Hypno Harem (7 page)

His cock was getting harder by the second! “Smell fresh pussy, don’t you, boy?” He chuckled. “This is prime MILF.” He put his hands around Emma’s thighs and pulled them apart. “Go get her!”

He plunged his cock through Emma’s hair and past her folds and into her slit. The muffled wailing abruptly stopped and she screeched in surprise. “NUHHHH!”

He shoved again, pulling her against him. Another screech. What a noisy bitch. 

L
ittle
Emmie felt Sir put his thing inside her and she shrieked because no one had done that in ever so long. He was so big! It hurt at first but then it started to feel nice and she liked it. His thing grew and grew until he filled her up everywhere. Then he started to pull his thing out and she squeezed tight around him because she didn’t want him to leave, but then he put it back in real fast, so fast his cock punched her insides hard and made her yell – or try to.

Her bottom was so sore that it throbbed painfully whenever he slammed into her. Then again, once he was all the way in, her pussy felt so
good
. Everything he did made her feel both good and bad at the same time and she made noise both from pleasure and pain. She yelled and cried and shrieked and screamed and squealed and sobbed and begged and beseeched and complained and because he’d put something in her mouth, all her noises sounded the same:

“Nuhhh!”

“Mmmmph!”

“Guffff!”

“Mumphhhh!”

“Thuhhhhh!”

She didn’t like the gag, which was uncomfortable and smelly. Besides hurting her mouth, it was tied on the other end to her wrists, which pulled her entire head back and made her neck hurt. She had no choice but to endure it though. It was for her own good. Sir knew best. He was her Master and she was nothing but his bitch.

W
oody
hammered the bitch until her juices made a puddle on the desk. My God, she was one wet cunt! He finally pulled out just as she began to tremble violently, which probably meant she was about to climax. He didn’t want that, at least not yet. She had one more hole he wanted to fill.

He’d attempted anal sex only one time before and the girl was so nervous she’d insisted that both of them be “lubed up” with KY jelly. They wound up so slick that his cock kept sliding off her rectum. He didn’t think KY was necessary this time. He was already wet with Emma’s vaginal juice. It might be a little painful but nothing she couldn’t handle.

He placed the tip of his cock at her pucker and began to push in. She jerked away forcefully. “NUHHH!”

He tried again. Again she jerked and protested. Her voice under the gag sounded high and frantic, even hysterical. Maybe she’d never had anal sex. That was possible.

“Emmie,” he said quietly. “I want to fuck you in the ass.”

“NUHHHH!”

“It’s not up to you, Emmie. You’re taking it whether you want to or not.” He picked up the wooden paddle and swung it hard.

Crack!

“Yuhhhhh!”

“That’s what happens to little girls who disobey. They get their little bottoms whapped.” He swung the paddle with extra force. “Like this.”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“Yuhhhh! Yuhhhh! YUHHHH!”

He set the paddle down. Her buttocks shone bright red where he’d hit her. “I’ll whale you all night if I have to, Emmie. So make this easy on both of us and be still.”

Woody positioned his cock at her pucker again and this time she didn’t jerk away. He shoved hard and though there was resistance, he was halfway inside within a minute. She was weeping under the gag and her rectal muscles were twitching convulsively at his intrusion. Must be an anal virgin, he thought. It occurred to him that this was his first virgin of any kid. It felt
wonderful!
He wondered if Candi’s asshole was this tight and sweet. He’d have to find out.

He was still only halfway in. He made one last lunge and thrust his cock all the way just as he suddenly came in a great gush of semen. She jerked and bucked and made desperate, muffled noises but he stayed inside her ass until she went limp with exhaustion.

He rested on top of her for a few minutes. She’d stopped wailing, her cries subsiding into low moans and whimpers. He finally pulled out and cleaned himself up with his pack of wet napkins. He found Emma’s purse on the floor near her chair and rummaged until he located her car keys. Then he went into the outer office, where Becky sat patiently in the darkness. It was now after seven o’clock and night had fallen.

