by Michael K. Smith
I had two weeks of down-time before the spring term began and I was mostly hanging around the house, reading and watching TV, and visiting friends. Generally goofing off. Of course, I made a point of dropping by to see my old friend Jeff, who had transferred to a different college. As it turned out, he was off on a Christmas shopping expedition with his mother and the door was answered by his licorice-hating little sister, Sharon -- my very first hypnotic subject. She was fourteen now, a very cute, bouncy little gumdrop with a babyface and a sweet smile, and the moment I saw her I knew what my next experiment would be.
"Hi, Sharon -- you've really grown up since I saw you last year! You remember me, don't you?"
She blanked for a moment but then recognition appeared on her face. "Oh -- yeah! Jeff's friend! Um, you hypnotized me once, didn't you?" She opened the screen and motioned me in.
I followed her into the living room, watching the jaunty twitch of her little bottom beneath the tight denim of her jeans. She was wearing her hair below her shoulders and it bounced and swayed in shiny waves against the back of her pink sweatshirt. God, she was so full of adolescent female energy.
"You remember being hypnotized, do you?"
"Oh, sure! You don't forget something like that. I was so surprised that I went under so easily. I remember, you gave me some chocolate, too, didn't you?"
"Do you remember what a posthypnotic trigger is, Sharon?"
She turned as she reached the living room. "A post-what?"
"Dive, Sharon, dive," I said quietly.
Her puzzled expression slowly cleared and she smiled happily. "Yes. . . ." I learned very early to always leave a back door.
"Sharon, I'm going to ask you some easy questions. You know the answers and you will be absolutely honest and candid. And you won't feel any reason to be embarrassed, will you? You know I'm your friend, don't you?" She nodded and cocked her head attentively. "You know I like you, Sharon, and that I have only the best intentions, right?"
"Sure." We sat down on the sofa, side by side.
"Is there anyone else in the house right now? Is Jeff due back anytime soon?"
"Nope, I'm all by myself. I don't expect Mom and Jeff for at least a couple of hours. Why?"
"Because I don't want us to be disturbed. Now remember, Sharon -- be honest with your answers and don't be embarrassed, either. You can tell me absolutely anything, can't you?" She nodded again. "Does it usually embarrass you to talk about sex, Sharon?"
"Um, . . . no, I guess not -- not when I'm talking to you, anyway." Very good, I thought.
"Most teenaged girls get horny -- right, Sharon? And they masturbate. How old were you when you started doing that? How did you discover it? And how often do you do it?"
"Oh, I found out about getting sexy a couple of years ago; I guess I was eleven or twelve. My jammies were a little too small and the top rubbed against my titties and they got tingly, sort of. My friend Debbie told me she got hot when she wore tight jeans without underpants, so I tried that, too. That got me really horny and I started rubbing myself in bed. I guess I get off once or twice a week, now."
She sounded very matter-of-fact. Terrific, I thought; the timer was sure ticking on *this* little sex bomb.
"That sounds about right, I think. Have you ever masturbated in public? In school, or someplace?"
She giggled mischievously. "Yeah, I've done it on the school bus a couple of times. If you put your legs close together and squeeze the muscles just right, you can get off that way! The bus bouncing helps, too." She was even sexier when she grinned.
"And I did it once in science class, with my pencil eraser, because Mr. Edwards is really cute! Even if he is almost thirty. All the girls have the hots for him, I think. I know a couple of girls who have used their fingers to jack off in the showers in gym, but I've never done that. People might think I was a lesbian!" She laughed and her hips squirmed -- which suggested something.
"Sharon, while we're sitting here talking about sex, you're getting really horny, aren't you? You really want to jack off right here, don't you?"
"Ummm, yeah, I really do. . . ." Her voice had lowered in volume and pitch and she squirmed even more. "Can I, uh, . . . ?"
"Yes, of course you can, Sharon. Just pretend I'm not here and I can't see what you're doing -- but keep answering my questions." The girl scooted her ass forward on the sofa beside me and her thighs parted as her hand glided down to cup the crotch of her jeans. She began massaging and rubbing the denim between her legs rhythmically but her attention didn't wander from my face, though she licked her lips a couple of times. The side of her knee was pressed against my thigh and I could feel the small muscular twitches as she climbed higher.
"Sharon," I continued softly, "close your eyes and picture the sexiest things you can think of, as if they were on a movie screen in your head. The pictures are very clear. What do you see while you masturbate? Tell me what you see, Sharon."
She drew a shaky breath. "It's Darlene's brother, Phil. He's two years older than Darlene and me. I'm over at Darlene's house and I go upstairs to use the bathroom, and Phil's bedroom door is open a crack, and I hear these . . . sounds. And I can't help it: I go over real quietly and peek in." Her voice was low and she was breathing faster as she relived the experience.
"All he's wearing is a T-shirt; his jeans and his shoes are on the floor. I've never seen a guy that old naked before! He's holding his, . . . his penis. He's, like, jerking off, and his cock is real big and stiff-looking, and I wonder what it would feel like if he put his cock in my-- between my legs. It looks so big -- but it must fit, people do it all the time. And he's moving his hand faster and faster, and I'm getting hot just watching him, I'm getting wet down there, I can feel it. . . ."
Sharon's hand was moving in tighter circles and her pelvis was jerking a little. She was sure as hell getting *me* hot! "Go ahead, Sharon -- what happens next? What does Phil do? And what do you do?"
