Hypnotize

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"You know I'd never do something if it had a chance of hurting you," Irene said.

John put a finger on the bridge of his gold-rimmed glasses, adjusting them and clearing his throat. The springs of the king-sized mattress creaked as he shifted nervously. "Y-Yes, I know you wouldn't, but..." He paused a moment, grasping at air while he searched for his words. "Is it really... necessary?"

Irene narrowed her blue cyclopean eye; all ten of the tentacular eyestalks sprouting from her back mimicked the expression. She crossed her arms, Amazon-green skin shining in the dim lamplight like latex. "Necessary? Johnny, darling, do you really think the way you've been handling our relationship is something we can just ignore?"

"So I have a little problem with intimacy. Physical intimacy. Is that really grounds for brainwashing?"

Irene sighed, closing her eye and gently massaging the eyelid. "Not brainwashing. What I'm suggesting is hypnotherapy."

"You're rewriting my mind. That sounds like brainwashing to me."

"No, no, no, no," Irene said, shaking her head while her eyestalks rolled in exasperation. "That's not how it works at all. What I'm suggesting is more like a very lifelike mental exercise."

"What do you mean?" John said. He locked eyes with his wife, but he still had the worried, questioning look of a child sitting on an examination table for the first time.

"What do I mean by 'lifelike mental exercise?' "

John nodded.

"Okay, well, imagine if someone was deathly afraid of driving a car, say, after having a road accident. They go to a therapist who recommends exposure therapy. Of course, the person's too terrified of driving to even think of sitting down in a car seat, so instead the therapist uses hypnotherapy. The person is hypnotized so they think they're driving in a car, except now they can do it in a safe office where they can be snapped out if the therapist thinks they're becoming too frightened."

John frowned. "Can't we just lie together and stop when I get uncomfortable?

"Honestly darling, we've been doing that exact thing for over three years now. I've been giving you space while trying to help you overcome your... difficulty, but nothing I do seems to make a difference."

"So how is brain... how is hypnotism going to make that difference?"

"It... well, I'm hoping that being put in a dreamlike state will help with your anxiety," Irene said, her eye downcast. She sighed. "I'm just tired of seeing you flinch whenever we touch. It makes me feel awful, Johnny; it makes me feel like a predator."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't need an apology, I just need your consent. I'd never do something like this against your will."

"Because it's dangerous?"

"Because I love you."

John turned away, unwilling to let his wife see the blush spreading across his face. The mattress shifted as Irene shuffled closer—closer, but not touching.

"Come on," she said, "I promise if you so much as whimper, I'll snap you out and we can leave it for another day."

John faced her again. He gave a start when he realized she had gotten so close her eye was taking up most of his view. He swallowed. "If I do it... can we make this weekend a movie night instead of an opera night?"

Irene's face turned sour, then she chuckled and grinned, showing a row of razor-sharp teeth. "Deal. I'll even pay for snacks."

"Alright... alright, I'll do it." A pause. "So, what am I doing exactly?"

"Just look at my eye, darling," Irene said, pointing to her smiling face. She brushed a strand of black hair out of her eye. "Look and relax."

John rested his gaze on Irene's single, electric-blue eye. The sclera was smooth and white—not a single blotch or vein betraying lack of sleep. The wavy blue lines of the iris reminded him of an icy forest lit by moonlight. The pupil dilated.

"Watch my pupil," Irene said. "Watch and breathe. Try and match your breath with the movement. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Relax."

The pupil contracted. John followed its movement with his eyes and his lungs. It was difficult; her pupil was moving at a much slower pace than he was used to when it came to breathing. He tripped up a few times, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to match Irene's gentle pace.

"Relaaax," she whispered. Her breath tickle his lips. Her rose perfume tickled his nose.

John found his respiratory rhythm, his inhales and exhales matching Irene's dilations and contractions. His hands, at first nervously clutched in his lap, were now resting on the linen sheets of the bed. His shoulders felt heavy. The top of his vision dimmed as his eyelids drooped. He stifled a yawn.

"Feeling sleepy?" she whispered.

"Mm... Mm-hmm..." John said.

