Chapter 15: Hiro's First Taste
The sharp, grounding tang of expensive coffee cut through the clatter of plates at ‘The Grind’. Josh shifted his bulk on the wrought-iron chair, the morning sun warming the back of his neck. Across the tiny table, Emily stirred an extra sugar into her latte. Her hair, the same sun-bleached blonde as his but finer, was escaping its messy ponytail. A faint smudge of what looked like finger paint adorned the sleeve of her cardigan.
"Ben finally slept through," she said, stifling a yawn. "Seven hours straight. Felt like I’d won the lottery."
"Kid’s finally learning," Josh grinned, the expression genuine, softening the hard lines of his face. He pushed half his blueberry muffin across the table. "Eat. You look tired." He kept his voice light, the protective big brother. This boundary – Emily and Ben existed in a bubble separate from the gym, the therapy room, the sticky residue of his other life. She knew he was a hypnotherapist, vaguely. The specifics? None of her business. He’d shield her from the world he required, knowing she wouldn't understand, even as he used it.
She took the muffin, tearing off a piece. "How’s the practice? Still fixing broken minds?" Her tone was teasing, fond.
"Something like that," he chuckled, taking a long pull of his black coffee. "Mostly stress management. Performance anxiety." The understatement tasted bland. He changed tack. "Ben’s birthday next week. Still want that ridiculous dinosaur excavator kit?"
Her face lit up. "He’d lose his mind! He saw it on that YouTube video…" She launched into a detailed account of her three-year-old’s paleontological ambitions, and Josh listened, the familiar rhythm of her chatter a grounding anchor. He watched her eyes, bright despite the fatigue, the fierce love for her son radiating off her. It was pure. Untainted. He sipped his coffee, the bitterness a counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. He’d pay for the dinosaur kit and make sure her landlord fixed that leaky tap. Simple acts. Clean.
"And Mike? How's things with him?" Josh enquired about his brother-in-law. "Oh, you know, still struggling some..." Emily confessed. "He keeps trying things - he's been to men's courses about, like, how to train your masculinity or whatever, he's working out a lot, he goes to a men's talking group. But it's like it's not getting to the root issue, you know?" Josh did know. He'd offered Mike free hypnotherapy a few times, but he'd never taken it seriously. Josh supposed this was what happened when you kept so much of your life hidden away. "Well, my offer is always there, if he decides he's finally tried everything else," he gave his sister a knowing, sarcastic grin and they both laughed.
Later, back in the sterile chrome-and-leather expanse of his apartment, the scent of coffee was overtaken by his preferred blend of essential oils when a client visits - ylang ylang, patchouli and clary sage, and the underlying musk of his domain. He moved with purpose. The gym area, dominated by gleaming free weights and framed competition photos, was immaculate, the living space tidy and comfortable, the bedroom curtained off for now. But his focus was the mezzanine level, accessed by a spiral staircase near the kitchen.
He climbed, the metal steps ringing softly. Up here, the light was different – diffused through large, west-facing windows. This was his sanctum, his control room. A thick cream rug muffled footsteps. Against one wall stood a heavy oak bookcase filled not just with psychology texts, but curious, leather-bound journals. His real work. Beside it, discreet cabinets – one held towels, lubricants in clinical packaging; behind another lay coiled ropes, polished steel cuffs, a small flogger, a spreader bar, all tucked away with military precision. Not for Hiro. Not yet.
Centrepiece of the space was a large, deep-buttoned, softly cushioned sofa, wider and plusher than the clinical recliner in his office. More welcoming. More intimate. Two low-slung leather armchairs flanked a window offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. He adjusted the angle of a floor lamp, casting a warm pool of light onto the sofa. Perfect. He checked his watch. 11:55.
The intercom buzzed precisely at noon. Josh pressed the entry release without speaking, moving to the top of the stairs. He heard the heavy front door open, then cautious footsteps on the polished concrete below. Hiro appeared at the bottom of the spiral stairs, dwarfed by the space. He wore dark jeans and a plain grey t-shirt, his dark eyes wide, scanning upwards. He clutched a small backpack strap.
"Come on up, Hiro," Josh called down, his voice calm, inviting. He leaned casually against the wooden railing, projecting ease. The view from here subtly reinforced the dynamic – him above, Hiro looking up.