"I put my hand between my legs, feeling myself up. And Phil's bouncing on the bed and he's got his eyes shut. And then he comes. I've never seen that before -- God, there's so much of it, all that white stuff! And he shoots it at least a foot in the air, he shoots off several times, I can't believe it goes so far, . . . and I can't imagine what it would feel like if he squirted all that stuff inside me. But I'll bet it would feel really great!"
Sharon's hand was really moving now, and her hips were bucking. I should have had her take her jeans off, I thought -- but this was safer. And then she sort of squeaked and I could feel the trembling in her knee. She let out a long, ragged sigh.
"The idea of having sex with a boy kinda scares me, but I can't wait until I'm old enough. And then I tiptoe to the bathroom, real quiet, and while I'm on the toilet, after I pee, I finger-fuck myself. And I imagine Phil walking in on me, because I deliberately didn't lock the bathroom door. And that makes me come -- it's only the second or third time I ever really came, too."
Listening to Sharon's sweet young voice describe her experience was intensely erotic and it had my cock as hard as a baseball bat. So I took a pretty stupid chance.
"Sharon, would you like to see another guy's cock? I'll show you one, but you must not be frightened by it. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, uh, . . . I don't know. You mean, like, close up? Oh, wow. . . ."
"Yes, close up, Sharon -- very close. I'll show you my cock and I won't touch you. There's nothing to be afraid of, is there, Sharon? It's completely normal for a fourteen-year-old girl to be curious. You'd like very much to see my cock, wouldn't you, Sharon? It's really stiff. . . ."
I could see on her face the struggle between
aroused curiosity and little-girl uncertainty. "Oh. Well, uh, . . . I think--
I think I'd like to see it." She licked her lips
again and swallowed, and straightened her shoulders. A slight but enjoyable aroma permeated the crotch of her jeans.
I leaned back and unhooked my belt, unzipped my fly, and slowly pushed down my jeans and my shorts. My cock sprang up like a Jack-in-the-box but Sharon didn't even flinch. I'd been successful in subverting her inhibitions and fears, and now this was what she really wanted to see. In fact, she leaned closer in obvious fascination and hesitantly reached out her hand.
"You can touch it, Sharon, it won't hurt you. You really want to find out what it feels like, don't you? You really want to hold my cock in your hand. . . ."
And then her soft, warm fingers had grasped the thickest part of the shaft, near the base -- and her other hand had closed carefully over the head. Wow . . . it feels so hard and so soft, at the same time. . . ." She moved her lower hand slowly, lightly, up and down, staring fixedly at what she was doing. She seemed to be trying to imitate Phil but she wasn't sure how. It sure felt nice, sitting there, being jerked off by this cute little teenybopper, but if things reached their natural conclusion I'd probably make a mess I'd have a very hard time cleaning up or explaining.
"We'll just do this much, Sharon." I folded my hand gently around hers and moved it upward, squeezing a large drop of semen onto the palm of her hand. "Sharon, you have an overwhelming desire to know what that 'white stuff' tastes like, don't you? It can't hurt you and it doesn't taste bad. Women do this all the time. Put out your tongue, now, and lick that drop off your hand. Taste it slowly and remember what it tastes like." She put out her little kitten tongue and cleaned her palm with a thoughtful expression. Her nose twitched and she smiled.
"Now, Sharon, cup your hands over your nose and mouth and inhale deeply. That's it, sweetheart. Remember that aroma, Sharon: That's what sex smells like. It smells wonderful, doesn't it? Do you like it?"
She smiled again and nodded happily as she lowered her hands. "Yes, I really like it."
"All right, Sharon. You will not remember that any of this has happened. But whenever you feel sexy, whenever you start to masturbate, sometimes you will think about when you watched Phil jerk off -- but more and more often, you will think about me, instead. You will think about what my penis looks like and feels like. Your imagination will call up the visual memories and images of this afternoon. You'll remember the smell of sex. And your imagination will take it from there: You will fantasize about having sex with me, all different kinds of sex, and that will make you very, very horny. All this will happen only when you're by yourself because you don't want to get caught, do you? You will always be aware that it's just your imagination coming up with sexy, exciting thoughts for you to get off on. But you'll also start to have private daydreams about making love with me. You won't know why it's *me* your imagination has picked to fantasize about, but you won't worry about that. And, Sharon -- you will begin to look forward to seeing me again during the summer, won't you? You will begin to think about finding some way to meet me alone."
She smiled warmly. "Oh, yes -- I'm really looking forward to seeing you again next summer." She was gripping my cock again and now she gave it a friendly little squeeze before releasing it. All this was so far beyond my spur-of-the-moment expectations, I could hardly believe it.
I stood and pulled up my jeans and tucked in my shirttail while sexy little Sharon watched with bright eyes. I reminded her once more that she would not consciously remember what we had been up to and then I brought her up out of her trance.
She blinked and I said, "Well, It's been nice seeing you again, Sharon. Tell your brother I stopped by, okay? Ask him to give me a call before we go back to school."
"It's nice to see you again, too. Real
nice," she added. Her tone and her expression were freighted with new meaning.
"Maybe I'll see you again over summer vacation. . . ?" she suggested. She
looked hopeful and she was leaving eyetracks all over my body. Who knew
what might happen when the seeds I'd planted began to ripen. . . ? I felt
kind of like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter.
Copyright 1994 by Michael K. Smith. Copies
may be made and posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial
rights are reserved.