A Bad Therapy Story
Christian’s newest patient was called Cynthia – and she was gorgeous. Pouting lips, honey-blonde hair, and generous breasts, and all of it bundled within an insecure personality that clearly didn’t know exactly how fuckable she really was.
She’d been referred to Christian for hypnotherapy by her employer after an office dispute. In theory, Christian was supposed to help her through the trauma of that dispute and give her strategies for coping with office tension.
But the reality was that Christian had no interest in actually helping girls as attractive and fuckable as Cynthia. What he really enjoyed doing was fucking them up even more – and Cynthia’s employer, run by cruel old men, was well aware of this.
Cynthia arrived for her first session with him dressed attractively-but-professionally. She was polite, and trusting, and when he suggested taking her into a hypnotic trance, she accepted quickly, and then fell into trance under his instruction with surprising ease.
He looked at her, in the couch where she was sitting. Her eyes had closed, and she was breathing easily, her body relaxed.
“Can you hear me, Cynthia?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He stifled a laugh. He hadn’t told her to call him “sir”. Clearly this was her instinctive preference.
“Are you relaxed and comfortable, Cynthia?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“You might feel you’d be more comfortable if you loosened your neckline a little, and parted your legs,” Christian suggested. “That might feel good.”
Her hands immediately went to the top of her dress, undoing two buttons and exposing more of her cleavage. At the same time, her legs spread. He could see straight up her skirt, now, to a pair of white lace panties.
Better.
“Do you know why your employer sent you here, Cynthia?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Because I punched Harry from Accounting,” she said.
“And why did you punch him?”
“Because he called me a cunt.”
Cynthia’s face wrinkled on the word “cunt”. Clearly she found it distasteful.
“Why did he call you a cunt, Cynthia?” asked Christian.
“He asked me to get him a coffee, in front of a bunch of other men, and I told him I wasn’t his secretary,” said Cynthia.
“Why did it offend you to be called a cunt, Cynthia?” asked Christian.
“Because it’s gross… disgusting,” said Cynthia She was visibly distressed. Her legs came back together as she spoke, pressing against each other and hiding her groin.
“Is your cunt gross and disgusting, Cynthia?” asked Christian.
She made a mewling sound of distress. She didn’t want to talk about her cunt. She didn’t like him using the word. Christian had to be careful – if he pushed her hard, she might come out of trance as a defence mechanism.
Also, she was clearly in the grip of an internal conflict. Her employer had said that Cynthia was something of a feminist. She probably didn’t want to suggest that female anatomy was gross or dirty. But at the same time, she clearly had deep internalised guilt about her own sexuality.
He gave her a moment.
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes what?” asked Christian. “Say the full sentence.”
“My cunt is gross and disgusting,” said Cynthia.
“How do you feel, sitting in a room with me, while your cunt is gross and disgusting?” he asked her.
She squirmed. “Embarrassed,” she said. “Ashamed.”
“Do you wish your cunt was clean, Cynthia?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to clean your cunt, Cynthia?”
“… yes.”
He stood, and walked to his desk, and came back with some things he’d prepared earlier, anticipating this line of discussion. He placed two of the items on the low table near Cynthia.
“Cynthia, there’s a wet cloth and a bowl of warm water on the table next to you,” he said. “Why don’t you clean your cunt right now? You can just pull down your panties and clean it now, and then you’ll have nothing to be ashamed of.”
She hesitated, twitching in her seat.
“It will feel good to have a clean cunt,” he told her. “It will be good to stop your cunt from being gross and disgusting. It will feel good to clean it.”
She nodded, and then, as if it were nothing strange, she stood, and pulled her panties down her legs, stepping out of them, bending to retrieve them, and placing them on the table. Then she pulled her skirt up to her waist.
Her cunt certainly was not gross or disgusting. It was shaved, and pretty, and practically begging to be fucked.
She sat on the couch again, with her legs spread, and her hips thrust to give her better access to her pussy. Then she took the cloth, dipped it in the warm water, and began wiping it up and down the length of her slit.
She made a little gasp the first time it rubbed over her clitoris, and again the second time.
Christian took out his phone, and made some adjustments to the surveillance cameras that were running in his office, to ensure that one had a good zoomed-in view of her pussy. He made a tidy bundle selling footage like this on the internet – plus having film of his clients doing embarrassing things helped keep them under control if his hypnosis was not wholly effective. If nothing else, her employer would probably pay for a copy.
