Unlimited
by Pan
Chapter 6:
Session A125:
“You can’t talk to your children about sex.”
Nod.
“No matter what they’re doing, if it’s related to sex, you can’t talk about it.”
Nod.
“You can never talk to your children about sex, even if it’s to do with their health.”
Nod.
“You can never talk to your children about sex, even if it’s to do with their mental well-being.”
Nod.
“You can never talk to your children about sex, no matter the situation, no matter how perverted they’re being.”
Nod.
“If you ever talk to your children about sex, you’ll be revealed as the pervert that you are.”
Nod.
“The only way to stay safe is to never talk about sex, no matter what.”
Nod.
I took a deep breath.
It was time.
“If you caught your children making out, you wouldn’t say a word.”
Mom choked on her own breath, then nodded. A flush slowly began to run up her neck, and she shifted very slightly in her chair.
I couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable or aroused.
Or, knowing the changes I’d made to Mom…both.
“If you caught them touching each other, you wouldn’t say anything about it.”
Blush. Nod.
“If you caught them having sex, it wouldn’t be something you could talk about with them.”
Nod.
“But it would turn you on.”
Pause. Long pause.
As Mom continued to stare glassy-eyed, I realized that this was a new idea. This was something she’d never even considered before.
It worried me. I honestly didn’t know how she was going to react.
I don’t like not knowing how people are going to react.
Not since Marcie.
Finally, the pause ended, and Mom nodded.
She was still squirming, and I didn’t know what to do. She was blushing; I didn’t know if it was from embarrassment, arousal, or both.
Her eyes looked like they wanted to dart around the room nervously. They’d never done that before.
It took me a moment to realize that I was squirming as well. I was so damn tense—tenser than I’d ever been while hypnotizing a family member before.
Was I flying too close to the sun? Or was I so worked up because I was almost there?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“Hypothetical: one day, you walk in to find your children making out.”
Shake.
Yeah, that’s what I’d expected. I was just glad it hadn’t woken her up.
Mom thought that she was a pervert, but aside from Lucy’s recent obsession with nudism, she had no reason to think there was anything wrong with the rest of us.
I wondered how she’d feel, when she found that we were all sickos. Would she be comforted, like Lucy was? Or would she feel responsible?
Not that it really mattered. It was happening, no matter how she felt about it.
I took a deep breath.
It was time.
“Hypothetical: You are talking to the neighbor who told you about the burglary at Marcie’s house.”
Nod.
Immediately, Mom’s entire body calmed. She was transported away from the questions I was asking, into a conversation with this hypothetical neighbor.
“You want to learn as much as you can about Marcie’s situation, don’t you?”
“No.”
Whew. Close one. Got to remember not to ask questions.
Also, not the answer I was expecting.
“The more you learn about what happened to Marcie, the more you can incorporate it into your fantasies.”
Nod.
“Would you tell me why you don’t want to learn more about what happened to Marcie?”
“No.”
Okay. Okay. I can work this one out. Mom was sexually obsessed with her daughter’s best friend’s unfortunate situation. She thought about it all the time—it fueled her every masturbation session.
Why would she not want to learn more?
“Hypothetical: you find a stack of naked pictures of Marcie in Lucy’s room.”
Nod. I think Mom was too flustered to question that one as much as she should have.
“What do you do?”
“I turn around and march straight out of the room.”
“Do you…—“
I cut myself off, wanting to slap myself in the forehead. C’mon. No questions. That was Mom-Hypnosis 101.
“You go to your room and masturbate.”
Nod.
“The next time you enter Lucy’s room, they’re not anywhere obvious.”
Nod.
“You go looking for them.”
Shake.
Why was she…ohhhhh.
That’s right.
“You strive to avoid perversion and deviancy.”
Nod.
It’s only when she’s unwillingly exposed to it that it gets in her head. I hadn’t taken into account how much of a puritan I’d turned Mom into.
It was really hard to think of her that way. I mean, she was constantly topless, and spent most of her time rubbing herself to orgasm after orgasm.
Okay. Puritan. I could work with this.
“Hypothetical: you’re talking to the neighbor who told you about Marcie’s situation.”
Nod.
“They have new information, and insist on sharing it with you. What do you do?”
“I politely tell them that I don’t want to…—“
I cut Mom off.
“They insist. If you refuse to hear about it, you’ll have to talk to them about sex. You don’t want to talk to them about sex, do you?”
“No.”
“They start to tell you some more details about the case that they overheard. What do you say?”
“Uh huh,” Mom said, clearly trying desperately to sound uninterested.