Hiro ascended, his movements tight with nervous energy. He paused at the top, taking in the room – the bookshelf, the windows, the plush sofa. His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on the locked cabinets before snapping back to Josh. "This… this is amazing. Your whole place."
"Thanks. I like the light up here. It feels detached from downstairs. A floating island in the sky." Josh gestured towards the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable. This is where I do my deeper work outside of the office. More relaxed than the office." He watched Hiro perch on the very edge of the sofa, back rigid, the backpack on the floor beside him like a shield. "How are you feeling? After processing things?"
Hiro swallowed. "Weird. Good weird? I kept… thinking about it. The recording. What you said." He looked down at his hands, then back up, a spark of determination in his eyes. "I want to do it. The hypnosis. For real this time. To not be… scared."
"Excellent," Josh said, his smile warm, encouraging. He moved to one of the armchairs, angling it slightly towards Hiro, not sitting yet. "That willingness is half the battle, Hiro. The session we watched was just a surface scratch. Today, we go deeper. To the root of that fear response to touch, to intimacy. It might feel intense. Are you ready?"
Hiro nodded vigorously. "Yes. Ready. What do I do?"
Josh pointed out the three small, discreet cameras placed around the space, their red lights blinking silently as he set them to begin recording. "Capturing multiple angles for your review later, Hiro. Standard procedure." He settled back into the armchair, his posture relaxed but observant. "You looked lighter walking in today. Yesterday’s session stirred something positive?" His voice was a low, resonant hum.
"Yeah," Hiro breathed, the single word carrying a surprising weight, his shoulders dropping an inch. "My sleep was noticeably improved." Hiro seemed to catch himself being formal and clinical. "Less static." He met Josh’s gaze, less flinch, more curiosity simmering in his dark eyes. "I feel ready. For whatever comes up. I want to know myself."
"Good," Josh murmured, his gaze unwavering. "Focus on my voice. Just the sound." He began the familiar induction, weaving a tapestry of calming words about breath and weightlessness, watching Hiro’s eyelids flutter. The rhythm was slower, deeper than the office session, pulling Hiro down layer by vulnerable layer. "That’s it. Sinking deeper. Safe here. Only my voice matters." Hiro’s breathing deepened, his body melting into the sofa’s plush embrace, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips.
Minutes flowed, punctuated only by the faint hum of the city beyond the glass and Hiro’s steady breaths. Josh shifted subtly, his tone probing yet gentle. "Hiro, I want to return to your shame. About your masculinity. About your cock. Where does it live? How does it manifest?"
Hiro’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of tension crossing his tranquil face. "Cold," he whispered, the word slurred. "Sharp. Like glass. Covering my skin."
"Glass," Josh echoed softly. "Can you see it? Feel it? Sense it? That barrier?" He leaned forward fractionally, voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "What happens if it dissolves? Just for a moment. What desire surfaces?"
A flush crept up Hiro’s neck, visible even in the soft light. His lips moved soundlessly before the words emerged, thick with trance. "Want... to see." He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. "See you... properly." His head lolled slightly towards Josh. "See...it."
Josh remained perfectly still, the air thickening with unspoken tension. "See my cock, Hiro?" His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, stripping away pretense. "That’s the desire surfacing?"
"Yes," Hiro breathed, the admission seeming to release a deeper wave of relaxation through him. "Need to see it. Please."
A slow, knowing smile touched Josh’s lips, predatory and patient. "Alright, Hiro. Since you asked so nicely in this safe space. Let’s dissolve that glass." He stood, the movement deliberate, his shadow falling over Hiro’s prone form. His fingers went to his belt buckle, the metallic clink unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He undid the button of his dark jeans, then the zipper, the rasp echoing Hiro’s quickening breath. He pushed the denim and his briefs down just enough, freeing his almost soft cock.
It hung there, thick and heavy. Sunlight caught the warm, thick member, glistening with a single bead of clear pre-cum. Veins snaked prominently along the meaty shaft, twitching slightly, a map of relaxed blood vessels beneath the lightly haired skin. It sat nestled between Josh's shaved balls, a broad, enticing instrument, that Josh was working hard to keep at bay. The scent of musk, warm skin, and male arousal bloomed instantly in the confined space.
