Hypnokink With Mr Dream

Once upon a time, he told me he would turn me into a doll.

I can't even describe the blankness.

Here’s my first shot at perverting a song for my own devices.  (To the tune of “Don’t Make Me Over” by Dionne Warwick)

What a morning, what a week.

I am a summertime girl, shorts and skin and hot sun, August birthday and ice cream trucks, but fall has been so good to me these last couple of years.

We had our equinox call, the changing season giving us so much energy, just completely feeding into each other. That morning he told me a story about how I would be falling all season long, leading to my darkest, deepest place in winter. It was such a lovely fairytale and my mind is so sweet on it, and every day I have felt like maybe it could be true, maybe I have been fuzzed around the edges all week, maybe it will not stop.

I have somehow gotten worse at telling my own state, and that is a new experience, and how thrilling it is to discover that I am still changing as a subject – every change is like a progression, no backwards, only forwards. I have seen it in my eyes in pictures or when I look in the mirror. I remember how he told me about the light gold in my irises and sometimes I see that there too.

Every morning I ask him permission to trance myself that day – a rare protocol that we have that was originally a way for me to sneak control out of the moments where I feel trance when I get myself off, but expanded over time… Over the last month, so very intense as he refreshed and reframed it, waking up and immediately needing it, the hit of his attention and the way that it is such a treat for me. I’ve been spending more and more time losing myself in those vivid fantasies, whenever I have some time alone, just sitting quietly and letting my mind go… I always realize when I get deep into them how my eyes flutter, how I go still. More and more time that I’m spending lost in trance, like a fantasy girl, like a story.

This morning I told him how that felt as I begged for it, and he jumped, telling me what he wanted to do to me, psychosexual, objectifying. I am always responsive in trance and especially in text but I just had so much to say even as I was shaking and struggling to focus, how badly I wanted him, please take me, please use me, body and mind, all of it…

He teased Candi, the bimbo persona, then smoothed her out a little bit over my mind, a slick, infectious thing, knowingly integrating parts of her, the sweet fantasy of being taken over little by little by a hypersexual personality.

He stripped everything away until I was only the deepest parts, no <name>, no Candi, just the parts of me that respond. He told me that he never talks to my conscious self, he only ever talks to the core of me inside that unconsciously acts and behaves and is so influenced by him, needs, responds. What a thing to say… I was met with the memory of when he told me, “It’s difficult to talk to you without changing you.” It is so romantic, but it is like the opposite of romance.

He said yes, definitely let’s do a Skype call today.

–

I have every intention of saying something coy and teasing, ‘Hi, it’s your appointment with your very cute girlfriend, here to make you feel so good,’ but I am struck with that teenage crush when I see him on the screen, helplessly smiling, giggling, swaying. I’ve put my hair into braids and I’m wearing my new crop top that just says “OFF.”

“Hi, naughty little girl,” he says, grinning, a clear reference to my pigtails and affect, and oh…

We’re both so clearly jazzed up from the morning, I’m practically vibrating as we sit there chit-chatting, flirting.

It is so quick to turn into trance as he talks to me and shifts and I feel so hyper-responsive, eyes fluttering rapidly but trying so hard to keep my head up, not wanting to stop staring at him. He notices and talks about how right now I’m really present, how he can make me fully dissociate anytime he wants but right now I am here, I am deep, I am feeling all of it.

“Right, Candi?” he says, and it is an instant shift.

“Yeahhh,” she breathes, and I’m her, the total bimbo, the camgirl whore.

He talks to her/me a bit and she bounces excitedly. It is difficult to write this because the pronoun keeps shifting.

At a certain point I touch my chest and get distracted by my tits.

“Can I play with them?” I ask in my dumb babydoll voice. I talk like this anyways but I know he really likes it. “Please?”

“Go ahead,” he says.

They feel so good and all I want to do is tease him, stop all the silly talking even though I really like talking to him but make him pay attention to me like this. I remember all this stuff about how good my nipples felt and how he made me remember all sorts of faceless guys wanting to play with them because they make Candi cum…

“You love teasing me like this, right?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” I mewl, and stick my chest out. I know how much he loves my tits and his dumb little slutty camgirl. He looks so distracted even though he’s been skillfully talking me into losing myself all this time, he looks like he’s losing it a little bit too, and I love that.

“You want to tease me so much I even go into trance, right?” he says. “You love watching that happen when I just can’t help but look at you?”

