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Regression Therapy: Jack's Story

by abyguy

Regression Therapy: Jack's Story

This is a fabulous story written by "A Sinister Bent" and initially published on The Erotic Mind Control Story Archive. It is a perfect story to be posted here for all those wishing for hypnotic age regression.

Synopsis: Prior to testifying in a major lawsuit against the tobacco industry, Jack seeks help in breaking his own smoking habit. But his therapist has her own ideas about the kind of "help" he needs.

"Your three o'clock is here, Doctor," advised the therapist's secretary over the intercom.

Yes, thought Dr. Kara Pendleton; she'd been waiting for him. Jack Caulfield was in the news a lot these days, as a star witness in the upcoming lawsuit against the S. J. Stevens tobacco company. Mr. Caulfield was himself a smoker, and feared it would undermine his credibility on the stand if he were seen to smoke during the legal proceedings--which, based on past cases, might take months or even years. So after reading a couple of articles which mentioned her work in using hypnosis to cure smokers of their habit, he'd come to her for help.

They were making excellent progress, too. Caulfield was a very good hypnotic subject. From the beginning he'd responded readily to her induction technique, which capitalized on his smoking itself to focus his attention. And as their sessions progressed, he had reported steady progress in weaning himself off cigarettes.

Now, with the trial date coming up, it was time to move to the final phase in his treatment.

"Send Mr. Caulfield in, Petra," the doctor said into the speakerphone.

Caulfield came in, closing the door behind him carefully. Their sessions were discreet; they had to be. Bad as it might be for his smoking habit to come out, any suggestion that he was seeing a therapist, for that or any other reason, would be worse.

Dr. Pendleton looked him over. Caulfield was an athletic-looking man in his mid-forties, with ruggedly handsome features and a full head of brown hair just beginning to show a few strands of gray. His teeth, when he smiled, were even and only slightly yellowed by nicotine. A perfect witness for the cameras, especially given his calm, steady manner.

He was perfect for other things, too, Dr. Pendleton thought, smiling to herself.

Jack looked at Dr. Pendleton as she sat behind her fancy oak desk. As always, he felt a stirring of attraction, which, again as always, he fought to conceal; it was inappropriate. Lately, it had been growing more difficult to keep it under control; he'd started to have some very personal fantasies involving her. She was a very good-looking woman behind her gold-framed glasses: about ten years younger than he was, with abundant honey-colored hair tied up into a large bun, a strong-featured face and a great body which the pantsuits she always wore de-emphasized--to make her seem more professional, he supposed--but did not hide altogether. He moved toward the chair in front of her desk, as usual.

She held up a hand.

"No, Mr. Caulfield," she said. "I think you'd be more comfortable over here for this session." She gestured to her left, where a large couch sat, a regular cliché of psychiatric office furniture.

Jack nodded. He wasn't sure why she was varying the routine of their sessions, but here in this office, she was the boss. He lay down on the couch, still looking at the doctor.

She got up and came over to him, pulling the chair he'd been about to use over with her. She sat down in it, legs crossed, right over left.

"We usually talk for a while before I do your induction, Mr. Caulfield," she said. "This time, though, I'd like to get right to it. Our previous sessions have raised some issues I'd like to explore, things you seem to be having difficulty admitting even to yourself."

"All right, Dr. Pendleton." Jack never remembered exactly how the doctor put him under; this time, he promised himself, he would.

What happened next surprised him. Dr. Pendleton took out a long, slender cigarette holder, inserted a long, expensive-looking cigarette into it and lit up. She put the holder in her mouth, took a drag, daintily took the holder out again between two fingers and blew a leisurely puff of smoke.

"Watch the smoke," she instructed him. "Watch it curl through the air, floating." She took another puff. "Slowly, slowly. Watch it. Feel it." Puff.

Jack watched, fascinated. He could feel himself relaxing.

"Smoke, floating." Pufffff. "You can feel it. Feel your muscles turning to smoke, your bones turning to smoke, your blood, your brain." Pufffff. "Swirling. Floating. Drifting. So relaxed." Pufffff.

