Limits
Session 22:
“Yes,” my sister said. “I’ll let you cum on my tits.”
Everything about the situation was turning me on at that moment, but nothing as much as the confession she’d just made. Her eyes were blank, her voice was a dull monotone, and she was sitting in front of me, completely under my control…
Well, not entirely. It’s true what they say—hypnosis isn’t just a magic button that makes people do exactly what you ask. While they’re under, you can’t make people do anything they wouldn’t normally do—something I’d discovered a few weeks ago, the first time I’d hypnotized Lucy.
Session 1:
“Take your top off,” I said, and she’d instantly snapped out of it. Fortunately for me, Lucy couldn’t remember what we’d been talking about—as far as she was concerned, I’d meant for her to wake up at that moment.
“Thanks for that,” she said with a smile, not seeming to notice the terrified look on my face. I immediately found myself smiling back, trying to look as innocent as possible. “You’re right; that’s really relaxing.”
I’d watched her carefully for the next few days (well, more carefully than I normally watched her) and once I was sure that she wasn’t acting strangely, I asked her if she wanted to go again.
It wasn’t hard after that to make it a regular thing—two or three times a week, I’d put her under. She said it was really relaxing, and genuinely seemed to have no idea what I was up to, no memories of the kind of thing we talked about while she was hypnotized.
Hypnosis, as I said, can’t be used to make people do anything that they don’t want to do. The classic workaround is making the person think that they’re alone and getting ready for a shower or something, but that doesn’t work either. When someone is hypnotized, you can’t make people do anything they don’t want to do, and you can’t make them think anything they wouldn’t realistically think.
If they wouldn’t take their top off while you’re staring at them, telling them you’re not there won’t work—I could probably have gotten Lucy to take her clothes off...by being in the next room, shouting commands through the wall, but what’s the fun in that?
(also, if I did anything that made her wake up, I can’t see her ignoring being completely nude in the same was that she’d ignored my startled expression.)
The first step is finding people’s limits—everyone has different limits. My sister’s, for example, are completely different to Mom’s.
The second step is, bit by bit, moving those limits.
If you’re patient, if you’re careful, you can eventually talk almost anyone into anything. There are some limits that will never change, but as a rule, people aren’t hard-wired. I used to think that I’d never do anything more than fantasize about my sister, but when the right circumstances came along, here I was, putting her under and doing all that I could to manipulate her mind.
After a while, I didn’t even feel guilty about it any more.
Session 6:
“Will you tell me what your PIN is?” I’d asked. Not because I actually wanted to know, of course—I was just getting frustrated, and trying anything I could think of.
If I’d just said “tell me your PIN”, she would have woken up. But I’d discovered that asking in the abstract made her see it as less invasive—she could answer whether or not she’d answer before she answered, if you know what I mean.
“No,” replied flatly. I wasn’t surprised—most questions I asked led straight to dead-ends, unless it was information that she’d freely offer while she was awake.
“Okay,” I said, the gears in my mind slowly turning. “What if it was an emergency? Like...what if you’d left your wallet in my bag, and you wanted me to get a dress for you?”
There was a pause as she thought, which I saw as a good sign.
“The dress is on sale,” I added after a few seconds. The more detail I gave her, the more vivid the picture in her mind, and the more likely she was to go along with my hypotheticals. “And it’s the last one.”
“Yeah...” she eventually said. “I guess I’d give it to you then.”
“So will you give me your PIN?”
“Yes,” she replied, just as confident as she’d been when she said “no” earlier.
I tried not to keep her under for more than half an hour—I didn’t want her wondering about the specifics of what happened while she was hypnotized, and since we were getting close to the half-hour mark now, I decided to take a risk. At worst, she woke up. At best...
Well, I didn’t even want to think about what “at best” led to.
“What’s your PIN?” I asked, and without a moment’s hesitation she told me.
The last few weeks had simultaneously been the most fascinating and the most frustrating of my life, but suddenly I had hope—I was getting closer. I don’t know why it worked and I don’t know how it worked, but for some reason if there was a situation—any situation—where she’d agree to do something, she would have no problem doing it while she was under.
I know it’s wrong, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve had the hots for my sister and my mother. Ever since I first learned about masturbation, it’s been them that I’ve fantasised about—for the past five years, they’ve been running around my head, performing the most perverse acts on and with each other.
That’s what led me to hypnosis in the first place—on a whim, I’d googled “incest” one day, and past the technical definitions and the abuse forums, I’d found a world of people just like me, people who lust after family members.
And, best of all, I’d discovered a site for people who wanted to act on it.
There’s another example of limits changing over time. When I first started jerking off, I felt overwhelmingly guilty about it—I tried abstaining, I tried thinking about other people, other scenarios…but no matter what I did, it all came back to the only two family members I have. Over time, the guilt slowly disappeared, until I didn’t even think twice about it. Masturbation was picturing mom and sis wrapped around my cock, that’s just the way it was.
