Scarlet Wars: Episode 2 (Part 3: Sitting On Your Lover)

Written in collaboration with Cross C

Mark had his three guests sit in a line on some chairs he’d prepared earlier. Now he was standing in front of them, making the three stare deeply at his masturbation with his back to the crowd, “As I deepen my hypnosis on these three, our first real trick will be explained by my assistant!”

When the gaze shifted to her, Wanda suddenly felt quite embarrassed. A test she hadn’t studied for, all with her pants down. Quickly, she whispered to Mark, “I don’t know what you can do!”

“Anything, love. Pick whatever you want these three to do, and I’ll make it so they’ll follow your every command.”

That didn’t narrow it down.

Wanda looked back at the waiting crowd, an awkward smile on her face as she tried to pick from infinity. What did she want them to do? He’d already made Desmond walk like a caveman and Dottie silent…

Her mind drifted to Vision. Mark was doing his best to keep him away from the audience’s eyes, lest he embarrass her more than he already had. Yet was hypnotism really the better substitute?

Hypnosis could be used for so much. Wanda knew that better than most. Back then, with Ultron, she could be free to unleash nightmares on Gods and rip robots apart like butter. Hypnosis was absolute power over another. No one would argue that. Your loved ones would never be upset if you did something while brainwashed that you wouldn’t do normally. That’s why Cap had fought Iron Man over Bucky. It wasn’t him back then, and whatever she made Dottie and Geraldine do wouldn’t affect their relationships with their significant others… and if Wanda happened to be controlled to fuck a man, a man like Mark, that wouldn’t be her fault, would it?

She just had to make sure Mesmero’s powers were also absolute. If some extra magic was needed, then the magical wife would make sure of it!

“Our goal today is to show you the true power of a master hypnotist! While usually a problem for beginners, if Mesmero can make our participants do the things I say they need to do, things they would never do without being controlled, then he will prove our worth as a coup-er team!” Wanda beamed at the audience, a lot more sure of her role in the show, with multiple claps from both audiences to welcome her shift. Mark smirked, stepping back from his deeply induced patients. All three glossy eyed and stiff on the chairs, “We’ll begin with Dottie!"

Wanda’s voice had taken on a slightly sharper tone, one of authority that made the crowd stir in their seats. Dottie. The queen of Westview. The one everyone, including Wanda, wanted to impress.

At the mention of her name, Dottie, who sat in the middle of the three participants, slowly got to her feet. Her motions were graceful, almost robotic, her expression blank but with an underlying air of superiority that clung to her even under hypnosis. The blonde woman glided to the front of the stage, her eyes still glazed over, her posture still elegant.

The interest in the audience spiked, and whispers fluttered like moths in the breeze.

Wanda’s eyes gleamed mischievously as she grabbed Geraldine out of her seat and guided her over. "Dottie," she said, her voice carrying a hint of something more, "I want you to really show your appreciation to the help!”

In that moment, something electric crackled through the air. The term ‘help’ was loaded with a pointed jab, the kind of thing that would normally make Dottie bristle, a woman of her social standing never one to mingle with those beneath her unless it served a purpose. But under the weight of Mesmero’s hypnosis, the suggestion hit differently.

Without hesitation—without even a flicker of resistance—Dottie turned to Geraldine, her body moving with a sudden, fluid precision. The crowd barely had time to register what was happening before the blonde’s hands shot forward, grabbing the other woman by the shoulders. In the blink of an eye, Dottie had pulled Geraldine in close and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her lips.

The audience gasped. The collective intake of breath was a sharp, shocked symphony that echoed across the square. The studio audience beyond the unseen barrier erupted into a mixture of laughter and gasps of mock surprise. An exaggerated, scandalized "ooOOoo!" filled the air, bouncing off invisible walls.

But the scene unfolding on stage was anything but comedic to those who witnessed it up close. Geraldine, eyes wide in surprise, froze as Dottie’s lips pressed against hers with an intensity that was both unexpected and… passionate. It wasn’t the tentative, experimental kiss one might expect from a woman unsure of her actions, but something far more primal. Dottie kissed Geraldine with a hunger, with an almost **** need to dominate. Her hands gripped Geraldine's shoulders as if claiming territory, and her lips moved fervently, greedily, leaving no space for modesty or hesitation.