"It's alright if you feel like closing your eyes. It's a natural response and y..."


"...ou don't have to-"

Irene watched from eleven different angles as John's eyes slid shut and he fell back, hitting the bed with a poof of sheets and creak of springs. His lips were curved in a small smile and his nose wiggled in time with his near-silent snores. Aside from his rising and falling chest, he lay still.

After blinking a few times and getting her pupil under control, Irene gently pushed off the bed. She floated into the air, orienting herself so she hovered above John. Her eyestalks twisted about, diversifying her view. A long shot of his body. A medium shot of his rising and falling chest. A close-up of his face. She smiled, reaching down to readjust his glasses—knocked askew by his fall. She thought of cupping his cheek, but drew her hand back before the temptation became too great. "One step at a time..." she thought to herself.

Irene cleared her throat. "Johnny, darling? Can you hear me?"

"Yes..." John said, the replying coming out in a sleepy sigh.

"Good, good. I want you to focus on my voice, my lovely voice, and follow my suggestions closely. Do you understand?"

"Yes... I understand..."

"Alright. Now first..." Irene paused, her forehead wrinkling as she thought of where to start. "Ah... think of a safe place."

"Safe?"

"Right! Think of a place where you'd feel most comfortable. A place where nothing bad could happen to you." Irene put up her fingers, counting off the places she knew John adored. "It could be the planetarium, or the creek, or the dog park, or-"

"Hitachi Seaside Park..." John said, his face turning wistful.

"Hm?"

"Hitachi Seaside Park... my mother and father took me there for our first vacation outside of the US... we went in April, when the baby blue eyes were blooming..."

Irene waited for John to continue. When he didn't, she asked him: "What's it like?"

"One of the most beautiful places I've ever seen... acres of sky-blue flowers moving in the wind... rolling hills... shady trees poking out of the flowers...  I still daydream about that field when I feel down... I wish we could have visited during our honeymoon, but the season was all wrong..."

Irene smiled, again fighting the urge to cup his cheek, brush his hair, kiss his forehead. "It sounds wonderful. Do you have a clear image of it in your head?"

"Feels like I could reach out and pick a flower..." John said. His hand twitched.

"Good! Now, are you alone?"

"Uh?"

"There aren't any people around, are there? You left those out of your mental image?"

"Yes... just me and the flowers..."

"Wonderful, wonderful. Now, I want you to just relax in your little pocket of paradise. Get comfortable. Smell the flowers. Feel the breeze on your hair, sun on your skin. Just let aaall your troubles and worries wash away. Take your time, and let me know when you're ready to move on, okay darling?"

"Alright..."

Another creak of mattress springs as Irene set herself down beside John, watching him meditate. Close-up of his hand gently grasping the sheets. Medium shot of his legs, his toes twitching in his socks. Profile shot of his supine head. One lecherous eyestalk getting a close-up of his groin.

Minutes passed.

"Alright... I think I'm ready..." John said.

"Comfortable?" Irene asked.

"Yes..."

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine... me."

"Uh?"

"I want you to imagine that I'm there in the park with you. Beside you. In front of you. Whatever's most comfortable for you."

"How should I picture of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you wearing... what are you doing..."

"As I said: whatever's most comfortable for you."

John meditated again, his face slightly scrunched as he built a mental image of his beloved. Irene lay down, dragging a pillow under her head before shuffling as close to John as she could without brushing against him.

"Alright... I think I have it..." John said.

"Oh?" Irene said. A blush began to creep up her cheeks. "Can... can you tell me what I look like?"

"You're in front of me... you're wearing a floppy straw sunhat and... and that cute sky-blue sundress you wore when we first met outside of the Divina Cafe... the way the skirt blends with the baby blue eyes... it's lovely..." John smiled, a smile so giddy that Irene had to scoot away and bury her red-hot face in her palms, her eyestalks upturned and quivering as she stifled her laughter. After taking a calming breath, she continued:

"O-Okay... ah, you said I was in front of you?"

"Yes..."

Irene pushed herself off the bed, again hovering above John. "I want you to reach out towards me. Towards your mental image of me, I mean."