Similarly, when I first found a site that claimed to teach you how to hypnotise your own family into sleeping with you, I was horrified. Incredibly turned on, of course, but horrified.
Over the months, however, I found myself clicking back to it over and over again. It went from something that disgusted me to something that fascinated me, until finally, it became something that I knew I could do. Something I knew that I had to do.
And so I’d asked my sister if she minded me practicing some relaxation techniques on her, and it began.
I’m sure you can imagine—one of the people I’d been jerking off over my entire life, sitting in front of me her face completely blank...it was no wonder that first time I got greedy. Asking for nudity too early...what an amateur mistake.
But I got better quickly.
Session 9:
“I tell you that I think Mom is kind of hot. How do you react?”
“I’d be really freaked out. Incest is gross.”
Good to know.
Session 10:
“Would you ever go to a nude beach?”
“No,” she’d answered, without a moment of hesitation.
“What about a topless beach? Would you go to a topless beach?”
“Yes,” she said—better, but not good enough.
“Would you go to a topless beach...with me?”
A longer pause, but the answer I expected. “No.”
I wasn’t quite there, but I’d found an in. That was all I needed.
“Okay...” I began. I was starting to get good at this. “Let’s say you’ve won the lottery. Twelve million dollars. You decide to take me and Mom to Europe. We’re staying in a five-star hotel in France—it’s on the beach, and after a nice long sleep, we wake up and decide to go for a stroll. It’s a gorgeous day, and after a few miles, we notice some other people.
“They’re all topless. It’s a topless beach. We didn’t mean to go to a topless beach, but we’re there now—you’re on top of the world, you want to fit in. Do you take your top off in front of your brother?”
“No.”
I’d somehow stopped seeing the short monotone of her refusal as frustrating. It had instead become a challenge.
Everyone has limits, myself included. Ever since I’d discovered how easily they could be changed, I’d tried to be more aware of my own, more aware of what I thought was okay.
It would have been easy to give a situation where Mom is being held hostage, or there’s a man with a knife to her throat or something. I doubt that she’d refuse to get topless with her life on the line...but that was the limit I’d given myself, I wasn’t going to force her into anything.
I wanted her to want to be topless in front of me. And so I tried again.
“Okay. What about this—I win tickets to the premiere of Pirates of the Caribbean 5, and I take you with me. We run into Johnny Depp, and he invites us to a party as his place. I ask you not to tell him that you’re my sister, because I don’t want to sound like a loser...”
After a brief pause, she gave me a slight nod and I continued. The hypotheticals didn’t work if it included anything unrealistic, or out of character. “You are suddenly really attracted to me.” “A spell has been cast on you and you’re really horny.” “Mom says incest is great and you believe her.” These not only wouldn’t work, but would probably wake her up.
“So we go to Johnny Depp’s and it’s just you, me and him in the hot tub. He’s really into you...” another brief nod—I’d have laughed at my sister’s ego if she wasn’t hot enough for it to make sense—“...and he asks if we’re exclusive.
“Rather than admit that we lied, we sort of tell him that we aren’t...”—a longer pause this time, but finally she agrees. Lucy really likes Johnny Depp. “...and he takes his top off and asks you if you’re cool enough to do the same.”
There was a long silence. I’d learned that these pauses meant that she was on the cusp, and a few details could push her one way or the other, so I tried to appeal to my sister’s generous nature.
“Also, there’s a hot chick there who’s been checking me out. If you go off with Johnny Depp, I’ll probably have a chance, ‘cos she won’t think that I’m cheating on you.”
My sister’s brow furrowed, and I continued to stare into her eyes. If this didn’t work, I didn’t know what would.
“We haven’t been drinking,” I added, after another few seconds of silence. Another limit I’d set for myself. “And the chick is into me because...she really likes Battlestar Galactica.”
Perhaps it was the blood leaving my head as I waited for Lucy’s answer, but I couldn’t think of anything else to add. And so we sat there for close to five minutes, staring at each other, breathing each other’s air.
I tried to maintain eye contact, but I couldn’t help but glance at my sister’s chest. I don’t know anything about bra sizes, but I know that Lucy’s pretty well-endowed. She definitely gets it from Mom.
Her next words, I knew, would determine whether I actually got to see those chest-puppies, or whether I was destined to a lifetime of just picturing them in my head. If this didn’t work, I’d have to hire a writer or something, because I’d definitely reached the limits of my own imagination.
Finally, she stirred, and I sat forward in anticipation.
“...yes.” she said, and I almost fell off my chair in excitement. Checking the clock, I realized that I only had a few minutes, and I didn’t want to waste any of them.
