(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 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
Paul clucked his tongue sympathetically. "The Donahue
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 were inconsistent about making sure
the kids took it.
"I think I know exactly what you need, lady," he
said, putting on a comically fake Austrian accent. "You
need to spend a night making wild, passionate love with
"But Doctor," Joyce objected with a twinkle. "What will my
It was an 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 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
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
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 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. 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
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
"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
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
"Of course," he replied innocently. "That's why you
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 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
"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 and Daddy's bathroom, and I'll fill this up
Jeremy made the 'OK' sign and dashed upstairs to this
parents' bathroom. Joyce selected a 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 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 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
Joyce gathered herself together enough to speak. "I know,
honey," she said between heavy breaths. "Why don't you
give the gun, and you can sit down and have your
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
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 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 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.
"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
"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, -- Daddy's home!"
Joyce came out to the 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 it points to.
Jeremy looked puzzled. "Daddy doesn't make noises,"
Joyce grinned broadly. "He does tonight."