Chapter 31

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.