"Just reach out?"

"Yes, don't touch yet. Just hold out your hand, palm out and fingers spread. Concentrate on the motion."

"Alright..."

For a moment John was still. Then, inch-by-inch, his fist began to rise. Irene hovered higher, making space for his outstretched hand. Once his arm was extended he opened his fist, letting his fingers spread. With her giant eye, Irene could make out every detail of John's hand, from the creases that crisscrossed his palm to the minute waves of his fingerprints.

"What now?" John said.

"I... I want you to imagine that I'm holding out my hand as well, just like you're doing... but still not touching."

"Al-Alright..."

Irene reached out her hand until it was millimeters from John's; she could feel the heat coming off his palm. "Can you see it? Are we almost touching?"

"Yes..."

Irene gulped. "I want you to... to imagine me sliding my fingers between yours. Can you do that for me?"

A pause.

"Y-Yes..." John whispered.

Irene pushed her hand forward, gently pressing against John's palm before sliding her fingers between his one at a time. Pinky. Ring. Middle. Index. All fit snug between John's own, which remained stiff and upright. He whimpered, a noise soft as a kitten's mewl, yet powerful enough to send Irene into a panic. She almost yanked her hand away, but she closed her eye, held firm—firm but gentle—and pushed onwards.

"Sshhhh," she whispered, tenderly massaging John's knuckles with her fingertips. "It's okay, darling, it's okay. It's just a mental image; it's all in your head. You understand that, right?"

"Mm... y-yes," John said, his shuddering easing at the sound of Irene's voice.

"Can you go on?"

"I... yes, I can..."

"Good, good. Deep breaths, darling, deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Remember: it's all in your head."

"Mm..."

"Okay, I want you to bring your fingers down. Hold my... my image's hand as well. Concentrate on the motion."

"Alright..."

Irene's heart fluttered as John's fingers slowly clenched, fingertips coming to rest on her knuckles. She casted a worried glance at his face. It was calm. She smiled.

"Feeling alright?" Irene said.

"Yes... I'm alright..."

"Not scared?"

"No... not at all..."

"Wonderful," She said, the word coming out in a relieved sigh. "Want to stay like this for a while?"

John gave a sleepy smile. "Yes, I... that would be fine by me..."

"Okay. Just let me know when you're ready to continue."

"Mm..."

Irene floated in place while she waited. She extended one of her eyestalks, snaking it to her right before bending it around to get a view from the side. The way they were tethered by the hands, the way John was lying on the bed sheets, the way she seemed to be fading into the darkness thanks to her distance from the lamps on the nightstand; it reminded her of a renaissance painting. Perhaps some visual metaphor for dreams and nightmares, or an unwillingness to shrug off personal demons. She liked the former idea better.

"Alright... I'm ready..." John said, drawing Irene from her reverie.

"Okay," she said, "now, I want you to imagine me stepping closer to you." Irene descended, her hand still linked with John's. Once she was close enough to smell her husband's husky breath, she stopped. "Johnny?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going... I want you to imagine me running my hand through your hair, okay?"

"Alright..."

Irene brought her hand up and rested it on John's head. She felt him shudder underneath her palm, but he kept silent save for his even breathing. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the strands slide between her digits and listening to the quiet 'skriiiiitch' as her nails gently slid across his scalp. Another shudder from John.

"Are you okay, darling?" Irene said. "Am I hurting you?"

John slowly shook his head. Or he could have been nuzzling against Irene's hand. She took it as a good sign either way.

"Good..." she said. She stayed quiet for a moment, stroking John's hair with her right hand while she squeezed his hand with her left. She opened her mouth, closed it, then parted her lips and whispered: "I'm going to kiss your forehead now. Is that okay?"

John's face scrunched in confusion for a moment, then softened again as he gave his response: "Y-Yes... that's alright..."

Irene closed her eye, leaving her eyestalks open so she could watch John's reaction. There was a tiny, soft, wet smack as she planted her lips on his forehead. She rested for a moment, taking in the taste and smell of John's sweat as she continued to stroke his hair and caress his hand. His forehead felt so hot she feared that he might have come down with a fever, but her eyestalks showed that he was still calm, if breathing slightly faster.

