The Case of the Devil's Advocate
Chapter 1: Satanism, Old Fashioneds and Paraphilias

Copyright© 2018 by blacknight99

Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1: Satanism, Old Fashioneds and Paraphilias - The doctor encounters a couple with a unique problem. The man needs help fighting the influence of a group of satanists, while his wife just can't seem to say no.

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Coercion   Drunk/Drugged   Hypnosis   Mind Control   Reluctant   Romantic   Lesbian   Heterosexual   Fiction   Mystery   Cuckold   Sharing   DomSub   Humiliation   Light Bond   Group Sex   Swinging   Anal Sex   Petting  

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENTS 333 &334 - DAY ONE

Have you ever heard an old guy say: “If I had my life to live again, I wouldn’t change a thing”? Well, that’s bullshit. Everybody, and I mean everybody, does things he or she later regrets and wishes that there was an opportunity for a do-over. I certainly know that’s the case with me.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m very happy in life, and I love how it’s all turned out. But, there ARE some regrets. This tale is going to be about one of those ... but with a twist. While it was all unfolding, I relished it, though it was decidedly weird. Afterwards, when things got even weirder, I regretted it immensely, and wished I could take it all back. But even later, when things got to be their weirdest, I wound up accepting it ... or maybe I just tried to justify it. I don’t know. Whatever. I’ve got to admit, though, it’s one hell of a story. No pun intended.

I’m not much of a socializer. When I find myself in a party setting, I try to find the corners of a room and keep out of the way. And, the LAST thing I want to have happen is to find myself talking shop. Maybe all doctors are like that. Somebody walks up to a physician and says: “Hey, doc, I’ve got this pain in my elbow...” I mean, that’s bad enough. You can just imagine what it’s like for psychiatrists. Freudian conjecture in a public setting can become very embarrassing very fast.

But, I couldn’t get out of THIS party. I was the host. It had become sort of a tradition; though this was only the third time. When somebody new moved into my apartment building, I had everybody down for dinner and cocktails.

Okay, it’s time to introduce the characters. Now, please bear with me; I commiserate with you. It’s one of the things I hate about reading an Agatha Christie novel, though I like her stuff. She DID tend to have too many characters, though. Anyway, I’ll try to help you keep everybody straight in this tale. I’ll tackle them in their order of arrival in the building.

First, there’s yours truly: M.D., professor of psychiatry and erstwhile evil mad doctor. Pleased to meet you. Next, my lovely wife, nurse and social director: Loretta. The love of my life. We live in the first (ground) level apartment, while my offices take up the other half of the floor.

Next to move into the building: the two people who were NOT there that night: my building superintendant Rory and his lovely girlfriend (and soon-to-be wife) Lauren. They were in Boston, where Rory was finishing up the last semester of an undergraduate degree in Architecture at MIT, while their apartment in the basement was waiting for them when they decided to return. Before they left, however, Rory had all four of the upstairs apartments ready to rent. Anyway, those two people would not figure into this adventure until it was over, so just forget them for the time being.

Our first two tenants were Daphne Ludwig and Simone Roderick in 2A. They were the topic of another of my little Case Files. Simone was one of the most innocent individuals I’ve ever met, completely open and honest with all those around her. Daphne, on the other hand, has a gift. You’ll encounter it in our tale of that evening’s events. The term “hypnotic eyes” is a rather tired cliché; but in Daphne’s case, it was surprisingly true. She not only possessed such a feature, but she knew it ... and she knew how to use it. (She’s a remarkable woman, and a very good friend.) I should also mention that these two ladies were very much in love ... with each other ... and that they had recently voiced an interest in marriage themselves.

