It really was an advantage to be a world-wide re-known eminence in child psychology. Not only was Dr. Weston invited to international psychological assemblies and councils, could charge the parent's eyes in fees but, most important of all, had almost unlimited supply of boys of all ages to play with. Of course it helped that the parents saw all the diplomas and recognitions he had owned and gained through the years, together with the photographs of himself with various geniuses in the psychological area hanging in the waiting room and in his office. They felt sure that their little bundle of joy was in safe hands. Sure.

Though he also received and treated girls as patients, he usually would channel them to another friend doctor of his or find the root of the little girl's problem quite soon and send her away with the happy parents. Because whom he really liked to have as patients were the boys, from three to twelve years old. They were usually brought because they were too introverted or had problems relating to other children of their age, or were quarrelsome and unruly.

The first appointment was conducted with either or both parents present. In front of the child he would hear the adults' side of the story while he allowed the boys to play with his innumerable supply of toys and trinkets or browse around the books and pictures he had especially for them. Then, in front of the parents, he would ask the kid if he agreed with what his parents had said and depending of his answer he would prescribe a series of future appointments only with the child.

Of course the parents had no objection in leaving Junior with the doctor for the rest of the therapy, no matter how long it took, because they had seen by themselves that the doctor really had a way with children and had made the quiet boys speak and the noisy ones silent. What they most liked about him was that he refused to medicate the children, no matter how severe the case or what other doctors had told them. So they would leave their precious baby alone with him for the fifty five minute session, either sitting in the waiting room or going elsewhere to pass the time.

Fifty minutes was all he needed to do with his little patients what he damned pleased. And with that little ruse of asking the boys their opinion he'd win their everlasting trust from then on knowing that they would latter pay up for that trust. And he was left alone with the boys after repeating the usual instructions to his secretary of not interrupting the session no matter what. He had made his office soundproof years ago, so no sound from the office was heard in the waiting room, but he would discreetly lock the door to his office anyway.

Today's first patient, Timmy, was a little boy six years old who was wetting the bed. His mother had brought him without her husband knowing it because the man, she said, was against strangers prying into his boy's mind. Which was strange, because whenever Timmy was near her husband he would get angry and avoid being with his own son. She had said her husband thought all therapists were quacks and bloodsuckers and refused paying any witch doctor's fee, which she was paying for with her house savings.

She would leave Timmy off for his appointment and pick him up after the session was through. This day Timmy marched in directly to yhe table covered with toys and trinkets, quite sure of himself and ready to eat the world up, which didn't quite go with the case of a bed wetter. This was the boy's second session alone and Dr. Weston had a theory that he was going to put to the test.

"Good morning, Dr. Weston."

"Good morning, Timmy. How have things been going on lately?"

"Fine, Dr. Weston."

"All fine at the kindergarten?"

"Oh, yes. I like going to school. It's lots of fun and I have lots of friends to play with."

"And how are things back home? You and your dad any better?"

"I guess so."

Dr. Weston let a beat pass by before asking the next question.

"Have you still been having bad dreams?" The boy stopped playing with the toy he had chosen and frowned and went silent.

"Did you wet the bed again, Timmy?" For all answer the boy burst into tears.

"I can't help it, Dr. Weston. My dreams scare me and when I wake up..."

His grief and shame were too much for him and couldn't continue speaking. Dr. Weston immediately knelt down in front of the child and warmly embraced him. He especially liked to comfort the boys when they broke down because he could hold them tight to himself, smell their fresh aroma even push his stiffening cock against them.

Fondling and squeezing Timmy's little buns, Dr. Weston whispered hoarsely into his ear. "There, there. Shh, baby, stop crying, son. Dr. Weston is going to make those bad dreams go away. You want the dreams to stop, Timmy?"

The sobbing child could only nod. "Then you have to stop crying and lie down on the couch, as usual. Ok?"

Timmy stopped crying and before taking his arms around the middle aged doctor's neck he gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek. Dr. Weston's cock jumped in anticipation. He led the boy to the couch and helped him remove his shoes, so he could lie down comfortably.

"Timmy, do you know what hypnotism is?"

"Oh, yes, Dr. Weston. I've seen it on TV. A man made another man do silly things 'cause he was 'hipotized'."

"And do you believe in that sort of stuff?"

"I don't know; maybe."

"Timmy, here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to see if I can hypnotize you and that way find out what is making you have those bad dreams. You cool with that?"

"Am I gonna do silly things like the man on TV?"

Dr. Weston couldn't help but laugh. "No, Timmy, I promise you I won't make you do silly things. Cross my heart."

