Every birthday, from her 18th onward, Jennifer treated herself to a session of hypnotherapy. She had picked out a man to be her hypnotist, and she came to his office, paid her money, and rattled off a list of aspirational goals for the year that she wanted him to give her subconscious motivation to strive for.
Every year he completely ignored her list, programmed her with whatever fun idea came into his head, and told her that she would believe he had done an excellent job and that she should come back next year.
On her 18th birthday, he’d told her to get fake tits. On her 19th birthday he’d told her to try and fuck all her friends, male and female alike, and thereafter always enthusiastically consent to their “repeat business”. On her 20th, he’d told her to try and get her daddy to fuck her, and on her 21st he’d told her to stop wearing any outfit that would make people respect her as a person instead of a fucktoy.
He was tossing up what to do to her next – give her an addiction to semen? Make her only able to orgasm from non-consensual sex? Tell her to eat all her meals nude, on all fours, from a dog bowl? The possibilities were endless, and the best bit was how genuinely she thanked him each and every year for what he was doing to her…
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