Hypnotist Makes Her Cigarettes Sexy

Hypnotist Makes Her Cigarette Habit Sexy 

Darla had tried everything to quit smoking. Gum. Meditation. Acupuncture. Therapy. Nothing ever worked, not even for a day. The one thing she hadn’t tried was hypnosis. She was skeptical it would work on her. Next she considered going to a professional, but then how would she know if they were a quack? After weeks of agonizing, and chain smoking from the stress of trying to quit smoking, it came to her. She could go see a stage hypnotist, to see if they could actually do it, then she could approach them to see if they could help.

Luckily, Las Vegas was the place to find any sort of entertainment available. She found herself with three choices. Two were men, one was a woman. For some reason, her heterosexual self felt weird about being put under by another woman. That left two. One was “The Great Hypnotico,” the other just used the name Alan Miller. The first one sounded far too goofy, so she went with the second. Then, a phone call later, she had reservations for a Saturday matinee.

The opening act was a really crappy comedian. It was made worse by Darla not wanting to drink. She wanted to be sober to be hypnotized, if it did happen.

When Alan Miller was introduced, and stepped out of the curtain wearing a classic black Zoot Suit, Darla was surprised how handsome he was. A guy like him could be a model, not doing penny ante hypnotism shows. He gave an introduction then, as Darla had expected, he asked for a volunteer from the audience. She kept silent. Alan selected a mousy, withdrawn, young woman and led her to the stage. Darla was impressed he hadn’t simply picked the girl with the biggest tits in the room. Darla could see that woman, and she had volunteered. She was busy pouting now.

Alan didn’t use a watch or anything special like that. Just his voice and the occasional hand gesture. He began his induction, using a slow relaxation technique and multiple countdowns. His patience paid off, as the girl drifted away, right in front of the audience. Next, he led her through a typical series of tricks. He did the classic, cluck like a chicken. He had her forget her own name. The piece de resistance was him having this shy young girl give him a surprising erotic dance, that almost turned into a lap dance. Darla was amazed she would act like that in public. Maybe, this guy really knew what he was doing.

After almost an hour, Alan finally returned her to consciousness. The crowd gave the woman a huge ovation as she nervously returned to his seat. Alan bid the crowd good night, and the show was over. The crowd began to file out, but Darla hesitated. Would she go see him? Could she even get to him? She was lost in thought when she heard the usher.

“May I help you, miss?”

She made up her mind.

“Would there be any way I could see Mr. Miller?”

“Of course, Mr. Miller loves to hear from fans. He’s with someone else right now. Would you mind waiting? I can take you to our green room.”

“That sounds great.”

The phrase “green room” sounds great, until you learn it’s an oversized closet, crammed with chairs, there’s garbage everywhere, plus the food has been picked over to the point there’s only honeydew left. Darla felt nervous. She kept thinking about chickening out. She also craved a cigarette. That, ironically, was what kept her there. 

Almost ten minutes later, the usher returned and asked her to follow. When they reached a door with a paper star taped to it, the usher knocked. The door opened, but it wasn’t Alan who answered it. It was the big breasted woman who hadn’t been invited onstage.

She turned back, waved and said “Thanks, Alan.”

Darla heard his reply, “It was my pleasure.”

The woman bounced away, literally bounced, in more ways than one. Darla wondered how anyone with tits that big could go without a bra. She needed one herself, but not that badly.

“Come in,” Alan called.

The dressing room was a step up from the green room, but hardly the Ritz.

“Hello,” said Alan with a smile. He had removed his jacket. Darla took one look at his swimmer’s build, not overly muscular, but as cut as a Greek statue. 

“Hi,” she said, nervously, “I’m Darla, Darla-“

“He cut her off, “First names will do. Now, how can I help you?”

“I want to quit smoking,” she blurted out, happy to just get it off her chest.

“I’ve worked with people who needed that. I won’t make any guarantees, but I also won’t charge you, unless you feel you need follow up sessions.”

“Ok, I’m willing to try. What do I need to do?”

“I want you to close your eyes, and listen.”

She did. She heard his fingers snap, then, seconds later she heard him speak again.

“You can open your eyes.”

She did, turning to him, “Why?”

“I can tell already it won’t work, you’re too tense. Maybe some other time.”