Mesmero watched from his place at the side, a slow, satisfied grin creeping across his face. His hands came together in a leisurely clap, the sound deliberate and almost mocking, a gesture dripping with amusement. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth as velvet, carrying the undeniable undertone of amusement. His eyes gleamed as he surveyed the scene before him, pausing appreciatively on Dottie—Westview's leading lady, now reduced to a flushed, pliant pawn under their spell. "Looks like our queen bee is showing us a side we’ve never seen before.”

Wanda stood at the center of the stage, her breath shallow, as though she was trying to steady herself amidst the storm that had begun brewing inside her. The attention of the crowd was squarely on Dottie and Geraldine—two women utterly ensnared in Mark’s hypnotic web—but Wanda found herself distracted by Mesmero. His presence, his voice, the commanding way he took control of the scene—it all felt deeply, dangerously familiar. And then there was that... his cock, that enormous, impossibly thick tool, which seemed to thrum with its own kind of power. She could still see it in her mind, swinging between his legs like a pendulum, a mesmerizing **** of its own.

Wanda’s heart raced as she stole a glance at Mark. The way his broad shoulders filled out his suit, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief and confidence, the way he stood there with his chest out, practically daring her to take charge. His presence filled the space, oozing charisma, commanding attention in a way that no one else could.

No. She couldn’t. Wanda shook her head slightly, trying to banish the traitorous thoughts that whispered through her mind. She was a married woman, Vision’s wife. And yet, her eyes kept drifting back to Mark. That cock… so big, so thick, so... familiar. She bit her lip, a small, almost imperceptible flush creeping up her neck.

"Marvelous, isn’t it?" Mark’s voice snapped her out of her reverie, his eyes locked on her with a knowing smirk. He could feel it too, the pull between them, the way Wanda’s breath quickened whenever he was near. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You know you want to, Glamor. Use those powers of yours… let’s have a little fun, hmm?”

Wanda swallowed hard, her large breasts rising and falling beneath her tight sequined leotard as she fought to steady her breath. Every subtle movement of her body caused her breasts to jiggle slightly, two enormous, impossibly full mounds that seemed to defy gravity. Those vast creamy slopes, straining against the fabric of her outfit, drawing every eye in the audience. She felt Mesmero's gaze linger there, too, the weight of his attention making her skin tingle.

Her mouth felt dry, but she nodded. The heat rising inside her was impossible to deny. “Excellent, Dottie!” she finally managed, her voice more breathless than intended. “We’ve proven that you can do what we want… but now, how about we make you feel what we want?”

Dottie, still glassy-eyed and lost in her trance, swayed slightly as Wanda’s words washed over her. The once haughty, perfect woman of Westview was now completely pliable, at the mercy of the commands given to her.

Wanda paused, her heart pounding as she looked back at Mesmero. He gave her an encouraging nod, his smirk widening as if to say, Go on. You know you want to.

"Let’s let our dear host for the evening feel the best sensation in the world," Wanda continued, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper, making sure everyone could hear the delicious weight of her words. She took a step forward, her hips swaying slightly, drawing even more attention to the impossible curves of her body, her breasts bouncing enticingly as she moved. “Dottie… the chair you’re sitting on has a very big… very massive... penis.”

The word hung in the air, thick with implication. The crowd erupted in a mix of gasps and nervous laughter, the shock of Wanda’s words reverberating through them like an electric current. All eyes were on Dottie, waiting for her reaction. And Dottie, still under the spell of hypnosis, didn’t disappoint.

Dottie’s eyes fluttered open, but they were unfocused, glassy with the haze of suggestion. Her hands, which had been primly folded in her lap, now twitched. Slowly, they began to move, tracing hesitant lines over the fabric of her dress as if seeking out the source of this newfound sensation. Wanda’s lips curled into a smile as she watched the prim and proper queen of Westview begin to unravel.

"And you, my dear Dottie," Wanda continued, her voice a low purr, "are sitting on it. That bi-iig dick… the biggest you’ve ever felt—ever seen—is inside you right now.”

A collective gasp filled the air, followed by a hushed silence. The townspeople watched in disbelief as Dottie’s body responded to the suggestion, her hips beginning to subtly move, a slow squirming as if she were adjusting to the imaginary intrusion. The creak of the chair beneath her was the only sound that cut through the stunned stillness, a rhythmic counterpoint to the frantic pulse of the spectators’ hearts.

