Breast-o-tised

"Hello," a woman's voice, "Hypnotherapy Associates. This is Doctor Brown. Can I Help You?"

"Yes. Hi. My Name is Amanda. I, uh, was told that you could maybe help me..."

"Oh, yes! Terri's friend, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"She filled me in just a little. She said you were having some intimacy issues with your boyfriend."

"Well, sort of..."

"Why don't you tell me yourself what's going on."

"Well, we've been together..." she thinks of a lie "about a year now and...I'm not, like, ready to have sex or anything with him yet and I'm afraid that he's going to break up with me or something. I really like him and...well.."

"That's funny. Terri told me you've been with him for just over a month. I must have misheard her. Nonetheless, what would you like me to do?"

"Well, he says that he's, y'know...a leg-man. I mean, I don't have bad legs or anything but I, uh, I want to turn him into a boob-man."

"Why's that?"

"Because, well, I, uh...have a big chest. And I really want him to like me..."

"You've been together a year. Don't you think he likes you?"

"Uh, well, yeah...I don't know. I don't know if he likes me enough...if he finds me pretty enough...to stay with me if we don't...y'know...have sex. He's like, this really smart doctor at the city hospital. And I'm just this girl from the midwest, a receptionist at a stupid ad company. So I just thought that..."

"That if he liked big breasts he'd find you more attractive."

"Well, yeah."

"Do other men find you attractive?"

"I guess so...they're always, like, staring at my chest. But not him. It's like he doesn't notice it."

"Okay, well, why don't you guys come in early Thursday afternoon and we'll see what we can do."

"And, uhh...he doesn't have to know..."

"Anything. We'll say we're just trying to help your relationship along with some light hypnotherapy. Do you think he'll agree to that?"

"Uh, yeah, sure...great. Okay, thanks alot. We'll, uh, see you Thursday."

Several days later, in a private midtown office. Dr. Brown is a prim, neatly dressed woman in her thirties.

"So, John. Amanda tells me that you're having some issues with intimacy. Do you agree?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. She'd like me to be able to share my feelings a little more. I've never really been a big talker so..."

"Okay, well, it was good of you to come to this session. We're going to use a light hypnosis to ask you a few questions and leave you with some post-hypnotic suggestions which will ease communication between the two of you. Is that okay?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." He looks over to Amanda, who smiles nervously. She is sitting quietly, hands in her lap, off to his side.

The doctor's voice drops. "Now, John, I want you to relax and close your eyes. Can you do that? Good. Relax and listen to my voice. Relax and listen as I count back from ten. Ten, nine, eight...listen, and you can feel yourself growing sleepy...seven, six, five...that's good, relax...four. Three. Two. One. Now, John, can you hear me?"

A slow pause. "Yes."

The doctor studies his blank features. "Can you tell me how you feel?"

"Good."

She looks over to Amanda and whispers "My...he was quite open to the hypnosis. He went under easy." She leans back, in towards him, and continues. "That's good, John. Now, tell me, what is it about Amanda that you like the best?"

Again, he is slow in response. "Her body."

"And what, specifically, do you find attractive about her body?"

Amanda looks on in rapt, wide-eyed attention. He speaks in a soft monotone, "Her breasts."

"I see. Now, what is it about her breasts that you like?"

"They're big."

"Okay. That's good. So, you like big breasts, do you John?"

"Yes."

"You like Amanda's big breasts?"

"Yes."

A pause as the doctor contemplates the moment. "John, what's the first word you think of when I say 'soft'?"

A pause. "Breasts."

"How about when I say 'warm'?"

"Breasts."

"When I say 'safe'?"

"Breasts."

"What if I say 'breasts'?"

Another pause. "Mommy." Amanda's nervous giggle is stifled by a quick, sidelong glance from the doctor.

"Okay, John, you can relax now....just sit quietly." The doctor turns to Amanda and speaks in a low voice, "Well, we seem to have a classic breast fetish here already. A manifestation of a subconscious yearning to be back in a mother's arms, held close, nursing. Back in maternal comfort. Whatever he was telling you earlier about being a 'leg-man' was obviously a cover to hide his true feelings - whether out of embarassment or otherwise. Perhaps he didn't want to demonstrate what he saw as a weakness for your body. Do you understand?"