Next up, in 3A, we had another couple who was absent, but had given me an indication that they hoped to show up later in the evening: Terry and Lily Randolph. Terry struck me as a rather insecure individual, tall and gangly, quiet and withdrawn; the type of person who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And yet, as meek as he was, Lily was even more so. Her eyes were constantly cast toward the ground, never able to meet those of the people around her. She also had the habit of blushing for seemingly no reason whatsoever. It made me uneasy, constantly wondering if my fly was open or something. And then it made me curious. What thoughts was the woman having to make her react so? I had to admit, though, she was an attractive girl: Asian in ancestry, slim but curvaceous, small but with very generous breasts, and jet-black hair that was almost always braided into a long ponytail that hung to the top of her tantalizing ass. Both individuals were young, the south side of twenty-five, I guessed (correctly). He worked for the state as a computer technician, with offices in the capitol building. She evidently worked several jobs in order to help make ends meet financially. She was a waitress a couple days a week; and she sometimes cleaned rooms at a nearby hotel; but all her work seemed to be part-time.

Apartment 3B was still vacant. And so, that brings us to our guests of honor in 2B, Charlie and Nadia Porter, who had moved in on Monday (this was a Friday). They were both in their late thirties, and they’d been married long enough to have reached the “comfortable” stage. He was a Social Studies professor at a junior college in the western part of Providence. Nadia owned a small boutique on Douglas Avenue. Nice folks. It was on this evening that I learned that Charlie liked Old Fashioneds. For those of you who are unfamiliar, an Old Fashioned is a drink made with whiskey (in this case, Bourbon), bitters, soda and sugar. I was NOT overly familiar, but I became a might TOO familiar that evening. As did we all. And therein lay part of the problem.

Two drinks before dinner. Two bottles of Cabernet with the lasagna, and into our second drink in the living room afterwards. I can’t really put my finger on the moment it began to happen, but a strange sort of mellow sexual dynamic began to form in the room about 11:00 or so. It was so subtle that all of the participants in our little drama just seemed to accept it. Now, don’t get me wrong; the evening was not in danger of morphing into some sort of orgy or anything. I don’t think anybody really wanted that. We were all, every one of us, in love with our spouses or partners; and we were more than satisfied with that. But ... something shifted in the mood of the room.

Loretta and little Simone were giggling and confidential on the sofa; and Charlie was openly staring at the two of them, especially in the vicinity of their breasts, which seemed to make the girls giggle even more. Nadia was hard to read. She, too, seemed engrossed (to the point of distraction) by the two girly-acting women on the couch. (For those readers who have not browsed my other Case Studies, perhaps I should have mentioned that both Loretta and Simone are sexually submissive. And, anyone who has studied the art of reading body language and personal mannerisms would immediately know this.) But to add to the weirdness, Nadia kept casting glances at her husband, as well. I slowly became aware that, in addition to the female-female dynamic involved, she was immensely interested in her husband’s reaction to it.

And, in my periphery, I became aware of Daphne watching ME. Not in a sexual manner, mind you. Daphne was just about as pure a lesbian as I have ever met, and she loved her partner dearly. But she also had a profound interest in the interactions between people, and she craved more of the professional knowledge that I had locked away in my cranium. I didn’t really mind her doing this. There are always avid amateurs swimming in the waters of every professional pond. And, like I said before, she was a good friend. Now, noting my interest in the psychological interactions in the room, she was wondering what exactly I was observing. (It was this curiosity that would soon send the evening spiraling out of control ... but, of course, I didn’t know that at the time.)

And suddenly, like the bursting of bubbles, these varying frames of mind were shattered by a knocking on the door as we were interrupted by the arrival of our two missing guests from 3A, Terry and Lily Randolph. This involved all the types of pleasant shifts in conversation that one might imagine; for nothing is more logical at a party where people have had too many drinks than to mix more of them at the slightest excuse. And our leering friend, Charlie, had immediately announced that we needed another round of these dainties fixed posthaste so that our new guests could sample my expertise in mixology. I, myself, was saved from this overindulgence by the simple expedient of running out of ingredients. I found that we were critically low on maraschino cherries, which happens to be the required garnish for an Old Fashioned.