Her sharp, judgmental eyes were gone—replaced by a dazed, unseeing stare. Dottie, the woman who always sat with perfect posture, was now shifting and writhing on the chair as though she were riding something invisible and obscene. Her hands fluttered to her lap, smoothing the fabric of her skirt in a futile attempt to maintain some sense of decorum, but her moans betrayed her. Soft at first, barely audible, but growing louder as she began to lose herself in the imagined sensation.

Dottie bit her lip, her hips rolling in small circles, and the chair beneath her groaned as though it, too, was straining under the weight of her pleasure. The prim socialite’s legs parted slightly, the edge of her dress hiking up just enough to reveal a scandalous peek of lace at the tops of her thighs. She moaned again, louder this time, her back arching as she sank deeper into the trance.

The audience was riveted. Mouths hung open, and eyes were wide with shock, disbelief, and—for some—barely concealed arousal. The townspeople who had once looked up to Dottie as a pillar of propriety were now watching her come undone, her body moving in sync with an invisible lover, her moans of pleasure filling the air.

Mesmero clapped once, then twice, a smug grin plastered across his face as he took in the scene. "Ah, the power of suggestion. I don’t think my sisters ever found the joy in it as much as I," he mused. "It really is something, isn’t it?”

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Dottie writhe in her chair. The show they were putting on was unlike anything she had ever imagined, but it excited her in ways she didn’t want to admit. She could feel the weight of Mesmero’s gaze on her once more, and for a moment, she wondered what it would be like to be in Dottie’s place—to feel his hands guiding her, to obey his every command...

No. She was married.

Though, so was Dottie. And it’s not like Vis wouldn’t understand if she was ‘controlled’ to do these things…

A perverted place in Wanda had started growing. One where she recognised the erotic thrill of kissing another man last night had perhaps trumped every instance of her lips against her husband’s. This hypnotic cock, perhaps being the closest in proximity when Vis grew his synthetic one for their late night tryst, now brazenly out on display for the whole town. Surely the synthezoid could analyze how to use it better than a human… yet the image of Wanda with another man, one with the wonderful dick that she’d experienced last night, really started to get her worked up.

Shaking her head, she recognised she still had to get through the episode, boy was the actor’s commentary going to be rough to perform.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mesmero called out, his voice booming across the town square. His mustache twitched with a smirk, his words dripping with showmanship and confidence. "What you're witnessing here today is more than just hypnosis… it's the true power of suggestion, the pure, raw influence of a master! And a mistress!”

The audience gasped, mesmerized not just by his words but by the effortless control he wielded over them. They watched him with wide eyes, helpless in the face of the towering authority radiating from his every movement. His cock was like a beacon, drawing their gaze, keeping them spellbound. Some of the women in the audience shifted uncomfortably in their seats, thighs pressing together as their breath quickened. Men, even the most stoic among them, shifted awkwardly, their gazes torn between admiration and jealousy.

"Just look at our dear Dottie!" Mesmero exclaimed, spreading his arms as if presenting a prize. "Look how deeply she’s feeling it! That chair… that cock... it’s the biggest she’s ever known. Bigger than any man could hope to offer-” a look down and back up with a cheeky grin, “-well, most men- But it’s not just about size, my friends—it’s about power."

“The power to spread her insides and stuff her full like a pre-seasoned turkey…” Wanda almost breathlessly continued, draping herself a little over Dottie’s back while flipping up her skirt for the audience. There was no penetration on the imaginary cock, but the amount of liquid pouring down the blonde’s inner thigh created such a powerful image, “I’m sure all the ladies here can empathize a little. Veins that are protruding out to rub against your inner walls, a thick rubbery head that can scoop out all your juices and tension, all while being so diamond hard you worry your lover has gazed into the eyes of Medusa herself.”

No need to guess where Wanda was staring while she described Dottie’s current experience, especially as the Avenger had her own recent cunt busting to reflect on. That hypno dick making her drool a little onto her gray sequins.

The crowd roared with approval, their laughter mixing with the undeniable tension that gripped the square. Mesmero’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned his attention to Dottie's husband, Phil, who was sitting stiffly in his seat, staring in disbelief as his wife squirmed and moaned under the spell of the imaginary cock. His face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment, dismay, and indecision about just what he was supposed to do about this.

“I-I say, shouldn’t you move on to Geraldine now?” The husband who didn’t need to grow a mustache in the ad break announced, “I-I think Dottie has had enough!”