Amanda nods, looking over to John's sleeping face.

"What we can do, Amanda, is use this. Amplify it and focus it as an attraction to you. I can place some post-hypnotic suggestions, get him to associate you more strongly with a mother figure. In the end, that's what a breast fetishist is looking for. A replacement for Mommy. Now, if we do this, he'll become fixated on your breasts. Obsessed. Is that what you want? Is that what you'd like me to do?"

Amanda, not taking her eyes off his face, his vacuous expression, replies "Yes."

"Let's go then." The doctor turns back to face him. "John, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, John...you like to look at Amanda's breasts?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, I want you to listen very carefully, okay?"

"Okay."

"Listen to me closely. From now on, John, whenever you look at Amanda's breasts, you're going to think about how nice and big they are. How beautiful she is. You're going to think about how soft they must feel. I want you to imagine, when you look at Amanda's breasts, how nice it would be to cuddle up next to them. How nice it would be to be a little baby again and snuggle into her. You're going to think about how nice it would be if she could pick you up and hold you in her arms, hold you to her breast, where it's so soft, so safe, so warm. You're going to think how nice it would be if Amanda could be your Mommy. How does that sound? Nice?"

"Yes."

Again the doctor turns away from him. "Well, Amanda," she says matter-of-factly, "that should just about do it. Now, before I bring him out of it, I want to give you this. It's a prescription for a lactation aid. You'll take one once a day and you should see an increase in size over the next few weeks. What bra size are you now?"

"Uhh..34D...a D-cup." Amanda stutters in reply. They look bigger than that, though, she thinks proudly, on her slim frame, with her narrow 22-inch waist.

"Well, this should put you past a double-D, then, at least. That'll help reinforce things along the way."

"So...I'm going to get...bigger?"

"That's the idea. Is that okay?"

"Well...yeah..." she replies with a shy smile, "Now, okay, will I also...?"

"Lactate? Oh, yes. In a couple of weeks. Now, you can decide to breastfeed him, if you'd like. That will deepen his fixation, strengthen his bond to you. Otherwise, you'll have to pump occasionally."

"Oh..my. Okay..well, thank you. Thank you so much for everything..."

"I'm sure the two of you will be very happy. Just come on back in if you'd like to adjust behavior at all. Or, for that matter, work on your own self-confidence."

"Uhh...okay," she stammers, "thanks..."

After the appointment, she drives him home in her new, heavily-financed SUV. He finally seems to be slowly coming back to reality, perhaps a bit dazed, as if waking from a deep sleep. "So...what's it like to be be hypnotized? How do you feel?"

"Actually, I feel great, very relaxed." She hears him pause. "I feel like I just had a full night's rest...which is good 'cuz I have to get to...the...hospital."

Though her eyes are straight ahead, watching the road, she can feel him, almost surreptitiosly, stealing glances of her in profile. Is he looking at my...? Did it work? She flushes in pride as she senses his eyes on her breasts. What, she wonders, could be going through his head right now? Is he fantasizing? Imagining cuddling his face into my chest? With a small leap of courage she takes a purposefully deep breath and straightens her back behind the wheel, emphasizing her full bust through her high-necked, sleeveless black top.

He's quiet, tense; she hears him swallow nervously. How cute, she thinks, he's fidgety. Like a little teenage boy trying to sneak a look at me. At twenty-four years old, she's by now used to having guys look at her chest, but to know, now, that he's obsessed...it gives her a new feeling of confidence, power.

"Okay, here we are," she says as she pulls up in front of his apartment building, "I'll see you this weekend?" She leans in for a quick kiss, being sure to linger a moment and press her breast into his arm. That'll give him someting to think about, she muses as he mumbles in assent, steals one last glimpse of her figure and shuts the car door. She smiles as she watches him walk up into the building.

