Play Time

(c) Copyright 2000 by Wiseguy




Dr. Paul Evans, psychiatrist, clicked the OFF button on his 
mini tape recorder and set it down.  He'd give the tape to 
his assistant for transcribing later; for right then, he 
set it aside and looked over the hypnotic script on his 
computer screen one more time.

One eye crept back to the clock --  2:45pm; his wife Joyce 
would be in soon to say goodbye as usual before going home.  
It was an arrangement they'd made once Jeremy, now six 
years old, had started school.  Paul's office hours started 
at 10:00 and ended at 6:00; it was his job to get Jeremy 
up, fed, ready, and on the school bus every morning.  Joyce 
came in at 7:00 to open the office and take the first 
appointments, and left by 3:00 each day so that she would 
be home when Jeremy's bus dropped him off.  From Joyce and 
Paul's perspective, it was an ideal solution to the age-old 
work/family/daycare dilemma -- they each played a role in 
Jeremy's daily life, yet they could both continue to 
practice their profession on a reasonable schedule without 
stressing out over the hassles of modern day care.  Some of 
their patients, who found the available early and late 
appointment slots convenient, benefited as well.

Right on schedule, his office door opened and Joyce poked 
her head inside.  "Busy?"

"Not for you."

Joyce came inside the office, closing the door behind her, 
and plopped onto the analysis couch.  "Help me, Doctor," 
she said in mock distress, "I think I'm having a nervous 
breakdown."

Paul clucked his tongue sympathetically.  "The Donahue 
twins?"

Joyce smiled and nodded, a tired sigh escaping her lips.  
"Very perceptive, Doctor."  

Paul nodded.  Joyce's specialty was children with 
behavioral disorders; the Donahue twins were her most 
difficult patients:  a pair of identical 12-year-olds with 
a talent for draining the patience of the adults around 
them.  Paul had put them on a medication that seemed to 
help, but the parents were inconsistent about making sure 
the kids took it.

"I think I know exactly what you need, young lady," he 
said, putting on a comically fake Austrian accent.  "You 
need to spend a night making wild, passionate love with 
your psychiatrist."

"But Doctor," Joyce objected with a twinkle.  "What will my 
husband say?"

It was an old joke, of course, but they both laughed 
anyway.  Paul came over to his wife's side and took her 
hand, stroking it gently.  "Seriously, hon," he said.  "You 
look pretty stressed out.  I want you to relax some this 
afternoon.  Relax, let go, take it easy."

At the words 'relax, let go' Joyce's eyes fluttered a 
little bit.  "I know what you're doing," she said, "and I 
fully intend to.  Jeremy is spending the night at Alex's 
house, remember?  All I have to do is drop him off, and we 
get the whole night to ourselves."

"I remember," Paul confirmed, his voice staying low and 
steady.  "In fact, I'm looking forward to it.  We've both 
earned a little play time, Joyce..."

His wife's eyes widened in surprise for all of half a 
second, then glazed over and closed as she slipped into 
trance.  Paul savored the image; they'd done this to each 
other hundreds of times in their 10-year marriage, but the 
sight of his wife going deeply under at his command still 
put a lump in his throat -- not to mention his pants.

"Relax, Joyce," he continued.  "Deeper and deeper, not 
worrying about the time, just listening to my voice."  One 
eye on the clock, he deepened his wife's hypnotic state 
until he judged she was well under.  Then he reached into 
his briefcase and pulled out a shiny plastic toy:  a gun, 
adorned with colored lights and thunderbolts, labeled 
Galaxy Blaster Stun Gun.

"Now listen to me very carefully, Joyce ... "



Joyce's eyes snapped open.  She looked up at her husband in 
surprise, then chuckled softly at the impish grin on his 
face.  "Why do I keep letting you do that?" she asked.

"Because you always feel better afterwards," he suggested.

Joyce smiled back at him.  "You're right," she agreed.  "I 
do feel better.  Calmer, more refreshed, all good things."  
She peeked at the clock.  "But if I don't get out of here 
now, I'll be late for Jeremy's bus."

"Sorry, dear ... I just hate to see you leave here so 
fried."

Joyce rose from the couch and kissed him, a deep kiss that 
promised more to come.  She brushed a hand across the front 
of his pants and, feeling the erection inside, added, "Save 
that for later, okay?"  She walked out of the office at 
3:05, feeling content and in control.