"All in your head," Irene whispered, opening her eye and pulling herself back.

John nodded.

Silence. Irene gently chewed on her lower lip. She took a deep breath.

"I'm going to kiss you now," she whispered.

John kept silent. Confusion once again played across his face. This time it did not soften.

"I... I want you to imagine that I'm k-kissing you, darling. Is... is that okay?"

Silence once more. That confused face, except now Irene swore she could see fear, disgust, maybe even anger behind it. Her hand trembled in his. She was suddenly aware of how sweaty his hand was, how his forehead was creased with worry, how his lips were shuddering with overflowing anxiety. She pushed him too far. She hurt him. She had to stop. She-

"Alright..." John whispered.

"Huh?" Irene said, her eye and eyestalks widening.

"You can... I'll imagine you kissing me..."

"I... are you sure? You're okay with it?" Irene sank onto the bed. She straddled John, her slender, latexesque legs resting on the sheets, the wrinkled soles of her bare feet shining in the lamplight. All ten of her eyestalks were fixed on his face.

"Y-Yes," he said, "I'm alright with you... with imagining you kissing me..." He parted his lips slightly, adding non-verbal consent to the agreement.

Now it was Irene's turn to hyperventilate. Her eye flitted from side to side. "Okay... okay. Imagine... imagine that we're lying down in the flowers, and that I'm lying on top of you." She gently grinded herself against John, her hips swaying back and forth. She blushed furiously; her face felt fever-hot. "I-Imagine that and, and imagine that I... I'm..." She gulped. She opened her mouth to continue speaking. Instead of words, her tongue slid out.

Before she could stop herself, Irene locked her lips with John's, her tongue sliding inside his mouth and constricting his own. She felt him start in her embrace; his hand tightened around hers and his breathing paced up, but he did not convulse, reel back, or cry out. In fact, John was kissing her back; she had to take care to keep his tongue from pushing into her mouth, not wanting him to get nicked by her razor-sharp teeth.

As Irene grinded against him, she closed her eyes, one by one, until only a single stalk was left. She raised her last stalk high into the air before turning it down so she could get a bird's-eye view of their love-making. What she saw brought that single eyestalk close to tears. For the first time in the three years they had spent together, John looked like he was enjoying himself in her embrace. His legs weren't trembling like they were covered in insects, they were gently rising and falling as he kneaded the sheets with his heels, toes curling in excitement. His free hand wasn't holding the sheets in a death grip, it was slung around her waist and resting on the small of her back. His other hand was still latched to hers, their palms and fingers rubbing together. Irene's heart fluttered again; the feeling fed her confidence, pushing her towards her next move.

Keeping her lips locked with John's, Irene slid to the side, sliding partway off so she was lying beside him, her thigh resting on—and gently rubbing against—the tent of his pants. She let go of John's hand and grabbed its wrist. She guided his palm to her chest, making him cup her breast. "Play with it, please," she said, her voice coming out wispy after ending the kiss.

John's hand got to work. Irene mewled as his thumb teased her nipple and his fingers rubbed the smooth, green skin. With a needy sigh, she lay her palm atop John's hand, guiding his touch to her points of weakness. "Yes, yes," she whispered, "right there, oh f-f-fuh that's gooood..." She shuddered with ecstasy, but even through the sense-scattering pleasure, she kept one of her eyestalks on John's sleepy face, making sure it was free of fear or pain.

Irene's crotch was becoming slick with pussy juice. She decided that grinding against John's hips was not enough. Panting, she took his hand again, plucking it from her breast and shoving it down between her thighs with a ''schlick'. Irene closed her eye and nuzzled against John's shoulder, moaning as she guided his fingers inside. Another shudder ran through her body as his fingers tenderly stroked her insides, his two digits gliding across her walls—hot, wet, and soft with arousal.

By then the squelching and sliding had become part of the ambience of the room, and Irene was shedding so much sweat and pussy juice that the sheets underneath her hips were darkened with moisture. She checked on John again, and was disappointed to find that although his face was free of pain and fear, it was also free of pleasure. His cheeks were flushed and occasional moans would slip past his softly parted lips, but he was showing nowhere near as much enjoyment as she was. She decided to change that.