"Ah, Phil!" Mesmero called, zeroing in on the henpecked husband with a predatory grin. "You see that, don’t you? Your wife, feeling things she’s never felt before, so maybe ya just don’t know how much is enough for her?” The mocking shrug made the audience laugh and the man huff in annoyance, “Ya know, it doesn’t have to be this way. After all… there’s more than enough power to go around."

Phil's eyes flickered, confusion giving way to something else—something darker, something primal. The energy in the air shifted. Mesmero’s words were like a spark to kindling, igniting something deep inside Phil that had been buried for years, something he hadn’t felt since long before his marriage to Dottie.

Mesmero’s cock swung in slow, deliberate arcs as he stepped closer, making sure everyone in the audience could see it. He paused, smirking as Phil's gaze fell upon it, the weight of it almost tangible. And as the seconds ticked by, a strange transformation began to take place. It was subtle at first, a faint twitch of Phil’s leg, a shift in his posture. But as the hypnotic energy flowed from Mark’s mammoth cock to Phil, it became more pronounced.

The stiff, awkward man who had once seemed cowed by his wife’s domineering nature was now standing taller, his chest puffing out as if he were inhaling the very essence of Mesmero’s virility. His face flushed with new determination, and, as if drawn by some unseen ****, Phil’s hand drifted down to his lap, where an obvious bulge had begun to form. His pants strained against the growing erection, twitching with barely suppressed excitement. It was as though Mesmero’s manpower was being funneled directly into him, an ethereal transfer of pure masculine energy.

The crowd watched in awe, their mouths agape, as Phil rose from his seat, a newfound fire in his eyes. The normally meek man now stood with an almost animalistic intensity, his bulging erection pressing insistently against his trousers as he glared at the chair—the chair—that his wife was so hopelessly obsessed with.

"That’s it, Phil!" Mesmero goaded, his voice low and encouraging, like a devil whispering sweet nothings into his ear. "You’ve got the power now. Don’t let some chair take what’s yours.”

Dottie, still lost in her hypnotic trance, continued to grind against the imaginary cock, her moans growing louder, more ****. She was oblivious to the tension rising around her, her focus solely on the chair, on the pleasure she believed it was giving her. Her hands had slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, clutching at the fabric as she rocked her hips, completely consumed by the phantom sensation inside her.

But Phil—Phil could see the chair for what it was. A rival. A threat. And with a low growl, he stormed toward it, his once-timid demeanor now replaced by the swagger of a man filled with Mesmero’s essence.

"You think you can fuck my wife?" Phil snarled, his hands reaching out to grab Dottie’s arm, trying to pull her away from the inanimate object. His bulging cock twitched violently, straining against his pants as the scene unfolded, much to the crowd’s amusement. The audience roared with laughter, the absurdity of a man challenging a chair for dominance not lost on them, but Phil’s face was deadly serious.

Dottie, for her part, clung desperately to the chair, moaning as she fought to stay seated, her hips bucking wildly against the imaginary cock. "No! I need it! It’s so big!" she gasped, her voice a mix of frustration and ecstasy. Her legs trembled as she tried to push Phil away, her knuckles white as she gripped the chair tighter.

Phil’s strength, bolstered by the phantom transfer from Mesmero, surged. His hands yanked harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to free his wife from the chair’s clutches. But Dottie’s need was overpowering, her entire body wracked with the intensity of the sensation she believed was coursing through her.

Mesmero, standing at the edge of the stage, clapped his hands together again, his grin widening as he took in the chaotic scene. "Now this is entertainment!" he declared, throwing his arms wide as the audience erupted into a cacophony of cheers and laughter. "Look at the power! Look at the control! And Phil—don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel like a real man now?”

Phil let out a triumphant roar as he gave one final pull, yanking Dottie off the chair and into his arms. His cock, now fully hard and twitching with pent-up desire, strained against his trousers, a dark stain of pre-cum spreading across the fabric. Dottie’s eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, she looked up at her husband with a mix of confusion and longing.

Mesmero stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. "Now, Phil… show your wife what real power feels like.”

But the master hypnotist’s eyes and knowing smirk were on Wanda as his final words came out.

Wanda, her mind swirling with a cocktail of desire and confusion, caught Mesmero's eye. The way his cock swung with such authority, such confidence—it seemed to beckon her, as though it held an undeniable, magnetic pull. Her heart fluttered, a storm of emotions brewing within her chest. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. She was a married woman, after all, bound to her beloved Vision. She should respect the bonds of another couple’s holy vows. She should be happy Phil had found the manliness to claim back his wife. And yet…

Yet Mesmero smiled at her, his eyes full of that quiet, knowing power. He tilted his head, the barest suggestion that it was time to join the performance. That was all it took for her to feel like the strings of her moral compass had been snipped. She was already moving toward the center of the stage, her hips swaying in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, those massive, gravity-defying breasts jiggling in time with each step. The shimmering fabric of her leotard strained against the plush, voluptuous curves of her body, barely containing the vast swells of her breasts, the round fullness of her ass.