Hiro’s eyes, glazed but intensely focused, tracked the movement. A soft, involuntary groan rumbled in his chest. His hands twitched on the sofa cushion. "Fuck..." The word was a husky whisper, laden with awe and hunger. "So thick. So...real. Never seen... in person" His gaze devoured it, tracing the prominent veins, fixating on the wetness at the tip. He shifted, one hand lifting unsteadily from the cushion, trembling towards the imposing flesh.
"No, Hiro," Josh murmured, his voice a velvet command that halted Hiro’s trembling fingers mid-air. He didn't touch Hiro, just let his cock sit as the undeniable focal point. "Not yet. You revealed the wanting, Hiro. That’s good. Important." He took a single step closer, bringing his flaccid meat within inches of Hiro’s face. The heat radiating from it was palpable. "But you see, true exploration requires reciprocity. Vulnerability must flow both ways."
Hiro’s eyes flickered with confusion, then dawning understanding, fixed on the glistening head so near his lips. His breath hitched, warm air washing over Josh’s sensitive skin.
"Show me yours, Hiro," Josh commanded softly, the hypnotic cadence weaving back into his tone, anchoring the demand deep in Hiro’s suggestible mind. "Reveal yourself as I revealed this. Peel back the layers. Undress. Now." The word hung in the scented air, thick with anticipation and the unspoken threat of denial. Hiro’s trembling hand remained suspended, caught between the overwhelming desire to touch and the compulsion to obey. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.
Suddenly, Hiro made his decision. He slowly lowered his hand, pushing himself off the plush sofa cushion. His fingers fumbled at the hem of his grey t-shirt, pulling it over his head with building energy. He folded it meticulously, placing it beside his backpack on the floor. His hands moved to the button of his dark jeans, popping it open, the zipper rasping down. He pushed the denim down his lean hips, stepping out of them, folding them just as carefully, the fabric trembling in his grasp.
Hiro stood before Josh, only in his baggy white boxer shorts, pale skin prickling in the conditioned air, his lithe frame, previously hidden beneath layers of clothing, was now on full display. A light dusting of hair covered his chest, leading down to his slender waist and the soft curve of his hips. His smooth skin held a subtle sheen, catching the light in a way that drew Josh's eye to the gentle definition of his muscles. Hiro hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband, his knuckles white. He hesitated, frozen, staring at the rug beneath his bare feet. The silence was deafening, charged with his naked vulnerability.
“Reciprocity, Hiro,” Josh murmured, his voice a low thrum resonating deep in Hiro’s trance-fogged mind. He remained seated, his own heavy, half-hard cock a blatant contrast resting against his thigh. “Remember the reciprocal nature of this work. You desired to see me exposed. Now, you offer the same vulnerability. If you want to touch me… truly connect… you show me all of you.” The implication hung heavy: compliance granted access.
Hiro inhaled sharply, a ragged gasp. Then, in one swift, almost desperate motion, he pushed the boxers down past his narrow hips, letting them puddle around his ankles. He stepped out, kicking them aside haphazardly, a stark deviation from his careful folding. He stood utterly naked, shoulders hunched, arms stiffly at his sides, breath held. His cock was tiny, impossibly small and delicate against his slight frame. A soft, pale nub, barely nudging past a scant inch when flaccid. His balls, tight little marbles, nestled close, almost hidden. He squeezed his eyes shut, muscles rigid, awaiting judgment.
Josh’s gaze swept over him, a hot current of pure, predatory desire instantly flooding his veins, a visceral craving to seize that fragile heat, to engulf it entirely with his mouth. He physically centred himself, forcing his own cock to stay soft despite the insistent throb, though a thick, clear bead of pre-cum welled at his slit, stretching into a glistening, dangling thread. It took immense control not to reach out.
“Look at me, Hiro,” Josh commanded softly, his tone surprisingly gentle yet firm. Hiro’s eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Josh held his gaze. “It’s perfect, Hiro. Truly. Small, yes. But perfectly formed. Delicate.” A slow, genuine warmth infused his voice, masking the raw hunger beneath. “Cute. Like a little pearl button. It’s uniquely yours. Perfect in its own way. Nothing to fear here.”
Hiro shuddered, a choked sound escaping his lips. Relief? Disbelief? His rigid posture softened infinitesimally. The hypnotic command held, anchoring him, forcing him to absorb Josh’s words as truth.