Darla worked hard to hide her disappointment. Still, it was a Hail Mary to begin with.

She looked at her watch and realized it was later than she had thought.

“I should go,” she said.

“Maybe some other time.”

That wasn’t going to happen, Darla told herself.

“Thanks for trying,” she said, before heading straight for her car.

She wasn’t even at the car yet when she lit up a cigarette. No help at all. She got in with the cigarette still lit, and kept it going inside, until it burnt to the filter. Darla felt flushed as she finished it, so flushed she turned on the AC, despite it being 70 degrees outside. She got home in twenty minutes, headed inside and lit another cigarette. The flushing returned, and her nipples began to harden. She realized what it was; she was horny. It had been a few months since she dumped her ex, and she’d gone without since. She figured she’d just make dinner to take her mind off it. It helped, but not entirely. She barely tasted her meal, she was so preoccupied, and she sank into her sofa for her after-dinner cigarette.

Halfway through the cigarette, her pussy got wet.

By the time she finished, her panties were soaked. She headed to the bedroom to change. As she opened the drawer for a new pair, her eyes fell on her vibrator. She didn’t use it often, but…

After an hour of self-fucking, she felt a bit of relief. She staggered back to the living room, desperate for a smoke. As she finished it, she realized she was still horny. This was crazy! She lit another cigarette, just to try to calm it, but it only got worse. She needed to get fucked, masturbation was not going to cut it, but how? The idea of calling her ex flashed across her mind, but even this horny, she couldn’t bear the thought. But there was no other option, unless…

This was Vegas, after all, and she made decent money. The prostitute she called came highly recommended, and she came over and over and over, until she lost count. It was, quite literally, the best sex she had ever had. Twice, she had to buy another hour. She was exhausted at the end, and the hooker had another appointment. Darla thanked him, tossed him a $50 tip, and said goodbye. Out of breath, she collapsed on the bed. When she did get her breath back, she lit up a post-coital smoke, the best kind there was.

Two puffs in she realized it. She was horny again!

There was a knock at the door. It was 4 a.m., the prostitute must have forgotten something. She went to the door, naked, since he’d certainly seen everything already. She opened the door… and there stood Alan Miller. She was too shocked to be embarrassed. He smiled at her.

“How was the sex?”

“It was… wait, how did you know?”

“I saw the guy leave. Plus, you’re naked. May I come in?”

“Yes,” she said, wanting to get to the bottom of this. It didn’t even twig in her mind to ask how he’d learned her address, without even knowing her last name.

“Yes, the nudity and the hooker leaving paint a pretty clear picture.”

“How… he wasn’t a hooker,” she lied to save face.

“I know one when I see one,” he said with a wry grin before continuing, “Besides, when I hypnotized you earlier tonight, I planted a trigger.”

“You didn’t hypnotise me,” she said, puzzled.

He ignored her and continued. “I made it so whenever you smoke, you get horny. More smoking, more arousal.”


“So, I’ll ask again, how was the sex.”

She hesitated then went with the truth. “Amazing. So good I can’t really describe it.”

“That’s part of the trigger too, you’ll enjoy sex far more from now on, that is…”

“Is what”

“Or what”

“The way I see it, you have three options, I can undo the hypnosis and free you of the entire trigger.

You can keep trying to quit smoking, but you’ll be giving up the amazing sex too.

I can leave you as is. The knowledge that  smoking makes you that horny should be enough to help you quit. Or…” He paused.

“Or, you can just keep smoking. Then you’ll be a wanton, sex addict, but it will feel so good. Imagine feeling that good, all night, every night. Besides, it’s not like you can’t make a living doing it.”

At this point, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“Smoking feels good. Sex feels even better. Why not dedicate your life to both?”

“I… I don’t know.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his own pocket. He pulled out two, lit one, and offered her the other.

“What’s it going to be.”

She snatched it from his hands and lit it up, drawing deeply.

After a few long puffs, she asked “Are we going to fuck now?” hoping for the answer yes.

“Fuck yeah!”

Darla wasn’t quitting smoking any time soon.

The Hypnotist’s Cursed Mask (Story)

The Hypnotist’s Cursed Mask

In ‘The Hypnotist’s Cursed Mask’, a hypnosis story is told.

A man is drawn to an antique shop, where he eyes an old rubber mask.