"Swirling . . . floating . . . drifting. S-so . . . relaxed." Jack was vaguely aware of himself repeating Dr. Pendleton's words, but they came out by themselves. His thoughts were swirling. Floating. Drifting through the room. There was only the relaxing smoke, and the doctor's soothing voice.

"That's right, Jack." Caulfield didn't notice the sudden shift to his first name. "Drift away into the smoke, and hear only my voice, let my voice guide you as you drift away into the smoke." Pufffff.

"Mmmm," Caulfield mumbled, sinking bonelessly into the couch cushions. "Drift away . . . into the smoke. Hear only . . . your voice. Let your voice . . . guide me." His eyes were still fixed on the smoke from the doctor's cigarette; his eyelids were fluttering. Dr. Pendleton saw, and smiled.

"Your eyelids are so heavy, aren't they, Jack?" she said. "So very . . .heavy. Close your eyes, Jack, you want to close them, you need to close your eyes, you can't keep them open, you can't even remember how to keep them open." The eyelids drooped shut. "But you can still see the smoke, swirling. Floating. Drifting. Relax into the smoke, Jack, and float with it where my voice tells you to go."

Jack sighed, surrendering to the swirling smoke and the soothing voice.

"Can you hear me, Jack?" Dr. Pendleton asked.

"Yes, Doctor," he responded softly. Eyes remaining closed, he smiled.

Dr. Pendleton looked down at Caulfield. Yes, he was under. The smoke trigger was, if anything, more powerful than ever now that he wasn't smoking much anymore. At some level, his body and mind still associated smoke with pleasure, and responded all the more to it here in her office now that it was being denied that pleasure in waking life.

She giggled. The fun part was coming up. She'd spent quite a bit of time setting up Jack's conditioning to do everything it was supposed to while taking a little bonus for herself.

First things first. "Now Jack," she addressed him, "remember our agreement: you must never remember what I used to put you under." Later, that might be important; she wouldn't want the wrong sort of questions asked.

"Yes, Doctor," came Caulfield's sleepy voice. "Agreement. Never remember . . . how you put me under."

"Very good, Jack." Dr. Pendleton removed her jacket and went on: "Now Jack, how old are you?" She knew, of course, but the question helped set up the next bit of Jack's session.

"Forty-six," came the response.

"That's right," she agreed. "Forty-six. Now, Jack, I'm going to count backwards, and each time I say a new number, you will be that age. You will grow younger each time, as I count backward. Do you understand, Jack?"

"Yes. I will grow younger . . . as you count backwards."

"Very good, Jack. Forty-five." She paused. "How old are you, Jack?"

"Forty-five," the hypnotized man answered without hesitation. "I'm forty-five."

"That's right, Jack. Forty-four. Forty-three. . . ." She led him backward, pausing every so often to ask him a question testing whether his memories were those of the correct age. She found no surprises as she approached the first stop on Jack's journey.

"Eighteen. How old are you, Jack?"

"Eighteen, Ms. Pendleton, you know that." In previous sessions, she had programmed him to forget she was a doctor when he reached this point. To him, right now, she was simply a sexy older woman. His voice was clear and just slightly higher, the voice of a boy just becoming a man. God, it was a turn-on.

"You can call me Kara, Jack. Open your eyes, Jack, and look at me."

Jack Caulfield opened his eyes, and gasped. Ms. Pendleton had taken off her jacket and blouse, and as he watched, she reached back and unhooked her bra. She held it up, dangling it like a stripper, and let it drop. God, she was gorgeous! He felt himself get hard instantly, and blood pounded in his ears.

"Kara, oh, my God," he husked. It was a fantasy come true. He was gonna get laid, by the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in real life! He nearly came right there, but Ms. Pendleton--Kara--held up a finger and said, "No, Jack, not yet," and he didn't.

