Chapter 13: Mr Athanasiou
The soothing cadence of Josh’s voice filled the sterile room, wrapping around Hiro like a warm, heavy blanket. "That’s excellent, Hiro," Josh murmured, his tone rich with genuine-sounding approval. "You’ve accessed something significant. Truly insightful work today." He watched Hiro’s slack face, the younger man’s breathing deep and even under the trance. A faint sheen of sweat glistened at Hiro’s temples. "Now, we’ll just ease back gently. Slowly returning awareness. But first, let’s anchor a few things, solidify the ground beneath us." He shifted subtly on his chair, the leather sighing.
"Your parents," Josh began, his voice soft but probing. "Tell me about them, simply. No deep dive now, just the surface." Hiro’s lips moved slightly. "Mom… cares. A lot. Too much. Always… pushing. Worrying." A pause. "Dad… quiet. Busy. Distant. Kind, but… not there." Josh nodded slowly. "Good. They love you in their way. Understood." He let the words settle. "And intimacy, Hiro? Relationships? Lovers?" Hiro’s brow furrowed faintly. "None. Never… felt… ready. Scared." His voice was a threadbare whisper. Josh leaned forward slightly, wanting to probe into Hiro's fantasies and self pleasure but knowing not to push it. "Scared of what?" "Being… seen. Touched. Judged. My size… small…" Hiro’s voice trailed off, a faint tremor in his jaw. "Bullied," he added, almost inaudibly. "Felt weak. Only safe… alone. In my room. With K-Pop. My plants."
Josh absorbed this, filing every vulnerability away. "That feeling of safety alone… we’ll explore that. It’s important. But for now, understand this: what you shared today, about your desires… it’s valid. It’s part of you." He let a beat pass, the hum of the hidden speaker the only sound. "Now, Hiro… I’m going to count down from five. With each number, you’ll feel more awake, more present. Five… feeling the leather beneath you. Four… noticing the air on your skin. Three… becoming aware of the room. Two… muscles feeling light, refreshed. And one… eyes open. Fully awake. Feeling calm and clear."
Hiro blinked, his eyelids fluttering open. He looked momentarily disoriented, then focused on Josh. His cheeks immediately flushed a deep crimson. "Oh… god," he breathed, running a hand through his hair. "That was… deep."
"Powerful work, Hiro," Josh acknowledged, his smile warm and professional. He reached for the sleek tablet resting on the side table. "As we discussed, the session is recorded for review. Would you like some water or food before we continue?"
Hiro swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He looked trapped between fleeing and staying. "I… yeah. Okay. I think I should." His voice was tight. Josh brought him some warm, spiced herbal tea from a flask on the sideboard and a small package of plain biscuits. Hiro thoughtfully sipped and nibbled.
Josh tapped the screen. The large monitor on the wall lit up, showing Hiro reclined on the couch, eyes closed, Josh’s calm face in profile. The audio began: Hiro’s hesitant, tremulous voice against Josh's calm confident tones. They sat in silence as the session played out before them, Josh paying attention to Hiro's reactions. Hiro was uncomfortable but seemed willing to push through. That was until they got to the part where Hiro revealed his true insecurities.
Josh paused the playback. Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Hiro stared at the frozen image of his own entranced face, his breathing shallow and rapid.
"It’s… a lot," Josh said softly, breaking the tension with practiced ease. "Raw. Unfiltered. That’s the subconscious mind. It doesn’t censor. And that’s the power of this." He met Hiro’s mortified gaze. "Don’t judge it. Understand it. This is the core material we’re working with. It's something I went through, which I will share with you in the future, if you are interested. These parts are hidden even from ourselves. Acknowledging them is the first, vital step towards integrating them healthily. Towards channelling that intensity." He leaned back. "You did incredibly well to access this today. Seriously, Hiro. This was brave."
Hiro dragged his eyes from the screen to Josh’s face. The raw embarrassment was still there, warring with something else… a dawning sense of relief? "You… you don’t think it’s… disgusting?" he whispered.
"Disgusting?" Josh chuckled softly, a kind, reassuring sound that didn't quite reach the calculating glint in his eyes. "Hiro, the mind under hypnosis reveals primal truths. Desire isn't always pretty or polite. It doesn’t fit neatly into boxes. Judging it shuts down the work. What matters is that you felt safe enough here to express it, even unconsciously. That’s progress. That’s trust. And it gives us a clear path forward." Josh continued the replay, knowing that the rest was incredibly tame and easy after the revelation that meant so much to Hiro.
At the end of the recording he paused, letting the full therapeutic experience sink in. "We won’t unpack it all now. You will take this with you. I’m emailing you the full recording. Live with it. Listen to it when you feel ready. Absorb it. Don't fight it, just let it be present. Process it. Then we can discuss it properly at our next session. No pressure. You reach out to me when you feel prepared to move forward. This is your process."