Their date planned for Saturday is a relaxed late afternoon of shopping and casual dining along the waterfront. She pleased to find that the outfit she'd chosen for the occasion - a tight, lycra t-top under an open, short sleeve cotton shirt, alongside a tight pair of faded denim shorts - is having the desired effect. With a glimpse of cleavage here, an arched back there (no different than tricks she'd used since..blossoming...as a teen) she seems to have him wrapped around her finger. It's actually quite easy, she finds. And so adorable! He's so eager to please her - a contrast to their previous dates where she, it seemed, had to use so much effort to keep his attention. But now, with just a little hint of boob, he was like a puppy dog!

By early evening, both of them are hungry and weighed down with shopping bags - new purchases he's made for Amanda from the numerous fashionable boutiques along the wharf. "Thank you soooo much," she cooed into his ear at one point, "I like looking good for my little baby." She giggled as she watched a visible shiver run through him. She knew she shouldn't be such a tease. But it was so fun! Not since high school had she had a guy so hot for her, so jazzed in his own hormones, and it felt good.

Dinner conversation, over a quick plate of seafood, is pleasant. She is a bit giddy and does most of the talking. He's rapt in attention as she's decided to give him an eyeful and had removed her shirt when they first sat. Her white t-top now stretches tautly across her full chest and reveals a fair amount of firm, tanned cleavage. Much more than she's used to displaying these days. No use in attracting too many lustful stares, right?

They decide on a movie at her place for after dinner. He lets her choose the movie - a totally emasculating romantic comedy about some sap and a chick in footsy pajamas. "Did you see that guy?" she asks, giggling, referring to the store's teenage clerk as they leave with their video, "he was totally staring down my top! What a geek!" To her delight John's taken to stammering, sweating visibly as they walk home - obviously in anticipation of time alone with her. I don't know what he thinks he's going to get, she ponders. It's only been a month, and she is a christian, after all. A good girl. To this point all she's allowed is necking and a bit of heated, clothed petting. I did let him see me in my bra, once, also, she thinks, but that was kinda in the dark.

Sitting in near darkness in front of the television, his stare down her shirt is palpable. Let him look, she thinks. Let him get himself get all worked up. I know he likes what he sees.

Their make-out session begins before the credits start to roll. She finds him taut with excitement, wound up, almost jittery. His praise of her appearance is like music to her, "You're so beautiful, Amanda," he moans repeatedly, "so beautiful."

Her smile is wide, her heart beats quickly as her vanity swells. She surprises herself, becoming more aggressive with him than she'd ever been previously. Taking silent cues from his body language, she finds herself dominating him, pushing him down onto the couch. And he seems to love it. Well, good, she thinks, if this is what he wants. Soon she is on top of him, straddling his prone body and undoing his belt. She has his pants down, his manhood fully in her hand and, as she first squeezes, and then caresses him. She watches his eyes drift up to her covered breasts. Pressing them between her arms, embellishing her cleavage, she whispers "look at my breasts, John," as she begins to stroke him, slowly at first, and then more fervent.

He is quick, thankfully, in approaching climax. To finish him off, she tosses her blonde, shoulder-length hair, draws her shoulders back and tilts her head to the ceiling, allowing him to goggle unabashedly at her full curves. Soon his moans of pleasure take the shape of words, "oh god, oh god, oh god," an she feels his hips buck beneath her, his cock begin to pulsate in her hand. With a broadening smile she looks back down at him; he's staring wide-eyed at her breasts, lost in pleasure, as she directs his bursts onto his own belly and chest.

As his orgasm subsides, she drops him to fall heavily, sticky, onto his lower stomach. She wipes her hand on his khakis and coos sweet words of reassurance to him as he closes his eyes. Wow, she thinks, he must really like me. He's begun to sob.

