Age Regression
After almost two decades in a happy marriage, the inevitable difficulties of mid-life began to overtake my usually lively sexual relationship with my lovely wife. Although she is now middle-aged also, she kept her looks and her figure, and if anything she is more sexually aggressive than me lately. My wife never complains about my declining interest and performance in the bed room, but I suspect that she might become dissatisfied and seek sexual solace elsewhere. The seemingly obvious answer for my situation existed the many pills advertised everywhere for the sort of male complaints I experienced. I am in good health though and don’t take any kind of medication, so I resisted the idea that I would need to swallow a handful of tablets every time I wanted to have sex with my wife.
Instead, I decided to seek help in counseling. One reason was that my wife had achieved a lot of success with therapy a few years earlier when she was having some problems of anxiety and insomnia. When she first went to a counselor, I was a bit concerned, especially because he was a young man recommended to her by one of her girlfriends. My wife recovered so rapidly and happily over the next few months that my own attitudes toward therapy changed as well. I had enjoyed physical therapy for athletic injuries, why wouldn’t mental therapy be as rewarding. Certainly, my wife had been much happier after her counseling, and she still visited him occasionally. At first I thought of seeking another counselor, but he had been so successful with my wife that I thought why take a chance on someone else. I didn’t want my wife to know about my therapy, but then I realized that his professional ethics should keep him from discussing the treatment of one patient from another. So I set up an appointment with his office staff over the phone and set off for it with only a little nervousness.
The counselor had a very nice office suite at a good address in our large suburban town, and I was impressed not just with their furnishings but with the very attractive receptionist. She was so good-looking and out-going that I soon felt completely at ease even in this new situation for me. It seemed as if my problems were being solved even as I sat in the waiting room, pretending to read a magazine while checking her incredible figure as revealed by her mini-skirt and low-cut top. After a few minutes, my counselor escorted a nice-looking woman of my wife’s age out of his office, and at his assistant’s introduction he turned back to me. I stood to shake hands, and I was somewhat surprised at how young and nice he seemed to be. Although he was not as tall or broad as I am, he had a commanding presence, and as we shook hands his penetrating glance held mine long enough for me to feel that he was the one in charge of our relationship.
In his office he made me comfortable on a handsome leather couch and then went behind his small desk to take a few notes while we had a preliminary talk about my situation. Obviously, this confession of my complications proved somewhat demanding for me, but again he soon put me at ease with his friendly and confident manner. I finished discussing my problems by restating my desire to avoid medication for it if at all possible. He assured me that it was, and that in fact a psychological solution would prove to be longer lasting. After quietly making a few more notes to himself, he left his desk and sat at the other end of the comfortable couch as if we were just friends discussing the problem of some mutual acquaintance. I should mention that he had said nothing about my wife, so I didn’t either, assuming that this must be the professional way to handle it.
After a few minutes discussing possible approaches, he looked at me very intensely and asked very directly, “Have you ever been hypnotized?” I was somewhat taken aback, for reasons that will become clear later, so I hesitated for a moment before I lamely answered, “Yes, I guess I have.” He observed my response carefully, as if he were taking mental notes, before asking what I meant by it. With some strain, I went on to explain that my only experience with hypnotism had been fooling around with my high school buddies. “So were you actually hypnotized or not?” he continued. I replied, “I’m not really sure if I was really hypnotized or if I was only pretending to be hypnotized.” He smiled at my answer and told me that was often the case with hypnosis. “In reality, we can only hypnotize ourselves,” he explained, “so its often hard to tell if you are letting yourself be hypnotized or only going along with the hypnotist—or if there is any difference between the two.” He went on to ask if I other experiences with being hypnotized, and when I didn’t he seemed to make up his mind. “Hypnotherapy will be the best tool for treating your condition,” he said decisively, “and age regression under hypnosis will be best to make the deep changes necessary.”
I was so swept along by this sudden turn of events that I could only nod my head in agreement with his rather confident declarations. He smiled knowingly in response to my silence and then boldly said to me, “Close your eyes.” I resisted his suggestion momentarily, “Are you going to hypnotize me right now?” I asked him. He smiled even more archly at my confusion, “No better time than the present. Now close your eyes!” This time it was more of an order, and I responded to the authority in his voice by meekly shutting my eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he continued, “Listen only to the sound of my voice. I want you to relax yourself completely. I want you to sink down into my comfortable couch in complete relaxation.” It felt as if I would not or could not resist his commands, after all this was for my own good. As if reading my mind, he went on with his hypnotic induction, “You feel very good, very relaxed. Now I am going to hypnotize you by counting backwards from five and when I reach one I will snap my fingers and you will fall into a very deep hypnotic trance.”