He stood, signaling the session’s end. Hiro rose unsteadily, still shaken but visibly less tense than when the playback started. As he gathered his bag, he hesitated at the door. He turned back, his expression vulnerable, almost childlike. "Josh?" His voice was small. "Do you… do you think I can? Handle this? Work with you? Learn… this?" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the room, the hypnosis, the terrifying depths of his own psyche he’d just glimpsed.
Josh placed a large, warm hand on Hiro’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. The contact made Hiro flinch minutely, then relax into it. "Hiro," Josh said, his voice low and imbued with absolute, convincing certainty, "I see real potential. A lot of it. You’re sensitive, intelligent, and today you showed remarkable courage facing down those inner shadows. The raw material is there." He offered another warm smile. "We just need to refine it. Mold it. I think there’s definitely a place for someone like you on this journey. Don’t doubt yourself." A perfect first intern, Josh thought, the image of Hiro, pliant and eager, drooling messily onto his cock while begging for more punishment already forming a thrilling heat low in his belly. So vulnerable. So perfectly needy. He’ll beg to be molded.
Hiro managed a shaky smile in return, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. "Okay. Okay, thanks, Josh. I… I’ll listen to it. I’ll get in touch." He took a deep breath and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.
Josh stood alone in the quiet room, the faint scent of Hiro’s nervous sweat mingling with his expensive cologne, watching Hiro’s small, retreating figure hurry down the corridor outside. A slow, predatory smile spread across Josh’s face, utterly unlike the warm, professional expression he'd shown moments before. He adjusted the growing bulge in his tailored trousers with deliberate slowness, his fingers pressing against the thick ridge of his erection. Hiro was perfect.
Josh watched the elevator doors seal shut on the young man’s retreating back, the air in his office still vibrating with the raw vulnerability Hiro had spilled onto the leather. He inhaled deeply, the lingering scent of Hiro’s nervous sweat mingling with his own expensive cologne, a heady cocktail that made his cock throb insistently against his tailored trousers. He adjusted himself with a rough, deliberate palm, the thick ridge of his erection a satisfying pressure. Tonight would involve a different kind of session, a different kind of need. He locked the office, the click of the deadbolt echoing sharply.
The late afternoon sun was a fading orange smear across the city as Josh walked, choosing the longer route home. He needed the movement, the rhythm of his steps, to settle the restless energy Hiro had ignited. The image of Hiro’s thick tongue tentatively emerging, the dawning, confused pride in his own unexpected “strength,” played on a loop behind Josh’s eyes. I’ll be begging for it soon enough, Josh thought, a hedonistic warmth spreading through his chest. He didn’t need to be at his next appointment until 6:30 pm. Plenty of time.
He arrived at his building just after before then, the streetlights flickering on. He spotted Mrs. Athanasiou instantly – a small, bustling figure in a bright floral dress power-walking towards a cluster of waiting women near the bus stop. Bingo night. Wednesday. Perfect. Josh gave a polite, neighbourly wave she didn’t see, then quickly turned towards the building entrance, ignoring the stairs leading up to his own apartment. His destination was the ground floor. The landlord’s flat.
He approached the unassuming door. A discreet keypad glowed faintly beside it. Josh punched in the familiar code: 4-0-1-1. The electronic lock buzzed, releasing with a soft click. He pushed the door open, stepping into the dim, slightly stale air of the apartment. It smelled of old cooking grease, cheap cigars, and something cloyingly sweet – air freshener fighting a losing battle.
"Josh! On time, good boy." Mr. Athanasiou’s raspy voice greeted him from the living room. The older man was already seated in his worn recliner, lined with two large towels for the imminent activities, the television muted, showing a game show. But his attention wasn’t on the screen. Both hands were busy, kneading the heavy, pendulous mounds of flesh hanging from his chest. Gynecomastia. Once a source of shame, Josh knew. Now, under Josh’s careful guidance through their weekly "card games," it was a point of perverse pride. His thick, calloused fingers were pinching and rolling his own large, dark brown nipples, making them stiffen into pronounced peaks against the pale, flabby skin. "Been waitin'. Thinkin' about your mouth on 'em all day," Mr. Athanasiou grunted, his eyes heavy-lidded with anticipation.
"Wouldn’t keep you waiting, Mr. A.," Josh replied smoothly, closing the door behind him. He shrugged off his jacket, hanging it neatly on the rack. The air felt thick, intimate, charged with the unspoken filth of their arrangement. He approached the chair, his gaze fixed on the man’s hands working the swollen flesh. "Looks like you started without me. Those tits look ready." His voice dropped, losing its professional cadence, becoming rougher, more commanding.