The audience—both the ethereal studio and the real-life townsfolk—watched in stunned silence, breath collectively held as Wanda reached Phil and Dottie. A wave of her hand sent scarlet curls of magic fluttering around her like fireflies, drifting lazily in the air. She smiled, her eyes dark with intent.

"Now, darling," Wanda purred, placing one hand on Phil’s chest, feeling the borrowed strength coursing through him. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, "It’s about time you learned a thing or two about women’s power. We have the right to choose. The right to decide what we want.”

With that, Wanda, still swaying, pressed her body against Phil, rubbing her massive, impossibly soft breasts against his face, the weight of them almost overwhelming as they jiggled and swayed. The crowd gasped in unison as Phil’s face was swallowed by Wanda’s colossal cleavage, his breath coming in short, **** gasps.

She moved fluidly, almost as though she were gliding, and with a graceful shift of her hips, she spun around, pressing her large, well-rounded derriere firmly against Phil’s crotch. His small tent fit into her aggressive shelf of a bubble butt, her plush hips wider than his by a significant degree. Her hands found his waist, guiding him as she ground her voluptuous ass against him, feeling the undeniable hardness of his borrowed erection pressing through his trousers. The scarlet tendrils of her magic wound their way around them both, weaving a seductive spell, pushing him further into a state of eager, mindless lust.

Phil groaned, his eyes rolling back as the sensation overwhelmed him, his body trembling beneath Wanda’s expert touch. She whispered again, her voice low and filled with a dark sensuality, "Go on, darling. Don’t hold back. Release all that borrowed power. Empty it for me."

And just like that, the tension in Phil’s body snapped. With a strangled moan, he bucked his hips forward, his entire form shuddering violently as he shot his load, emptying every ounce of that borrowed masculine energy into his pants. His hands twitched at his sides, useless now as his body trembled with the aftershocks of release. His trousers grew dark with the telltale wet stain, spreading quickly, leaving no question as to what had just transpired.

The magic show’s townspeople audience gasped in shocked awe, their whispers filling the air like the rustling of leaves, while the show’s laugh track erupted with raucous, exaggerated laughter underscoring the humiliation of Phil’s predicament. Wanda remained calm, her face serene. She stepped back from Phil, watching with quiet satisfaction as the once-empowered man now slumped forward, his cock softening, his posture meek and docile. The power had drained from him, leaving behind the familiar henpecked husband that Westview had always known.

He blinked, his expression dazed and confused. He looked down at himself, at the dark stain spreading across his trousers, and then at his wife, Dottie, who was now pulling away from him, her expression one of disgust and disbelief.

"Phil…" she began, her voice dripping with contempt. She looked between her husband and the chair she had so fervently been grinding against moments before. "You couldn’t even satisfy me enough to compete with a chair?"

Phil stammered, his face flushing with shame, but Dottie had already turned away, her attention no longer on him. She straightened her skirt, brushing off the imaginary remnants of her passion, and took a step back, her head held high, her haughty nature returning as quickly as it had faltered.

Wanda caught Mesmero’s gaze once again, her heart skipping a beat. His smirk was wider now, more knowing than ever. She felt a surge of heat rush through her, and for a moment, just a moment, she couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have that massive cock of his inside her. The thought sent a ripple of warmth through her core, and she quickly banished it. No. She couldn’t. She was a married woman.

Maybe it was that sense of playing with Mark, or a growing resentment of her own husband, but even as she tried to push the thought away, she couldn’t shake the familiar sense of desire that swirled within her.

Wanda sauntered back toward Dottie, her hips swaying provocatively, the ample curves of her body drawing the gaze of everyone in the audience. Her chest bounced with each step, those massive breasts straining against her outfit, jiggling with such tantalizing allure that it was impossible not to stare. She had to steady herself, her mind swirling with the strange, simmering tension between her and Mesmero. His massive cock, ever-present in her thoughts, felt so familiar, so magnetic. But no, she reminded herself, she was a married woman.

Still, her power over Dottie had given her an undeniable thrill.

