Chapter 4: Confession Under Trance
The hypnotherapy office felt suddenly smaller, hotter. The scent of lavender and chamomile fading now, utterly overwhelmed by the raw musk of Ken’s arousal and the thick, wet smell of his drool and precum. Ken stood rigidly at attention, a grotesque parody of military bearing. His thick, grey-haired legs trembled slightly. His meaty pecs and firm belly showing the quickening of his breath. Below, the black lace thong was plastered obscenely to his straining erection by the constant stream of saliva pouring from his slack mouth. Drool pooled in the soaked fabric, overflowed, and dripped steadily onto his hairy thighs and the polished wood floor. Plink. Plink. His cock pulsed visibly beneath the transparent lace, a trapped beast slick with its own captivity.
Josh circled him slowly, boots clicking softly. His own cock throbbed against the fine wool of his trousers. He stopped directly in front of Ken, forcing the older man’s unfocused gaze downward onto his own expensive leather boots. "Look at you," Josh murmured, his voice a low, resonant hum that vibrated in Ken’s skull. "So fucking perfect. Drowning in your own need." He reached out, not touching Ken’s skin, but tracing a finger through the air just above the wet lace straining over Ken’s cockhead. Ken shuddered violently, a choked whimper escaping his drooling lips. A fresh gush of spit splashed onto Josh’s boot toe.
Josh didn’t flinch. He watched the viscous fluid bead on the polished leather. "Good boy," he purred. "That’s exactly right. Offering yourself." He stepped closer, invading Ken’s space completely. The heat radiating from Ken’s body was intense. "But we need to go deeper, Ken. We need to unlock that peace. That freedom." Josh’s voice dropped, becoming impossibly smooth, weaving back into the hypnotic cadence. "You’re floating. Safe. Open. Your mind is a clear pool reflecting only truth, only desire." He paused, letting the silence press in, broken only by Ken’s ragged breathing and the wet drip of saliva. "Tell me, Ken, if there were no rules, no limits, no fucking shame, what would you want right now? What would you do?"
Ken’s jaw worked. Spit bubbled on his lips. His voice, when it came, was thick, dreamlike, stripped of hesitation. "Touch," he slurred. "Want touch. Want mouth."
"Whose mouth, Ken?" Josh pressed, his own breath hot on Ken’s ear. "Be specific. Truth."
"Yours," Ken groaned, hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Your mouth. Doc. Sir. On me. Suck. Suck cock." The words tumbled out, raw and desperate. "Through lace. Taste me."
Josh smiled, a cold, predatory curve of his lips. He hadn’t expected that detail. Delicious. "And if I did? If I put my mouth right here?" Josh’s fingertip brushed the air just above the soaked lace bulge. Ken gasped, his whole body tensing. "What then? What would you be?"
"Yours," Ken breathed, the word a sigh of utter surrender. "Slut. Your slut. Sir."
"And as my slut, those are your words Ken, what would you do?"
"An... anything. Lick, suck, fuck."
The admission hung in the thick air. Josh savored it. The iron-hard veteran reduced to a drooling, lace-clad slut begging for his mouth. But he needed more. Explicit, verbal surrender. "And this session, Ken," Josh continued, his hypnotic voice wrapping around Ken’s mind like silk ropes. "If there were no boundaries, no professional lines, how would it continue? What would I do to you?"
Ken’s glazed eyes flickered. A deeper moan rumbled in his chest. His hips pushed forward again, seeking contact that wasn’t there. "Suh... Suck on. My tits." "And?" "Fuck" he gasped. "Fuck me, Sir. Use… use hole. Hard. I deserve. Fill me. Your cum." His voice cracked. "Mark me. Own me. Make me. Filthy whore."
There it was. The unfiltered, subconscious consent. The damning admission Josh needed. The hypocrisy laid bare and offered up on a platter of lace and drool. Josh’s control snapped.
"On your knees," Josh commanded, his voice dropping all pretense, becoming harsh, guttural. "Now!"
Ken dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. His knees hit the thick rug with a heavy thud. He remained rigidly upright, head bowed, drool still cascading onto his lap and the floor between his spread thighs. His eyes remained glazed, fixed on Josh’s boots.
