I'd been away on business for about a month - much too long for my tastes, but when you do freelance work for the government, it's to be expected. I had missed my wife quite a bit, but when I came home and she told me she'd been seeing a hypnotherapist to help relieve her stress, I was concerned.

Having a telepath around the house means never having to worry about much, so I understood why the stress might be a bit much without me around. But, that did not explain why I detected some really bad things in her head that I'd have to fix.

Thankfully, the good doctor had invited us to dinner. Somehow, I just knew I'd get my answers there (as if I needed to hear them).

"So, you're the 'doctor' who's been helping my wife with her job-related stress, right? You're a – a kacknotist, is it?" I asked the pudgy, balding man who I knew had been fucking my wife behind my back during her stress-relief sessions.

Rolling his eyes at my remark, he cleared his throat and replied, "that's right, Mr. MacInnis. My name is Dr. Philip Esben, and I'm the HYPnotist who treats your wife. I've asked you here to my home for two reasons. One: your wife's treatments are complete and she can happily begin the rest of her stress-free life. Two: you need to be prepared for that life." He cracked an evil smile as he fumbled in his pockets for something – probably his stopwatch.

"If you want to hypnotize me so I can deal with Sarah's new stress-free life, then you'll have to be fast. We have somewhere to be," I announced. Again, he cracked an evil smile.

"Well, we'll see about that..." he mumbled before giving up the search for his watch and grabbing a fork with a bit of kielbasa on it. "OK, well, this'll have to do. Tell me, John, have you ever been hypnotized before?"

"No, and I don't think I can be hypnotized." As I told him that, he began to move the fork back and forth, the Polish sausage on the end of it acting like a light (but delicious) weight on the improvised pendulum.

"Well, let me try. It's imperative to your future that you know how things will be from now on," the good doctor noted rather smugly. "Oh, and Sarah? Pancakes with syrup." Instantly, my wife actually began to look a bit sleepy – and, by the way she was pawing at her B-cup tits, a bit horny, too. A moan escaped her lips.

Ignoring my wife, I remarked, "You're going to hypnotize me with a piece of sausage? I've never seen it used for THAT before!" I barely got the last sentence out – I was trying not to laugh in his face! When I noticed that my wife was topless, though, my laughter stopped and I focused my attention on the doctor and his swinging sausage.

"Just focus on the piece of meat. Let the world drift away... there is nothing in the room... just you... and me... and this sausage. Mmmmmm, you love sausage, don't... you?" He was speech was slowing down, and it was pretty annoying – but I do love sausage, so I politely contained my laughter and let him continue.

"Let the sausage take you to a... place... of... pure... relaxation. ... Just... breathe... slowly... yes... you're relaxing... and... going... deeper..."

My eyes were barely open, but I could still make out the sausage. I began to wonder if he had ever successfully hypnotized a person with a chunk of meat on a fork. It just seemed stupid to me.

"Deeeeeeper... deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeper... wheeeen... I... coooount... toooooo... threeeeeee... you... will... faaaaaaaaaall... intooooooo... aaaaa... deeeeeep... traaaaaaaance. ... Oooooooone... twooooooooooo... threeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

Opening my eyes at the thud, and smiling, I looked at the doctor's body. He was slumped over in his chair at the dining room table, and his head had fallen face-first into his plate of kielbasa and sauerkraut. It would have been funnier if my wife wasn't licking his ear and playing with herself – she had gotten naked only a minute or two after her trigger words were uttered.

Ignoring Dr. Snoresalot, I focused my mind on my wife. I quickly found the hypnotic suggestions and modifications he had made to her personality and removed them. I also removed the post-hypnotic suggestions. Strangely, 'pancakes' meant topless, and 'syrup' meant bottomless. What an original idea – for a hypnotist. I would have to do something really impressive, though, to knock the devotion she had built for Dr. Douchebag right out of her pretty head.

I knew just how to do it. I telepathically told my wife to start playing with her clit, and she obeyed with glee. Turning my attention to the doctor, I commanded (in a mock Dracula voice for effect), "Doctor, please clear the table, blah! – and do it all zombie-trance like, blah!" The doctor stood up, with his arms held straight out in front of him, walked to the side of the table, and swept all the food to the floor with his outstretched arms. And, at another mental nudge, my wife was on her back on the table, masturbating and panting like a really horny wild animal.

Pulling my erect cock from my pants, I slowly pressed it into my wife's hot (not to mention very wet) pussy. With each thrust, I chipped away at her "love" for the doctor, which was set up in her mind like a block of granite. Each chip revealed me as her true love, kind of like how Michelangelo chipped away the marble until David emerged from the slab.

Grabbing her tits and pounding into her in front of Dr. Zombie, I decided to drive the fact that his plans for my wife were over into his skull. Besides, Sarah was clenching around my member pretty hard – she was near orgasm, and I was too.

"Dr. Son-of-a-bitch, I want you to watch this. When she cums, she'll cum harder than she ever did with you when she was under hypnosis. And, when she cums, she will forget all about her love for you – but don't worry. She'll remember enough from her "sessions" to sue your ass for malpractice. On the count of three," I said, picking up my speed and nearing release, "you will understand that you fucked the wrong man's wife. You will also know life as a practicing psychiatrist will be over when the lawyers are done with you. Ready?"

"Yeeeeeessssssss..." he slowly replied.

With a mighty thrust into my wife, I yelled, "ONE!!!" My wife's eyes got wide and she reached down to stroke her clit. 'I love it when she plays with herself while we're fucking,' I thought as her hips began to gyrate. Dr. Fuckwad, though, was slowly coming to the realization that he'd been busted. His zombie-trance look faded away into a I'm-about-to-lose-everything-and-there's-nothing-I-can-do look.

Pulling almost all the way out, I charged on, dick-first, into my wife again, shouting "TWO!!!!!" The doctor's look was still changing from blank-staring-into-nothingness to please-please-oh-please-don't-sue-me, but my attention was on my wife. She was really frigging her clitty, and my dick was pulsating – I'd better hurry up or I'd spoil the timing. (Timing my release with the removal of the orgasm-block I use on Sarah to increase her orgasm's power is a trickY thing. You wouldn't think so, but trust me.)

Once again pulling out, I slowly drove my dick about halfway into my writhing wife and teased, "Two and a half..." This only made her buck up and down harder – so I withdrew and held the tip of my head at the opening of her sex. "Ready, baby?"

"Please oh please just put it in I'm so close please oh ... oh... oh... ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod OH AW FUUUUUUUUCK, YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" she screamed as I thrusted into her; my seed bursting into her triggered the best orgasm of her life.

Panting and spent, I wiped the sweat from my brow and calmly said, "Three." The doctor left the room, crying and dialing a number on his cell phone – probably his malpractice attorney.

"That was wonderful, baby. But why are we fucking on his table?" my wife asked. I never burdened her with the memory of what that asshole had done to her.

It was a fair question, so as I leaned over her (she was still on the table), I kissed her on the forehead. "Don't worry, you won't be seeing him anymore. C'mon, get dressed. We're leaving."