Wanda’s heels clicked softly against the stage floor as she caught up to Dottie, who had just turned away from her humiliated husband and the stage itself, even leaving her chair—her lover--behind. The town gossip queen moved with an uncharacteristic sway in her hips, still flushed with desire and the lingering aftershocks of her earlier encounter. Wanda, ever the coy sorceress, couldn't help but smirk.

"Dottie," she purred softly, her voice tinged with both amusement and a hint of mischief, "leaving your lover so soon? That doesn’t seem like the behavior of a woman who just had the best sex of her life, now does it?"

Dottie paused, her back still turned, but Wanda could see her spine stiffen, the color rushing back to her cheeks as if she’d been caught. Slowly, the blonde turned around, her eyes a mix of pride and embarrassment, but mostly, a deep-seated satisfaction that was impossible to hide. She crossed her arms, attempting to salvage her dignity. "I-I... well, it’s just a chair, Wanda. I mean, it’s not like—"

"Oh, just a chair?" Wanda raised an eyebrow, her voice playful but with a touch of knowing. She took a step closer, her immense, jiggling chest subtly brushing against Dottie's shoulder as she leaned in conspiratorially. "Honey, you were riding that thing like it was a prize-winning stallion in a bucking contest. I could hear you from here—"

Dottie’s face flushed a deep red as she flustered, "I—uh—well—"

Wanda gave a soft, teasing chuckle. "Now, now, don’t be shy. You can confide in me. I know it’s not just a chair. That was the best you've ever had, wasn’t it?"

Dottie bit her lip, her eyes darting to the chair in question—still seated in the middle of the stage, cold, rigid, and yet somehow full of allure in her mind. Her gaze softened, her breath hitching as she nodded slightly. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It was... it was."

Wanda stepped around her, coming into her full view now, her red curls bouncing gently as she cocked her head to the side. "So, what are you waiting for? If you really want to keep this… relationship going, you better flirt with it, sweetie. Give it a little love. After all, that chair has plenty of ladies it could choose from." Wanda’s lips curved into a smile, her voice dripping with honey. "You need to make it feel special."

Dottie’s eyes widened, her breath quickening as she glanced at the audience, then back at the chair. It was as though the spell Wanda had woven was still wrapping itself around her, pulling her closer to the inanimate object that, in her mind, had given her something no man ever could. A rush of excitement coursed through her—an excitement she couldn’t explain, but one she didn’t want to fight. Not now.

"I… I should…?" Dottie stammered, glancing back at Wanda as if for confirmation.

The playful side of Wanda grinned, giving her a gentle nudge in the chair’s direction. "Oh, definitely, darling. Trust a girl who fell in love with a rob-I mean, you can trust me. You’ve got to make sure it knows how grateful you are. Be all kissy, complimentary—tell it what a good job it’s done. Ignore everyone else and show it you mean business. You don’t want it thinking you’re not interested anymore, right?"

Dottie’s eyes flicked back to the chair again, her heart pounding in her chest. She licked her lips, her hesitation melting away as she let out a shaky breath. "Y-you’re right. I should… thank it."

With a newfound determination, Dottie began to strut—yes, strut—towards the chair, her hips swaying in an exaggerated, almost seductive manner. Her usual haughty demeanor was still there, but now it was laced with something more raw, more ****. She wanted—needed—this.

As she reached the chair, Dottie’s hand delicately caressed the wooden backrest as if it were the shoulder of a lover. Her eyes softened, filled with affection. She leaned down, her lips hovering just over the seat, her voice dropping into a sultry, breathy whisper that was full of adoration.

"You… you were incredible," she murmured, her fingers tracing the contours of the chair’s armrests. "I’ve never… felt anything like that before. You’re so… big, so strong. The way you filled me up…" Her voice caught, trembling as her cheeks flushed with heat. "I’ve never been touched like that… not by anyone."

Behind her, the audience was a mix of wide-eyed disbelief, stifled laughter, and hushed whispers. But Dottie didn’t care. In this moment, all that mattered was the chair—the object of her desire, her new lover. She pressed her lips to the wooden seat in a soft, lingering kiss, her breath hot against the surface. "Please… let me feel you again. I need you inside me. If you’ll have me?"

