Chapter 12: Hiro
The warm glow of Josh’s office felt amplified by the afternoon sun slanting through the blinds. The faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft, generic piano music piped through hidden speakers did little to dispel the tension Hiro Kimora brought with him at precisely four o'clock. He entered with the same contained energy as before, the burgundy bow tie crisp against the starched collar of his shirt, the leather satchel hanging neatly from his shoulder. His expression was politely attentive, but his dark eyes held a sharp, analytical watchfulness.
"Dr. Carter," Hiro greeted, offering a firm handshake that felt like a calibrated test. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Pleasure, Hiro. Please, sit." Josh gestured to the plush leather armchair opposite his desk, distinct from the therapy couch. He needed Hiro relaxed, not reclined. Not yet. "Impressive analysis," Josh added, tapping the cardboard folder Hiro had left earlier. He watched Hiro closely. A flicker of something – pride? relief? – crossed the young man’s face before being smoothed over by professional reserve.
"Just applying the fundamentals of critical appraisal," Hiro replied, sitting stiffly upright. "Your published work is provocative. The results my mother achieved are undeniable, but the mechanism…" He trailed off, leaving the skepticism hanging in the air, thick as the expensive cologne Josh wore. "Transcendental hypnosis combined with Pavlovian conditioning? It contradicts several established neuropsychological models."
Josh leaned back, steepling his fingers. He could practically feel the vibrating tension in Hiro’s posture, the intellectual rigor warring with the desire to please his mother and access something potentially groundbreaking. "Models evolve, Hiro," Josh said smoothly. "Sometimes, the map needs redrawing when you find new territory. These methods work because they bypass conscious resistance, accessing the primal drivers beneath the intellect." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Which brings us to the internship assessment."
Hiro’s gaze sharpened. "Assessment?"
"A practical component," Josh explained, his voice dropping into a lower, more resonant register. "To truly understand my work, to see if you have the aptitude, you need to experience the core process. The induction."
Hiro’s knuckles whitened slightly where they gripped the arms of the chair. "Experience it? You mean undergo hypnosis?"
"Yes. A preliminary trance state. Deep relaxation, nothing more initially. It allows me to assess your suggestibility, your subconscious landscape." Josh kept his tone matter-of-fact, non-threatening. "It’s the only way to gauge if this path is right for you. Your mind’s innate flexibility to both utilise the methods and apply them."
Hiro shifted, discomfort radiating from him. "I've always considered my subconscious landscape to be private, Doctor. The idea of someone else having access…"
Josh nodded, understanding etched on his face. "Completely valid concern, Hiro. It’s why we would record your induction session. Video and audio. For transparency, for your our review and for your records." He gestured towards a small, discreet camera mounted on a bookshelf. "We watch it together afterward. You see everything I see. Hear everything said. It demystifies the process. Makes it clinical." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Hiro’s. "My own inductions were recorded with my mentor. And the following sessions which lasted three years. Reviewing them is part of my own professional development." And part of getting off, watching myself become pliant for him, Josh thought, the memory sending a familiar heat low in his belly. He kept his expression earnest. "It removes the fear of the unknown. You maintain a sense of awareness, even while exploring surrender, that patients do not get. That awareness comes to them once they merge."
"Merge?" Hiro enquired. "For a later lesson, Hiro, should we move forward with this", Josh responded, kindly.
Hiro chewed his lower lip, a rare crack in his composure. Josh could see the calculation happening behind his eyes: the intellectual curiosity warring with deep-seated privacy, the desire for this opportunity battling visceral unease. The mention of Josh reviewing his own recordings seemed to tip the scales, lending a veneer of legitimacy, of shared vulnerability.
"Recorded," Hiro repeated slowly. "And we watch it together. Immediately after?"
"Immediately," Josh confirmed. "You have full veto power over anything that happens or is discussed. It’s purely an assessment tool. To see if your mind is receptive." And to see if you're another anchor for my Circle. Josh completed in his mind.
Hiro took a deep, audible breath. He glanced at the camera, then back at Josh. A decisive nod. "Alright. I understand. Proceed."
"Excellent." Josh stood, moving with deliberate calm. "Just shift to the couch, Hiro. Get comfortable. Loosen your tie if you wish. Shoes off. This is about letting go." He dimmed the lights slightly, leaving the room bathed in a warm, subdued glow and set his laptop to record the session.