"Juh-Johnny, darling?" she said.

"Mm... Mm-hm?"

"I... I want you to think about me- ah! Imagine me doing something f-for you..."

"Like... like what?"

"L-Like this..."

With those words, Irene's eye shone with power. Soft blue light outlined John's pants. There was a jangle, a zip, and a rush of cloth on skin as she unbuckled, unzipped, and took off the pants and boxers in one telekinetic motion. Free of its constraints, his dick rose up, and before it even had the chance to stop swaying, Irene had it in her hands. It felt hot and volatile in her caress, and as she ran her delicate fingers up and down the shaft, she watched as John's face turned from dull satisfaction to pleasured bliss. She smiled, then let out a gasp. Although she had released his hand to play with his cock, he continued to stroke the insides of her pussy, unhindered by lack of guidance. She bucked her hips against his hands in response, egging him on while she intensified her ministrations on his dick. Her hand, lubed by her juices, slid effortlessly up and down his shaft, allowing her to rub and twist about, applying pressure in all directions. All the while, she kept an eye on John's face, gauging his reactions so she could seek out his weak points.

Pressure built. Irene's motions turned frantic along with John's. She lapped at his cheek with her tongue before sliding it inside his mouth. Nine of her eyestalks slid shut, the tenth again extending skyward so she could watch from above. She saw her body shiver as John's fingers slid in and out of her pussy, soaked with juice. She saw John's face—muffled by her own—twist in pleasure as her hand worked up and down his cock in smooth, wet strokes. She saw, and she felt.

Irene seized up, wrapping a slender leg around John's. She shuddered as the wave of orgasm flowed through her body, her eyestalks wriggling in time with her pleasure-induced shudders. With one last stroke she brought John with her, gently milking him as he came with a groan. His cum shot into the air before falling back onto her hands, spattering her Amazon-green skin with strokes of white. After the last drop of seed had dribbled down the length of his shaft, she released his cock, laying her hand on his stomach as it gently rose and fell in time with his breathing. Her eyestalks relaxed as well, wobbling down onto the soaked bed sheets with a series of plops, lazily spread about like discarded pieces of rope.

"John... Johnny, darling?" Irene said, glancing at her husband's face.

"Yes?"

"Are you... are you awake?"

"Uh?"

"Are you still at the seaside park?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay, just a moment love..." Irene lazily raised a hand in front of John's face, her fingers poised in a snapping motion, but before she could drag him out of his dreamlike state, she got a good look at the surroundings. The sweat, semen, and juice-stained sheets. John's pants and underwear tossed carelessly at the end of the bed. His shirt, pits sweaty and front pockmarked with seed. His glasses, crooked as a crone's back.

Irene cleared her throat. "Aaactually darling, would it be okay if you stayed in the flowers for a while longer? I may need to grab a towel or two. Or three. Or five."

"...Alright."


♦	♦	♦


Ten minutes later, Irene was sitting at the edge of the bed with John, her face flushed and all eleven of her eyes avoiding her husband. Towels lay across the bed sheets, covering up the evidence of their wholesome debauchery. John's clothes were wadded-up and ready to be tossed into the laundry chute. John himself was wearing nothing but a towel and glasses. His arms were crossed over his bare chest.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Irene said.

"Sorry?"

"For everything!" she added, throwing her face into her palms. "What I did was inexcusable! I took advantage of you! I betrayed your trust! I overstepped limits we had agreed on and I did it all just because I was too selfish to adjust for you instead of making you adjust for me and and-ah!"

John had touched a hand to her shoulder. "Hey. I'll admit that I can't exactly approve of what you did," he said, "and I'd be lying if I said that waking up covered in our, uh... 'liquids' wasn't really uncomfortable. But..."

Irene squeaked as she felt one of her eyestalks being gently held and directed back towards John. His face came into view, eyes slightly averted and lips curved in a small, bashful smile.

"...I wouldn't mind skipping movie night so we could give this another go... would you?"