Limits
Chapter 4
by Pan
Taking Marcie had been surprisingly easy. After she came over to “teach me how to kiss”, we’d...well, the “lesson” was basically an hour of making out. (while my goal was, ultimately, to have that kind of intimacy with Lucy, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth)
It’d been child’s play to convince her to try hypnosis, and once I had, it was only a few more sessions before I got her topless. Turns out that when you’re not battling against an aversion to incest, it’s pretty easy to come up with hypothetical situations in which girls will take their tops off for you.
Not going to lie, Marcie was a tiny bit of a slut. Or maybe she was just more into me than I was expecting. Either way, she was going down on me within the week, playing with herself in front of me just a few days later, and one session after that, both at once.
As much as I was enjoying getting off inside my sister’s friend’s cute little mouth, I never lost track of my real goal. After the weirdness that was Lucy getting my hypotheticals and reality confused, I took a long break from putting her under, at least until I could work out what was happening.
One day at breakfast, when it was just the two of us, I’d casually asked her a few questions about my “accident”. She’d placed it about a year ago, in the summer. I’d run through a mental checklist of what had actually happened during that summer, and to be honest...it hadn’t been much. As I recalled, I’d spent most of it in my room jerking off...nothing that would directly contradict being hit by a truck and then spending 8 weeks in recuperation.
Just to be safe, I’d asked her not to bring it up to anyone. It was a weird conversation, but I’m pretty sure that I managed to convince her to at least avoid mentioning it to Mom—I’d said it would “bring back the traumatic memories”, and that at the time, I’d worried Mom had suspected something about how often Lucy had been coming into my room.
I think she bought it. I wouldn’t be sure until I could put her under again, but I didn’t know what else to do.
Fun though Marcie was, I was okay with screwing things up and losing access to her. So I used her as a test subject, to see if I could work out what had happened with my sister. After five or six more sessions, I had a pretty good idea of exactly what had gone “wrong”.
Session B13:
“Do you feel my cock, slowly sliding in and out of your mouth, Marcie?”
Due to my cock slowly sliding in and out of her mouth, I couldn’t really understand her response, but I was pretty sure it was positive.
“You like it, don’t you? You like knowing how hard I am, how turned on you make me. You like knowing that you’re responsible for my arousal, and that you’re the one who’s going to get me off.”
This was my fourth theory. I’d tried a few other things—building a memory and revisiting it several times, constructing an elaborate hypothetical and then behaving like it was true...but they’d all led to nothing. For simplicity’s sake, I was using the same story—that I’d been hit by a truck, and spent the summer in a full-body cast. The last thing that I needed was to have two elaborate lies floating around to keep track of.
“You like knowing that I’m going to cum in your mouth, you like getting me hard and getting me off. You like being my little cock-slut, don’t you Marcie?”
Another muffled “yes”.
I’d extensively cross-examined her, trying to find a grey area of morality for her—something that she wouldn’t definitely answer “yes” to, but if she was turned on enough, she might consider.
“When I was in my full-body cast, and you used to come over to go to the pool with my sister, do you remember me looking at you? Do you remember me looking at your bikini-clad body, Marcie?”
It was tricky to find an angle that tied what she was doing to me having an accident, but I was starting to get good at it. In the hypothetical I’d constructed, she’d gotten so used to teasing me that when I was better, she’d kept on going until I’d “snapped”, grabbed her and started making out, and we’d been secretly getting each other off ever since (though never gone any further than oral.)
“You used to get me so hard, Marcie. And you loved it, didn’t you? You used to make sure to spend at least a few minutes flaunting yourself in front of me, knowing that you were turning me on and that I couldn’t do a thing about it...”
Marcie’s triggers, aside from a healthy sex-drive? A tiny bit of cruelty, a tiny bit of power, and a lot of exhibitionism. People are so easy to play, once you find out what makes them tick.
“You can’t cum, Marcie, not until I tell you to. Don’t stop, though. Don’t stop rubbing your clit, thinking about how your best friend’s little brother spent so many hours staring at your body, thinking about how much he wanted to see you naked, thinking about how much he wanted to touch your tits, feel your mouth wrapped around his hardness...”
Power and cruelty worked both ways though—she’d loved the hypothetical moment when I’d given into my urges, forced her mouth to mine, been unable to stop my hands from exploring her body. She loved being deprived, too, which was handy—my experiment relied on her being as turned on as possible. Her nipples were hard and her pussy was practically dripping when I suddenly pulled my cock out of her mouth, and brought her eyes back to mine, enjoying the total blankness that I saw within. Her breathing was heavy, and her mouth was slightly ajar.
“You’re outside. You know that I’m just on the other side of the window, listening in. You’ve spent the morning teasing me, enjoying watching me squirm in my full-body cast, knowing that I’m powerfully turned on and can’t do anything about it.”
As I spoke, I redressed her. I wanted her to wake up, and finding herself naked would probably raise make her at least a tiny bit suspicious.
