The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Unfaithful

By Captain Eazy

5. Second Session

Sandra felt tingly every time she looked ahead to their next counseling session. At first Brand had griped about the scheduling—a 3:00 appointment meant he had to wrap up work by 2:00, but since his office was generous with flex time, it was easy enough for him to work in an extra 45 minutes on the other workdays to offset that. While Brand didn’t have the same sort of visceral attitude (seeing Dr. Marlowe is a good thing!) that she had, Sandra still sensed that he was no longer so skeptical about the value of the good doctor’s advice. They made love every night now—in a whole constellation of positions and variations. Sandra felt herself glowing. It was like being a newlywed again.

She caught the commuter train in and met Brand at half-past two. They drove from his office to Dr. Marlowe’s, and the receptionist welcomed them with what seemed like genuine pleasure. Dr. Marlowe met them in the reception area. “Here you are again,” she said with a smile. “Well, I’m delighted to say that your blood work and physical exams show you’re both in excellent shape, though I’m going to ask Brand to pay a little more attention to his diet. It won’t take much effort, but I really would like to see you lose about ten pounds.”

“Too sedentary,” Brand admitted ruefully. “I need to jog five days a week, not three.”

“There are other exercises, too,” Dr. Marlowe said. “We’ll talk about that. Physical health and emotional health go hand in hand. Now, I want to separate you two for a little while this afternoon. Brand, Marie will take you back into the relaxation booth. We got such good results last time that I think you’ll benefit from more exposure. Eventually we’re going to teach you some self-hypnosis and meditation techniques that will keep you on an even keel when you’re stressed or upset, but for the time being let’s go with what worked. All right?”

“Uh—sure,” Brand said.

“Marie?”

She materialized—she had come from a side door, but so quietly that Sandra didn’t hear her, and Brand startled a little when she took his arm. “I’m going to steal your husband for a little while,” Marie teased. “Kiss her goodbye.”

“See you in a bit,” Brand murmured, and he gave her a high-school boy’s kiss, a brush of the lips.

Sandra watched Marie lead him away. “I think you could stand some time on the machine, too, Sandra,” Dr. Marlowe said. “It will be familiar to you. When you were in my psych class, we did many biofeedback exercises. Of course, the programs have been refined since then. Come with me.”

Sandra followed her down the same hall that Marie and Brand had taken. Dr. Marlowe ushered her into a cubicle, applied the sensors (opening her blouse to do so, and asking Sandra to unfasten her bra for better access). When that was done, Dr. Marlowe sat nearby and said, “The program is monitoring your responses now, dear. I want to ask you a few questions to assess your emotional response. I realize that some of these may be painful, but I wouldn’t go into them if I didn’t think it necessary. And I promise you, before your therapy is done, you will regard the emotions you feel in connection with them as trivial, not worth worrying about.”

Sandra swallowed. “All right,” she said.

“Good. Just look into the screen. I’m getting a readout on this small monitor, and recording your responses—no one will know what you say, and the readout will be coded so that only I know what you’re reacting to. Relax. That’s right. Just relax.”

The soft, pastel colors did look familiar to Sandra. She had vague memories of similar equipment in the psych class. They had a calming effect—and she felt that she needed it.

“Sandra, think back on your experience with the delivery man.”

“Umm. Okay.”

“I see you feel strongly about that. Can you put your feelings into words for me?”

“Guilt.” Sandra swallowed. “I feel like I betrayed Brand. He trusted me. I just didn’t even think about him before—before letting that stranger—you know.”

“Physically how was the experience? Did you enjoy the encounter sexually?”

“No. Not really.” The silence spun out. Then, in a different voice, a strained one, Sandra confessed, “I liked it.”

“I thought you did. This is not a lie detector, Sandra, but it can indicate the stress patterns that accompany deliberate deception. How would you compare this stranger’s lovemaking technique to Brand’s?”

“He was too rough. Brand is—when we—when it’s good, Brand knows me, knows what I like, knows when to push me. This guy just wanted, you know, quick and dirty.” She felt her face burning. “He hurt me.”

“You liked it.”

Her voice sank to a whisper: “Yes.”

“How about the other two?”

“About—about the same. It was—I didn’t expect—I never thought that I—”

“You’re getting very upset. Maybe you ought to 4643.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Would you like some water?”

“No, thank you, I—”

“Or a little Jane kitten lather?”

A broad smile spread across Sandra’s face. “Hello, Doctor.”

“Hello, dear. Tell me again about the delivery man.”

Sandra stretched. “He had a good cock, real springy. I thought I was ready, wet and all, but when I sat down on him, he ripped right into me, hurt my pussy! But I opened up for him and then clamped right down and fucked his brains out. He had good-tasting cum!”