Josh unzipped his trousers with deliberate slowness, the sound loud in the silent room. His thick, uncut cock sprang free, already fully hard, glistening at the tip. He gripped the base, giving it a rough stroke. "Look," he ordered.
Ken’s head lifted slowly. His unfocused eyes tracked upwards, over Josh’s tailored trousers, past his belt, settling on the thick, veined cock presented before him. A fresh wave of drool spilled from his lips. A low, hungry groan vibrated in his throat.
"Clean your mess off my boot," Josh growled. "With your fucking tongue."
Ken didn’t hesitate. He bent forward, his thick neck straining. His broad, rough tongue, slick with his own spit, rasped over the polished leather toe of Josh’s boot. He lapped at the drool he’d deposited, his movements clumsy but fervent, moaning as he tasted the leather, the salt of his own spit, the faint dust of the floor. He licked with desperate hunger, polishing the boot with his tongue, his nose pressing into the leather.
"Good slut," Josh grunted, watching the obscene display. He shifted his foot slightly. "Now the other one." Ken obeyed instantly, turning his head, dragging his wet tongue over the other boot with the same fervent desperation. Josh let him work for a minute, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the office, Ken’s muffled moans vibrating against the leather.
Finally, Josh nudged Ken’s shoulder with his boot. "Enough. Look up." Ken lifted his head, face smeared, lips wet and slack. Josh gripped his cock again, tapping the swollen head against Ken’s drool-slicked lips. "Open wide. Show me that hungry fucking hole."
Ken’s mouth fell open, tongue lolling out, offering himself. Josh didn’t tease. He shoved his cock forward, ramming the thick head past Ken’s lips and teeth, deep into his throat in one brutal thrust.
"Guhhhhk!" Ken choked, eyes bulging, body convulsing. Tears sprang instantly to his eyes. Josh held himself deep, feeling Ken’s throat muscles spasm wildly around his invading girth. He pulled back slightly, letting Ken gasp for air, ropes of spit and pre-cum stretching between Ken’s lips and his cockhead.
"Suck it, whore," Josh snarled, fisting a hand in Ken’s grey hair. "Suck it like the intolerant fucking cocksleeve you are." He shoved forward again, fucking Ken’s face with short, brutal strokes. Ken gagged violently with each thrust, drool and tears streaming down his face, but his throat opened, trying to accommodate, his tongue instinctively lapping at the underside of Josh’s shaft. The wet, choking sounds, the guttural grunts from Josh, the slap of flesh – it was a symphony of degradation.
"Look at me," Josh commanded. Ken stopped, his face a mess of fluids, his eyes content. "Is this what you want? Do you enjoy this?" "Love. Please. No stop." Ken managed through a mouthful of fluids.
Josh fucked Ken’s throat relentlessly, watching the veteran’s face contort in a mask of suffocation and abject submission. He felt the tight heat, the desperate swallowing motions, the scrape of teeth just barely held back. He pulled out completely, leaving Ken gasping, coughing, strings of thick saliva hanging from his chin. "Stand up," Josh ordered, voice thick with arousal. "Bend over the desk. Ass up. Spread those fucking cheeks."
Ken scrambled to obey, movements clumsy but frantic. He stumbled to the sturdy oak desk, bending forward, planting his large, rough hands flat on the surface. He pushed his ass back, spreading his thick, hairy legs, presenting himself. The black lace thong, already soaked with drool and pre-cum, strained against his exposed hole. Josh stepped close, running a hand over the firm, hairy globe of Ken’s ass. He hooked his fingers into the sides of the lace thong.
"Are you clean?" Josh demanded. Ken nodded. "Tell me more." "In shower. Finger. And water. Clean. No smell on panties."
"Filthy slut," Josh breathed, his voice rough. "Wearing this fucking faggot lace for me." With a sharp tug, he ripped the delicate fabric down, tearing it away from Ken’s body. He tossed the ruined scrap aside. Ken’s hole, pink and tight, clenched nervously against the cool office air. Josh spat thickly onto his fingers, then pressed them firmly against Ken’s exposed pucker. Ken gasped, pushing back instinctively against the intrusion.