“Hi, Mr. Goodman, “ she said brightly. “What’s up?”

“Dr. Starke’s a little worse for wear.” He handed her the keys. “I want you to drive her home.”

“Sure thing.”

“Do you know what her car looks like?”

“Yeah. She’s given me a ride from time to time.”

“And do you know where she usually parks?”

“I’ve got a good idea.”

“Great. Go get her car and bring it around to the building’s side door. Park there and come back here.”

“Okay.”

She hurried away. Woody locked the hall door then went back to the inner office and sat in Emma’s chair. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk next to her head. She lay still and quiet, eyes closed, head lifted off the desk by the gag tied to her arms, which were bound behind her back. He poked her face with a shoe. She opened her eyes and stared blankly at him.

“How’s it going, Emmie?”

“Guhhhh.”

“We’ll have to do this again, won’t we?”

A tear trickled from one eye.
“Guhhhhh.”

He wasn’t sure what “guhhh” meant. Maybe nothing. She might not be thinking yet, lost in pain and lust. She might have even regressed to a pre-verbal state. He wasn’t sure.

“Becky’s going to take you home in a minute. She’ll bathe you and if you’re hungry, she’ll feed you. I want you to completely obey her. You follow me so far?”

“Guhhhhh.”

Good. He seemed to be getting through to her. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Once Becky puts you to bed, you’re going to fall asleep and not wake up until noon tomorrow. You won’t pick up the phone or answer the door until I show up to give you your instructions for the next few weeks, make sure we’re both on the same page. Any questions?”

“Guhhhhh.”

He put his hands behind his head. She stared at him, both fear and submission in her eyes. “Sorry to treat you so rough, Emma, but you brought it on yourself.”

A few minutes later, Becky came in. “Car’s outside, Mr. Goodman.”

“Great. You see any campus cops on the way?”

“No. They don’t really start patrolling until ten.”

“Anyone in the halls?”

“Nobody. Everyone’s gone home.”

“I’ll help you get her to the car.”

“Are you going to untie her?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t expect her to be a problem but you never know. You can untie her once you’ve got her home. By the way, thanks for the panties.”

“Glad to help.”

“Once you get her untied, you can have them back, though you may not want them now.”

“Not a problem. I’ll just throw ‘em in the wash.”

“Okay. I regressed her—”

“You what?”

“Regressed her, made her think she’s younger than she is.”

“No kidding? How young?”

“About five or six, maybe younger. That’s starting to wear off but I don’t expect her to be back to her real age until tomorrow.”

“Wow. Awesome.”

“Anyway, mentally and physically, she’s not ready to take care of herself yet. Did you have anything planned for tonight?”

“Got a date tomorrow but I’m free tonight.”

“Good. Give her a bath and put her in a nightgown. Feed her if she seems hungry. If nothing else, give her a glass of milk.”

“Okey-dokey.”

“Also I want you to spend the night with her.”

“Okay.”

“She’ll sleep until noon. I’ll come by in the afternoon to check on her. Stay with her until I show up.”

“What if she wants to talk about, uh… today?”

“She won’t. She won’t talk about that to anyone, not even you.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s get her to the car. Tied up like this, we don’t want anyone to see her, so we’ll stuff her in the trunk.”

“Gotcha, Mr. Goodman.”

They positioned themselves on either side of Emma, grabbed her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. She could stand but was too limp to walk on her own. They half-walked, half-dragged her through the halls and out the side entrance to the waiting car. Becky opened the trunk and they stowed her inside. Woody used an extension cord he’d taken from the office to bind her ankles together and then tie them to her arms. She whimpered at that. He thought it was probably a little uncomfortable but he didn’t want her kicking the inside of the trunk. Granted, in her present condition that was unlikely, but now it was impossible. You can’t be too careful.