Hiro complied, moving to the deep leather couch with stiff limbs. He removed his polished loafers, placed them neatly beside the couch, and cautiously loosened his bow tie, though he left it draped around his neck. He lay back, hands resting awkwardly on his stomach, staring rigidly at the ceiling.
"Close your eyes, Hiro," Josh instructed, his voice now a soft, rhythmic current. He picked up a small, smooth river stone from his desk, cool to the touch. He positioned himself beside the couch, standing over Hiro, his presence calm but dominant. "Focus on your breathing. In…" Josh inhaled slowly, audibly. "…and out." A long, drawn-out exhale. "Feel the weight of your body sinking into the leather. Let it support you completely."
Hiro’s chest rose and fell, his initial stiffness slowly, minutely, beginning to melt. Josh placed the cool stone gently on Hiro’s forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. Hiro flinched slightly at the contact, then stilled.
"Feel that coolness, Hiro… a point of focus… anchoring you… right here… right now." Josh’s voice dropped lower, becoming a resonant murmur that seemed to vibrate in the space between them. "Every breath in… draws that coolness deeper… spreading calm… relaxation… through your forehead… down over your scalp…" His words flowed like thick honey, deliberate, unhurried. "Down your neck… shoulders… melting away any tension… any worry… letting it drain away… down… down into the couch… gone."
He watched Hiro’s eyelids flutter. The young man’s breathing deepened. Josh moved the stone slowly, tracing an invisible path down Hiro’s temple, along his jawline. The cool touch was a physical anchor for his words. "Feel that relaxation spreading… into your arms… hands… fingers growing heavy… warm… limp…" Hiro’s hands, previously tense, relaxed visibly on his abdomen, fingers uncurling.
"Down your chest, Hiro… warm relaxation… flowing like warm oil… down your stomach… hips…" Josh’s voice was a hypnotic drone now, weaving a cocoon of suggestion. "Down your strong legs… calves… feet… all heavy… warm… perfectly still… perfectly relaxed… sinking deeper… deeper down… with every breath…"
Hiro’s body seemed to dissolve into the leather, a profound stillness settling over him. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest indicated life. His face was smooth, the sharp angles softened, the watchful intelligence temporarily veiled.
"Good. So good, Hiro," Josh murmured, his own pulse a steady thrum in his ears. He removed the stone. Now came the real work. "Your mind is calm… quiet… open. Like a clear, still pool." He paused, letting the silence deepen the trance. "To assess your suitability… I need to understand your desires and your concerns… your hidden drivers and repressors… what truly excites you and worries you… fascinates you and repulses you… what makes your mind truly come alive… beyond the intellect… in your core."
Josh shifted his stance slightly, his gaze intensifying as he focused entirely on the young man in trance. "Tell me, Hiro… when you feel pure, unguarded excitement… joy… what does it look like? What fills your thoughts?"
A soft sigh escaped Hiro’s lips. His voice, when it came, was distant, dreamy, utterly unlike his usual precise tone. "Bright… colours… dancing… music… complex… layered… voices harmonizing… powerful." A faint smile touched his lips. "BTS… the choreography… so sharp… the passion…"
K-Pop, Josh cataloged internally. The performance. The control within the chaos. "Feel that excitement, Hiro… the rhythm… the energy… let it fill you…"
"Energy… yes…" Hiro breathed. "Movement… fluid… precise… like Jujutsu… the flow… the kata… perfect form… perfect control…" His fingers twitched minutely, as if gripping an imaginary sword.
Martial discipline. Perfect. Control as expression. Josh filed it away. "Control feels good, doesn't it, Hiro? Mastering the form…"
"Good… yes…" Hiro’s brow furrowed slightly. "But… growing things… too. My Monstera… new leaf unfurling… so green… so perfect… watching it… day by day… the patience… the reward…" His voice held a warmth, a sweetness that was startlingly genuine.
The nurturer. The observer. Fascination with life unfolding. Josh felt a thrill. Layers. Complexity. Vulnerability beneath the armor. Perfect.
"And that feeling, Hiro… watching life unfold… that patience… that warmth…" Josh lowered his voice further, it was thick, intimate in the quiet room. "Does that warmth… that fascination… touch other parts of you? Deeper parts? Does it make your body feel… alive… in certain ways?"
A longer pause. Hiro’s breathing hitched almost imperceptibly. The faint color that rose on his cheekbones wasn't just relaxation. "Alive…" he echoed, the word barely a whisper. "Sometimes… yes… a… a stirring…"
Josh leaned closer, the scent of Hiro’s clean soap mixing with the leather and cologne. "A stirring… where, Hiro? Where do you feel that alive feeling… that warmth… when you watch something beautiful grow… or see perfect control?" He kept his own arousal ruthlessly banked, channeling it into the intensity of his focus. Show me the thread.
