Title: The Kacknotist
Author: bobwhite
Summary: A hypnotist ensnares the wife of a telepath, but ends up on
the short end of the stick.
Keywords: MC MF MD

The Kacknotist
by bobwhite


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*Author's note: I'd like to extend all of my thanks to Bankington,
whose innocent typo inspired what is probably the only hypnosis story
I'll ever write.

                          * * * * * * * * * *

I'd been away on business for about a month--much too long for my
tastes, but when you do freelance work for the government, it's to be
expected. I had missed my wife quite a bit, but when I came home and
she told me she'd been seeing a hypnotherapist to help relieve her
stress, I was concerned.

Having a telepath around the house means never having to worry about
much, so I understood why the stress might be a bit much without me
around. But, that did not explain why I detected some really bad
things in her head that I'd have to fix.

Thankfully, the good doctor had invited us to dinner. Somehow, I just
knew I'd get my answers there (as if I needed to hear them).

                          * * * * * * * * * *

"So, you're the 'doctor' who's been helping my wife with her job-
related stress, right? You're a--a kacknotist, is it?" I asked the
pudgy, balding man who I knew had been fucking my wife behind my back
during her stress-relief sessions.

Rolling his eyes at my remark, he cleared his throat and replied,
"that's right, Mr. MacInnis. My name is Dr. Philip Esben, and I'm the
HYPnotist who treats your wife. I've asked you here to my home for two
reasons. One: your wife's treatments are complete and she can happily
begin the rest of her stress-free life. Two: you need to be prepared
for that life." He cracked an evil smile as he fumbled in his pockets
for something--probably his stopwatch.

"If you want to hypnotize me so I can deal with Sarah's new stress-
free life, then you'll have to be fast. We have somewhere to be," I
announced. Again, he cracked an evil smile.

"Well, we'll see about that..." he mumbled before giving up the search
for his watch and grabbing a fork with a bit of kielbasa on it. "OK,
well, this'll have to do. Tell me, John, have you ever been hypnotized
before?"

"No, and I don't think I can be hypnotized." As I told him that, he
began to move the fork back and forth, the Polish sausage on the end
of it acting like a light (but delicious) weight on the improvised
pendulum.

"Well, let me try. It's imperative to your future that you know how
things will be from now on," the good doctor noted rather smugly. "Oh,
and Sarah? Pancakes with syrup." Instantly, my wife actually began to
look a bit sleepy--and, by the way she was pawing at her B-cup tits, a
bit horny, too. A moan escaped her lips.

Ignoring my wife, I remarked, "You're going to hypnotize me with a
piece of sausage? I've never seen it used for THAT before!" I barely
got the last sentence out--I was trying not to laugh in his face! When
I noticed that my wife was topless, though, my laughter stopped and I
focused my attention on the doctor and his swinging sausage.

"Just focus on the piece of meat. Let the world drift away... there is
nothing in the room... just you... and me... and this sausage. Mmmmmm,
you love sausage, don't... you?" He was speech was slowing down, and
it was pretty annoying--but I do love sausage, so I politely contained
my laughter and let him continue.

"Let the sausage take you to a... place... of... pure... relaxation.
... Just... breathe... slowly... yes... you're relaxing... and...
going... deeper..."

My eyes were barely open, but I could still make out the sausage. I
began to wonder if he had ever successfully hypnotized a person with a
chunk of meat on a fork. It just seemed stupid to me.

"Deeeeeeper... deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeper... wheeeen... I...
coooount... toooooo... threeeeeee... you... will... faaaaaaaaaall...
intooooooo... aaaaa... deeeeeep... traaaaaaaance. ... Oooooooone...
twooooooooooo... threeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

Opening my eyes at the thud, and smiling, I looked at the doctor's
body. He was slumped over in his chair at the dining room table, and
his head had fallen face-first into his plate of kielbasa and
sauerkraut. It would have been funnier if my wife wasn't licking his
ear and playing with herself--she had gotten naked only a minute or
two after her trigger words were uttered.