“That shame you feel?” Josh continued, his voice a low, resonant hum weaving back into the trance. “That sharp glass covering your skin? We dissolve it, slowly. We don't smash it. Melted glass can be reforged, shattered glass will hurt us. And, to reiterate, as I will continue to do, masculinity isn’t just here.” He gestured negligibly towards Hiro’s groin. “Your power can be centred wherever works for you. Think about what you are drawn to. Think of your tongue, Hiro. Strong. Wet. Dexterous. It possesses its own kind of potency. A different, potent expression.” He paused, letting the suggestion take root. “Get dressed, Hiro.” Josh stood, pulling his briefs and jeans back up in one smooth motion, zipping and buckling with practised ease, his own arousal hidden but potent beneath the denim.
Hiro didn't rush, although Josh sensed a moment, as if that would be Hiro's instant reaction. His movements were now slow and deliberate, pulling his boxers and jeans back on, the t-shirt following. He kept his gaze focussed, not avoiding Josh’s eyes. His cheeks were flushed, but the rigid fear had lessened, replaced by a bewildered confusion.
“Good,” Josh said, settling back into his armchair, projecting calm authority. “Now, Hiro, show me your tongue.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. Hiro licked his dry lips nervously, then slowly opened his mouth, extending his tongue. It was pink, wet, and surprisingly thick, resting just beyond his lower lip.
"May I touch it?" Josh asked. Hiro nodded wordlessly. Josh reached out, calloused fingertips unexpectedly gentle as they brushed the slick surface of Hiro’s tongue. “Hmm. Meaty,” he murmured, his touch lingering. He traced the length, feeling the damp heat. “Strong. Look at that reach, that must be at least four inches. Such a wet, capable muscle.” Hiro groaned slightly at the touch but held his tongue out, eyes wide and fixed on Josh. “This,” Josh said, tapping the tip lightly, making Hiro gasp, “this is a powerful tool. A source of pleasure. Connection.” He withdrew his fingers. “Would you like to learn to wield it? To use this thick, wet tongue… like a big cock?”
Hiro’s breath quickened audibly. A spark ignited deep in his dark eyes, a flicker of desperate hope mingling with raw, unprocessed arousal. His gaze darted to Josh’s mouth. “Yes,” he breathed around his extended tongue, the word thick with need. “God, yes. Please.”
Josh didn’t hesitate. He surged forward from the chair, closing the distance between them. His large hands cupped Hiro’s face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. His eyes locked onto Hiro’s, holding him captive. Then he leaned in, covering Hiro’s mouth with his own.
He sucked Hiro’s tongue like a cock, hollowing his cheeks, applying deep, rhythmic pressure. His head bobbed minutely, mimicking the motion of fellatio. Hiro’s eyes flew wide, then fluttered shut, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, his hips beginning to thrust against his jeans. His hands flew down, fingers scrabbling to rub frantically over the denim bulge.
Josh broke the suction with a wet pop, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice a gritty command. “Stop. Hands down, Hiro. Not yet. Not on your cock. Not now.” His grip on Hiro’s face tightened. “Keep your hands still. Focus on your tongue. On what it can do.” Hiro whimpered, his hands freezing in mid-air before slowly, reluctantly, dropping to grip the sofa cushion again, knuckles white. His entire body trembled.
“Good boy,” Josh breathed, his own arousal a palpable heat radiating from him. “Now. Fuck my mouth with it. Thrust your tongue. Like you mean it.” He opened his mouth wide, an inviting, wet cavern.
Hiro needed no further invitation. With a desperate moan, he lunged forward, driving his thick, wet tongue deep into Josh’s mouth. He thrust it frantically, clumsily at first, then with growing fervour, pistoning it in and out, mimicking the desperate fucking motions Josh had described. Schlck. Schlck. Schlck. The obscene, wet sounds filled the mezzanine, punctuated by Hiro’s ragged gasps and whimpers. Josh groaned around the invading muscle, a deep, satisfied rumble vibrating against Hiro’s tongue. He guided Hiro’s head subtly, encouraging the rhythm, letting Hiro explore the slick heat of his mouth, the scrape of teeth, the yielding softness. Josh relaxed his jaw, allowing the deep penetration, his own tongue engaging, swirling around Hiro’s thrusting muscle, intensifying the sensation. Hiro’s moans escalated, raw and unfiltered, his hips grinding uselessly against the air, his trapped cock a desperate ache. He fucked Josh’s mouth with frantic abandon, lost in the hypnotic command and the overwhelming, forbidden pleasure. Spit slicked their chins, glistening in the afternoon light.