“They tell you that…”
Would Mom believe this? Maybe I had to butter her up a bit first.
“They tell you that their brother is a behavioral psychologist, and that he was assigned to her case.”
Nod.
“They found out why she…deteriorated so quickly.”
Nod.
“They remind you that during the burglary, Marcie and her father were forced to have sex.”
Nod.
“Your mind is filled with images of their incestuous union, but you make sure not to let it show on your face.”
Nod.
“You force yourself to tune back into what they’re saying. If they ask why you’re not listening, you’ll have to talk about sex, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to talk about sex, do you?”
“No.”
“You can’t talk about sex, can you?”
“No.”
“Talking about sex would out you to the world as a deviant.”
Nod.
“They’re telling you that their brother has worked out what happened to Marcie.”
Nod.
“They’re telling you that it could have been prevented.”
Nod.
“They give you the number of the scientific paper on the subject. It’s B-104-556-218.”
Nod. Mom’s a sucker for authoritative sources, but I knew she’d never look it up.
“They tell you exactly how it could have been prevented.”
Nod.
“Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“They tell you that a forced incestuous union causes a deep trauma in a teenager’s brain. It dramatically rewires their sexual impulses. If these new impulses aren’t quickly reinforced, it causes the entire brain to collapse. That’s what happened to Marcie—she had her impulses rewritten so dramatically, so strongly; without them being reinforced, she never stood a chance.”
Nod.
“The impulses get rewritten so that the teen needs to repeat the experience.”
Pause. Blush. Blush.
Pause.
Pause.
Then, just as I was starting to panic:
Nod.
“Repeating the experience would have reinforced the impulses, and she would have been fine. She would have gone on to live a normal, healthy life. Instead, she’s trapped in her own mind, endlessly reliving the burglary.”
Nod.
“If Marcie’s father had just had sex with her, she’d be fine.”
Nod.
“If Marcie and her father had just repeated what happened, she would have been a normal, healthy teen.”
Nod.
“But her father wasn’t a teenager, and so his impulses weren’t rewired.”
Nod.
“He didn’t want to do it; he saw it as an awful, traumatic experience that should never be revisited.”
Nod.
“When she threw herself at him, trying desperately to repair her mind, he rejected her.”
Nod.
“And because her father didn’t have sex with her, her mind collapsed.”
Nod.
“Because they didn’t repeat the experience, she’s forced to live the rest of her life as a shell of her former self.”
Nod.
“The neighbor goes on. What do you do?”
“I nod.”
“Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“Are you taking it all in?”
“Yes.”
“Good g…—”
I cut myself off. I’d been ‘Good girl’ing Lucy so much, it had become a habit. But I got the feeling that Mom wouldn’t like it.
“She goes on to tell you that the research shows that just repeating it once isn’t enough. To really ensure that the mind isn’t completely destroyed, the victims have to repeat it again and again and again and again, over and over.”
Nod.
“In order to escape from such an ordeal unharmed, Marcie would have needed to have sex with her father regularly.”
Nod.
“They would have had to have sex a few times a week for years.”
Nod.
“Your mind flashes with images of Marcie, on her knees in front of her father; sucking his dick, taking him inside her every hole.”
Nod.
“You’re dripping wet, and you just can’t wait to get off.”
Nod.
“These thoughts are going to be fueling your sick fantasies for months, if not years.”
Nod.
“The knowledge that Marcie could have been normal if she’d just had sex with her father…it’s going to take over your brain.”
Nod.
“It’s all you’ll be able to think about.”
Nod.
“You’re going to cum and cum and cum, imagining your daughter’s best friend being used by her Dad as a little fuckhole.”
Mom doesn’t like it when I swear, but I doubt she even noticed.
She nodded.
“You’re soaked at the idea.”
Nod.
You might be wondering if I needed to be so graphic…well, maybe not. But it was fun to watch Mom get so flustered. That, and I really needed to lock this idea into her head, or the next part of the plan was never going to work.
I swallowed—my mouth was so dry!—and continued.
“Do you believe what the neighbor told you?”
“Yes.”
“You believe that after a traumatic incestuous experience, teenagers have their sexual impulses rewired.”
Nod.
“You believe that they need to repeat it over and over, for years, or their mind will collapse…like Marcie’s did.”
Nod.
“You are wet thinking about it for days.”
Nod.
“You go into your room every chance you get, and cum at the idea.”
Nod.
“There are only two options after an experience like that—life as a braindead sex zombie, or being forced to repeat the experience.”
Nod.