He let her rub herself with the cloth for a while, and then he said, “Do you feel like you need to clean inside your cunt as well?”
She nodded, biting her lip in a cute way as she did so.
“Good girl,” said Christian. “Hold out your hand. I’m going to put something in it.”
She obeyed.
He placed a thick rubber dildo in her hand.
“This is a tool for cleaning inside you,” he said. “Put the wet cloth over the end, so that it covers it all, and then push it inside you. You can push it in and out of you to clean the inside of your dirty cunt.”
She nodded, and put the cloth over the dildo, and then worked the end into her sex-hole, and began to fuck herself with it.
“Good girl,” he said again. “That’s making you nice and clean.”
Cynthia’s only response was a slutty little gasp.
“Doesn’t it feel good to get clean, Cynthia?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Now, when Harry called you a cunt, do you think he was literally referring to your vagina?” asked Christian.
“No…” said Cynthia slowly, still fucking herself.
“What did he mean, Cynthia?” he asked.
“He meant… I was a difficult bitch,” said Cynthia. “And that I was inferior because I was a woman.”
“I’m going to ask you a question, Cynthia,” said Christian. “And when I ask it, you’re going to reply to me immediately, without thinking. You’re going to give me the answer that your subconcious knows to be true, without letting it go through your conscious mind. Do you understand, Cynthia?”
“Yes,” she said immediately.
“Good girl,” he said. “And in answering, I want you to keep the idea of your dirty cunt in your mind. The question is this, Cynthia: do you think you are as good as a man?”
This was a gamble. He had a plan for either answer, of course, but…
“No,” replied Cynthia immediately.
Ah. The easy way, then.
It didn’t surprise him. He had found the vast majority of women gave that answer, with that setup, under these conditions. For all that they stood up for their rights, part of them, deep down, never really believed it.
“Tell me why you’re not as good as a man, Cynthia,” he said.
“Because I have a gross, disgusting cunt,” said Cynthia. “Because I have a period every month, and I’m a bitch during my period, and I find it hard to get things done. Because if I get pregnant I’ll have to take maternity leave and let down my employer. Because I find it hard to get all my work done every day, and when I make mistakes I feel so stupid. Because the men in my office all look at my tits and part of me knows that they just hired me to look pretty and not because I can do the job. Because I punched a man in the office, which I know is completely unacceptable, and I know that even if they were assholes no man in the office would punch me. I could have gone to jail. I’m so stupid.”
“Does it feel good to be honest about that, Cynthia?” he asked.
“No, it makes me feel like shit,” said Cynthia, still masturbating.
“Have you ever told people you were as good as a man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were lying when you said that, weren’t you?” he asked.
She paused. And then, “Yes, sir.”
“Does it make you feel good to be a liar, Cynthia?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“Guilty,” she said. “Ashamed. Like I’m worthless.”
“Do you think that something should happen to you, for lying about being as good as men?” he asked.
She squirmed a little, still fucking the dildo in and out of her. “Yes, sir.”
She said.
“Give me your hand, Cynthia,” he said. “I’m going to put something in it.”
She stopped fucking herself and put out her hand. He placed an object in it.
“That’s a toilet brush, Cynthia,” he told her. “The end is made of plastic wire bristles. It’s for cleaning dirty, disgusting things, like your cunt. I think you should clean yourself with it.”
She looked uncomfortable.
“It’s going to hurt, Cynthia,” he said. “But it won’t damage you. Just take it nice and slowly. You deserve the pain, for lying about being as good as men, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Go on, Cynthia,” he said. “It will make you feel better about being a liar.”
Slowly, she pulled the dildo out of her cunt, and then pressed the end of the toilet brush against her fuckhole. She pushed, and it slowly slid inside.
The bristles were clearly painful, poking the inside of her fucktunnel. She whimpered.
“Good girl, Cynthia,” he told her. “That’s how your disgusting cunt needs to be cleaned.”
Slowly, she began to fuck herself with the toilet brush.
“Now Cynthia,” he said, “When Harry implied that women were inferior when he called you a cunt, he was just telling the truth, wasn’t he?”
She whimpered again. Her brain would be in a state of complete confusion now – her feminist ideals coming up against her admission she was inferior, and against the fact she was fucking her dirty cunt with a toilet brush while her hypnotherapist watched. Pain and pleasure were mixing in her brain in interesting ways.