The shopkeeper tells him it’s been cursed by a very powerful hypnotist.

He doesn’t believe in all of that superstition. But he is definitely drawn to it….

It’s a rainy afternoon, and he finds himself begrudgingly walking down the sidewalk, hearing the splashing of his shoes slapping time and time again onto the little pools of water. He’s tired, and truth be told, bored out of his mind.

It seems that lately his life had gotten into an eternal loop. Nothing new, nothing to break the monotony 

Not only has he broken up with his girlfriend almost a year ago, but his current dating game leaves much to be desired. So enjoying any sex was totally out of question.  

With his hands stuck in his pockets, he stares at the locals on either side of the street. He doesn’t feel an urge to return home, even though the day is overcast, and it seems to be threatening to pour down at him at any second.

Something seems to be calling to him… beckoning him closer. He deviates from his usual road back home, getting closer and closer to the slums.

The apartments surrounding him begin getting smaller until he’s only surrounded by old houses. He begins to wonder if he had ever seen this part of the city before. More puzzling still, even when he tries to find the location on his cell phone, he can’t pick up even the slightest bit of signal.

That was it for him: he can’t risk his life just because a gut feeling kept pushing him to walk further and further. He decides to turn around and begin his way back, afraid of having to make a fool of himself by asking a policeman to take him home.

But his feet didn’t seem to want to obey that command. He felt an internal pull which made him come to a complete halt. He looked to the side, and there, waiting for him to just step inside was a large, odd-looking store. He has never seen anything quite like it before, though it isn’t particularly eye-catching either. It’s one of those places people only seem to find when they are actually looking for it. 

As he approaches the building, he begins to notice even further details. An inventory so diverse it doesn’t seem to fit a single store, objects which don’t not seem to have any type of connection between them.

He stops in front of the door, feeling a strong, strange pressure on the back of his neck. His heartbeat begins growing faster and faster. It’s irrational and yet completely irresistible. 

Something calls him from the inside. It was creepy too: through the windows closest to the doors, he can notice odd, ancient dolls. Their dead eyes appear to look into his soul.

That’s already scary in and of itself, but there is something peculiar about them. He can  feel their glassy black eyes, dark voids, watching him, almost as if they are staring at him no matter which direction they face. On the opposite wall various tarot cards are mounted in strange patterns.

“If I go inside and there’s an Elvis poster, I’m gone, I’m not bored enough to find out I’m stuck in a Stephen King novel,” he tells himself as he steps through the door.

The interior of the place does not alleviate his feeling of unreality, it is clearly an emporium, and it sells all kinds of oddities. He can see some grenades from the second world war in boxes on the back with a sign which read: “Don’t worry! they won’t explode! ( I think!)”

He wanders through the shelves, seeing piles and piles of what any normal person would say garbage, worthless junk, but something begins to rise inside him, a voice. Faint and almost imperceptible in the background of his consciousness, where the most primitive part of the human brain operates.

His hands become moist by a layer of sweat, his heart beating hard, like a rolling drum.

 Although the place seems like a labyrinth, that voice guides his feet. It seems to be coming from inside his brain, yet from so far away, as if there is another version of himself stuck at the bottom of a cave.

As he searches and follows that voice blindly, the convulsion seems to grow stronger. He doesn’t notice the pair of old eyes watching him from behind a pair of ancient glasses. 

“What object is he going to take?” The old timer muses to himself “how is this man going to be condemned? Each person who enters the store takes something unique, destined to change their lives, in the most varied and unique ways, and the results are not always negative… but are they truly for the better? These objects are very much so like the fairies of old, who do not share our concepts of right and wrong.”

“I wonder… What is calling to him? Perhaps one of the rings in the backroom, or perhaps one of our exquisite coins?” he whispers to himself as he runs his finger down the page of the book he was reading before the new customer walks past him at last.

“Take it, you want it” The young man walking through those long corridors hears the unnatural voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. 

He finally comes to a halt in front of what appears to be a mask, made of a material which is difficult to decipher. Its entire surface is a wonderfully blue hue that, depending on the direction you look at it, flashes of different colors across its length. He extends his hand slowly, almost trembling, he begins to feel its texture on his fingertips, he can feel something stir inside of him.