"Well, OK then."

With the child's permission he prepared everything he needed, drew the shades, lowered the kiddie tunes coming from the speakers, placed a chair next to the boy, took his jacket off and prepared to hypnotize the boy.

It really was very easy for him to hypnotize children. It must be some kind of knack he had for he would always have his patients doing whatever he asked for, no matter how dirty or sick it was. Like a twelve years old boy that had been his patient since he was nine years old. Whenever he entered Dr. Weston's office he would transform himself into a cock hungry little slut, begging the grown up to ravish him with his prick. And just before the session was over Dr. Weston would 'wake' the boy up and send him on his merry way without the slightest recollection of what had just happened in the doctor's office.

Dr. Weston had used their first session alone with Timmy to find the boy's barriers and had implanted little unconscious orders throughout the introductory meeting to make him open to quick hypnotism. When the boy was about to leave, Dr. Weston said the key code word he'd implanted into his unconsciousness and Timmy was immediately under, standing still as if struck by lightning.

"Timmy, lower your pants and undies."

The minor started to unbuckle his belt and follow the man's order. Meanwhile, Dr. Weston prepared the timer of a camera he already had ready on a tripod. He stood beside Timmy, lowered his trousers and shorts and smiled to the flash of the camera. He just loved his collection of snapshots of him and his wards without their pants and underwear on. It really was a turn on knowing that none of his innocent patients remembered having added to his self-porn collection. After the shot Dr. Weston pulled his clothes back on, ordered Timmy to do the same, unlocked the door, sat behind his desk and said the code word to wake Timmy from his trance. The boy shuddered lightly and was suddenly 'there' again, as if nothing had happened.

"Good bye, Timmy. See you on our next appointment."

"Good bye, Dr. Weston, see you." answered Timmy as he left the office and all the way back home he told his mommy how much he had enjoyed going to see the nice doctor. Mrs. Cummings was going to make sure Timmy never failed an appointment.

So now Timmy was under and in complete surrender of his unconscious mind as soon as Dr. Weston said the code word. And that is how he found out of Timmy's terrors... and his father's, Mr. Cummings.

With questions well placed and written beforehand in his note-pad, Dr. Weston uncovered the whole root of Timmy's incontinence problem. It boiled down to Timmy's father systematically abusing him sexually since he was four years old. The man would come into the child's room on the excuse of a glass of water, wait for Timmy to drink the water in which the psychologist deduced he had put a few drops of his wife's sleeping draught that had her in dreamland hours ago, and wait for his son to fall into a doped slumber to take advantage of him.

Each man had his method! Dr. Weston hypnotized his victims as Mr. Cummings drugged Timmy to abuse him. They were brother pervs! Of course the boy never recalled anything consciously but would translate his father's perversions into bad dreams that made him so frightened he naturally would let his bladder go in the drugged state he was in.

So now he knew what Timmy's problem was. And Dr. Weston couldn't blame Mr. Cummings for sexually abusing his son for the boy had him in a constant state of horniness. Blond curls, big green eyes, rosy pink lips, Timmy was a pedophile's dream come true. And talking about dreams, Dr. Weston was going to probe Timmy a little more to help protect a brother perv in his doings.

"We all have to stand shoulder to shoulder", he mused chuckling to himself.

Taking his dick out of his pants, Dr. Weston put his cock-head near Timmy's nose. "Timmy, in your dreams, does whatever bothers you smell like this?" It must have, because the boy made a wry face and started to whimper. "No, no, it's all right, Timmy. It isn't a bad smell, it's a good smell. It's what men smell like. It's what your daddy smells like. And your daddy loves you and you love daddy back, don't you?" A big drop of pre-cum was dangling from Dr. Weston's cum-slit only a few inches from Timmy's lips.

Timmy was making faces, as if deciding what to say. "Yes, Dr. Weston."

"So then, your daddy wouldn't want to hurt you, would he?"

"No."

"Does whatever you dream about do this?" He put the tip of his cock against the child's lips, the drop of pre-cum like lip-gloss.

"Yes."

"And do you like it?"

"No."

"But it's good for you. Good enough to eat. Do you want to eat this one, Timmy? Hmm, you wanna eat this one?"

For all answer Tippy poked the tip of his tongue out to lap Dr. Weston's cock lube up from his lips and start giving his cock head little tentative licks and kisses.

"You like that, Timmy, does it taste good?" the man asked hoarsely; he was sweating like a stuck hog. The six year old infant nodded yes, thought about it and opened his little mouth up to let the doctor pop his cock head in. And that was the beginning of Timmy's recovery. He had lost his fear of whatever scared him in his dreams and had learned to accept it as a good thing, a healthy thing, even something that involved love.

