Hypnotherapy

'You are getting very sleepy.'

That's probably the first thing anyone thinks of when they hear the word 'hypnosis'. A swinging pocket watch and cheesy, cliché lines. As a professional hypnotherapist extraordinaire, you know better. Hypnosis, like any skill, takes dedication and practice.

And a smooth as fuck voice doesn't hurt either.

After finding yourself stuck in Equestria through some kind of 'transdimensional mishap', you'd despaired ever finding relevance again. Spurred on by one Twilight Sparkle, however, you'd decided to try and set up shop in Ponyville.

Since affording an entirely new building for an office was out of the question, you offered your services out of your own home, for ponies trying to break addictions; tobacco wasn't a problem in Equestria, but you'd had more than one pony come to you for help staying away from the sugary treats at Sugarcube Corner. Mostly harmless addictions, but it was just about the worst that the ponies of this world really had to offer.

You didn't exactly rake in the bits, but you weren't suffering either.

There was one case, though. She came in every other week, like clockwork.

Her name was Berry Punch, and she was struggling to break herself of her alcoholism.

She'd been toughing it out on her own before you came along, but with your guidance and the careful application of hypnotherapy sessions, she'd been sober for nearly two months.

The two of you had grown close. It was to be expected, with how involved you were with her recovery. You'd occasionally mingled at Pinkie Pie's infamous parties, and her little filly Pinch knew you as a friend of the family.

You and Berry Punch would find yourselves flirting once in awhile, harmless banter that you both knew would never progress any further than that.

To your dismay.

A doctor getting involved romantically with his patient was just as taboo in Equestria as it was back on Earth. Still, you can't help but wish it were otherwise.

Sitting back in your faux-leather office chair, you allow your mind to wander to that shapely flank, that delectable mulberry coat of hers.

Today's Sunday... No appointments until tomorrow afternoon.

Leaning back, you unzip and give a lusty sigh... only for your perverted musings to be interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

Grumbling, you zip up and stalk out of your 'office' (little more than a guest bedroom converted into such) and down the hall, towards the door. The knocking continues, unabated.

“Alright, alright, I'm coming! Keep your pants on.”

“But I'm not wearin' any, doc!”

You stifle a long-suffering sigh. You know that voice. Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.

Pulling the door open, you are greeted by the sight of none other than Berry Punch herself, smiling broadly.

“Heya doc! Ready for our session today?”

You blink dumbly for a moment, then glance back at the calendar hanging in your office.

“Ms. Punch, today is Sunday. Your appointment isn't until this time tomorrow afternoon,” you deadpan.

Her face falls for just a moment, but soon her grin is back full-force.

“Aw, come on, doc. Can't you just bump me up to today? And I'm pretty sure I told you to call me Berry, doc. You're a friend! Sheesh!”

You sigh, putting a palm to your forehead. You were really getting into it earlier...

Still, she is your most faithful patient, and she was making serious headway in her treatments.

“Very well,” you mutter, hoping the sullenness you feel doesn't transfer to your voice. You wave her inside, closing the door behind her. “Just take a seat on the couch as usual, Ms. Punch, and we'll begin shortly.”

Berry Punch gleefully trots through the hall and into your office, draping herself across the enormous couch you keep in there for your patients. It was a bit cliché, yes, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?

You make your way into the kitchen and fill a glass of ice water, before joining the mare in your office and getting settled in your chair.

You shift your weight, getting comfortable, and take a sip of your water.

“Well, Ms. Punch-”

“Berry.”

“Berry, then,” you relent. “Have you had any more cravings, lately? Any desires to relapse?”

She gives a half-hearted little shrug, still smiling, before she responds.

“To be honest, I've had a few. Nothing too serious, and it wasn't anything I couldn't handle on my own. I think the treatment is seriously workin' out, doc.”

“Yes, well.” You allow yourself a small smile, and nod. “Your own willpower plays a large role in how successful the treatments are. Now, shall we begin?”

She sprawls herself out on the couch, obviously making herself at home, before she nods as well.

You take a deep breath, steadying your thoughts, and begin to speak.

“I want you to listen to me, Berry. Focus on the sound of my voice. Close your eyes, lay back, and allow yourself to drift. All that matters is that you focus on my voice, and listen.”

Watching her, she obeys, her lids falling shut.

“I want you to start by being mindful of your breathing. Feel each breath as you inhale slowly through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. Deep breaths in... and out...”