As I realized that he really was hypnotizing me, I was strangely excited, as if I were leaving on a journey to an unknown destination. I did have one moment of wondering if he had hypnotized my wife like this, but that thought passed out of my consciousness as I concentrated on his counting interspersed with his commands. “Five, you know that you want to be hypnotized now, . . . Four, you know that I am hypnotizing you now . . . Three, you can hear only my voice completely hypnotizing you now . . . Two, you are completely relaxed now, sinking deeply into the couch . . . One, now you are in deep hypnosis!” As he emphasized the word “hypnosis,” he snapped his fingers, and my body shuddered in response; it was as if I had fallen down into a deep pool of dark water. Somehow, I was not surprised when I felt his hand pressing against my forehead, “Now I am taking you down deeper and deeper into hypnotic trance. It is like sleep, but it is like a waking dream. You are in a dream where only I can tell you what to do.” I could make no resistance to his guiding touch or to his decisive orders; I could only respond with what seemed like my whole being. I felt I wanted to do exactly whatever his calm, commanding voice demanded of me.
After deepening my trance even more with his voice and touch, he again asked about my earlier experience with hypnotism. “It was right after high school,” I answered in a sleepy voice I hardly knew was my own, “I had always been interested in hypnosis, and I tried to hypnotize some of my friends.” “Did you hypnotize any of them. “Yes,” I admitted, “I think one of several I experimented with was really hypnotized, but he might have been pretending. He did follow my suggestions though.” My hypnotist was quiet for a moment, again as if he were taking notes. “Did you ever hypnotize anyone else?” he asked at last. Because I had not, he dropped this line of inquiry.
“How were you hypnotized?” he asked, putting his emphasis on “you.” “When I couldn’t hypnotize my best friend, he bet that he could hypnotize me. He reversed my hypnotic methods, and told me to look deeply in his eyes” The hypnotist went on questioning, very eagerly it seemed. “And he was able to hypnotize you, because you were the one who really wanted to be hypnotized. Isn’t that correct?” I could only nod in embarrassed agreement. “Just as you wanted me to hypnotize you today. Isn’t that right?” This time I was able to whisper “yes” in a very soft and sleepy voice. “You wanted me to hypnotize you, so that you could go back to that first hypnotic trance because it was very important and exciting to you, wasn’t it? Now tell me about that experience.”
“I’m not sure if I was really hypnotized or only pretending at first, but I just went along with his commands, like I did with yours, and then I felt like I had to do anything that he ordered me to do. At first he made me crow like a chicken and get down on all fours like a dog—all that silly show kind of stuff from the movies or television. When I did all that that he ordered, I could sense him getting more and more carried away with his power over me. He told me that I was his hypnotic slave, and I must do whatever my hypnotic master commanded me to.” I hesitated, but my hypnotist ordered me to go on. “We had dreamed of making of the girl next door our sexual slave when we first got interested in hypnotism. So he said I would be that kind of sexual slave for him.”
After a pause, I licked my dry lips and continued to talk. “Somehow that idea of being his sexual slave under hypnosis made me incredibly excited sexually. My prick got as hard as a rock—and so did his. I know it was because he ordered me to take it out of his pants and squeeze it gently. As I did so, he told me that the most utter sexual slave was a cocksucker, and that I wanted to suck his cock more than anything in the world. I had never done anything like that before, so he repeated his command several times before I began to kiss and lick his swollen prick. When I finally took it deep into my mouth he came in only a few seconds. From then on I was a slave to him, to his hypnotic power, and to his cock. I gave him hand-jobs and blow-jobs wherever and whenever he wished until we went off to college. But nothing like that ever happened again.”
It seemed that once I started my confession, I went on automatically, and my hypnotist had let me go on without saying anything at all. When I finally stopped, he said, “Until now.” “Until now,” I softly repeated his words. “And now I am going to take you even deeper into hypnosis, because we are going to do an experiment in age regression together. You are going to be like a young man once more, and you will feel how excited you are. You will feel your cock just swelling in your pants. You will be just like you were then. And whenever you remember this youthful experience you will be ready for sex lots of sex . . . with your wife . . . or with anyone else. You are ready for the orders of your new hypnotic master. You are his hypnotic slave, his sexual slave, his cocksucker. Aren’t you?” he insisted. “Yes, master,” I said automatically, as I anticipated how hard and hot his cock would be to my touch and how slick and wet it would taste on my tongue.