Terry took his drink gratefully, and finished it quickly. When I explained that we were out of adornments for another round, he asked for bourbon on the rocks, which finally (finally) set off some alarm bells in my head. And, fifteen minutes later, when he helped himself to a refill, my hypothesis was confirmed. My geeky lessee, Terry, was drinking because he NEEDED to drink ... not because he wanted to. Thus far in our brief relationship, he had displayed none of the telltale signs of alcoholism, so this was something else; and his demeanor emphasized this in other subtle ways. He was nervous, anxious, uneasy; and he was continuously glancing in his wife’s direction.

His pretty counterpart, Lily, on the other hand, having been coaxed onto the couch by Loretta and Simone, was sitting as she always seemed to sit: coy and nervous, bashful and shy, her drink held in both of her hands, her wrists resting on her knees. And yet, there was something else there, as well ... something uncommon for her. It took me a long moment to figure out what it was. Every now and then, she would move ... sort of shifting from side to side, then forward and back, almost as if something was tickling her ass.

I had retreated to the side of the room, unaware of having done so, until I found Daphne standing next to me. The conversation in the room was, by this time, going in several different directions at once, just mild chit-chat, as one might expect. But Daphne was staring intently at only me. I soured (or tried to) when I realized this.

“What are you staring at, witch?” I asked pointedly, though good-naturedly.

She threw back her head and laughed at the moniker. But then she stopped and studied me with abject inquisitiveness, ignoring my comment completely. “You see something,” she accused. “You see something that I don’t. Fifteen minutes ago, it was amusing ... and I couldn’t figure out what it was. And now, it’s something serious ... something that concerns you greatly. And I STILL can’t understand.” She stole a glance at those around the room, and then glared at me with nothing but curiosity in her enormous eyes. “Tell me, Randy. Please. What is it? What do you see?”

Without another word to her, I strode quickly across the room and grabbed the whiskey bottle as Terry was about to pour himself yet another. He relinquished it immediately, and I set it down on the side table next to the ice bucket. “Care to talk about it?” I asked him. “I’m not sure I can help, but I can try.” I had put a hand on his left arm, trying to move him toward the doorway that led to the kitchen, but for some reason, he resisted. He cast a glance over my shoulder ... the same sort of glance he had been indulging in ever since he’d entered the apartment. “It concerns Lily,” I said: a statement. “The two of you are in trouble. Do you want to see me professionally? I can meet with you both tomorrow, if you’d like.”

He glanced around, past me ... and I immediately understood my immense mistake. In my current state of inebriation, I’d spoken too loudly; and now, the room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, all ears straining to hear what he was about to say. I was at a sudden loss. If I turned and addressed the room, my moment of earnestness with him would be over, and I felt as if he was about to let it slip ... to let me know what this perceived horror was.

“Um ... yes,” he stuttered. “Yes, I’d like it very much if you could see us. I’m not sure it’s in your ... um ... purview. But ... I ... we ... DO need help. Please.”

“Oh, God,” Lily whispered from the couch. It was almost a moan. Almost sexual. I wasn’t looking, but I heard her as she shifted again: very slightly left, right, forward, back. I suddenly wondered if she was trying to masturbate using the friction from the sofa.

Daphne was beside me, reaching past me, her hand on Terry’s right arm. He was forced to look at her (a rather dangerous thing to do, where Daphne is concerned. Her eyes are ... well ... not to be ignored). “Please, Terry,” she pleaded gently. “Can you tell us? We’re all friends here. We all want to help you.”

Well, crap. For the moment, I was forced to give up any psychological advantage I was using to manipulate him into agreeing to see me. I took my eyes off of him and turned them toward Daphne, but she kept her gaze firmly into Terry’s. “The moment he said he wanted to see me, he became my patient,” I told her firmly. “This has become professional. This is between him ... THEM ... and me. Period.”

But it was if I wasn’t even there. “Yes,” Terry said dully, his eyes still locked on hers. “We are all friend here. You all want to help us.” With a shiver, he managed to break eye contact, and he looked around the room at the startled, openly curious people staring at him. “Tell me,” he said more loudly to the group, “does anyone here have any experience with Satanism?”