Amanda is in heaven as the weeks pass. Though occasional, nagging doubts about his commitment plague her, it's as if she's walking on clouds when he's with her, in quiet worship of her curvy body. To her thrill, he admits - in a moment of tender confession - of being almost fearful of his feelings, of his lack of control in their times of intimacy. Though ripe with sympathetic words, tending his fragile ego, she revels in his weakness for her. He can't help himself, she thinks. I should be careful. Gentle with him. But still she takes guilty pleasure in teasing him with descriptions of her slowly swelling bustline (the pills work! she discovered gleefully), tales which leave him hanging on her every word. She has begun to enjoy watching him masturbate, drowning in his own chagrin, as she sits fully clothed before him.

She knows he surreptitiously rifles through her drawer of lingerie when he has the chance, probably reading the labels of all ner new bras. 34DD. 34E. When, one day, she finds one hidden in his briefcase she confronts him, holding it in front of his face as she admonishes him and playfully humiliates him like a child. "What do you do with this, huh? What do you use this for?" she chides as she rubs it over his eyes, pushes it into his mouth. To her astonishment, even this abuse excites him, and she soon has him jerking off as he sucks her finger like an infant through its satin fabric.

His obsession, it seems, grows by the day alongside her blossoming chest. She has learned how to play with him, stringing him along with his desires, indulging his little fantasies. Honestly, she thinks, there are days where it seems like I'm dealing with a child. She hesistates, hwowever, in bringing him to her breast, to nurse him there. Though she's sure she'd have him in a pile of jelly, her own demur sense of modesty is such that she has not yet even showed him her unclothed breast. She hasn't needed to, his attraction to her is so strong. And, sexually, he has become so passive. He makes no demands, his will is too weak to even beg more of her in times of passion. He's the perfect boyfriend. She's never been happier.

And that is why she nearly drops her grocery bags in shock when, returning home from work, she hears the message he had left on her machine just minutes before. "Uhh, hi...Amanda? It's me." His voice wavers, "I've been thinking, y'know, about you and me...and, well, we have to talk. We're...really different people and, uhh...well, just give me a call when you get this. Bye."

Oh no. He was not going to do this. He was NOT going to dump her. The little shit, she'll show him the way it's going to be. Not bothering to put the food away, she storms outside and, slamming the door to her truck, tears through the streets to his apartment.

She has a key; he seems surprised to see her walk through the door. "Oh, Amanda...did you...?"

"Get your message? Yes." Her voice is stern, her gaze level at his across the room. "You wanted to talk, let's talk." With that she undoes the topmost button of her tight, lilac blouse - work attire, definitely, and not what she would have chosen in a calmer moment for what she had in mind - and begins to take slow steps towards him.

He looks flustered. Good. "Well, uhh..I'm kind of busy right now...I have a shift in...a couple..."

She continues to advance on him, unfastening another button of her shirt. "No, honey, I want to hear what you have to say. I'm all ears." She watches him stumble backwards as he looks quickly to her chest, then back anxiously to her face.

"I...uh, thought...I thought..." He backs up a step more, and finds himself sitting down onto the arm of the sofa. He watches her approaching, her tight, firm cleavage now at eye level, visible between the gap in her blouse.

"You thought what, sweetie? That you'd break up with me?" She was right in front of him, her now massive breasts inches from his face. She undoes another button. Swells of soft, ripe, perfumed flesh beckond. "Oh no no no. I won't let my baby do that." She gently folds her shirt apart slightly, displaying her beautiful cleavage to his hungry eyes. "Because my baby needs me. My baby needs his mommy, doesn't he?" She takes his head between her two hands, and urges him closer.

God, this is easy, she thinks. She has him right where she wants him, and she's ready to play all her cards. "Now, honey, I want you to just relax, and look at mommy's cleavage. Oh, good. Good boy. Look right in there. Look right in there and think about how nice and warm and soft it would be in there. Now, isn't that good? Doesn't mommy's deep, dark cleavage look nice? Mmmhmmm...yes it does...good baby." His expression is vacuous, jaw slack, a look she hadn't seen on him since....she had an idea.

"John, can you hear me?"

A pause. "Yes."

Her heart begins to flutter in excitement. Did she actually have him hypnotized? She wasn't even trying! "John, are you...relaxed?"