“It’s cursed, I think you should know.” The old man’s voice snaps him out of his trance, turning back so he can see who’s talking to him.

“Cursed you say?” He laughs at the old man, and deep inside, he laughs at himself too, because he believes those words all too much.  “There are no cursed objects, although I understand the reference, I suppose you also change shape every time a new client enters?”

The old man laughs at the reference. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe that author was inspired by me when writing that book?” He walks towards it, accommodating some of the many objects accumulated on the shelves. “After all, there has always been a store like mine, throughout history.”

He already rolls his eyes, a little tired of the mysterious old man’s routine. “Could it be… and what is the supposed curse that this object has?”

“That mask belonged to a hypnotist with strange tastes, if you are willing to listen to the advice of an eccentric old man who clearly has you bored, I would leave it and run out of this store,” the shopkeeper tells him knowing that he will not accept the offer, once you enter here there is no way you can leave without your curse

“Ah, a hypnotist, of course, what is supposed to happen to me I’m going to cluck? Don’t be ridiculous, don’t worry about sweetening the product, It’s already sold, I’m going to take it, I know where I’m going to put it” He tells him, already squeezing the mask between his fingers, with an unconscious fear that the man will try to take it away.

The owner nods, giving him what seems to be a pitying smile. “I won’t insist on it anymore, it’s clear that you’ve already made your decision.” 

“That’s right, how much is it?” He asks, taking out his wallet, being careful not to let go of the mask, for no justifiable reason, he feels an irrational fear that he will take this precious item from him. 

“For you, because I liked you, and I see that mask means a lot for you, I’m willing to offer you half the price” he smiles at him offering a bag, leaning in front of him, trying to take that mask from him would create a very uncomfortable moment for both of them.

Without taking a second, he pays him, putting his mask in his bag ” keep the change” he tells him without waiting for the owner to react, he leaves and starts walking through those unknown streets, without knowing why he is in such a hurry, but the further he goes from the store, the calmer he becomes, that frenzy, that irrational fear of not being able to buy it, that the old man does not want to give it to him vanishes.

“I don’t know why I got like that… it doesn’t make sense,” he says to himself out loud, feeling how the mask moves back and forth in the bag. The streets that take them to his house, become long, eternal, like an obsession, he needs to arrive and with every second that passes it becomes more and more unbearable, the bag weighs him down, and he wants to hold the mask in his hands, the bag offends him, it is a barrier between him and his destiny, although he is not fully aware of the thoughts and compulsion he begins to feel. awakening in the deepest parts of his being 

Almost like a zombie, he searches for his house keys, standing in front of the door of the entrance hall of his building, the keys get stuck in his pants, he begins to pull, he begins to hear the fabric of his jean pants, even the tip of the key caught in the fabric begins to scrape and hurt the skin of his leg, but he doesn’t care, it’s like he’s in a trance, the mask pulses from his right hand, the bag in which he carried it has gone a few blocks back. The smooth, stiff texture of the mask burns the fingers of his hand with craving.

“Come on, hurry up, why are you taking so long?” His own voice tells him, inside that hole, with an echo that threatens to completely rob him of his sanity. “I’m already trying!” He answers himself with a cry full of despair.

*RRRRRRIIPPPPPP!!!* The noise of his pants giving way, the pocket completely annihilated, releases the key, which had already started to stain with the blood on his leg. “Yes!!!” he shouts without caring that some pedestrians on the sidewalk in front move away from him, scared.

“Well, you were able to open a door, do you deserve an award?” that distant but close voice tells him without a drop of mercy, he can’t tell if it’s his own voice, or if it’s the mask, or maybe he’s too aware of his own thoughts.

He opens the door of his apartment, with all his willpower, puts the mask on the counter in his living room, and gets into the shower with clothes on and everything. As the minutes go by, feeling the water running through his body, cleaning the small puncture in his own knee, he feels his mind begin to calm down. While washing his hair he feels silly, it’s clear he let that old man get into his head, there is no such thing as curses, and it’s just a good mask. He can hang it in his living room that way when he has visitors, you can use it to generate talking points.

After drying off and getting dressed in a shirt and pants from home, he is about to go cook dinner, when he passes in front of the mask, and his entire body stops there as if his legs were screwed into place. eyes fixed on it, he licks his lips, the anxiety, the temptation to touch it.