Okay, I guess that I have to confess that I was just about as unprepared for this question as anyone else in the room, and I simply stood gawking, as I imagine everyone else was. But Daphne recovered the quickest, and she reapplied the pressure on his arm, making him lock eyes with her again. He was almost immediately lost as she said: “Oh, Terry, you simply can’t leave us guessing about THAT! Don’t you want to come sit on the couch with me and tell us? You do, don’t you?”

He nodded pleasantly. “Sure. I can’t leave you guessing about that. Let’s sit on the couch.” And he allowed himself to be drawn toward that side of the room.

“Now, wait just a minute!” I barked. But already, Loretta and Simone were rising, making way for Daphne and her new thrall. Gently, she pushed him down toward the end of the couch opposite his wife, and she settled herself between them, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Daphne!” I implored. “This is not one of your little party hypnosis demonstrations! These are my patients! There’s confidentiality in play here!”

“Oh, nonsense, Randy,” she admonished. “He’s already given his consent. He needs our help. And now, he can explain it to us.” She turned toward the man at her side and looked slightly up at him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Terry?”

He was staring down at her intently. “Yes. That’s what I want. To explain it to you.”

Daphne reached up and put the palm of her left hand on his right cheek. “Now, why don’t you just relax for awhile, Terry? In fact, you can take a little nap, if you’d like. I think that’s a wonderful idea, don’t you? Just take a little nap. You look so tired. And all this stress you’ve been feeling ... you just want to let it go, don’t you?”

The man sighed heavily. “That’s a ... wonderful idea,” he answered dully. “So much stress. I’m so tired. I’ll take a little nap.”

“Let go now,” Daphne ordered softly. “Surrender. Take a nap. Sleep for me. Now.” She took her hand away as his head fell forward onto his chest.

“Holy fuck!” Charlie Porter whispered from the side of the room.

“Daphne!” I growled.

“Just a moment, Randy,” she responded, though she refused to look at me as she turned toward the nervous woman to her left. “You’ll be in charge here in a minute, I promise. Just let me finish with Little Miss Submission, here.” Using the forefinger of her right hand, she pulled Lily’s chin toward her until she captured the unresisting woman’s eyes with her own. “That’s who you are, isn’t it, dear?” she continued. “You submit to everyone, don’t you? You obey everybody.”

The girl shivered slightly. “I ... uh ... I ... yes. I do. I can’t help it. And now ... it’s inside me.” She shifted yet again on the couch.

“What’s inside you, dear?”

In response, Lily closed her eyes and moaned as if she was giving in to sexual stimulations we couldn’t begin to imagine. She took a deep breath and looked again at the woman beside her, blinking with barely suppressed pain. “Do you think I’m ... evil?” she asked, her voice catching. “I don’t want to be evil. I want to be good. I love my husband SO much! I’d do anything for him. Anything! But ... Do you think I’m evil?”

This seemed to affect Daphne greatly. “Oh, no, my dear. I think you are a wonderful person. You just need a little help, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Lily responded dully, seemingly trapped in the other woman’s eyes. “Help. I need help.”

Daphne started to say something else, but paused to steady herself, gulped back her emotion, and calmly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “We will help you now, Lily. You just go to sleep please. You’re exhausted. So very tired.”

“So tired.”

“Sleep now, dear. Sleep. Just let go and sleep for me.” Daphne reached out, grasped the younger woman by the shoulders and lowered her slumbering body gently back into the couch. Then, she solemnly turned toward me. “Let me deepen them and prepare them for your control,” she said. “It’ll only take a minute. Then you can solve this mystery.”

I barked a single laugh in response. She at least had the decency to give me a questioning look. “Solve?” I spat the word indignantly. “Are you out of your mind? These people need proper treatment, not to be made into some sort of sideshow for your amusement!”