Yes, yes, please, you’re so hot in trance, you’re already having trouble talking, just stare at my tits and give me attention and slip away and let me see it –

I finally lift my shirt and he interrupts himself with a little, “oh,” goes quiet and I know he is letting himself be obsessed, and there is a tiny part of me that wants to jump and take control… I’ve fantasized about this, I’ve thought so much about turning on him and making him totally lose it but right now Candi is feeling too good and she’s too dumb and she can’t stop playing with herself and she’s going deep into trance and there are a long few moments where we are both quiet and breathing heavier, him staring at me with his mouth a little open and the muscle tone around his eyes a little softer and me helplessly tugging my nipples and trying to focus on him while my eyes flutter and fuzz out, and out, and out…

He snaps. “And then we can see what happens when I do this.”

I’m jolted back to myself instantly and I almost double over with the weight of it, pull my shirt down, lean towards my computer as though I could lean into him.

I didn’t think he’d push this. It’s the third or fourth time he’s played with her – he asked her for her name and then he’s called her back. This is a real persona thing, recurring, and he’s not being terribly shy about how he’s encouraging it to be both distinct and bleed over – he asked Candi, “You like the idea that you start taking over her, right?” and of course, of course, we both did.

I’m not awake for long before he takes me deep, solid depth. I love being a bimbo and I love tricks and sexual games but I have been obsessed with deep trance lately, craving it, needing it, so I completely go.

Slowly, he transitions my affect to “awake,” still deep internally but shifting me to be able to talk and appear functional. It takes a little tweaking, but that feels so smooth, just gentle suggestions that I perfectly adjust to and finally am able to talk, pass the test, look a little normal at this depth. It’s distinct from my usual sort of waking trance – different signals are telling me that I’m deep, and I can’t even fully identify them consciously.

I tell him he is fucking up the anchors because this feeling is my awake feeling, the posture, the way my eyes feel, all of it is anchored to me being awake, and this is mixing those signals. I know the behavior is a little off, but I feel like I can pass.

“You know,” he says, and he is suddenly very serious, contemplative, “I probably would want to do this in person to be able to deal with it, but I bet I could spend some time and collapse all of those anchors.”

It is immediately, truly, one of the hottest things he’s ever said to me. It hits me hard; I clutch at my chest.

Remove all of the things that tell me that I’m awake. Completely confuse my state – lock me in trance. Make me ask permission to wake up instead of permission to trance.

I gape at him, wanting to make noise but gasping instead at the awful thrill.

He talks about how he might reframe from the “No, please don’t make me come out of trance!” to “Let me come out of trance just a little to feel the difference, to feel how it feels…” It’s so smart, and I know he’s talking hypothetically, but I think we both know it’s influencing me, the whole conversation is. It’s wickedly sharp.

We talk for a while like this, just normal talking, but there is this undercurrent of control that weaves through our conversation. He is so aware of my state; I am so aware of him observing me, even as we talk semi-normally.

Eventually, he drops me into deep, deep trance, letting me let go completely of the facade, and I can’t tell if it was an effort to keep it up, but I embrace being hypnotized so thoroughly… I need to go deep for him so bad, I need to let everything go.

As he’s trancing me, I feel myself shift into one of my very deep places where I fluidly notice my hypnotized, addled thoughts. I’m having those spontaneous flashes of memory and sensation, so incredibly vivid, and right now it feels like I am close to one of our dates, not a singular one in particular but the sense I get when we are together and we have time and space. It is so close I can taste it. It is almost like falling asleep on the edge of a dream, it is almost like if I could just get myself to focus in the right way, I’d teleport there. I want it so incredibly, desperately bad. I want to be with him while we are in this space.

He shifts me back to the facade of wakefulness. I am struggling.

“You don’t have to get there right away,” he says. “You can be in that trancey place you get right after you go deep. You can enjoy that space.”

I am grateful. I tell him about what I felt and saw. I think about the vivid image of his forearm, cast in hotel light, close enough to touch.

“Like there is a little tear in spacetime,” he muses. “Like if you could just get it…”

Yeah. That is exactly it.

I have so much I want to do with him.

I am so deep when we say goodbye, and stay there for the rest of the day.

–

In this episode, we take a crack at the question, “How should we approach teaching hypnosis to beginners?” It’s deceptively complex and we wanted to try something completely different that doesn’t rely on existing frameworks. This is an interesting idea for anyone to parse – beginners, experienced players, and especially educators. (Plus, sleepingirl REALLY enjoyed doing the trance for this episode and we’re starting to do some breakdown afterwards!)

This episode brought to you in part by… Twitter@ SleepyGayCutie! She’s an unbelievable hypnosis/mind control artist and her style is unmistakable and expressive as hell and extremely resonant. Especially amazing because they are so intense and frequently SFW. Check out some of her work, and give her a follow on Twitter! IT IS WORTH YOUR CLICKS, WE PROMISE.

After Hours drops next week!

CW: IRL hypnosis, brainwashing, heavy CNC, addiction, trance-ish writing, slight melancholy in parts because of *gestures vaguely to the world*, also this is 5k words, so buckle up.