“Take off your top,” I said, and she woke up.
Session 4:
“Tell me about your first kiss.”
“I was nine years old. It was with Julian Dawes, during a game of kiss and catch.”
“Tell me about the first time you made out with a boy.”
“I was fifteen. It was with a boy named Paul—I don’t know his last name—in a closet at a party. We were playing seven minutes of heaven.”
“Tell me about the first time you had sex.”
“Wow! Thanks so much for that, Jack; I feel much better.”
Session 7:
“Would you talk to me about sex?”
“No.”
“Would you talk to me about masturbation?”
“...yes.”
I’d been expecting a no to that, so as you can imagine, I was pretty intrigued. I was almost tempted to ask her about masturbation while she was awake, but without knowing the conditions, I didn’t want to risk freaking her out.
“In what circumstances would you talk to me about masturbation?”
“If we were staying in a trailer park, and agreed to leave each other alone for a while. Or if there was some kind of medical issue.”
I didn’t quite understand what she meant by that last bit, but the first scenario was too exciting for me to dwell on it too much. Last year we’d gone on a vacation down to Florida, to visit Mom’s parents, and the three of us had shared a caravan.
I guess she’d found it as frustrating as I had. No matter how quietly you jerk off, when your family is just a few feet away, there’s no chance of them not noticing.
To think, all I’d had to do was mention it...probably too late to bring it up now, so I took advantage of the implicit permission she’d just given me, and asked a few questions.
“How often do you masturbate?”
“Three or four times a week.”
“What do you think ab...—” I caught myself just in time. “Would you talk about what you think about with me?”
“No.”
Figures.
“When did you last masturbate?”
“Last night.”
I could have talked about this for hours, but decided to take a different tack.
“Hypothetical for you—we’re playing truth or dare at a party. There are other people around, including Harry from down the street.” I knew she had a thing for him. “I’ve just licked the bottom of a shoe.” Not unbelievable. “Harry asks you to tell us a story about your sex life. Even though I’m there, do you do it?”
“Yes,” she said, barely pausing at all.
I was more careful back then, more worried that if I woke her up, she’d remember everything.
“Would you talk to me about your sex life?”
“Yes,” she said, and my smile fell when she added “if there were other people there.”
I spent far too many of my precious minutes thinking before finally coming up with a plan.
“After you tell the story about your sex life, someone dares me to do the same. I tell a detailed story about Mom almost catching me masturbating. A few days later, you and me are hanging out, just the two of us, and you ask how much of the story was true.”
Another pause. Another nod.
“I tell you all of it, and ask how much of your story is true. Do you tell me?”
“...yes.”
“I tell you another funny sex story. There are lots of details. How do you react?”
“I guess that’s okay...”
“We start talking about sex more often, like friends do.” Nod. “I tell you about girls I like and why I like them.” Nod. “Would you talk to me about sex?”
“Sure,” she said after a brief pause. “But, like, not everything. No...details.”
That threw me for a second, until I remembered that (unlike me) Lucy didn’t do senior English.
“Details make stories better. The more details, the better the story. Sex stories especially need details because sex is all about the senses. I learned this in class. Do you want to be a good storyteller?”
“Yes.”
“Even when we talk about sex?”
“Yes...”
“Would you talk with me about sex, and use lots of details?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about the last time you had sex.”
“Well,” she said, her voice still a monotone. “Do you remember that guy with the tattoo who came around once? It was the 23rd of July, the weather was really warm, and the two of us were in my room. I was wearing a yellow skirt with that white button-up top, and he was wearing some black jeans and a black T-shirt with a flaming car on it...”
Session 11:
It was a week after I’d asked her to take her top off and, for the second time, had her wake up in response. My mistake had been obvious to me the second she’d woken up—I’d been so close that I wasn’t thinking straight, hadn’t applied the lesson I’d learned from our seventh session—just because she’ll do something when other people are around doesn’t mean she’ll do it when we’re alone.
“Same situation as last time,” I said. “Pirates premiere, Johnny Depp, hot tub, hot chick...would you take your top off?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Would you take off your top if Johnny Depp wasn’t there?” I asked, just to confirm that my troubleshooting was correct.
“No,” she said. “Of course not.”
“So hypothetical—I’ve just seen you topless in the hot tub, and then when we get home I tell you that I’m worried I saw a lump.”
She nodded. It wasn’t impossible—I’d spent a while working out a believable reason for her to show me her tits.
Once I could get Lucy to agree to something in a hypothetical, it was like it was fact, like the circumstances had actually happened. We hadn’t been in Johnny Depp’s hot-tub, just like we hadn’t played truth or dare with Harry from down the road and then started talking about sex like we were close friends friends, but once it “happened” in her mind, once she admitted that it was hypothetically possible, we were open for business.