With one hand Dr. Weston gently held Timmy's head in place while he face fucked him and with the other hand loosened the boy's belt, unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down together with his wee white undies. He soaked his middle finger with plenty saliva and then slowly inserted it up Timmy's tight rosebud. The boy whimpered and clenched his finger tight but started sucking away on his cock more vigorously than before. His wienie was stiff, probably the stiffest yet in his short life.

"Timmy, you are still sleeping. You are still sleeping but you will open your eyes when I tell you. Do you understand?" The boy sucked on. "Very well, Timmy: open your eyes and look at me."

The sucking boy opened his beautiful green eyes and looked up to his molester without any sign of fear or guilt. If anyway, he started sucking faster. Dr. Weston felt that he was nearing the explosion, so he quickly gave the mesmerized tyke his hypnotic instructions.

"Timmy, when in your dreams your Daddy tries to do something like this to you you'll not be afraid anymore. You'll accept it as something your loving Dad is giving to you. Daddy's cock is a gift, a present, a token of his loooOOOOOOOVE! Aaaaagh, shit, I'm gonna cum! Eat it, Timmy, eat my cum you little cocksucker! Eat your Daddy's milk as if you wanted it all your life! Eat it!"

Dr. Weston was unloading his wad directly into Timmy's mouth, searing his orders forever on the child's unconsciousness. The boy obeyed the order and was swallowing cum as soon as the man ejaculated it down his throat. If he'd been of age, Timmy also would have unloaded a wad of cum, for he was experiencing his first prostate induced orgasm of his life, with the doctor's finger stimulating him to climax. Pulling his emptying dick out of the boy's mouth he continued giving instructions.

"From now on you'll crave your daddy's creamy cum... and mine," he added as an afterthought. "Once you walk into this office the next times you come, you'll want to have my pecker in your mouth or up your bum-bee and you'll never remember what we do here. Ever!"

He pulled his finger out of the boy's anus and poked it into his cum smeared mouth. "Clean my finger, son, clean my finger of your boy-pussy juices. Learn to love your own taste."

Timmy was sucking away, licking the doctor's finger clean. "And whenever you come here, son, you'll obey whatever order I give you and then not remember. Do you understand me, Timmy?"

"Yes, Dr. Weston." Timmy answered slurring the words, as if he were drunk. Well, maybe all that cum in one shot was intoxicating.

Pulling his dick back into his pants and pulling the clothes back on the child, he gave Timmy his final instructions. "And the next time your Daddy offers to give you your glass of water, tell him you don't need it anymore; whisper to him that you'll eat his dickey whenever he wants you to. Understood?"

"Yes, Dr. Weston."

"Now, close your eyes again and lay back on the couch and when you wake up and not remember anything that happened here. Ok, Timmy?"

"Ok."

He wiped his cum from the boy's lips, sat in his chair and said the code word. Timmy woke up.

"Hello, Timmy. How do you feel?"

"Fine, Dr. Weston."

"Do you remember anything?"

Timmy screwed his face up digging into his memory. "No, I don't 'member anything." He couldn't quite make his mind up to ask. "Did I do silly things while 'hipotized'?"

Dr. Weston laughed out loud. "No, Timmy, I cross my heart that you did not do silly things. No SILLY things at all."

The boy was relieved. He trusted Dr. Weston and felt deep inside him that the man wouldn't make a little boy do dumb things. Behind his desk Dr. Weston started writing a note. It more or less read out that the doctor was onto Mr. Cummings perverted activities with Timmy. But that the 'quack' had cured his son of those midnight fears and that he would find no hindrance to whatever he wanted to do with the boy. But if he didn't want to be denounced he'd have to pay the 'bloodsucker' a higher fee for the child's future sessions. He also enclosed the drugstore's recipe for a new sleeping draught for Mrs. Cummings. He didn't believe in medicating children. But doping the mothers so the fathers could have free rein with the boys wasn't against his principles.

"Give this note to your Dad when you next see him. But only to your Daddy, understand? It's a man's thing just between us men and your mommy might not understand. Ok?"

The boy was very proud to be considered a man by this very kind and understanding doctor. Dr. Weston had made sure that his note didn't fall into Mrs. Cummings hands and had converted this innocent angel into an eager cock-sucker for the rest of his life. And maybe soon, or in a few years, he might get a shot at Timmy's virgin ass hole. He just couldn't wait. He loved being a child psychologist.