For Joyce and Paul, it was a much-needed evening out:  
dinner at a four-star restaurant, followed by drinks and 
dancing.  By the time they got home it was late.

"That was wonderful," Joyce said to her husband, "but now 
I'm beat.  It's bed time."  She kicked off her shoes, 
picked them up and headed for the bedroom.

"Not so fast," Paul countered.  "I've got a little surprise 
for you."

Joyce turned and winked at him.  "If it's what I think it 
is, I've seen it before ... but you can show me again if 
you do it soon."

"You go ahead," he told her.  "I'll be right behind you."  
He watched appreciatively as his wife slinked up the stairs 
in her clingy black dress.  She put a little extra sway in 
her hips to encourage him.

Paul waited until she was out of sight then retrieved the 
ray gun from his briefcase.   He hid it behind his back and 
followed her into the bedroom.

Joyce was standing in front of her vanity when he reached 
the bedroom.  She had already let down her long brown hair, 
and was in the process of removing jewelry.  "I hate to 
waste the opportunity," she said to his reflection in the 
mirror, "but honestly, I'm too tired for anything 
elaborate.  Can we just have a quickie tonight, and maybe 
set the alarm a little early?"

"Sure," he said with a sneaky smile, bringing the toy gun 
into view and aiming it at her.

Joyce froze and looked quizzically at the gun.  "What are 
you going to do," she joked, "screw me at gunpoint?"

"Close," he said, and pulled the trigger.  Red and green 
lights flashed where the gun's muzzle was, and it emitted a 
high-pitched warbling sound.

Joyce gasped at the sound and dropped the earring she had 
been in the process of removing.  A sensation gripped her, 
that of a half-dozen hands and mouths kissing, stroking, 
licking the most sensitive areas of her body.  In seconds 
her nipples became hard and distended, her breathing 
labored, her sex steamy and slick.  "What the --" she 
turned to face her husband, bewilderment on her face, to 
see him pull the trigger again.

The sensation hit her again, twice as powerful as the first 
time.  She moaned out loud and fell back against the wall, 
one hand pawing at her breasts, the other going straight to 
her crotch -- whether her hands were there to protect or to 
further stimulate she didn't know or care.  Part of her 
mind, the professional therapist, detached itself a little 
bit and admired the strength and ingenuity of what must be 
a posthypnotic suggestion while her body quivered with 
sexual energy.

Paul fired the gun a third time and Joyce's mind shut down 
completely for a few seconds as a thundering orgasm ripped 
through her body.  She squealed with delight as her legs 
buckled beneath her, her body sliding down to a sitting 
position on the floor.

Paul watched with lust in his eyes as Joyce's orgasm 
subsided, letting her catch a couple of breaths.  He came 
closer, standing over and her, smiling wickedly.  When 
Joyce's eyes opened and looked up at him, he lifted the gun 
and fired one more time.

Joyce saw the lights and heard the sound, and then squealed 
again with the impact of a second orgasm.  She quivered and 
heaved on the floor, feeling the aftershocks, waiting to 
see if he would do it again.

But he didn't.  Paul set the toy gun aside and knelt down 
next to his wife, who was slowly collecting her wits.  "Two 
orgasms," he said teasingly, "and you're not even undressed 
yet.  How's that for a quickie?"

"Hoo-boy," Joyce panted, regaining her breath.  "A little 
foreplay would have been nice, though."

Paul took his wife's hands and helped her to her feet.  He 
reached behind her, found the zipper at the back of her 
dress, and pulled it down slowly.  "Baby," he said in a 
low, sexy voice, "that was the foreplay."  His hands 
slipped the dress off her shoulders as he drew her in for a 
kiss.  Their lips met and their tongues met as they kissed, 
each of them now working at the other's clothes.  In a few 
minutes they were both naked and made their way to the bed.  
Joyce sat down first and let herself fall backward; Paul 
took the hint and positioned himself between her legs, then 
inserted himself into her dripping, waiting slit.  Joyce 
was still highly aroused from the two orgasms, and Paul was 
high on the sexual thrill of watching his suggestions work 
on her; it wasn't log before they were both grunting and 
moaning through their climaxes -- her third, his only.