Dr. Pendleton looked at the eager "boy" in front of her. This was the fourth time she had taken him through this scenario. Each time, he believed it was the first, that she was his first. For her, it was the best of both worlds: a mature man, sexual putty in her hands (or perhaps concrete would be a better metaphor, ready to get rock-hard when she wanted), but with the innocence and enthusiasm of a teen-aged virgin. And when she was done with him, he'd go on his way with no memory of what they'd done, no inconvenient urge to keep pursuing her for dates. When the right man for that came along, that guy would get different programming.

"You like what you see, Jack?" she rose from her chair and leaned over, dangling her ample breasts inches from his face, letting them sway. Jack's eyes tracked them helplessly. Gently, she took his hands in hers and brought them up to cup her large, firm globes; he whimpered in ecstasy.

"Take off your clothes, Jack," she commanded, continuing to remove her own. Within a couple of minutes, both of them were naked. The hour after that was a hot whirlwind of activity, on the couch, in the chair, on the rug, even, finally, atop the desk; by then, Jack wasn't the only one who'd been reduced to a mindless lump of writhing and babbling flesh. Fortunately, Dr. Pendleton's office was quite effectively soundproofed. Jack pumped into her between her legs, then between her breasts, then back again, over and over; all part of the plan, Pendleton told herself before forgetting what a plan was. All part of the, the, oooooohhhh. . . . !

At last the doctor ended it. Jack's sessions were extra long, like those of a few other special clients--but there was other business to attend to. His actual treatment, for one thing. Kara Pendleton's professional ethics might be--well, elastic, she admitted--but they didn't stretch to taking payment for services not provided.

At her order, Jack dressed again, while the therapist reclothed herself. Somehow her hair hadn't come unbound this time; at least she didn't have to deal with that. Shortly, she was seated in front on the couch once more, while Jack was lying on it again, as if nothing unusual had occurred.

"Now Jack," she said calmly, "we're going to pick up where we left off. I'm going to count down again, and you'll grow younger as I do. Seventeen." She paused. "How old are you, Jack?"

"Seventeen, ma'am," he said. Regressed past eighteen, he no longer saw her as "Ms. Pendleton" or "Kara"; she was just an adult authority figure, even if--for a little while longer at least--he might find her sexually attractive.

"That's right, Jack." She continued. "Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen. . . ."

At "five," she took a big card off her desk, where it had been lying face-down, and held it up. It had the letters from A to Z printed on it in large, bold type, capital and lower-case for each one. "Do you know what this is, Jack?"

"It's the al-pha-bet," Jack said carefully, voice high and soft. A child's voice. "The letters."

"That's right, Jack. Good boy. Can you say the letters for me?"

Jack frowned. "I'm too little, Miss Pendleton. They're going to teach me the al-pha-bet next year, when I go to school, Mommy said."

"That's all right, Jack. Four. Three. . . ." Jack's face smoothed out, and a thumb crept into his mouth. Almost there.

This was a turn-on too, Dr. Pendleton exulted. A big, strong, educated man, reduced by her to a little boy who couldn't even read. And she wasn't finished yet. There were deeper, more basic levels of Jack's mind to explore and manipulate.

"Two. One." She paused. "Jack, how old are you?"

The man on the couch gurgled. Kara added, "You can talk, Jack, and you can understand me--but only me. How old are you?"

"Wuh . . . one," came the response.

"Zero," the therapist said. "Jack, you are now an infant--but you can still understand me when I speak to you, and answer me when I ask you things. Nod your head if you understand."

Jack nodded awkwardly.

"Now Jack, listen carefully: I'm your mother, Jack. Who am I?"

"Ma-ma," Jack squeaked.

"That's right, Jack. And you're hungry. Mama will feed you, Jack."

Dr. Pendleton opened her blouse and took out her right breast, then put her arm under Jack's head and lifted it. His mouth closed eagerly around her exposed nipple and began to suck. He sighed, eyes closing in contentment; under the power of her suggestion, he felt, tasted and smelled warm, nourishing milk flowing into him.

Dr. Pendleton enjoyed Jack's mouth on her breast, too, and let him stay that way for several minutes, until it seemed he was about to actually fall asleep. That would interfere with the final phase, so she reluctantly detached her regressed patient and lowered his head back onto the couch.