"Fucking hungry for it, aren't you?" Josh growled, working a thick finger inside the tight ring of muscle. Ken groaned, deep and guttural, pushing back harder. Josh added a second finger, scissoring them roughly, stretching Ken open. The older man whimpered, his knuckles white on the desk. "Yeah, take it," Josh hissed, curling his fingers, searching. He found the spot. Ken cried out, his body jerking, his cock, still hard and dripping, swinging heavily between his legs. "There it is, you fucking pervert. That’s your spot." Josh worked his fingers ruthlessly against Ken’s prostate, watching the older man shudder and moan, his ass pushing back desperately onto Josh’s hand.
"Please…" Ken gasped, the word thick with drool and need. "Please, Sir… fuck me… Stuff me…"
Josh’s fingers, thick and relentless inside Ken’s clenching hole, pressed harder against the swollen gland, drawing a broken sob from the man bent over his desk. Ken’s knuckles were bone-white against the dark wood, his hairy ass trembling, presenting his wet, stretched hole like a desperate offering. Josh wanted nothing more than to slam his aching cock into that raw heat, to feel Ken’s body convulse around him, to hear him scream submission. His own need was a live wire sparking under his skin.
But the image of Ken collapsing mid-fuck, a panic attack shredding the fragile hypnosis, flashed cold water on his lust. Too soon. Too fragile. Dangerous.
He withdrew his fingers with a slick, wet pop that echoed obscenely in the quiet office. Ken whimpered, his entire body jerking at the sudden emptiness, his hole twitching visibly. "Fuck… Sir, please… need it…"
"Shut up, Ken," Josh commanded, his voice rough but controlled, wiping his glistening fingers on the back of Ken’s hairy thigh. He stepped back, the leather of his boots creaking on the polished floor. The air reeked of sweat, precum, spit, and Ken’s raw, animal need. "Stand up. Face me."
Ken obeyed, clumsy and shuddering, his thick cock rock-hard and weeping, the ripped remnants of the lace thong clinging pathetically around one ankle. His face was a mess of tears, drool, and utter, abject craving. He swayed, barely able to meet Josh’s eyes.
"Look at this fucking mess," Josh sneered, gesturing dismissively at Ken’s debauched state. "Dripping like a cheap whore." He paced slowly, the predator circling wounded prey, letting the tension coil tighter. Ken’s breath hitched with every step. "You want my cock that badly, soldier? You want me to use that greedy hole?"
"Yes, Sir! Please, sir!" Ken rasped, his voice shredded.
"Then you fucking earn it." Josh stopped directly in front of him, his gaze boring into Ken’s glazed eyes. "You work for it. Like a good, needy slut."
Ken nodded frantically, a fresh string of drool escaping his slack lips. "Anything, Sir! Instruct me, sir!"
"First," Josh stated, his tone shifting to icy precision, "those panties. That black lace you wore for me." He watched Ken flinch slightly. "Stop fucking hating yourself for wanting them. That lace makes your slutty cock look pretty. Be proud of it. Understand?"
Ken swallowed hard. "Proud… Sir?"
"Fucking proud," Josh snapped. "You like feeling them, don't you? The slide? The tightness? The secret?" Ken managed another jerky nod. "Good. Now, listen carefully. When you sense another man might be interested… maybe checking you out at the bar, the store, the fucking park bench… you show him. Casually. Just a flash. Let him see Ken the big, strong man wearing slutty panties for cock."
Ken’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic beneath the haze. "Show… show them, sir?"
"Show them," Josh repeated, relentless. "And you film it. Every fucking time. His face. His reaction. Your slutty lace-covered cock. Send it to me. Evidence of your progress, Ken. Proof you’re embracing your true fucking nature." He leaned in close, his breath hot on Ken’s ear. "Can you do that for me? For a chance at my cock?"
"Yes, Sir! I will! Show them! Film it!" Ken babbled, the promise overriding the shame.
"Good slut." Josh stepped back, his own arousal a demanding throb. "Now. You’re dripping. Time for clean up. Show me how much you love my orders. How much you need release." He folded his arms, his gaze dropping pointedly to Ken’s leaking cock. "Bring yourself off. Right now. Work that fucking cock like the desperate animal you are."