"Fuck yeah, they are," Mr. Athanasiou panted, spreading his meaty thighs wider in the recliner, his gut spilling over the waistband of his worn sweatpants. "Been rubbin' 'em, pinchin' 'em... just like you taught me. Gets 'em good and hard. Gets me good and hard." He shifted, the prominent bulge in his sweats twitching. "Want your mouth, Josh. Suck 'em good. Like every time. Make 'em leak."
Josh knelt on the worn carpet between the man’s spread legs, the rough fabric scratching his knees. The musky scent of unwashed skin and arousal intensified. Up close, the man boobs were massive, the skin stretched shiny and veined. Sweat glistened in the deep cleft between them. The nipples, large and dark as plums, stood rigid, already pebbled from the man’s ministrations. Josh didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his breath hot on the salty skin.
He bypassed the nipples first, nuzzling the heavy underside of the left breast. He inhaled the ripe, masculine scent deeply, a filthy counterpoint to Hiro’s clean anxiety. Then, he opened his mouth wide and licked a long, wet stripe from the crease near the armpit, over the curve, up towards the stiff peak. The skin was warm, yielding, tasting of salt and something faintly sour. Mr. Athanasiou groaned, a low rumble in his chest, and bucked his hips. "Fuck yeah, boy. That’s it. Get it wet."
Josh focused on the nipple. He circled the dark areola with the tip of his tongue, teasing, feeling the tough nub beneath. Then he sucked the entire mound into his mouth, sinking his teeth gently into the dense flesh before pulling back. He repeated the motion on the other side, his hands coming up to roughly squeeze and knead both breasts, making the heavy flesh wobble. He alternated – sucking, licking, biting with controlled pressure. He drew one thick nipple deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the base, sucking hard enough to pull a gasp and a dribble of sticky pre-cum onto the man’s sweatpants. Saliva slicked the pale skin, shining in the dim light.
"Harder, you fuckin' tease!" Mr. Athanasiou demanded, his voice thick. He grabbed a handful of Josh’s blonde hair, shoving his face deeper into the damp cleavage. "Suck it like you mean it! Make me feel it!" He pinched his own neglected nipple viciously, twisting it. "Fuck! Yeah! Just like that! Your mouth... shit... feels so fuckin' good on my tits, Josh. Best damn thing..." His words dissolved into guttural moans as Josh intensified his assault, sucking and biting with more force, grinding his own erection against the edge of the recliner's seat pad for friction. The raw submission here wasn't Hiro's intellectual unravelling; it was this sweaty, grunting demand to be consumed, a need Josh had meticulously cultivated. "C'mon, fuckin' milk these tits with your mouth, you hungry slut!" Mr. Athanasiou growled, hips thrusting uselessly at the air.
Josh pulled back, saliva glistening in strings between his lips and Mr. Athanasiou’s swollen nipple. He quickly removed his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them well out of the way. Wouldn't do for Mrs A to come back to various mystery stains. As he kneeled back down, he let a thick glob of spit fall directly onto the heaving left breast, watching it slide down the curve. "Gonna get you slick, Mr. A.," Josh rasped, his own cock straining painfully against his zipper. He leaned in again, dragging his open mouth across the flesh, letting more drool spill freely, licking and pushing the warm fluid over the heavy man-tits. His big, calloused hands joined in, rubbing vigorously, spreading the spit, making the skin sticky and shiny under the dim lamplight. Mr. Athanasiou gasped, arching his back off the recliner, his thick fingers digging into Josh’s shoulders.
"Fuckin'... that's it... get 'em wet, boy," he panted, his breath coming in ragged bursts. One hand fumbled desperately beside the seat cushion, fingers scrabbling until they found the hidden bottle. He pulled it out – a small, unmarked container filled with a viscous, amber liquid.
Mr. Athanasiou clumsily uncapped the bottle with his arthritic hands, the thick blend of coconut and jojoba oils smelling faintly sweet and musky. He tilted it, a thick stream splashing onto his right breast, glistening over the spit-slicked skin. Josh grabbed the bottle, their fingers tangling briefly, slick with oil and saliva. He poured generously over the left breast, the rich liquid pooling in the deep cleavage before spilling down the flabby sides. Together, their hands slid over each other's, working the oil into the mounds, massaging deep into the yielding flesh, thumbs circling and pressing hard into the stiff, dark nipples. Mr. Athanasiou groaned, a long, low sound of pure, aching need. "Yessss... work those fuckin' nips... harder... squeeze 'em like you wanna milk me dry!"