Hiro’s lips parted. His hand, lying relaxed on his stomach, twitched again, the fingers curling slightly inwards, drifting almost imperceptibly lower. "Inside…" he breathed, the word thick with a drowsy, unguarded honesty. "Deep… low… a pulse… a heat…" His eyelids fluttered rapidly though they remained closed. "It… frightens me… a little… how strong it gets… watching… the power… the precision…"
Josh’s blood pounded. Power. Precision. Arousal linked to authority, to mastery – observed or embodied. He saw it instantly: Hiro wasn’t aroused by the K-Pop idols or the plants themselves. It was the excellence, the control, the focused power they represented. And that arousal… it scared him. A deep, hidden current of submission responding to dominance. Buried deep beneath layers of intellectual armor and controlled presentation. A secret hunger for surrender beneath the bow tie and tweed.
Found you, Josh thought, a predatory calm settling over him. The "Youth" quadrant pulsed in his mind, the vacant space seeming to resonate. He kept his voice the epitome of soothing professionalism, even as his thoughts raced with obscene possibilities. "That feeling… that pulse… that heat… it’s just energy, Hiro. Natural. Powerful. Nothing to fear." He gently placed two fingertips on Hiro’s wrist, feeling the accelerated pulse thrum against his skin. "Feel the warmth spreading from that place… accept it… it’s part of your strength… part of what makes you… receptive."
He paused, letting the suggestion sink into the fertile soil of Hiro’s trance. The young man’s breathing had deepened again, the flush on his cheeks fading slightly. He looked profoundly peaceful, yet Josh could sense the newly exposed nerve beneath the surface, raw and humming. The recording light on the camera glowed steadily. Josh thought about his own induction, how quickly he had debased himself, desperate for hedonistic pleasure. The thought alone made his cock twitch against the seam of his tailored slacks.
"Now, Hiro," Josh murmured, his voice a velvet command weaving into the stillness, "we go deeper still…" The real excavation was just beginning. Josh let the silence stretch, thick as the humid air after Hiro’s confession about the heat low in his belly. He watched the pulse fluttering in Hiro’s exposed throat, a frantic bird trapped beneath smooth skin. "That heat… that pulse you feel… when you see power, precision, control," Josh began, his tone probing yet gentle, resonating within Hiro’s suggestible state. "Does it ever feel… conflicted? Does it bring other feelings? Worries? Shame, perhaps?" He saw the subtle tightening around Hiro’s closed eyes, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. "Tell me about the worry, Hiro. What shadows does that powerful feeling cast?"
Hiro’s breath hitched, a small, stifled sound. His fingers, resting on his stomach, curled tighter, knuckles bleaching white. "It’s… small," he whispered, the word escaping like a trapped sigh, laced with profound embarrassment. "Too small." He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Always… hidden."
"Small?" Josh echoed softly, leaning closer, his presence an intense warmth beside the couch. "What feels small, Hiro? Be specific in your mind. Name it for me." He kept his own arousal, sparked by Hiro’s vulnerability, ruthlessly contained, channeled into focused intensity. He saw Hiro’s hips shift minutely, a protective gesture.
A tremor ran through Hiro’s body. "My… my cock," he choked out, the crude word sounding alien and agonizing in his precise mouth. Shame radiated from him in palpable waves. "It’s… pathetic. Insignificant. Less than nothing." His voice cracked. "I know you’ll see… if we go deeper… you’ll know. You’ll be disgusted."
Josh placed a steadying hand lightly on Hiro’s forearm, a calculated anchor. "Hiro, listen to me," he said, his voice firm yet devoid of judgment, a bedrock beneath the younger man’s shame. "A cock's size… it’s just flesh. Biology. Like the length of a finger, the curve of an ear. It doesn’t dictate worth. It doesn’t define masculinity." He felt Hiro tense further beneath his touch. "Some are large, some are average, some are compact. None are inherently 'bad'. They simply are. Tell me why yours feels like a failing." He applied the slightest pressure, grounding him.