–

I went through my purse to clean it, because I was leaving the house for the first time in almost four months.

There was stuff in there from Charmed, still. A letter inviting me to NEEHU. A dog clicker still in its little plastic package from one of the vendors. The pen I used to sign my books. 

There was the handwritten letter that GleefulAbandon sent me when this all started that I had shoved in because I didn’t know where else to put it. 

He and I agreed that we’d have to do a Skype call for the solstice – the change of seasons became something to us for reasons that are very personal to me. 

I bought him and myself a couple of little hag stones in early May. “Solstice is coming,” I typed for the note, and clicked the button to purchase, with no realistic expectation of when they’d arrive.

The idea of logistics came up if we theoretically wanted to see each other for the first time – he mentioned expanded availability of testing. So I scoured every day for what my state was allowing for tests. Nothing yet.

And hotels were closed.

“Maybe we could do a solstice date,” I texted, knowing fully how many variables would have to slide into place for this to work and knowing that it might be too much of a stress. 

“I was thinking about that,” he said back.

It was a nice little fantasy.

Then, tests became available and encouraged. 

Hotels were due to open the 17th.

By the time the hag stones arrived, we had a tentative plan.

–

Hi everyone.

I’m proud to officially announce the launch of Hypnokink for Black Lives Matter, a compendium of mind-control themed erotica produced to raise money to support the Black Lives Matter movement.

Guys, I’m not good at boasting, but seriously - this is really good.

It’s got stories from some of my favorite writers in the genre. We’ve got @scifiscribbler​ and @hypdom​. We’ve got @tfsplash​ and @bimbosanddolls​. We’ve got @wry-tur​ and @bimbolovecaps and @maliciousai and @deeperinmypower. Though I feel totally outclassed by the company, I’ve got a story in there, too. We’ve even got an audio component, with @ayerslix reading a script by @prettynosferatu. 

And, we’ve got more to come! I have a few other surprise contributors who needed just a touch more time, and their contributions will be added going forward. This is really a gift that keeps on giving.

When you contribute, I’ll send you a link to a google doc containing everything. As more content is added, you’ll have access that that as well! It’s already fifty pages of material, and it’s only going to grow.

To get access, all you need to do is make a donation. Given the size of what you’re getting, I’m setting a suggested donation of $15, but do what feels right to you. Any of the organizations you’ll find here are perfect choices. Some of my fellow contributors also suggested these (1, 2, 3, 4) as options. Really, anything supporting the BLM movement or the opposition of police brutality is fair game.

Send me proof of your donation and I’ll send you a link. (Please bear with me in terms of response time - I cannot be online at all times and I’m but one mortal man. I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as is possible while juggling other offline responsiblities.)

I’m so excited to be able to share this with all of you. Please check it out, and please absolutely shower the contributors with the praise they deserve. They rallied around this cause rapidly and without hesitation, and delivered results that blew me the fuck away. I can’t thank them enough, so I need the community to help me do it.

I swore I was going to be so cool.

I have been so needy. I have been so in love. Yesterday, just thinking about him was completely overwhelming me, body and brain seizing up in adoration whenever he crossed my mind.

We get on the call a few moments before I expect it and that’s enough to fluster me. My hair is a mess because I didn’t have time to fix it and he asks if it’s because I’m a disheveled brainwashed animal and that is just it for me.

I am responding far too intensely. I’m in trance before I realize it.

“You can’t do that!” I say through a gritted smile when he wakes me up. “It’s not allowed!”

“What?” he asks. “What’s not allowed?” “This! This… The thing where you just… punch me in the face.” The metaphor bubbles out of a memory of my favorite date where he hit me with everything he had, psychologically, until I was completely broken.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “That’d be pretty… direct and overt.”

Even just the way he’s talking is driving me insane, like the little shifts in his voice are something that my body is getting high from, crazed yearning fulfilled.

“So, uh, I didn’t see the posted agenda for this meeting,” he says.

“I don’t usually make the agendas for these,” I reply. “But I can give you an idea of the agenda from my perspective?”

“Oh, yeah?” he says.

“Yeah. Well, we get on the call, and then you punch me in the face for about an hour or so.”

“Yeah,” he affirms, “That’s about the time that I’ve got to punch you in the face today.”

I love the presupposition.

–

He is so hyped up for this, his energy and desire for me spilling out of him across so many miles, and mine being drawn out of me, helplessly. It feels like date energy, and I feel so much less inhibited in my responses, not necessarily because I feel more comfortable but because I can’t do anything to stop it. My body is moving, I’m moaning and gasping at just the simplest little things.

He makes me dumb so fast and I just gape stupidly at him, half little adoring smile and lidded eyes.