"Yes. Very relaxed."

Oh my, she thinks, oh my, oh my. "John, I want you to tell me something, okay?"

"Okay."

"Why is it that you wanted to leave me?" Her voice is now more tender, almost sad.

"My job."

"Why? What about your job?"

"I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking. About you."

Her heart swells a bit in pride, "And?"

"And about who you are. Where you're from. What you do." Her brow furrowed in confusion. He continued. "And who I am. I'm a doctor. My job is very important."

"But, John," she asked, stammering, "what's more important, me or your job?"

"My job."

"But, don't you like being with me? Don't you love me?"

"No. I love your breasts."

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She, of course, should have realized it all along, she thinks. She becomes angry. "My breasts? You love my breasts?"

"Yes." His calm infuriates her more.

"You love only my big, big breasts? Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well then, little man..." she can hardly think she is so enraged, "If that's the way it is..." A plan begins to develop in her racing mind, "I want you to listen very carefully, okay?"

"Okay."

"From now on you will...you will...not only love my breasts. You will adore them. You will utterly, fucking worship them. Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"The mere sight of me will bring you to your knees. To you I will be a fucking goddess. The most beautiful, incredible woman you have ever seen. You will be speechless, paralyzed, amazed by my beauty. Turned on beyond belief. You will love me, adore me. Every fucking thought you have will be about me. Do you understand?" She tries to keep her voice down, not to scream in her anger.

"Yes."

"Good. Now, do you see this?" With that she yanks back at her blouse, pulling down her bra over her right breast. It falls heavily before his face. "Do you see my breast? Do you see this big, heavy tit that you love so much?"

"Yes."

"Well, honey, this is going to be your whole fucking world. Everything you do, everything you think, is going to be about how to get me to hold you to my breast. Hold you to my big, fucking breast. And now, sweetie, watch this...." With that she takes a deep breath and, with a smile of pride, allows a dribble of white to escape her nipple. She has let down her milk. Feeling more fully in control now, her voice softens. "Do you see that, sweetie? That's my milk. Do you want a taste?"

"Yes."

"Come here, then, honey..." She pulls his face tenderly to her, directing his mouth to her waiting nipple. "That's right, there you go. How's that? Is that nice?" She smiles as she watches him begin to suck. "You like that? You like to nurse? You like me to breastfeed you? Like a little baby. Like a little, tiny baby." She peers down at him, nursing gently on her. "Well, from now on, sweetie, this is all you'll be able to do. This is the only food you'll be able to take. When you're hungry, you're going to cry for me, beg me to feed you. And when I do, you'll be so very happy. You'll want to stay there forever. You'll be my little baby, snuggling up to my big, warm breasts. And when you fall asleep, you'll dream of me. Dream of me as your mommy, holding you, cuddling with you, loving you."

She looks down at him again, one last time, the man she knew. "Now, honey, I want you to listen to me. When I say 'wake', I want you to wake up and remember everything we just talked about, okay?"

He mumbles in assent as he continues to nurse.

"Wake."

She felt him stiffen for a second, and then whither in her hands. His nursing, almost mechanical before, becomes more fervent as he nestles into her breast, moaning audibly, pitifully. He begins to physically weaken, shaking slightly in her arms.

"Oh, honey," she cooes, "you're shivering....come here." With that she draws away from him, looking him in the face with glittering eyes. He stares at her dumbfounded, jaw agape, head tottering on his shoulders. She takes him by the hands and leads him around to the couch like a child. She sits and pats her lap, invitingly. He falls to the cushion beside her, curled fetally, and rests his head on her thighs. His murmurs and sobs are unintelligble as he gazes up at her in rapt worship.

Slowly she undoes the remaining buttons of her blouse, watching his every expression as he stares at her chest adroringly. She muses on what she's done, how she's taken this man - one of the city's finest minds - and broken him. Reduced him to absolute jelly. Does she feel guilty? No. Look how happy he looks.

She smiles. "Now sweetie," she says as she unclasps her bra and pulls it from her shoulders, "come to mommy..."