“You are showing no remorse, no regret now,” Dr. Marlowe said. “Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.” Sandra pouted. “’Cause it’s what Brand wants me to feel, I guess. He doesn’t understand. He thinks fucking is just if you’re married. You know, he’s only ever fucked two other girls, and that was before we were married? His mom’s some kind of religious nut or something. Brand told me everything. He had two girls in college. First one dumped him because after he fucked her, he apologized! Can you imagine?” She laughed. “Brand’s a great fuck, there’s no need for him to be sorry.”

“How about the other two?”

“They didn’t know what they were doing. I think they were sort of embarrassed by the whole thing, to tell you the truth. Or maybe they sort of had the hots for each other, you know? Without realizing it? Is that possible?”

“Very astute, Sandra,” Dr. Marlowe said. “In fact, that is sometimes the case when two men take one woman simultaneously. It is sublimated homosexuality, or perhaps bisexuality. Do those bother you?”

“Mnn. Get me all hot.”

“Interesting. Now listen to me, Sandra. Watch the screen. Let your mind drift. I don’t want you to have negative feelings about your relationship with Brand. I want to free you of those. I want to put you two on an equal footing. Just relax. Listen to me. Just relax and listen to me. . . .”

* * *

Shirtless, Brand partially reclined in the seat, sensors attached to his chest and his temples, and let the spiraling colors sweep him into utter relaxation. The headphones whispered to him. He dreamed, drifted. He might have spent ten minutes or an hour in this state; he had lost count of time.

Somehow he was only vaguely aware of the room, of his surroundings. He could feel sure of only one thing: The experience was making him incredibly horny. Flashes of fantasy kept sleeking through his head: the delectable Marie stroking his prick, milking cum from it. A roguish Sandra on the floor before him, on hands and knees, waggling her round, tempting ass, looking back over her shoulder, licking her lips. He imagined the clasp of her pussy. The pressure of her warm lips.

More fantasies. Not even that, just lewd flickers of imagery: two women kissing. He sandwiched between them. Close-up glimpses of gleaming pussies. Stroking fingers. Sucking lips. Moistness, heat.

Brand was breathing deeply, feeling his cock straining against his clothing. If only he dared. He could come and come again, over and over. Like a stallion. Crazy thoughts. No, he could. Except he had to wait. Had to . . . wait for permission to come. Needed permission. Where were these ideas coming from?

The question mildly puzzled him, not enough to rouse his attention. Better to go with the flow. Hear the music. Sexy.

In fact, both the music and the spiraling colors had begun to take on the throbbing rhythm of sex. Interspersed with the patterns of color on the monitor screen were momentary and unreadable subliminal flashes of pornographic photos. Girls in all attitudes of surrendering themselves. Point-of-view shots as though he were looking down at kneeling girls, their mouths stuffed with his cock, their eyes pleased as they stared directly up at him. Haughty-looking beauties, completely nude, their bodies gleaming with lotion, as they stared with heavy-lidded hunger at him, daring him, wanting him. None of this remained clear enough for long enough. He could not quite register the content of the pictures, but he felt their effect, as though the erotic current of them had been wired directly into his nervous system. He ached for release.

Somehow he drifted into a light sleep, only to be pulled from it by the quick rip of the sensors from his skin. He opened groggy eyes, saw Marie smiling at him, and began to ask her why he felt so weird, but she said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you Jack kite loosely.”

He lay helpless.

“Let’s get you undressed,” Marie cooed. She swiveled the chair completely around. Another woman stood in the open doorway, a naked woman—no. Not . . . naked. She wore a completely transparent, tight-stretched latex leotard, red, giving her high-breasted body a weird sheen, as if she were made of plastic. And she was naked beneath it, obviously, gloriously so: her nipples jutted out, and the smooth latex sank right into the split of her pussy. She had long, curling auburn-red hair. Her eyes were a shimmering green.

“Stand up,” she said. “Brand, this is an old friend of Sandra’s from college. Her name is Maureen. She wants to meet you.”

“Hi,” Maureen said, her eyes roving over Brand’s chest. “Like my outfit?”

God, she was hot! With a jolt, Brand realized she had somehow embodied one of his fantasies, one of his little fetishes. Ripe woman’s body so available, so untouchable. “How—how’s it feel?” he asked, his throat dry.

He was standing now, hardly noticing as Marie unfastened his trousers, encouraged him to kick off his loafers, peeled pants and underwear down. Maureen took sinuous steps toward him. “It feels like this,” she purred. She reached for his hands and brought them up to cup her jutting breasts.

