Maybe he could hypnotize some clients to convince their friends to see him, after all? Maybe he could secure some influential position? Maybe he could punish someone again? No. He wasn't like that. That wasn't him. Rachel had been a fun experiment, but she deserved it, he thought. Paul swore mentally to never do it to someone else. And soon, he would reverse the suggestions on Rachel.

Soon. Maybe in a few weeks. Right now, he really wanted to see Rachel with some higher heels. He started to talk.

~~~

The new dress style of Rachel was the trending topic at her work. She didn't care. She was only thinking about working and masturbating.

Then came the bi-monthly executive meeting. She wore a tight beige pencil skirt, hugging her curves until it stopped mid-thighs, displaying her legs encased in brown seamed stockings ending in four-inch heel pumps, that took everyone's breath away. Even Candace was speechless.

During the presentation, as another executive was talking, in the dark conference room, she gave her clit a few cautious strokes through her skirt to relax herself before her own speech. Let me repeat that: she had a hand under the desk, rubbing through her hemline, waiting for her turn to speak. Still, it was very discreet. And she would stop soon. A few more strokes. Last ones.... just little more. Her hand was now under the skirt. She got lost in pleasure. Soon, eyes half closed, mouth open, she was indisputably masturbating during the meeting.

And, unfortunately for Paul, someone noticed.