As if to fully give herself away, and remove herself from any current reality, Dottie ended up stripping for her new lover. The little jumper was off first, earning a few raised eyebrows, then the dress was up over her head, without a second look behind her to see who could see her behind. Wanda had quickly snapped her fingers to give Dottie a quick tight fitting set of lingerie, which (from the 60s) featured a fetching white cone bra, tight fitting stocking with garterbelt, and a fairly saucy pair of underwear that cupped her booty better than Phil ever did.

With a growing eagerness, the mostly nude Dottie straightened herself up and straddled the chair—this time facing its back. Showing the crowd more of her long, toned legs, her tight, lace panties exposed without shame. The audience gasped audibly as she pulled her newly made panties aside with a casual, practiced grace, revealing her glistening arousal to all who dared to look.

Her heels clicked against the chair’s seat as she stepped up onto it, raising her ass higher and higher, adjusting herself with a slight, ungainly squat to accommodate the enormous cock she imagined the chair had. She shuddered with anticipation, her thighs trembling as she hovered there for a moment, savoring the tension in the air.

Finally, with a low, breathless moan, Dottie lowered herself down onto the chair, her body shaking as she felt it enter her fully once again. A deep, satisfied sigh escaped her lips as she slid her legs off the chair and to the side, fully straddling the seat, her hips grinding slowly, rhythmically.

"Oh, yes…" she breathed, her voice laced with pleasure. "Yes, that’s it… thank you, oohh, thank you… fill me again… just like before…"

Wanda, watching from the side, crossed her arms beneath her massive chest, smirking with amusement and satisfaction. Mesmero caught her gaze, and for a moment, the two of them shared a look—an understanding. Wanda’s heart fluttered, and for a brief, guilty second, she wondered what it would feel like to be in Dottie’s place. But no—she was married, she reminded herself. This was just a show. Just a show.

But, God, that massive cock of his looked so… so familiar.

Shaking off the thought, Wanda turned back to the scene, her voice dripping with mock encouragement. "See, darling? It’s all about giving and taking. And I think you’ve found just the right balance." She smiled, her words filled with a playful edge. "Now, don’t forget to keep your lover happy.”

The naked blonde barely listened to Mark, outside of all the instructions he was subtly giving her, to instead just enjoy herself. Westview had truly faded from memory. With no need to be the prim and proper pedant, the woeful wife of a wretched wankstain, she could now be the free bird she always wanted to be.

To see such a powerful person be reduced to a moaning, drooling, ass clapping mess was amazing. Had the audience not been hypnotised by a penis, the tight cheeks jackhammering the chair would probably have done the trick.

The forlorn Phil had shuffled down off the stage to take his seat even as his withered member started to go up again within his soiled pants at the sight of his wife putting on the best performance of her life.

Still uncaring about the world, the lingerie lover flipped over on her seated stud. Her legs squatted wide on the chair as the fictional length rammed into her again and again.

“Well now-” Mesmero drawled, his voice teasing as he drew near, “No need to come back to us, but I’ve gotta ask, darlin’... How big is the old hubbie, huh? Show us with those pretty hips of yours.”

Dottie, lost in the throes of her imaginary lover, blinked, her glazed over eyes focusing for a moment. She paused in her ride, her chest heaving as she tried to regain her composure. But the smug look on the hypnotist's face, the way he loomed over her with that cocky smirk, the way his immense cock-head pressed into her space, made her shiver. She couldn't resist his command. She straightened up slightly, hovering just above the chair’s seat, her hips swaying gently as if marking a spot in the air.

Wanda, ever the eager assistant, practically bounced over with a measuring tape that she seemed to have pulled out of thin air, her hips and breasts jiggling with every excited step.

“Allow me!” She chirped, flashing a pearly grin at the audience before kneeling beside Dottie’s pert offered butt with its panties stretched diagonally across one cheek, ready to pretend to measure the invisible man Dottie was pretending to straddle.

She slipped the tape in, brushing the dazed blonde’s folds, measuring the space between them and the seat, “Four and a half inches! That’s about… here!” She announced, grabbing a pen that also appeared out of nowhere and marking the line on Dottie’s belly where her husband had reached.

The difference in Dottie’s leg extensions would haunt Phil for years to come.

The crowd chuckled, some outright laughing at the small measurement. Down below, Phil's face was red with both embarrassment and frustration even as his crotch seemed to be twitching happily. But Dottie didn’t even pause. She sat back down on the chair, rolling her hips again, her smirk growing.

“And what about your biggest man before now?” Mesmero continued as he walked around the trio on the chairs, the enormity of his thick meaty pendulum swinging about and drawing the eyes of Dottie, Geraldine, Desmond, and even Wanda like magnets, “Show us with those lovely hips again, sweetheart.”