Smooth, so smooth. The taut latex like a second skin. The nipples tightening as he began to fondle her breasts. He felt the tip of his cock touch her stomach, just above her mons—she was shorter than Sandra. Marie reached around him and ran her fingertips over the top of his rod, around the swollen head, underneath and back along to his balls, trailing a cooling line of pre-cum. “Nice big boy,” she whispered in his ear. “You come with us and we’ll peel Maureen.”

She casually gripped his cock and used it as a handle, towing him from the room. They went down the hall to a door, where Marie paused. “This is a bedroom,” she said. “Just for us. You, me, and Maureen. You’re going to fuck us, Brand. As many times as we want.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

She opened the door and pulled him into the room. It wasn’t large, and was pleasantly dim, lit only by indirect pink light. A low king-sized bed welcomed them. Marie pushed him onto it and said, “Watch us.”

Maureen undressed Marie first, unbuttoning the white nurse’s jacket, opening it, then unfastening the white bra, freeing Marie’s pale spectacular breasts. The women embraced, their breasts flattening against each other as they kissed. They pulled playfully apart, just an inch or so, and their tongues sparred with each other, each girl licking the other’s tongue, sucking on it, hands on round asses, clenching.

Marie kicked off her white shoes, then peeled off her white pants, taking the panties with them. “You like?” she asked Brand, putting one foot on the bed, leg crooked, opening her . . . shaved pussy. “Nice?”

Brand could only nod.

“Peel Maureen now,” said Marie.

Marueen turned her back, and he saw that the leotard was cut very low, plunging to just above her firm, swelling young ass. He tugged at the shoulders, pulling them down onto her upper arms, and she let him strip the latex off. Her flesh beneath was damp, fragrant of feminine desire. As she stepped out of the crumpled latex bodysuit, she turned and Brand saw that her pussy was shaven, too. “Me first,” Maureen said. “I love your cock!”

The two women climbed onto the bed, nudging and urging him onto his back. Maureen straddled him, grasped his cock, and impaled herself with a pleased sigh. Marie knelt, settling over his face. He could see her pussy, spread and ready, and he began to lap it, tasting its piquancy. She began to rock gently, doing half the work for him. He could hear the girls slurping and realized they had leaned together, were exchanging lascivious open-mouthed kisses, sucking tongue as if they were sucking cock.

“Lick me faster,” murmured Marie.

Brand did his best to oblige. God, Maureen was going crazy! She was fucking like a bunny, pounding, so fast, so hard, her hot tight pussy pulling at his straining cock. He felt hornier than he had ever felt in his life—but he could not come.

Not until you have permission.

Maureen suddenly clutched, clenched, and shuddered, and she moaned, “I’m coming! Let’s change!”

The girls shifted at once, and now he was fucking Marie, her pussy even tighter than Maureen’s. Rippling, as if she had complete muscle control. Maureen’s pussy tart on his tongue, flowing with musky juices. He couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t—

could not come

Marie came, chuckling. Then she pulled off him and tugged Maureen down. “Poor Brand. We’re gonna let you come now. We’re gonna let you come in our mouths. You finger us off, one hand to each pussy, and you’re gonna have the greatest orgasm of your life!”

Obediently, Brand reached down to the shaved sexes of the two women, slipping two fingers of his left hand into Maureen, two of his left into Marie. “Pump us,” moaned Maureen. “Faster! Harder!”

Then the two were sucking his cock, taking turns, or one of them working on the swollen head while the other licked sensuously along the ridged heavy rod. Brand thought he would pass out. He felt an electric surge. If only—if only—

“Harder, make us come,” said Marie. “If we both come, you can come!”

He had been holding back—he did not want to hurt them—but now his pumping became rough, faster, faster, faster. Then, like a string of firecrackers—Marie said, “I’m coming!” and locked her lips on the head of his cock. Maureen bucked and thrashed and said, “Me too!”

Brand could not have spoken, could barely breathe. His whole consciousness seemed focused in his pulsating, twitching, spurting cock. He was dimly aware of Marie making happy glubbing sounds, of Maureen sucking up the spilling excess. Everything went dark for a moment—

And then he was gasping hard. “You’re a good fucker,” crooned Maureen.

“We can fuck him again,” said Marie. “I just have to tell him to get hard again and he has to do it. But maybe he’d like to ask Sandra what she thinks about this.”

Just like that, Brand became aware they were not alone. Not five feet from the bed a naked Sandra sat in an armchair, her legs spread, her fingers busy at her pussy.

“We’re even,” she said with a smile.

. . . .To Be Continued