You pause, watching her to make sure that she was listening. You'd never had any problems with her in the past, but force of habit made sure you were completely aware of her body language.

“Now, bring your attention to your fetlocks. I want you to see them in your mind's eye, as they are now, and slowly, slowly feel the tension slide from them. Let the stress melt from your fetlocks, as they relax completely.”

You take a sip of your water before continuing.

“Let your attention move up to your knees, as they, too, relax...”

You drone on, letting your smooth and vaguely sensual voice work its magic, watching as Berry Punch slowly becomes little more than a slowly-breathing pile of pony goo on your couch. You smile to yourself, your patient deep in her trance, and begin her usual treatment.

“Berry. I want you to imagine a glass in front of you. A simple, empty glass. Soon, you see the glass begin to slowly fill, a bubbling, brightly-colored liquid flowing into it. The smell reaches your nose, a tart fruit with the sharp underlying scent of alcohol. You want it, don't you, Berry?”

The mare on the couch whimpers, your trance and voice making her mind experience the sensations exactly as you describe them.

“Your body wants you to drink it, to grab that glass and chug it down; but your mind knows better. Alcohol is dangerous, Berry. You know this. Those cravings plague your thoughts. Why don't we change that?”

You pause, your eyes sweeping over her prone form. You watch as she writhes on the couch, the phantom smell of the alcohol torturing her. Suddenly, your throat is as dry as a desert. You take another drink before continuing on.

“Every time you feel those cravings, Berry Punch, I want your mind instead to...”

You stop. You try to go on, to describe how those cravings will take hold for the briefest of moments, then flow out of her as she visualizes the glass upturning, the liquid inside pouring out of it, with the cravings following suit.

But something's stopping you.

“I want your mind instead to...” You begin again, sweat beading your brow as you watch her. Her body, so relaxed, her eyes closed, you could see each and every one of her lush curves rise and fall with her breath.

You know, suddenly, what you must do.

“I want your mind to take ahold of those cravings. I want you to take that craving for alcohol, and visualize it as a craving for something else.”

You lick your lips as you improvise this 'new treatment'.

“The craving slowly moves lower, from your throat and stomach, down to your nethers. Rather than the burn of alcohol, sliding down your throat... you feel the burn of desire, flaring to life within another pair of lips...”

The mare's face is flushed, as her breathing quickens.

“It burns bright, that desire, so bright and hot that any thought of drinking is purged from your mind. Your thoughts turn only to quenching that fire between your hind legs.”

Berry Punch is whimpering now, her forehooves trembling.

“I want you to let that desire take hold, Berry Punch. Let it ravage you. Let it burn and wash through your entire body.”

Her body is quivering, muscles taught. You spy a faint damp spot, swiftly spreading beneath her. You grin.

“I am going to count down from five, Berry Punch, and then snap my fingers. When I snap my fingers, you will wake up feeling refreshed, and aware. All of your cravings and thoughts of alcohol will be gone, replaced instead by an overpowering desire to satisfy your carnal urges...”

Your own breathing is coming rapidly now, and it becomes harder and harder to continue.

“Five...”

She's squirming, her eyes still shut.

“Four...”

You can see them fluttering rapidly beneath her eyelids, her breath coming in gasps.

“Three...”

She bites her lower lip, and you feel your slacks begin to tent...

“Two...”

That damp spot is growing larger and larger, as her arousal soaks your couch.

“One...”

You slowly raise a shaky hand... and snap.

Berry Punch's eyes shoot open, and she all but launches off of your couch, landing on all fours.

“Wha...” She pants, tongue lolling, as the trigger hits her HARD.

Her half-lidded gaze trails over to you, lingering on your crotch, before lifting to meet your eyes.

“Oh doc-tor...” She calls out in a sing-song voice. “I think it's time for my phy-si-cal...”

You're about to tell her that you're not that kind of doctor, and perhaps suggest the two of you retire to your bedroom.

Your thoughts scatter completely as you receive a sudden face full of mulberry mouth, Berry Punch's swift and fiery kiss wiping your mind of any semblance of coherency.

The two of you fall to the floor of your office, a frantic tangle of limbs and swiftly discarded clothing.

You realize, suddenly, that you didn't specify with whom she would satisfy these urges; if you don't fix that, she'll be trying to get every stallion she passes by to mount her every time she has a craving for booze.

You resolve to edit the trigger with the next session, so that she'll desire you and you alone...

…

Well, maybe after she's done.