"Jack," she addressed him, "it's time to grow back up again. I'm going to count up until I reach your grown-up age, and as I do, you will grow older. Each time I say a number, you will be that age. One.

"But Jack, this is very important. Two. When you return to your real age, you will no longer need to smoke, ever. Three. Four. Five." Jack's features were beginning to show signs of a personality again. "You won't like the smell of tobacco, or the taste.

"But if you ever see me smoking, the way I did today before I took you back into your childhood . . . six, seven, eight . . . you will again relax, forget everything, and become a baby, as I helped you to do this time, until I bring you back to your older self. Do you understand me, Jack? Repeat what I told you to do, if you understand."

"Yes, Miss Pendleton," Jack said in a childish sing-song. "I understand." He repeated her instructions in the same voice.

"Good boy, Jack." She smiled at him, and he smiled back, happy at the grownup praise. "Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. . . ."

It was amazing, the doctor thought. There was no physical change, but watching Caulfield as she counted him back up, she could see his features somehow taking on more and more of an adult cast, even in the relaxed trance state. She continued counting until she reached forty-six, then paused.

She pressed the intercom button. "Petra, send Mr. LeBeau in now, please."

The door opened and a slender man in an expensive suit came in. He jerked a thumb toward the couch and said, "That's him?" His voice carried a faint Louisiana accent.

Dr. Pendleton nodded. "Yes. And he's ready. This was his final scheduled session; all of his programming is in place."

She stood up and walked over to the far wall of her office, reached into a recessed area and, after a moment, withdrew a small cassette. A hidden camcorder had its uses in this part of her work. "This tape should be proof enough, if your employers have any doubts. And if that doesn't do it, his performance on the stand should satisfy them. You know my terms: the agreed sum, half now and half on completion, or double the contracted sum if you choose to wait for completion before payment. I prefer to work with people who trust me to do my job; those who don't, pay a premium."

"Can he hear us?" LeBeau looked nervously at the still-entranced Caulfield on the couch.

"No," Dr. Pendleton replied. "Right now, he can only hear me, and only if I speak directly to him. I know my business, Mr. LeBeau. He doesn't even know you're here."

LeBeau placed a small card on the doctor's desk. "The first half has already been deposited to the Swiss account you specified. Give the bank the transaction number on the card and they'll verify it."

The therapist picked up LeBeau's card, then dialed a speed-dial number on her phone. When the call went through, she spoke briefly into the mouthpiece, requesting the status of the transaction listed on the card. After a few moments, she nodded, said "Thank you," and hung up.

"Satisfied?" LeBeau asked.

Dr. Pendleton nodded. "I wasn't really expecting any difficulty. Still, one has to be careful."

"Just so," LeBeau agreed. "Good day, Doctor." And with that, his business concluded, he left.

Dr. Pendleton turned her attention back to the entranced Jack Caulfield.

"Jack," she said, "in a moment, you will awaken. When I say the words 'Awake, sweet prince,' you will wake up and feel relaxed and refreshed. You will remember nothing of being hypnotized, not even what I did to put you under--but you will obey the instructions I've given you. Do you agree, Jack?"

"Yes," Caulfield whispered.

"Good," the doctor responded. "Awake, sweet prince."

Damn! Caulfield thought as he opened his eyes. I meant to remember what Pendleton did to put me under--but I've forgotten again! Still . . . whatever she did, I feel pretty good.

"Would you like a smoke, Jack?" the therapist asked, offering him a cigarette.

"No! No thanks," he recoiled, his vehemence surprising him..

"All right," she said, putting the cigarette away. "That was a test, to see if the session did its job."

"Well, it sure looks like it did," Caulfield returned. "I have to hand it to you, Doctor. Right now I feel I'd be fine if I never even looked at another cigarette again. Thanks!"

"You're welcome," Dr. Pendleton said, smiling.

Jack handed over his check for the session and left. He was ready for his day in court.

Dr. Kara Pendleton watched him as he left. He was ready for his day in court. . . .

The S. J. Stevens trial had been going on for a week before the prosecution called Jack Caulfield to the stand. They'd been trying to set the stage for the damning testimony their star witness was to deliver. Their hopes were high.