Ken’s hand shot down, fumbling, slick with his own spit and sweat, wrapping around his thick, reddened shaft. A choked groan tore from his throat as he began to pump, rough and frantic. His other hand grabbed one of his own heavy pecs, pinching the nipple hard. His movements were clumsy, desperate, the wet slapping sound loud in the room. His head rolled back, mouth hanging open, drool spilling freely down his chin onto his heaving chest. "Sir… fuck… Sir…"
Josh watched, a cold, calculating satisfaction warring with the primal urge to shove Ken back down onto his cock. He saw the tension building, Ken’s balls tightening, his thrusts becoming wilder, more erratic. "Not yet," Josh murmured, but Ken was beyond hearing, lost in the frantic climb.
"Coming! Oh fuck, Sir, cummmmmm!" Ken gasped, his back arching grotesquely.
Josh quickly kneeled in front of Ken and let his jizz fire into his waiting mouth, catching every drop on his tongue. He held only the tip of Ken's cock between his lips as Ken's orgasm subsided. Then he stood and kissed Ken deeply, feeding his own cum to him. Ken moaned, his knees shaking. Swallowing some himself, he ordered Ken to do the same and stepped back.
Josh watched the obscene spectacle: the grizzled veteran, panties destroyed, covered in spit and tears, frantically swallowing his own cum like a starved dog. Ken slumped, gasping, his mouth smeared white, still licking his lips instinctively. Utterly spent. Utterly debased. Utterly needy.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Josh checked his watch. Tuesday. Almost 5 PM. Marco would be finishing his heavy sets at the gym right about now. The dumb, bigoted himbo with his loud mouth and fragile masculinity. Perfect. Ken was a promising neophyte, primed for the next task but safely contained for now.
"Clean yourself up, Ken," Josh said, his voice now warm, already mentally shifting gears. He handed Ken a stack of washcloths and Ken began methodically removing all evidence. "Ken, your hazy memory of this session will be recalling a need to remove your underwear and throw them in the bin as a symbol of your feelings. We discussed that those feelings might not be real." He zipped his trousers, the bulge still prominent. Ken was dressed now and sitting comfortably, barely a mark to show his recent excitements. "And remember your assignment. Evidence. And Ken?" Ken looked at him with a trusting, sated stare. "Stay needy."
Josh slowly brought Ken round, instructing him on the exit word, "Absorption". A brief exit interview - how Ken had done really well, that he'd accessed some deep emotional trauma that had been released leading to Ken's currently raw throat. Ken felt better. Relieved. More understood. Less angry. He would like another session ASAP. Josh says he needs some time for their work to really affect him, so they diary another session for the following week. Ken says he almost wants to hug Josh, but Josh reminds him that would be inappropriate.
The door clicked shut behind him. The scent of sweat, sex, and submission lingered in the sterile office. Josh loved it when his working day ended like this. He finished up his professional notes, made some additions to his private spreadsheet and gathered his things to leave. Once outside, Josh breathed the cooler hallway air, already picturing Marco’s arrogant sneer. The gym awaited. He wanted to say fresh meat, but Marco was a long way from being fresh in his life. But he was the hottest of his current hareem.
Josh’s leather soles echoed on the linoleum as he pushed through the gym’s heavy doors. The familiar assault hit him: the metallic clang of weights, the grunts of exertion, the pervasive stink of sweat, ammonia, and cheap citrus cleaner. Fluorescent lights glared off the polished equipment and cold tile. He scanned the crowded floor, his gaze instinctively seeking the thickest concentration of arrogant posturing. There.
Marco postured in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors, flexing his overdeveloped biceps like a cartoon character. His chest, thick with coarse hair, strained against the limits of his muscle mass. A pair of thick-rimmed glasses sat askew on his nose, a pathetic attempt to project an air of intelligence that his vacant expression betrayed. His moustache, meticulously manicured, twitched as he smirked, revealing a hint of disdain.
His bulging arms were crisscrossed with veins, a roadmap of his obsession with physical power. A thin scar snaked across his chest, a souvenir from a bar fight he liked to embellish with tales of heroic bravery. His stomach, though rippled with muscle, also bore the soft curve of burgeoning fat, a testament to his unhealthy diet and reliance on supplements.