She didn’t blanch at that. “It’s not amusement, Randy. It’s an overwhelming curiosity. I HAVE to know! WE have to! We want to be a part of this!”

Oh, man, she could be persuasive! I forced myself to look away from her and tried to steady myself. Rather than do the ethical thing and argue my point further, I hesitated. I suppose I could chalk it up to being, at the very least, on the edge of drunkenness. But, to make matters even worse, Loretta was now at my side, stroking my arm, whispering in my ear.

“Show them, darling,” she coaxed. “Show them what you can do ... how you can help people. We all want to know what this is about; but YOU ... you’ve already figured it out, haven’t you? At the very least, you have some idea about why they might be acting like this. Show us, doctor.”

I looked around. The only other man (besides myself and the comatose-looking fellow on the couch) seemed to be missing for the moment; but Charlie soon reemerged from the dining room with a couple extra chairs, and the members of our little dinner party wound up seating themselves in a sort of semicircle in front of the sofa. A large, overstuffed easy chair was the center of this arrangement (Charlie had positioned that, as well). Feeling a little like the grammar school kid who had been goaded into doing something against the rules by the cute little red-haired girl, I sighed and sat down.

And so ... let me review the scene of the crime. On the couch, Daphne, our resident witch/hypnotist, was gently whispering in the ears of the sleeping man (Terry, to her right) and his slumbering, exotic wife (Lily, to her left). I sat, center stage, facing them. To my left sat my lovely wife, Loretta; and just beyond, to her left, sat petite Simone, Daphne’s lover. To my right, we had a very tipsy Charlie Porter (who as actually making the semblance of an effort not to leer openly at the sleeping woman on the couch), and just to his right sat his equally soused spouse, Nadia (who was a little less successful in masking her own leering interest).

I cleared my throat. “Let me begin by asking a question of the group. Do you just want me to quiz these people and try to solve problems, or do you want to know WHY I’m thinking and reacting the way I am?”

“Oh, tell us!” Daphne responded, ignoring the couple flanking her for the moment. “I want to know!”

“I’ll try not to lecture,” I said earnestly, “but explanations might become exceedingly boring ... and I can’t guarantee that you won’t find some things ... repugnant.”

Beside me, Loretta smirked. “You DO know what’s wrong! I knew it!”

“Lectures about WHAT?” Daphne queried, looking at me carefully.

“If my guess is correct, paraphilias,” I answered.

Nadia piped up from my right: “Are para-whats-its devil worshipers?”

I laughed and shook my head. “If the Randolphs here have gotten themselves hooked up with some weird religious cult, that’s of little interest to the field of psychology; or at least, not beyond the aspects of programming and de-programming. Today, that’s not much different than product marketing ... and especially politics. People believe what they want to believe.” I leaned forward, my forearms resting on my knees. “Is she ready for me, Daphne?”

“Yes. They both are. They should respond to you without hesitation.”

“Lily, can you hear me?” I asked.

“Yes, doctor.”

I turned toward my other patient. “Terry?”

“Um ... Yeah. I can hear you.”

“Sit up straight, please.” I waited only a few seconds while they both complied, sitting upright, though both of them had their eyes closed. “Okay, here’s how this is going to work,” I continued. “You are each going to feel wonderfully detached, physically and mentally, as if you are looking at yourself from above ... seeing yourself as someone else sees you. In this marvelous state of mind, it is very easy to speak about yourself. There is no anxiety, no concern or apprehension. Telling the truth is effortless ... and your only option. You will be open and honest; and you will find it very, very easy to answer my questions without hesitation or embarrassment. Do you understand this?”

They answered at the same time, him responding offhandedly: “Yeah, sure,” while she replied meekly: “Yes, doctor.”

“If I want to ask you something, I will preface my question with your name. If I do not use your name, there will be no reason to listen to me ... you will simply disregard it. You will also disregard the voices of other people. That will begin now. Terry, do you understand this?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, sure.”

“Lily?”

“Yes, doctor. I understand.”