Caulfield mounted the witness stand, took the oath and sat down, facing the audience. As he'd expected, it was full of reporters, and a gaggle of anti-smoking protesters lined the back of the room. To his surprise, though, Dr. Kara Pendleton was also there, dressed in another of her elegant pantsuits and planted down front facing him.

The lead prosecutor had asked his first question; distracted by Dr. Pendleton's unexpected presence, he'd missed it.

"I'm sorry," he asked, eyes still on his former therapist, "could you please repeat that?"

Dr. Pendleton took a long cigarette holder out of her inside jacket pocket, fitted a cigarette into it and lit up. Casually, she puffed smoke toward the witness stand.

The prosecutor asked his question again.

Jack never answered it.

"I-I-I-I," he stammered, then fell silent. Those witnesses closest to him saw his face change, going blank, wide-eyed.

"Goo," he managed after a few seconds. "Ga?" A finger crept into one corner of his mouth.

"What's going on here?" the judge cried, as a rumble built among the spectators. "Mr. Caulfield, this is a court of law, and you are under oath!"

The judge's outburst was useless; to Jack, it was meaningless noise. At that moment, he was capable of understanding only one human voice.

That voice spoke up. "Your Honor, may I approach the bench?"

"Who are you?" came the reply.

"Dr. Kara Pendleton. I'm a licensed psychiatrist, Your Honor."

"Very well," the judge said. "You may approach." He was growing more and more upset as Jack, still making infantile noises, tried to crawl off the witness seat. The bailiff came over and carefully restrained Caulfield.

Dr. Pendleton, now standing directly before the judge's bench, said, "I believe this man has suffered a psychotic break, perhaps brought on by the stress associated with this trial. I ask that he be excused from testifying and remanded into my custody until I can find an appropriate setting for a full diagnosis and treatment."

The judge thought it over, then turned to the prosecutors.

"If there are no objections," he said, "I move that the witness Jack Caulfield be excused from testifying in these proceedings and remanded into the custody of Dr. Pendleton here for further evaluation and treatment."

After a hurried conference with his team, the lead prosecutor, red-faced, said, "No objections, Your Honor."

"So ordered, then." The judge banged his gavel.

Dr. Pendleton was notified that evening that the second half of her fee from Mr. LeBeau's employers had been deposited to her account.

The trial never recovered. The public breakdown of one of its key witnesses threw the prosecution badly off balance. Eventually, the case was dropped.

Later, after Caulfield had been signed into a private mental hospital, Dr. Pendleton came to visit him. She had pulled strings to get herself assigned as his personal therapist.

Alone with him in his room, the security monitors turned off at her insistence for reasons of "confidentiality," she examined the man-infant she'd created. He looked well; he was clean, shaved, and dressed in neat hospital fatigues.

She spoke to him. "Jack, I'm going to count you up. As I say the numbers, you will grow older, as you've done before. Don't be frightened that you're in an unfamiliar place; it's all right. One. Two. Three. . . ." She continued until she reached eighteen, then stopped.

"Kara?" Jack said, confused. "What're you doing here? Where am I?"

"Shhhh," she soothed. "You're in your room, at home, just as you should be. Your parents are away. I sneaked in." And with that, she peeled off her jacket, then her blouse.

Jack got the idea, and soon the two were naked and bucking against each other, everything else forgotten.

When the doctor finally ended it, she got both of them dressed again, ordered Jack to forget their meeting, and regressed him back to his infantile state. Once he'd reached it, she bared her breast for him to suck again. He'd been very receptive to that particular suggestion, which had provided a powerful replacement for the oral fixation involved in his smoking habit.

Then she left, whistling.

At the intake desk, one of the nurses saw her. "Oh, Dr. Pendleton," she said. "How did your session go with Mr. Caulfield?"

"Just fine," she said. If only you knew. "It's a difficult case, though. Very difficult. Treatment may take years."

At least it would if she had anything to say about it, she thought cheerfully as she exited through the lobby's revolving door.


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