He rolled the woman on to her back. Dr. Emma Starke, distinguished head of the Templeton Graduate Program in Neuroscience stared up at him, dark hair tousled, make-up smeared, dress rumpled, gagged and hogtied and looking for all the world like the cover for an old-time crime magazine. Woody imagined the headline,
“
Watery Grave for the Beautiful Prof!
”
If Emma’s wide, tearful eyes were any indication, she was afraid she was headed for something like that.

He decided not to reassure her. Being beaten and fucked had done her a world of good. Twenty minutes of dread might do even more. Interesting how being roped and gagged could make the most intimidating female sexy and vulnerable. Just looking at her gave him another erection. Pity he didn’t have the time.

He slammed the lid shut and watched Becky drive off. A good day’s work, Mr. Goodman, soon-to-be
Dr
. Goodman! He went back to Emma’s office, tidied up and then left. He’d told Candi to have dinner—lamb chops tonight—ready at eight o’clock and he’d worked up a real appetite.

S
aturday
afternoon Woody dropped by Emma’s house. Becky answered the door and told him she was in the kitchen eating breakfast. Woody mind-hacked Becky and had her sit on the living room sofa, then did the same with Emma, not bothering to go into the kitchen. A moment later, she marched into the living room with a zombie stare, still in her nightgown and robe with a towel wrapped around her neck, as if she might have a sore throat. He mentally told her to join Becky on the sofa. The two women sat side by side, gazing straight ahead, looking at nothing.

Woody programmed Becky to forget everything that had to do with him or Emma for either yesterday or today, then he woke her up and sent her home in a taxi. When she was gone he opened Emma’s mind for an inspection. “Mind opening” was his own improvement over Popper’s “dreaming” technique for entering minds. It was less like being inside a mind than lifting a car hood and peering at the engine. It wasn’t as thorough and while it lacked the magical wonder of wandering through rooms of holographic memories, it was quicker and less taxing.

He was glad to see Emma had returned to her real age. Not to his surprise, he found himself to be a very large presence in her mind right now, surrounded by lots of conflicting emotions: a roiling mixture of fear, anger, hate, desire and the kind of awe-filled reverence that small children reserve for their fathers, the embodiment of ultimate law and power in most households.

Unlike Becky, he didn’t want her to forget anything that had happened. He did however reinforce the programming he had in place to keep her from talking or writing about it. He also left in place her terror at being exposed as a plagiarist. Finally he planted a suggestion that he was all-knowing and all-powerful and nothing could be hidden from him. The image, which conjured up a sort of nerdy Jehovah, made him smile but it would keep her from trying some dumb trick to get even or keep him from getting his doctorate.

He told her to stand and strip. She took off her nightgown and robe and he checked out her ass, which was red and welted. As an undergrad, he himself had been paddled in an initiation into his fraternity and he recalled that bad as his marks were, they were gone in a week. He expected hers would do the same.

He noticed she still had the towel wrapped around her neck. He had her take it off and saw the dog collar underneath. That was good. She’d thought to cover it up even alone with Becky.

So far everything was going well. He had Emma put her clothes back on, then instructed her to forget the last twenty minutes. He told her to go back in the kitchen, wake up and resume her breakfast. As she walked away, he planted an urge to give him a blow job the next time she saw him.

He went to the front door, stepped outside and stood on the porch for a sixty-count, then knocked. She opened the door a crack, saw who it was and let him in with a delighted squeal. She’d no sooner closed the door than she fell to her knees and began fumbling with his zipper.

He sat on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Excellent, Dr. Goodman. Everything is going according to plan.

When she was done, he had her clean his cock with her hair. She had cum on her face too but he said not to wash it off unless she went out. He told her to fix him bacon and eggs and had a second breakfast while she finished her cold one. They chatted of this and that—department gossip, new developments in neuroscience—like they were old friends. There was no indication on her part that she’d ever been anything but the chief cheerleader for his doctorate. That was interesting. He hadn’t programmed her to forget her opposition, but people were capable of all kinds of self-deception when they reversed a position.