“And now, Lily; once again, be completely open and honest. You are NOT full of evil. You know that. But ... tell me now. What ARE you full of?” I was slightly surprised when she did not answer right away. Instead, she blushed furiously, even her upper arms turning pink. Rather than contradict this lack of control on my part, however, I just continued. “You are full of semen, aren’t you, Lily.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. Again, it was a sound that was normally reserved for passion. “Yes. Yes, I’m full of cum. SO much cum!” She forced herself to take a deep breath before continuing. “I ... I tried to wipe some of it out. But ... I thought that if I still had some left in me, Terry would take me again after I got back home tonight. I’m so sorry ... I didn’t realize how much was still in there! It’s dribbling out of me and tickling my thighs ... and my ass. I hope I don’t stain the sofa.” She shifted again slightly, side to side, forward and back.

I ignored the open stares from those around me. “And ... that semen didn’t come from Terry, did it?”

“Some of it did!” she insisted, almost pleadingly. “I came home tonight, and I told him what that man had done to me ... what BOTH of them had done to me ... but especially the man ... about how he had filled me ... about how he had made me feel! And, Terry took me so hard! He was so passionate! So forceful! And I PLEASED him! I did! He came inside me! My husband came inside me!”

“You say that with a great deal of satisfaction,” I observed. “As if you haven’t been pleasing him much lately; and you are only now giving him satisfaction by being with others, sexually.”

“It happened last week!” she said pleadingly. “I found out then that I could make him cum in me if I had been with others first! I thought that was the case, but last week proved it! And then tonight! Tonight I did it again! Only tonight ... I think I made a pact with the devil!”

“Lily, you must calm down now. Take a deep breath, please. Yes, just like that. Relax for me. Just relax. You must be completely calm and detached. Very good. Now, I want you to stay in this wonderfully restful state until I you hear me ask you another question. Okay?”

“Yes, doctor.”

I sat back and looked around. Everyone was leaning forward, staring intently at the girl on the couch ... everyone except Daphne, between the two subjects, who was staring intently at ME. “How did you know?” she asked pointedly. “I never saw that there was something wrong with her.”

I shrugged. “Maybe there’s not. That is yet to be determined.”

“Nothing wrong?” Nadia gasped. “She was with another man! And ... she insinuated that there was woman, too! And others before that! That’s ... that’s...” She seemed incapable of continuing. Her right hand was idly clutching her slender throat, her eyes wide; she was flushed, and her breathing was ragged.

Simone, at the other end of the “circle” chimed in. “Is this that ‘philia’ thing you mentioned?”

“Paraphilias are sexual fetishes, right?” asked Loretta.

“Actually, the two terms have become pseudonymous, “ I responded, “though technically Paraphilias have to do with animate or moveable objects, while sexual fetishes do not.”

“What? Like dildos?” asked Charlie.

I laughed. “No, more like concepts or ideas instead of actual, physical things. If you’re turned on by the thought or possibility of something, that’s a fetish.”

“I get wet just thinking about Daphne hypnotizing me,” Simone said, perhaps a bit too candidly.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, good example. A hypno-fetish. Although, in your case, it’s advanced beyond that, psychologically.”

“What do you mean?” Both she and Daphne said it simultaneously.

“Wait,” Charlie interrupted. “First, if that’s a fetish, what’s an example of the other thing?”

“There are dozens of paraphilias. Maybe a hundred. I can’t begin to list them all. Let me just mention the ones I’ve seen most recently in my practice. Morphophilia, an intense sexual interest in people of a certain body type ... fat or thin or short or tall. Stigmatophilia: being sexually excited by body piercings ... either in others or oneself. Lactophilia: being turned on by the thought of breast milk ... once again, in either male or female, as the receiver or the giver. Coprophilia has to do with human feces.”

“Oh, jeez,” Charlie groaned.