“You find them both incredibly hot, don’t…”
I cut myself off. Almost asked another question.
“You find them both incredibly hot.”
Nod.
“You can’t stop thinking about either scenario.”
Nod.
Good.
Now…now for the hard part.
From what’s happened so far, you might not believe it, but I really don’t think of myself as a bad guy. I know that trancing one’s entire family into sex slaves isn’t the right thing to do, but…it wasn’t like I was tying them up and making them fuck me.
I wanted them to want me. It’s not the same, y’know?
And the last thing I wanted was for anyone to suffer. What happened to Marcie was eating me up inside, and I was determined not to let that happen to anyone else, ever.
Ever.
That’s why I was working so hard to avoid it. If what happened to Marcie happened to my Mom and sister as well, I’d never be able to forgive myself. And, like, I’d still get to fuck them. It was more than that.
I loved them. They were my family. I wanted to take care of them, and I didn’t want to cause them any pain.
And that’s why what I did next was so difficult.
In order to create familial bliss, I had to first cause some pain.
With a deep sigh, I continued.
“A week after your chat with the neighbor…our house is burgled.”
I winced as Mom’s eyes widened, but she didn’t hesitate before nodding.
“You’re at work.”
Nod.
“Me and Lucy were alone.”
Nod.
“If you were at home, maybe you could have done something.”
Nod.
A tear trickled down my mother’s cheek, and I wanted to end the hypothetical. I wanted to hug her, tell her that everything was okay, that no one was hurt.
But if I did that…
No. I couldn’t.
It wasn’t an option.
“You weren’t home,” I repeated, my voice slightly choked up. “You weren’t home, so what happened was…”
I paused to wipe my own eye.
“You weren’t home, so what happened was your fault.”
Sorry, Mom.
Nod.
Session A3:
“You love me, don’t you Mom?”
“Yes.”
“And you love Lucy.”
“Yes.”
“And you know that I love you.”
“Yes.”
“And that I love Lucy.”
“Yes.”
“You know that I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“So while you’re hypnotized, you can trust me.”
“Yes.”
“While you’re hypnotized, you’re completely safe.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“While I’m hypnotized, I’m completely safe.”
“And you can trust me to hypnotize Lucy.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you love us, and you’ll never do anything to hurt either one of us.”
Session A125:
“While you were out, a burglar came in. The same one who robbed Marcie.”
Nod.
“The burglar forced…”
Mom’s skin paled. She knew what was coming next.
“The burglar likes to make family members play with each other.”
Nod.
“The burglar likes to make family members do sexual things with each other.”
Nod.
“Against their will.”
Nod.
“While you were out working, the burglar made me fuck Lucy.”
Nod.
“If I didn’t do what he said, he would have killed us both.”
Nod.
“He had a knife to Lucy’s throat as he made her suck my cock.”
Nod.
“He had a knife to her throat as she swallowed my cum.”
Nod.
“He held us hostage.”
Nod.
“We had no choice.”
Nod.
“He made Lucy go down on me.”
Nod.
“He made me go down on Lucy.”
Nod.
“Lucy came from me going down on her.”
Nod.
“He made me fuck Lucy.”
Nod.
“He made me fuck her in the…in the ass.”
Nod.
“He made me fuck her in the pussy.”
Nod.
“He made me cum all over her body.”
Nod.
“Lucy came from me fucking her.”
Nod.
“Lucy came from me fucking her in the ass.”
Nod.
“Lucy and I made each other cum, over and over again.”
Nod.
“We were held hostage for hours, fucking each other over and over again, doing everything he told us to.”
Nod.
“When you come home, he’s gone.”
Nod.
“We tell you about everything that happened.”
Nod.
“Lucy’s crying.”
Nod.
“I’m…I’m crying as well.”
Nod.
“We’re both still naked.”
Nod.
“You can see my cum, drying on Lucy’s body.”
Nod.
“You can smell the scent of sex.”
Nod.
“You can see our bruises.”
Nod.
“You can see Lucy’s…privates are red.”
Nod.
“It’s obvious that we’ve been through hell.”
Nod.
“When we tell you about this, you have no choice but to listen.”
Nod.
“We tell you about the ordeal that we’ve been through, and you have to listen to every detail.”
Nod.
“But you can’t say anything, can you?”
“No.”
“You can’t talk to us about sex, can you?”
“No.”
“If you start talking to us about sex, it’ll all come out, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“If you start talking to us about sex, we’ll find out what a pervert you are, won’t we?”
“Yes.”
“So while we tell you about everything that happened, you have to remain completely silent.”