She sipped some coffee, then set the cup down. “What we did yesterday…” she said hesitantly.

“What about it?”

“It… No one’s ever done anything like that to me before.”

“That so?”

“You made me sore… all over, but…”

“But?”

“But I loved it! Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Even the ass-fucking, once I got used to it. And when you dumped me in the trunk and hog-tied me…”

“What about it?”

“It scared me but I also got the most intense orgasm! Over and over.”

“So you want to do it again sometime?”

She nuzzled against him.
“Um-hummm.”

“Well, maybe we will.” He rose. “Thanks for breakfast. Got to run.”

She bit her lip with disappointment but said nothing. At the door, she pressed herself against him, wrapping her hands behind his back. She was nearly twenty years his senior but still an attractive woman. Her breasts were larger and fuller than Candi’s and they pushed against him invitingly.

She smiled coyly. “Why don’t you come over tonight? Little Emmie make din-din.”

The baby talk bothered him. It was all right here in her home but what if it slipped out in front of others? He had no intention of making Dr. Emma Starke into a girlfriend. An occasional blowjob was one thing but he needed to keep their relationship secret. Otherwise there would be talk and that could lead to questions about her unexpected approval of his dissertation. He shook his head. “Sorry. I have plans.”

Her eyes turned narrow and hard. “It’s that little cunt, isn’t it?”

He was baffled. “Who? What little cunt?”

“
Her
. You know who I mean.”

“Candi?”

“Yeah. Do you call
her
your bitch too? Does she have a collar of her own?”

He was floored. She was jealous of her own daughter! He had never expected this and somehow had missed it when he inspected her brain. This was worrisome. It would take some watching.

He hacked her mind. A moment later her arms dropped to her sides and her eyes became dull and unfocused, the zombie stare. “Sit on the sofa,” he told her. She turned and sat, her body rigid, movements mechanical.

“Candi doesn’t know that
you
know about her and me,” Woody said. “It’s going to stay that way. You won’t talk to Candi about her and me. You won’t talk to her about you and me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You do not hate Candi. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You love Candi, don’t you?”

“I love Candi.”

That would probably do the trick, but he thought it was still a good idea to reduce contact between the two women until he had his doctorate in hand. “You’re going to be very busy for the next two–
three
weeks. You won’t have time to talk to Candi.”

“I don't have time.”

“Yes. If she contacts you, tell her you’re sorry but you’re too busy to talk.”

“I’m too busy.”

Just to be safe, he reinforced the programming at her deepest level. “You love Candi, don’t you, Little Emmie?”

“Yeth, sir,” she said in a toddler lisp. “I love Candi.”

Time to go. “In five minutes you will wake up. You will not remember this conversation. You can’t wait to submit my name to the Doctoral Review Committee. I am an excellent candidate who has brilliantly answered all your questions about my dissertation. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, face blank, voice flat.

He walked out the door and went to his car. Jealous of her own daughter! All because of a man who until yesterday she detested. Amazing. People’s brains were full of surprises.

L
ate
the following week, Woody got a call from Dr. Crockett, a senior member of the Neuroscience faculty and chairman of the Doctoral Review Committee. “I just wanted to let you know,” he said in his rumbly, full-of-authority voice. “The Committee met yesterday and went over your dissertation.
Hroomph
, I myself have only read the abstract but Updale and Yin had both read the full paper and they said it was fine work. The vote to approve was unanimous. Congratulations,
Dr.
Goodman.”

Finally! “Thank you, Dr. Crockett,” said Woody, overjoyed.

“I know it’s been an uphill struggle for you. I understand that Dr. Starke really pushed you to revise and refine.”

“You could say that,” Woody said in a carefully neutral voice.

“But I think the extra work was well worth it. She’s become a real booster for you.”

“I’m glad hear it, sir.”

“You’ll receive official confirmation in the mail in about a week. We won’t have a graduation ceremony until May but you can pick up a copy of your diploma at the main office by the middle of next month.
Hroomph
, congratulations again.”