"That," Joyce declared at breakfast the next morning, "was 
depraved."  

"What?"  Paul looked across the table at her, liking the 
sparkle in her eyes.

"Turning an innocent child's toy into an orgasm gun, of 
course."

He grinned sheepishly at her.  "Yeah, a little bit," he 
agreed.  "But you have to admit it was fun."

Joyce shivered as her body remembered the sensations that 
had come from Paul's use of the gun.  "Of course it was 
fun.  More than fun -- I'm tempted to take the day off and 
spend it in bed shooting myself every few minutes. "

"In that case, let me get you some fresh batteries."

Joyce wadded up her napkin and threw it at Paul, who 
ducked.  "Were you this much of a pervert when I married 
you?" 

"Of course," he replied innocently.  "That's why you 
married me."

She made a show of smacking her forehead.  "I knew there 
had to be some reason!"  Her eye fell on the stove clock.  
"Yikes!  I need to get out of here."  They shared a tender 
kiss, then Joyce fled to the office.

Jeremy would be riding to school with the friends who'd let 
him stay overnight, so Paul had the morning off.  He spent 
some time straightening up the kitchen and bedroom.  He 
started to put the gun back in Jeremy's toy box, then 
stopped -- the night before had been an awful lot of fun, 
and Jeremy hardly ever played with the gun himself.  
Smiling broadly, he took it back to the bedroom and dropped 
it on the night stand by his side of the bed.



Joyce got home at 3:20, just in time to see Jeremy's bus 
drive up to the end of the block and discharge a few dozen 
kids.  Jeremy, a leggy six-year-old who enjoyed showing off 
his long stride, saw his mom at the mailbox and covered the 
half-block between them at a full run.  His arms flew 
around her waist and he almost pulled them both to the 
ground with the impact.  "Mommyyyyyyy!!"

"How was your day, sweetie?" she asked, adoring the happy 
look on his face.

"Great!" he replied emphatically.  "I got a 'Great Job' 
sticker on my math paper, and I got to play with Elliott at 
recess."

"Ooooohh," Joyce said.  "Are you ready to go inside now?"

"Yup -- I'm hungry!"

Joyce chuckled.  The school served lunch at 10:45, a 
ridiculously early hour in her opinion when the kids were 
in school until 3:00.  As a result, Jeremy always came home 
from school looking for a snack.  "Okay, hon.  You go wash 
up, and I'll fix you an apple."

"Cool!"  Jeremy vanished down the hallway and into the 
powder room.  A few seconds later he came out again.  "Mom, 
the soap pump is empty."

Joyce took the empty hand soap bottle from him.  "Why don't 
you use Mommy and Daddy's bathroom, and I'll fill this up 
later?" 

Jeremy made the 'OK' sign and dashed upstairs to this 
parents' bathroom.  Joyce selected a red delicious apple 
from the fruit bin in the refrigerator, cored it, and cut 
it into slices the way Jeremy liked.  She set it on the 
table in a plastic bowl, then added a glass of milk and a 
graham cracker.  At that point her maternal sense told her 
that Jeremy had gotten sidetracked; he'd been gone too 
long.  "Come on, Jeremy, I've got your snack ready."

As she was washing the knife, she heard the boy's footsteps 
stomping down the stairs.  She put the knife down and 
turned just in time to see him leap into the kitchen 
doorway with one hand behind his back.  "An alien!" he 
shouted.  "AAAACK!"  The hidden hand came out, and there 
was a shiny plastic gun pointed at Joyce.  Before she could 
react, Jeremy pulled the trigger.  

Red and green lights flashed, and the high-pitched warbling 
sound came out loud and clear.  Joyce felt her body quiver 
as the sensation of a half-dozen hands and mouths tingled 
and teased her once again.  She let out a gasp to go with 
her surprised face.

Jeremy waved the gun menacingly at her.  "Die, alien scum!" 
he shouted, and pulled the trigger again.

Joyce's mouth dropped open, but no words would come out, 
only a heavy groan as the stimulation doubled.  Her entire 
body caught fire once again; her arms grabbed and stroked, 
and her legs buckled.