“I think I mentioned that. A discussion about this is eventually going to lead to feelings of revulsion in almost everybody, sooner or later. There are things like titillagnia, sexual excitation through tickling; katoptronophilia, watching yourself or others in mirrors; Melissaphilia, being turned on after you’ve been stung by bees; acrotomophilia, arousal by the thought of amputees; just about anything you can think of. My personal favorite is nebulophilia, people becoming sexually excited when they find themselves in foggy weather. Some other types, you’re probably more familiar with. Necrophilia, for example ... the thought of having sex with a dead person.”

“Pedophilia!” Nadia gasped.

“Bingo,” I replied. “And that leads me to differentiate between how psychologists view a topic and how it’s seen by the general public. Because, most people believe pedophilia is illegal.”

“But, it IS!” Nadia exclaimed. “It HAS to be! You can’t possibly tell me that it’s not!”

“Nadia,” I said gently, “if that was the case, then anyone who’s ever enjoyed reading Vladimir Nabokov would be in jail. You can’t prosecute people for what they think. Our thoughts are our own. Our feelings are our own. And ... our sexual interests are our own. And, as long as they STAY our own ... our thoughts and feelings and interests ... then ANYTHING is okay. Just as long as fantasies STAY fantasies. Take biastophilia, for example: the common rape fantasy: both males and females, both dominant and submissive, and all the various levels of consent or lack thereof. And believe me, in our imagination, there ARE different levels of consent, even though the law does not ... CANNOT condone that. But, no harm is done ... as long as the fantasy remains a fantasy. And ninety-nine point nine percent of all adults are capable of doing just that: separating fantasy from reality. But, set foot outside that fantasy realm and the results are obviously horrific. So, as long as the person with pedophilia does not become a pedophile, then ... no matter the opinions of others ... no harm has occurred. Not officially. Not in the eyes of the law.”

I turned and looked pointedly at first Simone and then Daphne. “You two have taken your interest in hypnosis to the next level. I hesitate to use the clinical word ... it’s too harsh, in my opinion. But, we call that deviance. That’s harsh in your case, because you are doing no harm ... to yourselves, to each other, or to those around you. However, in the case of certain other sexual deviants, such as the pedophile, harm IS done; through physical action, mental and emotional distress, and exploitation.” I looked around. “Make sense?”

“And what about our two patients?” Loretta urged. “He can’t have sex with his wife unless she’s been with another man! Can you cure him?”

“Suggesting a cure implies that there’s a disease,” I stated, perhaps a little too-smugly. “And, even if we COULD cure him, do we really want to?”

Now it was Daphne’s turn to sound exasperated with my reasoning. “Randy, this woman is in emotional pain! She desperately wants to provide a normal sexual outlet for her husband! And, Terry couldn’t possibly be satisfied with their relationship!”

“IS she in pain?” I countered. “And, if so, is THAT what’s causing it? We don’t know for sure. Not yet. She’s certainly anxious, but you are only ASSUMING you know why. Does Terry REALLY want a ‘normal’ relationship with his spouse? Does SHE? We can’t assume to know these answers! Problems like Terry’s are deep-set, something that might have been caused by a past trauma, but that has been allowed to fester ... or perhaps it’s something that he’s nurtured. We can’t tell at this point. I’m willing to bet he knows exactly what it was and how it has affected him. However ... he didn’t display any anxiety at all when I spoke to him a few days ago ... or a few weeks ago. The angst that he’s displayed tonight is recent! Very recent! This is also true of Lily’s mannerisms. Something has happened to these people to bring on this type of behavior.”

“Maybe it WAS the devil!” Nadia chimed in.

“As a psychological scientist, I will not rule out anything ... even the paranormal,” I resolved. “But I can almost guarantee you that when we finally discover the answer to this riddle, it will come from the land of the living. Let’s listen to their story and find out.”

The source of this story is Storiesonline

To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account (Why register?)

Get No-Registration Temporary Access*

* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.

Close
 

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT...

Storiesonline is for adult entertainment only. By accessing this site you declare that you are of legal age and that you agree with our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.