Dottie, ever the proud socialite, rose again, this time higher than before. Her hips hovered above the chair’s seat with a confidence that spoke volumes. Wanda, still holding the tape measure, eagerly positioned to Dottie’s pussy, measuring once again.

“Seven inches!” Wanda announced triumphantly, causing a murmur of approval to ripple through the crowd.

Dottie smirked, clearly pleased with herself, but Mark wasn’t done. His eyes gleamed with mischievous curiosity as he leaned in, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper that the whole audience could hear. “And who was this lucky man, Dottie?”

Dottie hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as though she were **** to answer. But Mesmero's gaze bore into her, and she knew she couldn’t resist his prodding.

“My… high-school sweet heart,” she finally admitted, her voice sultry yet tinged with a faint hint of regret.

“And I’ll bet he was a better lay than ol’ Phil, huh?” Mark grinned wickedly, knowing he was digging deeper than Dottie would ever admit on her own.

Dottie’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. “Yes,” she said, “He was a much better lay.”

The crowd laughed and gasped at her candid confession, but Dottie’s eyes remained fixed on her hypnotist, as though she were daring him to keep pushing her.

“But you didn’t marry Phil for his… small penis, did you?” he teased.

Dottie’s laugh was sharp and a little breathless. “No,” she replied, her voice dripping with contempt. “I didn’t marry Phil for his small penis.”

“Ah, but this chair lover of yours…” Mark gestured to the chair beneath her with a theatrical wave of his hand. “How big is he?”

Without missing a beat, Dottie clambered back onto the chair, straddling it once again, her hips rising high into the air in an exaggerated motion. Her heels clicked against the wooden seat as she carefully positioned herself at the very apex of her 'lover's' cock.

Wanda, ever the dutiful assistant, knelt beside her again, giggling as she measured the space. Her eyes widened in mock surprise as she tugged the tape. "We have ten and a half!”

Wanda shouted, patting Dottie’s ass like a trainer rewarding a good pet. The assistant gleefully beamed, giving a lick of her lips towards the closest magic hypno rod. Dottie, clearly annoyed at having to separate from her lover for so long, sent her ass crashing back down until the fully fictional phallus was inside her once more. Moaning wantonly and squirting brazenly in front of the whole talent show. “That’s right here! How does she pack it all in?” Wanda sarcastically winked at the audience after marking the next line. The difference of a whole larger cock. It was easy to see why Dottie preferred the four legged lover to her husband.

“Now, Dottie,” Mark said, his voice low and coaxing, “tell the good people what kind of lady you are.”

With a proud, almost regal tilt of her head, Dottie’s lips parted, her voice strong and dripping with superiority. “I’m a lady who chooses her man with her hips!” she declared, her words punctuated by a slow grind of her pelvis against the chair.

The crowd erupted in laughter, the ridiculousness of the situation heightened by Dottie’s haughty demeanor. Even in her delirium, she managed to maintain her airs.

Mark grinned wider, sensing he could push her even further. “So, Dottie… what’s it gonna be? Is Phil gonna be a good little henpecked cuckold for you? Or are you divorcing him and marrying this chair?”

Dottie didn’t hesitate, her voice full of confidence and arrogance. “Phil will be a good little cuckold,” she purred, her hips still undulating against the imaginary cock beneath her. “Or I’ll divorce him… and marry this chair!”

The disembodied audience roared with laughter, clapping and cheering as Dottie rode the chair, utterly consumed by her own imagined pleasure. And Phil could do nothing but watch, humiliated and powerless as his wife made her intentions crystal clear in front of the entire town.

“I’ll donate another five dollars if I can get one of those chairs for myself!” A lady from the audience suddenly called out.

“I’ll donate ten!”

“Twenty five!”

Breakdowns of social norms were apparently common at hypnosis shows. A lot of men were surprised their wives wanted something so brazenly erotic. Implications could run rampant at this peaceful event if their women all wanted big dick chair pleasurers…

“Ahh, seems we have some size queens in the audience! Don’t worry husbands, my hypnosis wears off… eventually. But then, maybe we can ‘convince’ your wives you have some more inches since yesterday, eh?” A wink towards Wanda made her gulp. She wasn’t sure why Mark was getting her heart to beat so fast.

The kiss they shared when he slept walked into their room had just felt so… electric…