This time Jeremy giggled gleefully at his mother; she's so 
funny, he thought to himself as he watched her gasping and 
moaning, pretending that his little ray gun was stunning 
her.  He took a few steps closer and shot her again.  His 
mommy shrieked and made a really funny face, and she 
plopped down on the floor like she was really being hit by 
a ray gun.  Cackling with sadistic pleasure at his mom's 
overacting, Jeremy fired the gun again and again.  Each 
time Mommy reacted by making more of those really funny 
noises and clutching herself like she'd been hit.

After a few more shots, Jeremy decided he'd had enough.  
His mommy, however, stayed on the floor panting and 
gasping.  "You can stop dying now, Mom," he told her with 
all the wisdom of his years.  "It's not a real gun, you 
know."

Joyce gathered herself together enough to speak.  "I know, 
honey," she said between heavy breaths.  "Why don't you 
give Mommy the gun, and you can sit down and have your 
snack now?"

Jeremy looked over at his apple and graham cracker.  
"Okay," he agreed cheerfully.  He handed the gun to his 
flushed, prostrate mother, sat down at the table, and 
started eating.

Joyce slowly regained her feet.  Her legs felt wobbly and 
weak, but they carried her upstairs to her bedroom.  She 
sat heavily on the edge of the bed.  Her fingers found the 
little trap door in the butt of the gun and opened it, 
letting two AA batteries fall into her hand.  She tossed 
them under the dresser and let herself fall backward onto 
the bed, the now-unloaded gun landing somewhere beside her, 
for a much-needed rest.

She lay there for maybe a minute in silence, regaining her 
breath, and then started to chuckle softly.  Isn't that 
just like a 6-year-old, she thought.  The one toy in the 
house you don't want him to pick up ...  The more she 
thought about it, the louder her laughter became.  She 
pictured herself in the kitchen, gasping and moaning out of 
control, in the throes of orgasm after orgasm, and her 
little boy laughing himself silly thinking she was playing 
along with his game.  What else would it look like from his 
point of view?  she thought, laughing even more at the 
surreal image in her mind.

In a few minutes the weirdness wore off and Joyce was back 
to slow, easy breathing.  She grabbed some fresh clothes -- 
her panties and hose were sopping wet in the crotch, and 
there was a corresponding wet spot on the dark skirt she'd 
been wearing -- and cleaned herself up, then rejoined 
Jeremy in the kitchen.



Later, while Jeremy was engrossed in the day's episode of 
Digimon, Joyce had a mischievous thought of her own.  
Retiring again to the bedroom, she picked up the phone and 
dialed Paul's direct number. 

"Hello?"

"Hi there, loverboy," she said, her voice low and sultry.  
"Are you wearing your headset?"  She'd given him one for 
his last birthday to make long phone consultations more 
comfortable.

"Not at the moment," he replied.  "Should I be?"

"I'll make it worth your while," she promised.

"Well, since you put it that way ... "  She heard a soft 
click, then Paul's voice came back.  "Okay."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes.  And the door is closed.  Is this going to become an 
obscene phone call?"  She could hear the anticipation in 
his voice.  Good, she thought.

"Deep trance, darling," she said, slowly and evenly.  
"Deeper and deeper, letting go, letting me take care of 
you."  She pictured his head dropping down on the desk, his 
ears picking up her words as they always did when she used 
this trigger on him.  She talked him deeper, making sure he 
was completely under and ready to receive suggestions.  A 
slow, satisfied smile grew on her face as she readied for 
the next step.

"Now listen very carefully, darling ... "



Back in his office, Paul looked at the phone in mild 
annoyance.  Who the hell was that? he thought.  I hate it 
when people just call and hang up.



"Mommy, Mommy -- Daddy's home!"

Joyce came out to the family room and looked out the 
window.  Sure enough, Paul was just getting out of his car.  
She grabbed a nearby toy -- a big, round, clocklike toy 
with a pull string and a single arrow-shaped hand.  Around 
the perimeter of the toy's face were pictures of common 
barnyard animals.  "Here, Jeremy," she said, handing him 
the toy.  "When Daddy comes in, show him how you've learned 
to spell all of the names of the animals.  If you pull the 
cord, he'll make the noise of whatever animal it points to. 
"

Jeremy looked puzzled.  "Daddy doesn't make animal noises," 
he said.

Joyce grinned broadly.  "He does tonight." 


-wg
9/20/00