Below his waist, his thick, circumcised cock hung heavy in his flimsy shorts, its size a source of pride and the focus of his insecurity. It bobbed slightly as he shifted his weight, a crude symbol of his dominance. He exuded an air of arrogance, a bully masquerading as a scholar, his mean, bigoted attitude simmering just beneath the surface of his forced grin. Marco was a walking contradiction, a dumb himbo desperately trying to convince the world he was something he wasn't.
Marco headed to the heavy incline press, lying back on the bench, thick legs planted wide. Sweat sheened his chest, matting the dense dark hair that covered his pecs and trailed down his ridged abdomen. The pointless glasses perched on his nose fogged slightly with each explosive exhale. His shaggy, dark hair was plastered to his temples, framing the porn-star-worthy moustache and dense stubble darkening his jaw. Every straining rep showcased the sheer density of his muscles – thick biceps, slabs of pectoral, shoulders like boulders. Pure, sculpted himbo wrapped in a scruffy nerd aesthetic. Josh’s mouth watered, recalling the sheer girth of Marco’s cock barely concealed beneath those baggy shorts. Thicker than anything else he’d ever taken. A fucking dream choked with hypocrisy.
Josh moved deliberately, weaving through rows of treadmills. He started a slow jog, eyes fixed on Marco finishing his set with a final, guttural shout, slamming the barbell onto the rack. Marco sat up, chest heaving, wiping his face with the hem of his sweat-soaked tank top, exposing a strip of hairy lower belly. He caught Josh’s stare. A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes behind the glasses. He stood, stretching his thick arms overhead, making a show of his bulk. Then he sauntered over, the strut of a man who owned the space.
Marco stopped a foot away, close enough for Josh to catch the sharp tang of his sweat and the stale musk beneath it. "Alright prick. Look who crawled out of his therapist hole," Marco sneered, adjusting his glasses with a thick finger, his bicep bulging. "Still trying to fix all the broken fucks, Doc? Or just scoping the real men?" His voice was loud, meant to carry, a performance for anyone nearby.
Josh kept his expression neutral, a faint, smirk playing on his lips. "Just getting my miles in, Marco, you twat." He said, loudly enough to carry. He kept jogging, the rhythmic thump of his feet loud on the treadmill belt. "Seemed like you were putting in some decent work yourself. That last rep looked solid." The praise was deliberate, disarming.
Marco puffed his chest out, the damp tank top clinging to his solid pecs. "Fucking right it was solid. Not like some of these limp-wristed pussies barely curling the bar." He spat the words with contempt, his gaze sweeping dismissively across the gym floor. "Place is going downhill fast."
Josh slowed the treadmill to a walk, his breathing steady. He met Marco’s gaze directly, letting his eyes lock onto the smug hazel ones behind the glasses. "Maybe they just need the right… motivation. A push in the right direction." Josh’s voice softened slightly, weaving a familiar, subtle cadence beneath the surface. A faint tingle started at Marco’s temples, unnoticed. "Focus, Marco. Feel that pump? That heat in your muscles? That’s real. Nothing else matters right now."
Marco blinked, his sneer faltering for a split second. He shifted his weight, his thick hand rubbing unconsciously at the sweat on his neck. "Uh, yeah. Fucking burning." His voice lost a fraction of its edge. "Good burn."
"Exactly. Embrace that intensity," Josh murmured, his voice a low, resonant hum that vibrated in Marco’s skull. "That pure, animal drive. Primal." He held eye contact, reinforcing the suggestion. "Sometimes you just need to let it out. Unleash it." Marco’s pupils dilated slightly beneath the lenses. Josh saw the flicker of confusion, the internal struggle as the suggestion blossomed inside his mind. "Locker room’s quiet now. Perfect for a proper stretch-down. Really let go. It'll be drooltastic"
Marco stared, momentarily transfixed, his usual bravado seeming muted. He shook his head slightly, like trying to dislodge a fly. "Yeah, stretch. Good idea. Back’s tight." He turned, his movements slightly less sure than his earlier strut, heading for the locker room door. Josh watched him go, a predatory stillness settling over him. He gave it a minute, letting the suggestion deepen in the quiet space Josh had carved in Marco’s mind.