After minutes of Hiro’s desperate, sloppy tongue-fucking, Josh gently but firmly gripped Hiro’s shoulders, pulling him back. Hiro gasped, disoriented, blinking rapidly, a string of saliva connecting their lips. “Easy, Hiro,” Josh murmured, his voice thick with his own barely contained arousal. “Deep breath.” He maintained eye contact, his gaze commanding. Hiro sat back on the sofa and immediately began to relax, a contented grin hovering on his lips. Josh spent a few moments centring and grounding Hiro before bringing him back. “On my count… three… two… one… Eyes open. Wide awake. Fully present. Feeling refreshed, Hiro. Calm.”
Hiro blinked, taking a shuddering breath. The glaze lifted from his eyes, replaced by dazed bewilderment. He touched his swollen lips with trembling fingers, then instinctively looked down at his lap, colour flooding his cheeks again. He was still hard, but not entirely sure why.
Josh stood smoothly, walking to the small control panel for the cameras. He tapped it, the red lights blinking off. “Recording stopped,” he announced, his voice returning to its usual calm, professional timbre, though deeper than before. “How do you feel?”
“I… fuck,” Hiro stammered, running a hand through his hair, still breathing heavily. “That was… intense. My mouth feels… used? He looked at Josh, a mixture of awe and residual arousal in his eyes. “Did I… did I do it? The tongue thing?”
“You did exceptionally well, Hiro,” Josh reassured him, a genuine warmth in his smile now. “You surrendered beautifully to the suggestion. The exploration.” He gestured towards the sleek laptop on a side table. “Ready to see? To understand the shift?”
Hiro hesitated, then nodded, anticipation warring with residual embarrassment. “Yeah. Show me.”
Josh brought the laptop over, placing it on the low table before Hiro. He sat next to him on the couch and opened the video file – synced footage from the three angles, providing a comprehensive view of the mezzanine. He started the playback from just before Hiro undressed. “Observe without judgment, Hiro,” Josh instructed softly. “See the transformation.”
Hiro watched, transfixed and mortified, as his past self hesitated over the boxers. He saw the flash of fear, the desperate obedience as he dropped them. He winced at the full exposure of his tiny cock on the screen, his hunched posture radiating shame. Then Josh’s voice, calm and strangely accepting: "It’s perfect, Hiro… Cute. Like a little pearl button… Perfect in its own way." Hiro watched his own face on screen, the moment the rigid terror began to dissolve into bewildered relief.
He saw himself dress, watched Josh’s intense focus on his tongue. The touch. The question: "Would you like to learn to use this thick, wet tongue… like a big cock?" Hiro cringed slightly at his own eager, breathless "Yes!" on the recording.
Then came the kiss. Hiro watched, mesmerized and flushing deeply, as Josh devoured his mouth, as he sucked his tongue with focused intensity. He saw his own reaction – the wide-eyed shock melting into agonized pleasure, the involuntary hip thrust, the frantic scramble to touch himself, Josh’s sharp command stopping him. And then… he watched himself fuck Josh’s mouth. The raw, unbridled need on his own face as he thrust his tongue deep and hard, the slick sounds amplified, the desperate moans echoing in the quiet apartment. He saw Josh’s throat working, his groans of encouragement, the sheer carnality of it laid bare.
“Fuck,” Hiro breathed again, leaning closer to the screen, his own current arousal pulsing hotly in his jeans. His initial shame was rapidly being overtaken by a dawning fascination, a strange sense of power seeing himself lost in that act. “I… I really went for it.”
“You embraced the reassignment,” Josh confirmed, his gaze fixed on Hiro’s profile, reading the shifting emotions. “Your tongue was your cock in that moment. Your instrument of connection. Of power. Did it feel like power?”
Hiro paused the video, staring at the frozen image of his own face contorted in ecstasy as his tongue plunged into Josh’s mouth. He looked at Josh, a spark igniting deep within him. “Yeah,” he said, the word low but steady. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “It really fucking did.” He glanced at his watch, startled. “Shit. That felt like minutes… but it’s been over an hour?”
“Time shifts in deep work,” Josh said smoothly, closing the laptop. “We’ve made significant progress today, Hiro.”