Woody called Candi to tell her the good news and they arranged to have a celebratory meal at a cozy French restaurant. That night she was gay and giggly but he thought he detected a forced quality to the good cheer. She seemed distracted, even melancholy.

Sandra and Tiffany were having a
Sex and the City
watch-a-thon so they went to his place after the meal. Once there she seemed even more removed.

“How’s your martial arts class going?” he asked. She was taking a women’s self-defense class three times a week.

“Pretty good,” she said with a smile. “Last time I actually knocked the instructor down!”

“Yeah? Show me.”

She demonstrated some basic holds and blows, including the chop to the neck that felled her instructor. That livened her up for a while but she gradually resumed her brooding. Woody thought about brain-hacking her but this was a special night and that seemed a little coldly clinical. He put his hand on hers. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s… I’m sorry, I wanted tonight to be all about you. I guess I haven’t succeeded too well, huh?”

“What is it?”

“Well… it’s Mom. I hadn’t seen her in over a week. Whenever I called, I got her voice mail and she never called back.”

“She’s probably just busy. Being head of the Graduate Program can be time consuming.”

“That’s what I thought, but yesterday I popped into her office just to say hi. And…”

“And what?”

“It was troubling. She didn’t seem herself. We had a very stiff conversation for about two minutes and finally I decided to go. I gave her a hug but she didn’t hug back. So then I said, ‘See you later, Mom. Love you.’ She gave me a really weird look and said, ‘I love you.’”

“Weird how?”

“Hostile. Her eyes looked
mean
, Woody!”

“Oh now, I can’t believe that! You’re her
daughter
. You’ve told me the two of your are very close.”

“We are – or were. I know it sounds strange. I mean, it was just a look, but what really got to me was the way she said ‘I love you.” It froze my blood!”

“I don’t follow.”

“When people say ‘I love you,’ they put a little sweetness in their voice, even it’s something they say all the time. The way Mom said it to me, she could have been saying ‘I want to kill you.’”

Candi began to cry. Woody put his arm around her and soothed her as best he could. Dr. Starke was just busy and overworked. Maybe she hadn’t gotten enough sleep that day. Lack of sleep can affect people in strange ways. He poured her another glass of wine and eventually they resumed their celebration, though not with the same careless joy as before, particularly on his part.

Despite Candi’s entreaties, he didn’t stay with her that night, pleading the lab class he needed to prepare for. He got home a little after midnight, changed into loose clothes, sat on the floor of his apartment and did exercises to calm his mind. After a while he opened his Third Eye and began a transcranial expedition into the mind of Emma Starke.

Once inside her brain, he began a methodical search, and since he didn’t know what he was looking for, it took a while. He finally found it buried very deep in her mind, a room that looked like an attic, stuffed full of old children’s furniture and dolls and toys. In that room was a small creature squatting in a corner. It wore pink pajamas and had long black hair tied with a blue ribbon and looked very much like Emma must have at five or six: Little Emmie. The creature wasn’t completely human though. It had extra-long arms and pointed ears and sharp teeth. It resembled an illustration in a children’s book, not a full-scale monster that could eat you alive but an imp or goblin capable of small acts of malice.

That was troubling enough but what frightened him was what it was holding. The imp had a pair of scissors in one hand and a ragdoll in the other. It chuckled to itself as it repeatedly jabbed the doll with the scissors.

Woody bent over the creature for a closer look at the doll. It paid no attention to him, probably couldn’t even see him. There was very little light in this dark room and he had to squint to make out the doll’s face, which wasn’t at all that of a typical ragdoll. It was a drawing, unusually detailed. He gasped when he realized the face was unmistakably Candi Starke.

Woody spent several hours in Emma’s mind, trying to “move the furniture,” in Otto Popper’s inimitable phrasing. In the end he was unable to dislodge the creature or to deflect its violent intent. He finally departed and woke up back in his room. He crawled tiredly into bed, for the first time defeated in his mind control experiments.