“It was the truth, wasn’t it?” prompted Christian.
“Yes, sir,” said Cynthia.
“Now, you also said that he was implying that you were a difficult bitch,” said Christian. “Are you a difficult bitch, Cynthia?”
“No,” said Cynthia.
“But you just said you were,” said Christian. “You said you’re a bitch when you have your period. You said that, didn’t you, Cynthia?”
She moaned.
“That’s what you said, Cailtyn,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Say it for me, Cailtyn,” he said. “Say you’re a bitch.”
“I’m a bitch,” said Cynthia.
“Do you think you behave in the way that Harry wants you to behave?” he asked her.
“No, sir,” she said.
“How do you think it makes Harry feel, that you don’t behave that way?” he asked her.
“Angry,” she said. “Frustrated. Disrespected.”
“Is it nice to make your co-workers angry and frustrated and disrespected?”
“No, sir.”
“Is it bitchy to make your co-workers feel that way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re being bitchy by not acting the way that Harry wants you to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you feeling hot right now, Cynthia?” he asked her suddenly.
She would be. He had turned up the heating and, besides, she was masturbating.
“Yes,” she moaned.
“You might feel cooler if you take off your dress and your bra,” he suggested.
Her body, flushed with sexual arousal, wanted to do that anyway. She accepted his suggestion immediately and, as he watched, she pulled off her dress, and then undid her bra and removed it, baring her gorgeous tits to his view.
“Cynthia, I’m just going to take my cock out of my pants and play with it,” he told her. “That’s a normal thing to do when it’s hot. After all, you have your clothes off. It’s going to relax me. Is that okay with you?”
Some part of her seemed to raise an alarm briefly, but then she pushed the toilet brush back into her twat, and whatever she was thinking was erased by a mixture of pain and lust.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Christian took out his cock and began to slowly stroke it as he watched the gorgeous nude girl fuck herself with a toilet brush in front of him.
“How do you think Harry wants you to behave, Cynthia?” he asked.
She laughed briefly. “Like a bimbo,” she said.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“He wants me to dress pretty, and not contradict him, and bring him coffee, and act like he’s sexy,” she said. “He probably wants me to suck his cock.”
“Is it hard for you to dress pretty, Cynthia?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Do you like being ugly, Cynthia?” he asked.
“No.”
“Could you dress pretty for Harry?”
“… yes.”
“Why aren’t you dressing pretty for Harry, Cynthia?”
“Because… it’s demeaning,” he said.
“You mean you just don’t want to,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re deliberately not dressing pretty, just to be difficult.”
A long pause, then… “Yes, sir.”
“That’s bitchy, isn’t it, Cynthia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re being a bitch by not dressing pretty for Harry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it your job to contradict Harry?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you smarter than men, Cynthia?”
A pause, and then… “No, sir.”
“So why are you contradicting him?”
There was a long pause now.
And then, to Christian’s delight, in a broken voice: “Because I’m a bitch.”
“That’s right, Cynthia. And why don’t you bring coffee for Harry?”
“Because I’m a bitch.”
“And why don’t you act like he’s sexy?”
Her capitulation seemed to end here. “Because he’s an asshole.”
“Is he physically unattractive, Cynthia?”
A pause, and then… “No, sir.”
“Do you think his cock is capable of making you cum?”
She blushed deeply – and then said, “Yes, sir. But I don’t want it to.”
“But it could.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So he’s sexy to you. So why don’t you act like he’s sexy?”
The answer was inevitable. “Because I’m a bitch.”
“So when Harry called you a cunt, meaning that you were a bitch and an inferior woman, that was the truth, wasn’t it?”
She whimpered.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“He was right to call you a cunt, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Say what you are.”
“I’m a cunt.”
“Are all women cunts?”
“Yes.”
He took a breath. “Cynthia, I want you to say out loud that you’re a cunt, and all women are cunts. and I want you to keep repeating it. With every repetition, it will feel more true to you, and you will believe it more. And with every repetition, your sexual arousal will increase, and the pleasure and pain you are feeling in your cunt will increase. I want you to keep repeating it until you cum. Okay?”
A long, shuddering breath. “Yes, sir.”
And then:
“I am a cunt. All women are cunts. I am a cunt. All women are cunts. I am a cunt. All women are cunts. I am a cunt. All – oh, fuck – all women are cunts. I am a cunt. Mmmmhr. Fuck. All women are cunts. I am a – aah! – cunt. All women are cunts. I am a…”
And then, with a squeal, she orgasmed. He watched as she squirted all over his couch and carpet. Messy, but not too hard to clean, and well worth it.