I was about to see how far I could push that.
“Do you let me see you topless then?”
“No,” she said. “I go see a doctor.”
“When we get home, there’s a blizzard.” Nod. We haven’t had one for decades, but everyone in town tells stories about the last one. “We’re snowed in, and you can’t access a doctor. Do you let me see you topless then?”
“No. I ask Mom.”
“What if Mom’s not with us?”
“I feel for lumps myself.”
“What if you can’t see any?”
“I wait until the blizzard clears. Until I see a doctor, I can’t do anything anyway.”
I could have probably continued down that path until I’d hypothetically killed off everyone in the human race and given myself a medical degree, but it was already making me uncomfortable. I was too close to my own limits—I wanted her to want it, not scare her into it. I considered abandoning the whole line of thinking, but I knew I was getting close.
I could feel it.
Session 8:
“Would you tell me what kind of thing gets you sexually excited?”
“No,” Lucy said, after a few seconds of thought.
“Not your fantasies,” I clarified. “Other than your fantasies, would you tell me what kind of thing gets you sexually excited?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause, before I realized my phrasing.
“...tell me what kind of thing gets you excited.”
“Being touched by a boy that I like. Watching porn. Reading porn. Talking about sex. Playing with myself. When a hot guy won’t stop checking me out.”
“Wait, you get excited talking about sex?”
“Yes.”
“What about when you’re talking about sex with me?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Do I turn you on?”
“No.” No hesitation there.
“Did you get excited after you told me the story of you and the guy with the tattoo?”
“Yes.”
“Did you masturbate?”
“Yes.”
I was floored. After she’d told me about the sweaty fuck she’d had with tattoo-guy (in explicit detail) I’d gone back to my room and jerked off a few times—it had never even occurred to me that she would have done the same.
God, I would love to have seen it.
Session 11:
We were approaching the end of the half-hour, and the only line of questioning I’d prepared was the blizzard story. But after five minutes of thought, I’d come up with a new idea.
“Okay. So you and Johnny Depp are dating now. He knows that we’re brother and sister, but he thinks of me as his best friend...” Shake. I love my sister, but sometimes she can be a real bitch. “...okay, so he likes you so much that he treats me and Mom like family.” Nod. Really, Lucy? I suppose I shouldn’t complain—it was getting me closer to where I needed to be, after all.
“He pays for the four of us to go to that hotel in France, the one near the topless beach. We spend a lot of time down there, and Johnny Depp wants to see your boobs as often as possible.” There was a pause, and then a nod. I worry about my sister’s ego sometimes. “We’re hanging out on the beach. There are heaps of topless women around, and Johnny Depp keeps checking them out. I’m there. Do you take your top off?”
“Yes.”
“Do you take your top off in front of me?”
“Yes.”
“We stay there for ages, and it turns out that it’s a topless hotel as well.” Shake. Yeah, I guess that one was a bit far-fetched.
“Okay, we’re on the beach. You’re topless, and...some guy points at your boobs and starts laughing.”
There’s a long pause, and I wonder if she’s going to wake up. Finally, there’s a nod—I guess that if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s girls with low self-esteem. Even the ones who know they’re hot.
“Johnny Depp and Mom both tell you that your boobs are fine. We go back to the hotel, and you decide that you want my objective opinion. You invite me into your room.” Shake. Crap. “You come into my room.” Shake. “I’m watching TV in the lounge room and you join me.” Nod. Third time lucky, I guess. I make a mental note that she’s more comfortable on neutral ground. Less intimate, I guess.
I could practically taste the tension. I knew I was as close as I’d ever get. This was it—this was make or break time.
“You ask me if I think you’re hot.” Nod. “I tell you that you’re my sister and I don’t look at you like that.” Nod. I felt a twang of guilt at that. Poor naive Lucy.
“It’s dark, and the only light in the room is from the TV. Johnny Depp and Mom are asleep. You feel like crap because of the guy, and you know that this will help...
“You ask me if there’s anything wrong with your tits.”
Nod.
“I tell you that they’re fine, and that you shouldn’t worry. You don’t believe me.”
Nod.
“You ask...you ask if I’ll have a look at them.”
Nod.
“Would you show me your tits?”
“Yes,” Lucy said, her voice no higher than a whisper.
“I tell you that I can’t see them because it’s so dark and that your shirt is blocking the view, but that they’re probably fine and that you should leave me alone.”
Nod.
“Would you take off your top with the light on, alone with me in the room?”
“Yes,” Lucy said again. My heart was beating so hard that I could barely hear her.
“Say it,” I said, needing that final confirmation.
“Yes,” she repeated. “I’ll take my top off in front of you.”
“Lucy,” I said, and she nodded in response. “Take off your top.”