"Because…" Hiro’s voice was thick with despair now, tears gathering at the corners of his closed eyes. "Because… how can I be a man? How can I claim any power? Any… masculinity? If I can’t… if I can’t fuck like one?" The effort of saying it drained him, leaving him trembling. "If I can’t dominate… fill someone… make them feel it… with that?" He seemed to shrink into the leather. "I watch… the videos… only big ones. Huge ones. Thick. Long. Stretching holes open. Making people gasp, scream, take it. That’s power. That’s… manhood. Mine… mine is a joke." His admission hung in the air, raw and exposed, a core wound laid bare under hypnosis. Josh’s mind catalogued the porn obsession – a fixation on the very symbol he felt denied.
"Ah," Josh breathed, understanding crystallizing. The link was clear: Hiro equated phallic size directly with masculine power and sexual dominance, rendering his own anatomy a source of crippling inadequacy. "So your sense of masculinity… your sexual power… it’s anchored entirely there? In that one piece of flesh?" He let the question resonate, feeling Hiro’s turmoil.
"Yes," Hiro whispered, defeated. "Nowhere else. It has to be there. And it’s… pathetic."
Josh’s thumb rubbed a slow, deliberate circle on Hiro’s forearm. "That’s a very limited map, Hiro. A very fragile anchor." His voice dropped lower, intimate, suggestive. "What if you could place that sense of power… of potent masculinity… elsewhere? In other parts of yourself? Stronger parts. Parts you can truly control, truly feel?" He paused, letting the concept take root. "I do."
Hiro’s brow furrowed deeply. "You… do?" Confusion warred with a desperate spark of hope in his drowsy voice. "Where? How?"
"Different places," Josh murmured, his own body humming with the truth of it. "My cock, yes. It’s a source. Thick, demanding. It asserts it's presence in the way you describe, absolutely. But it’s not the only place." He leaned in, his breath stirring the hair near Hiro’s ear. "My mouth. When I suck cock, Hiro, my masculinity lives there in that moment. And my ass," he infused the word with a dark, possessive pride. "When it feels owned and used. A different kind of masculine strength. Accepting. Consuming. My body has many anchors for my masculinity. Not just one fragile place." These confessions were a true reflection of the work Josh had done in his own internship.
Hiro’s breathing had quickened. Josh could almost see the thoughts churning behind his closed lids, the paradigm shifting. "Many places…" Hiro echoed, dazed. A long silence stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the AC and the frantic thud of Hiro’s heart Josh could feel beneath his fingertips. Then, Hiro’s voice, laced with a sudden, intense yearning: "Show me." His eyes snapped open, glazed but startlingly focused on Josh’s face. "Show me your cock. Please. I need… I need to see what real masculinity looks like." The plea was naked, desperate, his usual composure obliterated by trance and raw need.
Josh met that desperate gaze, the hunger in Hiro’s eyes almost feral. The urge to unzip, to display his thick, flaccid weight, to see Hiro’s reaction, was a physical pull. He imagined Hiro’s gasp, the mixture of awe and devastating envy, the needs of his wet lips. Perfect for the Youth quadrant, the thought whispered. But he sensed the fragility beneath the demand. Too fast. Too shocking. He needed Hiro craving, not recoiling. "No, Hiro," he said, his voice calm, authoritative, gently reining in the young man’s spiralling need. He squeezed Hiro’s arm firmly. "But tell me, right now, feel your own body. Deep inside. Is there another place? One you know is strong? Capable? Something that could hold a spark of that power? Something unique to you?"
Hiro blinked, the desperate plea fading into confusion, then a dawning, almost childlike realization. His tongue darted out, unconsciously wetting his lips. The movement was slow, deliberate. "My…" he started, hesitant. He closed his mouth, then opened it slightly. His tongue emerged again, not just a flick, but a slow, deliberate extension. It pushed past his lips further than seemed natural – thick, muscular, and surprisingly long. It rested heavily over his lower lip, eventually hanging just past the edge of his chin, glistening faintly in the dim light. He slowly retracted it. "My tongue," Hiro breathed, a note of awed discovery in his voice. "It’s big. Strong." He flexed it slightly, the thick muscle moving with controlled power. "Really big. Thick." A faint, confused pride flickered across his face, mixed with bewilderment at this sudden focal point. "I… I never thought…"
Josh’s gaze locked onto the revealed flesh, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips. Oh, Hiro, he thought, the image of that thick muscle working, probing, lashing, flooding his mind with obscene, thrilling possibilities. The "Youth" quadrant pulsed, a vacant space resonating with profound, hungry potential. The faint taste of power on his tongue was sweeter than any precum. The real work was only just beginning. The recording light glowed, a silent witness to the first unravelling.