“How do you feel about what happened at work, Cynthia?” he asked her.
“Bad,” she said. “Embarrassed. Guilty.”
“Why do you feel guilty?” asked Christian.
“Because I was a bitch,” she said. “I acted like a bitch to Harry. And when he called me a cunt he was just stating a fact. And then I hit him, which was totally inappropriate.”
“What do you think you need to do about it?” asked Christian.
“Apologise,” said Cynthia. “To Harry and to my employer.”
“And what about the people who saw you punch Harry?”
“Apologise to them as well,” said Cynthia.
“Maybe you should tell them it’s okay to call you a cunt,” said Christian.
Cynthia nodded. “Yes,” she said.
“Tell everyone at work it’s okay to call you a cunt,” said Christian.
“Yes,” said Cynthia.
“Tell every man you know,” prompted Christian.
“Yes,” said Cynthia.
“And how are you going to apologise to Harry?” he asked her.
“Be nice to him,” said Cynthia. “Dress pretty for him. Not contradict him. Bring him coffee. Act like he’s sexy.”
“And what about the other thing he wants?” said Christian. “Don’t you think that would make a nice apology?”
She squirmed. “Suck his cock…” she said.
“Punching him was pretty extreme,” said Christian. “An extreme apology might be necessary.”
She squirmed again.
“Do you know how to suck a cock, Cynthia?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Cynthia immediately.
“I don’t believe you,” said Christian. “Can you show me?”
She wiggled in her seat. “I can suck a cock,” she repeated.
“Here’s my cock, Cynthia,” said Christian, wiggling his erect dick with his hand. “Come over here and show me. Crawl.”
Slowly Cynthia got down off the ground, and crawled across the floor to Christian’s chair. She knelt between his legs, and looked up at him with big, round, beautiful eyes. Then she moved her head forwards, and took his cock into her mouth.
It felt amazing. Her mouth was warm and wet – and he soon discovered that she was quite talented at cocksucking, as she began to bounce her face up and down on his dick.
“I’ve got good news for you, Cynthia,” he said, as she sucked his cock. “I have magic semen. It’s true. And when I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it, it’s going to erase all the things in your life that have been making you unhappy. It’s going to erase all of those bits of you that are bitchy, all those ideas that you’re not a cunt, all those difficult notions that you know better than men. It’s going to make you so happy, and so popular at work.”
Part of her brain must have still been resistant to this notion, because she suddenly raised her head, like she was going to stop sucking his dick. So Christian grabbed her hair and forced her face back down.
“Whether you want it or not, my semen is magic, and it will do these things to you,” he told her. “You can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it. It’s going to delete all the bitchy bits of you, leaving just a cunt. You want that. You know you want that. You wouldn’t have fucked your cunt with a toilet brush like a whore unless you wanted that.”
She made whimpering noises around his cock. She was dangerously close to coming out of trance – but he knew it was too late. Part of her brain did want this – and that part of her was going to accept his words, and make them true.
“Good girl,” he whispered – and then he ejaculated into her mouth.
His semen may as well have been magic. Cynthia instantly went limp, none of her muscles working except for her mouth and throat as they convulsively swallowed his cum.
When he was done, he pushed her away.
“Put your clothes on,” he told her. “When you are fully dressed, you will awaken from your trance.”
He stuffed his cock back in his pants as he dressed, and waited for her to wake up. It was easy to spot – a new light appearing in her eyes, just as she did up the last button on her bra.
“Welcome back, Cynthia,” he said. “Do you remember what we just discussed.”
Her eyes crossed as she tried to think. After a moment, she shook her head. “Was I – I mean, did it work?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Frankly, Cynthia,” he said. “You were a bit of a difficult cunt.”
Her eyes went wide.
He waited to see if his suggestions had taken proper hold.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Cynthia said, a note of genuine guilt in her voice. “I’m such a stupid cunt. I’m sorry I was a bitch. Please, let me apologise. Would you like…” – she blushed – “would you like a blowjob?”
He’d just had one, but… you could never really have enough. He unzipped his pants again.
“I think I would,” he told her. “Crawl over here, cunt. And then we can discuss your next session, where we’ll work on how you can help your female friends to understand that they’re cunts, just like you…”
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