Nod.
“We tell you about our ordeal, and you don’t say a thing.”
Nod.
My heart felt like it was being torn in half as I watched the steady stream of tears pour down my mother’s face, but I couldn’t stop.
Not yet.
I was so close.
“We tell you about the most stressful, horrible, awful ordeal of our life, and you don’t say a word. You don’t offer any support, you don’t tell us it’s going to be okay.”
Nod.
“When we’re done talking, you get up.”
Nod.
“You go to your room.”
Nod.
“And you get yourself off.”
Mom was openly sobbing at this point, but she still nodded.
“You have the most powerful orgasm of your life.”
Nod.
“The closer perverted things are to home, the more they turn you on.”
Nod.
“The sicker they are, the more hot you find them.”
Nod.
“The closer they are to people you know and love, the more erotic you find it.”
Nod.
It’s okay, Mom, I wanted to whisper. None of this happened. It’s just a story.
But if I did, one of two things would happen: my ultimate fantasy would never come true…or I’d have to put her through this again.
Both options were unacceptable.
“Something this sick, this perverted…something like this, happening to your own family…”
Mom nodded, before I even finished my thought.
“It consumes your mind.”
Nod.
“It’s all you can think about.”
Nod.
“You become a dripping, sopping mess.”
Nod.
“You failed your family.”
Nod.
“You can’t stop getting off, thinking about your children.”
Nod.
“You masturbate constantly, thinking about your children fucking.”
Nod.
“You’re always aroused.”
Nod.
“You’re always wet.”
Nod.
“Your nipples are always hard.”
Nod.
“You touch yourself whenever you get a chance.”
Nod.
“You can get off just from tweaking your nipples, thinking about your son titty-fucking your daughter.”
Shake.
Ah, crap. Maybe Mom doesn’t have Lucy’s hair-trigger orgasm capabilities?
Or maybe…
Oh.
“We told you that the burglar made me fuck Lucy’s tits.”
Nod.
“You can get off just from pinching your nipples, thinking about your son titty-fucking your daughter.”
Nod.
“You’re a terrible mother.”
Nod.
“You’re a walking orgasm.”
Nod.
“Sex is all you think about.”
Nod.
“You become obsessed with incest.”
Nod.
“You become obsessed with your son and daughter fornicating.”
Nod.
“It’s all you think about.”
Nod.
“You cum all the time.”
Nod.
“You cum six times a day.”
Nod.
“At least.”
Nod.
“You think about your children as you do.”
Nod.
“You’re an awful mother.”
Nod.
“You’re a complete slut.”
Nod.
The crying had stopped. Mom’s eyes and face were still red, but she’d stopped shuddering, and the tears had stopped sliding down her face.
She was shifting in her chair, and I could tell that she wanted nothing more than to get off. There was more work that I needed to do, but I didn’t want to push it. Not today.
Still, I needed to make sure that the memory stuck, and that it wouldn’t affect her willingness to be hypnotized, or affect her nudism.
Well, I didn’t need to make sure it didn’t affect her nudism, but I had gotten used to my Mom walking around with her tits out, and I didn’t want that to change any time soon.
“You remember that the neighbor told you it was important not to change things up after a traumatic event. Marcie’s father changed their routine, and that made the effect even worse.”
Nod.
“It’s important not to change your behavior.”
Nod.
“After the burglary, you keep taking off your clothes each day after work.”
Nod.
“You keep letting your son hypnotize you.”
Nod.
“If Lucy does something sexual, you can’t talk about it.”
Nod.
“If Lucy does something sexual, you have to go along with it.”
Nod.
“If Lucy does something sexual, it adds to your arousal.”
Nod.
“Whenever you witness your children doing something sexual, it turns you on beyond belief.”
Nod.
I paused. Was I forgetting anything?
Ah.
“And you never, ever talk to them about what happened. You don’t tell the police, you don’t tell your friends, you don’t tell your boss. No one can ever know about what happened…because then, you’d be talking about sex. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe if you’d told someone, your children would have been able to get help.”
Nod.
“Maybe there would have been another way.”
Nod.
“But they didn’t, because of your hang-ups, and so they were forced to fuck each other.”
Nod.
“It’s your fault.”
Nod.
I was hard as a rock. I read somewhere that a crying woman makes men hard; it’s like, a biological thing.
That’s what it had to be, right?
I cleaned Mom’s face up as best as I could and slowly woke her, locking in the horrific memories of her children’s abuse…and her deviant reaction to them.
This was going to be…well, interesting.