“Today though, you want to take things a tiny bit further, really mess with me. You turn to my sister, and ask her if she wants to practice making out, knowing that I’ll hear, knowing how hot it will sound. You ask my sister if she wants to practice kissing, just to turn me on.”
I finished as I put the last of her clothes back on. There was a pause, and—just as I’d hoped—Marcie’s eyes began to flutter. She had a very, very slight leaning toward bisexuality—it wasn’t something she’d ever explored, though she’d thought about it while playing with herself once or twice. And while it was an idea she’d expressed interest in before, I knew that she’d never actually ask my sister if they could practice making out, simply because she didn’t want to affect their friendship.
Session 29:
“Marcie asks you if you want to practice making out. What do you say?”
“I say yes.”
“Why?”
“In case my brother wants to kiss me. I want to be as good as I can possibly be.”
“Any other reason?”
“It’s hot. Two girls making out is sexy. And if we do it somewhere that my brother might see, it might turn him on...”
“Everything you do is to turn your brother on, isn’t it?”
Nod.
“Say it.”
“Everything I do is to turn my brother on.”
Session B13:
Her eyes fluttered for another thirty seconds, but to my disappointment, they stopped, and in a soft voice, she replied.
“Yup.”
Damn it. My current theory was that when you woke someone up, if it wasn’t an abrupt switch from asleep to awake, it blurred the lines—the current hypothetical landed firmly in their memories, and as far as they were concerned, wasn’t a hypothetical. The stories I told became, as far as the person under was concerned, facts.
Again, until I put her under next, I couldn’t be sure, but I’d dropped some questions in casual conversation, and none of my other hypotheticals had locked themselves into my sister’s memory. She didn’t think that we’d won the lottery (thank goodness—that would have been a tricky one to explain away) or that she’d dated Johnny Depp.
She had no idea that I’d ever seen her topless, either. None of the things I’d said to her while she was under had affected her waking mind in the slightest, except the truck accident. Other than the fact that I’d used it to make her a bit turned on, and the question that she’d woken up slowly from, I couldn’t think of anything different about that hypothetical.
I needed to find something that would wake Marcie up, but slowly. Something that she wouldn’t normally do, wouldn’t normally consider, except for when she was turned on...
Suddenly, it hit me.
Session B3:
“Would you talk to me about your fantasies?”
“Sure.”
Different people have different limits, y’know? Either because of my sister’s relative uptightness, Marcie’s relatively free-and-easy, or the simple fact that I’m not her brother, I’d found that Marcie was happy to discuss almost anything with me.
“Would you tell me what you think about when you masturbate?”
There was a long pause.
“No.”
“Hypothetical: you’re teaching me how to kiss, and really enjoying it. We start hanging out more and more, until we’re pretty much dating. Would you tell me what you think about when you masturbate then?”
“No.”
“If we were pretty much dating, would you still make out with me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What if I asked you to stay the night, would you sleep with me? Literally sleep, nothing else.”
“Sure.”
“What if I asked if we could play with ourselves in front of each other? What would you say?”
“I’d love that...” she said, in a sultry tone.
“And then what if I told you my fantasies—if I told you what I thought about when I play with myself? Would you tell me what you think about?”
There was another pause, before she replied in a monotone.
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you think about when you play with yourself.”
Session B13:
I’d never been able to decide which I found hotter—getting Marcie to tell me her sexual fantasies in a monotone, or her turned-on, sexy voice.
They were both great, and more importantly—useful. See, knowing what Marcie thought about when she was turned on meant (I hoped) that I knew her limits—stuff that she wouldn’t do...but would be tempted by, if she was incredibly turned on.
“You ask Lucy if she wants to practice making out, knowing that I’m just inside, and she says no.”
“Right.”
“She seems a bit annoyed by it, and gets up to walk away. She’s wearing a bikini—that black one...” My encyclopaedic knowledge of my sister’s bikinis was coming in handy. “...and as she walks away, you check her out.”
“Got it.”
Marcie’s breathing was heavy, and I knew that if this was ever going to work, it was going to work now.
“She turns back to look at you, over her shoulder. You wink at her, and...”
I swear, she leaned forward. The fact that I was recounting one of her own masturbatory fantasies probably meant that she was dying to hear what “she” did next.
“...without breaking eye contact, you reach around behind yourself, and take your bikini top off.”
Her eyes began to flutter, her fingers began to twitch. It was like she was struggling between the urge to wake up, and the urge to play with herself.
It was close to thirty seconds when her fingers stopped twitching. I watched, as her pupils contracted, and a puzzled look came over her face.
“Lucy?” she said, looking at me in confusion. “Oh, sorry...I could have sworn...”
She drifted off, and I watched as she blinked a few times and got her bearings.
“Sorry, I was...lost in a memory, I guess.”
Suddenly, she grinned, that cheeky grin that I was getting so used to.
“Anyway,” she said, stripping off her shirt. “How long do we have until Lucy gets home? I feel like it’s been months since we last got together...”
A few minutes later, as I came into Marcie’s mouth, I smiled to myself.
I really was starting to get good at this.