Josh knew the deal. He’d found Mr. Athanasiou – a gruff, lonely super who kept the aging building spotless but lived with chronic back pain he blamed entirely on his "womanly tits" and the shame they brought. Josh, needing serious soundproofing and better ventilation for 'personal activities' as he'd called them, saw an opportunity. Free hypnosis sessions, he’d offered. Pain management. Reprogramming the shame. Teaching him to find pleasure, power, right there in the flesh he hated. The arrangement worked perfectly: Josh got preferential treatment, surprise casseroles left at his door, and this – a dedicated outlet for a specific need. Mr. A. got his desires fulfilled, his back pain lessened through redirected focus, and the worship of his transformed assets. Josh got to experience the gifts Mr A had been given. Josh glanced down at the prominent bulge tenting Mr. Athanasiou's sweats. He’d have gladly swallowed that cock right then, feeling it pulse down his throat. But Josh had trained him well. The only path to cumming was through his tits. Those arthritic hands, gnarled from decades of work, simply couldn't work his own cock or nipples hard enough or long enough to push himself over the edge. But Josh would get him there eventually. He needed Josh’s strength, his mouth, his cock. Needed to be used.
The oil transformed the heavy breasts into slippery, gleaming mounds. The scent of coconut mixed with sweat and musk filled the cramped room. Josh’s hands slid effortlessly now, massaging, kneading, pulling the slick flesh, focusing relentless pressure on the engorged nipples. Mr. Athanasiou was panting, eyes squeezed shut, face flushed deep red, his hips making small, abortive thrusts against nothing. "Now, Josh... fuck 'em... fuck my tits... shove that big dick between 'em... need to feel it..."
Josh didn't need telling twice. But he also knew what would happen. He pulled Mr A's pants open, exposing his thick, dark penis, glistening with his own juice. He angled it up, laying flat against his stomach and held it there with the waistband of his boxers. That's where they would enjoy it most. He scrambled up, fumbling with his belt and zipper, his thick erection springing free, already slick with precum at the tip. He spat copiously into his palm, slicking his shaft, the sound obscenely loud. Positioning himself, he grabbed the oiled breasts, pushing them together with both hands, forming a tight, hot, slippery channel. The skin felt impossibly soft yet substantial, yielding perfectly. He pressed the swollen head of his cock into the deep, oily cleavage, groaning at the intense heat and friction. "Fuck yeah... hold 'em tight for me, Mr. A... gotta squeeze..."Mr. Athanasiou immediately clamped his hands over Josh's, adding pressure, mashing his own tits hard around the invading shaft. "Squeezin'... fuck... shove it... shove it deep, you bastard!" Josh thrust forward, his hips snapping, burying his cock deep between the slick mounds. The sensation was incredible – hot, wet, impossibly soft yet constricting. Thick oil and spit mixed, creating obscene squelching noises with every plunge. He set a brutal pace, fucking the soft flesh with hard, deep strokes, the head of his cock catching on the ridge of Mr. Athanasiou’s sternum before sliding back down. Pre-cum smeared across the older man’s collarbone.
"Fuck... fuck..." Mr. Athanasiou gasped, his eyes wild. As Josh thrust in, the cockhead nudged close to his mouth. With surprising speed, Mr. Athanasiou darted his head forward, licking a broad, wet stripe over the purple crown, gathering the salty-sweet pre-cum. He didn't suck, just licked, then pulled back, opening his mouth wide. Copious saliva pooled on his tongue, thick and glistening. With a grunt, he spat the entire load directly onto his own heaving, oiled tits, right where Josh's cock was pistoning in and out. "More lube... fuck yeah... get it messy... make it sloppy!" The added spit intensified the slickness, the squelching sounds growing louder, wetter, more degrading. Josh snarled, the filthy sight and sound pushing him harder, faster. He reattached his fingers to Mr A's nipples, gripping as best as he could amongst all the lubrication. He fucked the sloppy cleavage like it was a cunt, grunting with each powerful thrust, his balls slapping against the sweaty skin of the older man’s belly. Mr. Athanasiou’s breath hitched, becoming frantic little gasps. His hands, still clamped over Josh’s on his tits, trembled violently. "Oh fuck... oh fuck... Josh..." His back arched impossibly high off the chair, a strangled cry ripped from his throat as his whole body seized. Thick, pearly ropes of cum erupted from his untouched cock, splattering across his own oil-slicked stomach and chest, mixing with the mess already there. His fingers dug like claws into Josh’s hands as wave after wave of pleasure, solely wrung from his tortured nipples and the brutal titfuck, tore through him. "FUCK! FUUUUCK!" he screamed, collapsing back into the recliner, chest heaving, body shuddering uncontrollably. Josh felt the convulsions through the breasts still clamped around his cock, the rhythmic clenching pushing him mercilessly towards his own edge.