Ignoring Dr. Snoresalot, I focused my mind on my wife. I quickly found
the hypnotic suggestions and modifications he had made to her
personality and removed them. I also removed the post-hypnotic
suggestions. Strangely, 'pancakes' meant topless, and 'syrup' meant
bottomless. What an original idea--for a hypnotist. I would have to do
something really impressive, though, to knock the devotion she had
built for Dr. Douchebag right out of her pretty head.

I knew just how to do it. I telepathically told my wife to start
playing with her clit, and she obeyed with glee. Turning my attention
to the doctor, I commanded (in a mock Dracula voice for effect),
"Doctor, please clear the table, blah!--and do it all zombie-trance
like, blah!" The doctor stood up, with his arms held straight out in
front of him, walked to the side of the table, and swept all the food
to the floor with his outstretched arms. And, at another mental nudge,
my wife was on her back on the table, masturbating and panting like a
really horny wild animal.

Pulling my erect cock from my pants, I slowly pressed it into my
wife's hot (not to mention very wet) pussy. With each thrust, I
chipped away at her "love" for the doctor, which was set up in her
mind like a block of granite. Each chip revealed me as her true love,
kind of like how Michelangelo chipped away the marble until David
emerged from the slab.

Grabbing her tits and pounding into her in front of Dr. Zombie, I
decided to drive the fact that his plans for my wife were over into
his skull. Besides, Sarah was clenching around my member pretty hard--
she was near orgasm, and I was too.

"Dr. Son-of-a-bitch, I want you to watch this. When she cums, she'll
cum harder than she ever did with you when she was under hypnosis.
And, when she cums, she will forget all about her love for you--but
don't worry. She'll remember enough from her "sessions" to sue your
ass for malpractice. On the count of three," I said, picking up my
speed and nearing release, "you will understand that you fucked the
wrong man's wife. You will also know life as a practicing psychiatrist
will be over when the lawyers are done with you. Ready?"

"Yeeeeeessssssss..." he slowly replied.

With a mighty thrust into my wife, I yelled, "ONE!!!" My wife's eyes
got wide and she reached down to stroke her clit. 'I love it when she
plays with herself while we're fucking,' I thought as her hips began
to gyrate. Dr. Fuckwad, though, was slowly coming to the realization
that he'd been busted. His zombie-trance look faded away into a I'm-
about-to-lose-everything-and-there's-nothing-I-can-do look.

Pulling almost all the way out, I charged on, dick-first, into my wife
again, shouting "TWO!!!!!" The doctor's look was still changing from
blank-staring-into-nothingness to please-please-oh-please-don't-sue-
me, but my attention was on my wife. She was really frigging her
clitty, and my dick was pulsating--I'd better hurry up or I'd spoil
the timing. (Timing my release with the removal of the orgasm-block I
use on Sarah to increase her orgasm's power is a trickY thing. You
wouldn't think so, but trust me.)

Once again pulling out, I slowly drove my dick about halfway into my
writhing wife and teased, "Two and a half..." This only made her buck
up and down harder--so I withdrew and held the tip of my head at the
opening of her sex. "Ready, baby?"

"Please oh please just put it in I'm so close please oh ... oh...
oh... ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod OH AW FUUUUUUUUCK,
YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" she screamed as I thrusted into her; my seed
bursting into her triggered the best orgasm of her life.

Panting and spent, I wiped the sweat from my brow and calmly said,
"Three." The doctor left the room, crying and dialing a number on his
cell phone--probably his malpractice attorney.

"That was wonderful, baby. But why are we fucking on his table?" my
wife asked. I never burdened her with the memory of what that asshole
had done to her.

It was a fair question, so as I leaned over her (she was still on the
table), I kissed her on the forehead. "Don't worry, you won't be
seeing him anymore. C'mon, get dressed. We're leaving."

                          * * * * * * * * * *

(c) 2004, bobwhite.  All rights reserved.  All wrongs also reserved.