Gavin liked to tell his cousin Christine that she was a slut. He told her on every occasion that he saw her, and she always indignantly asserted that she wasn’t.
Eventually he challenged her to test it. He had some skill as a hypnotist, he told her, and with her permission he would take her into a hypnotic trance. Once there, he would give her some suggestions about the way that sluts behaved – “sluts do this, and sluts do that”. If, as she said, she wasn’t a slut, she would internalise these suggestions, but not act upon them. But if she knew deep down, in her heart, that she *was* a slut, then she would be compelled to behave in the way that he had suggested.
Smugly, she submitted, and let him put her into a trance. He gave her two simple triggers: “When sluts go to the beach, they bare their tits,” and, “When sluts are ashamed, they masturbate in public.”
When they were done, Gavin proposed a trip to the coast. Christine dressed prettily, but conservatively, her tits covered, smug in her victory.
But when the ocean came in sight, she found her hands moving to her bikini, pulling it aside, baring her large fuckbags even though she didn’t want to. Because deep down inside, she knew that she *was* a slut, that she fantasised every night about slutty, perverted things, that her cunt was wet far more often than a nice girl’s should be.
She blushed as he smirked at her naked boobs, knowing she had not only bared herself like a whore but admitted in an undeniably way that she was a slut. And as he led her from the car down to the public beach, where dozens of strangers would also see her bare slutmelons, and she felt her shame growing, she moaned with humiliation, because her fingers were beginning to move the front of her bikini briefs to one side to let her publicly finger-fuck her cunt while she walked…
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