“It’s like a band-aid, take it, put it on, get it out of the system and that’s it, so you stop thinking about curses and stop talking to yourself,” He says out loud taking the mask between his fingers, turns it looking at it, seeing through his eyes, and although there is a part inside him, he tells him, he begs him to stop testing that object of the devil, but at the same time he could feel how heat was beginning to be generated in his crotch, his member slowly headed toward the biggest erection he’s ever had.

“Come on, put on the mask, stop wasting time doubting… no wonder life is going that way for you” that voice in his head, was as if he was provoking himself, trying to humiliate himself. He swallows and begins to bring himself closer to his head, each millimeter that shrinks between him and the mask, the heat in his crotch expanding more and more, his heartbeat racing, anticipating the storm.

The cold texture of the mask touches his skin, and his heart is about to explode, and he feels the scream in his mouth that is about to come out, but at first, for the first few seconds, it feels like an eternity is passing. The humiliation and shame begin to take over him now. How can he think and convince himself that something like this is actually doing something? But before he can complete that thought, the mask takes on a life of its own, sticking to his face as if trying to take the place of his skin. The first thing his hands can notice as they uselessly try to peel it off is what seemed to be a kind of rubber. And to his surprise he couldn’t differentiate the mask from his face. His eyes open, his mouth in a null expression, almost as if he were an artificial being, a mannequin. 

The material of the mask continues to expand around his cranium, and begins to go down what is his neck, as it continues to expand, what was a heat, becomes a completely uncontrolled hell he cannot escape from. His mind begins to fill with ideas, of sex, of pleasure, his dick at the same time threatens to break his pants, without thinking about it, he lowers the zipper and begins to help him free it.

The rubber begins turning black, as his skin turns a shiny ebony. 

“This is the only thing I am…” that voice, repeated inside him, “I am nobody, I am not a person, I am absolutely nothing” he could feel how the rubber was already beginning to cover part of his shoulders and his chest, With his hands he tears off his clothes, leaving him completely naked, his head shining. His penis was fully erect, swollen, veiny, and no doubt at risk of exploding from blood pressure. 

“Horny…. HORNYYYYYY….. SO HORNY…. “he heard himself say, although his face couldn’t cry right now if it could. He would let the tears flow, it’s such an overdose of stimulation that he was rubbing his shaft.

“YOU SEE! This is the only thing that matters to you. You are basic, without depth, only looking for pleasure”. It is really difficult for him to differentiate if it is the mask or himself. Everything is confusing, and half of his body is covered by this layer of rubber, he is no longer even a person, he is only a doll, a being of pure desire, but the most exasperating thing is the fact that it is a desire without destiny, that just expands to everywhere without finding any destination, already in his mind there is no woman or even man he wants, he just looks for the explosion, the ecstasy of the moment, it’s the only thing he needs, the only thing that matters.

 If his face still could change its expression, he would be surprised when he noticed how his dick grows, like a fairground balloon, a rubber sword, pointing forward, his hands moving along it, each millimeter of such a monster, completely destroying what little reason he still has left inside him. In an unbridled frenzy, he searched his drawers for a knob of lubricant, at that moment it was the only thing that mattered, he needed to be able to slide it within his hands. It’s a monster, he doesn’t think he can live much longer if he doesn’t get the ecstasy he so badly needs.

“Touch yourself… TOUCH ME…. NEEDED…. sooo horny!” the voice screams inside him the moment he manages to find the knob, and at that moment, as if he were a robot, with a single objective, lying there on his bed staring at nothing, with his hands going up and down, the sound of slick rubber on rubber, generating heat, shrieks of pleasure flooding every corner of the building. Everything begins to turn completely white and blank until the climax arrives, dragging him into the middle of an uncontrollable storm, his dick becomes a violent geyser, which he releases to everywhere, and he ends up falling asleep right there, exhausted. Confused. Until he is unconscious.

Slowly he comes out of the stupor, still feeling like his body is trapped in a some sort of  thermal contradiction: his skin burns but the sweat that covers him is cold as frost. He is in his bed now. He looks over to his bedside table. The mask is sitting there innocently. He must have remembered the color wrong. It’s jet black in color now. Wow, it must have been a dream… right?

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