He talks about how much I am just listening to his voice, so cliche but hitting me exactly right in this moment as I completely obsess over it, let everything else go. It hits me in my ears, it hits me between my legs, it hits me between my eyes.

The tempo is so fast. There is no leisure. He wants this, I want this, there is no need to waste time.

I am so vocal, in the little noises that come out of me that I know are turning him on and in the hypnotized words spilling out of my mouth telling him how much I adore him.

The line between trance and awake blurs and dissipates.

–

He drops me over and over as we talk, and at some point I am just left deep and on pause as he gets quiet. I know he is attending to something else for a few minutes but I have no idea for how long, and I don’t care. I am just barely existing. I am not there.

I love this more than I can express, the feeling of infinite patience, the feeling of being nearly an object, the feeling of being trapped in trance and nowhere to go. I want it forever. I don’t care. I am not thinking coherently. I am barely thinking. Profound blankness and stillness.

“Hmm,” he says eventually, observing, snapping me up. “Just kinda… shut down…”

“I love it,” I feel myself breathe, before my brain has caught up with my mouth.

It’s perfect, that he can just turn me off and leave me. I want to spend hours like this. I wonder how long I could go.

–

“Play with your tits,” he says, and my body moves outside of my control as I feel myself doing it, embarrassed by the earnestness of my hands and the tingling response of my tits.

“Now, really *want* to play with your tits.”

My brain slides under his control and shifts to desire, instantly. Wanting it so bad and getting it at the exact same time. I squeeze and play, tease my nipples, find myself grinding against my bed.

He talks about my need growing even as I keep getting it more, the two sides entwined and rising together, reminding me of what it feels like when my tits are being played with exactly right, exactly the attention I’m hungry for.

He’s reinforcing how good it is to play with them myself, and the implications are so clear but never spoken, and that just makes it so much better.

–

“I feel like an idiot,” I feel myself say, weak and defeated and humiliated by it.

“Do tell,” he says, clearly excited.

The words force themselves out. “I feel like a stupid… obsessed… lovesick… horny… awful… girlfriend.”

Each word has immense weight to it, of associations and memories, from yesterday going all the way back.

Of course, he jumps on it all. He digs into my desperation for him, widening it insidiously.

“You feel like you’d do anything,” he says, cocky and knowing, and I remember when I said that to him accidentally.

When he wakes me up, I can’t bear to meet his eyes for more than a few moments at a time. Seeing him is overwhelming me with the way I feel, awful, teenaged love, insane need, obsessing over the features of his face, my body and brain screaming for him.

“Even looking at you is awful,” I whine.

“Yeah,” he says, not really sympathetic. “We can just spend an hour of you being desperate and thirsty.”

“That wasn’t on the agenda,” I complain.

–

He talks about his touch, the lightest ghost touch on my skin, and it is a beautiful, terrible thing to be able to feel it, remembering how much I miss that so fully even when sometimes I suppress that missing… We haven’t done this often, hallucinating his touch so directly, and I appreciate that. There is a preciousness to it.

The exact quality of it, every association it has, his presence, him, his skin on my skin and I remember the way that those two textures fit perfectly in this world like nothing else, and I yearn, and I feel.

His hand moves up and lifts my chin, and I realize that he knows exactly my experience as he talks about how my head moves so fluidly, light as air with just the barest suggestion of movement from him. There are too many memories to count, the weight of each one of them so incredibly real.

Finger tracing my lips sends me so deep, like we discovered that time…

Moving up to my forehead, and finally pressing, and I feel all the hints of these thoughts, wondering what it will be like when I see him again, how deep will I go, will I even realize, will I have to relearn, will I be more helpless than ever before… All these thoughts in a split second as I go very deep for him.

–

Smoothly moving into dollspace, not even sure how it’s happening but suddenly so much a toy, so much an object. ‘Finally,’ it feels like. Finally I don’t have to be a person anymore. Finally I can be this thing again. Finally someone knows what I really am.

“‘I’m a dolly,’” he says for me. “Nothing but, always have been, always will be.”

A sweet little nod to what I’ve been thinking and talking and writing about, reframing the way I process, desperately wanting to latch onto this idea that I am permanently an object, always an object…

I am so empty. I am so still. I have needed this.

He wakes me and I am still there.

“I am so empty,” my mouth says, softly, needing to share with him. I am not thinking.

“That’s so nice,” he says, “just waiting to be filled with something?”

I make a sound as I feel it in my head.

“Feel something there?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“What does it feel like?”

“The way your voice feels,” I say slowly, automatically, dumbly. “All dark, and soft, and big…”

Sexual words, hypnotic words, impossible to describe the friction between the way it sounds and my ears and my brain, slick and silky, malicious.

Because I’m addicted to his voice, he tells me, and pushes it deeper, and each moment of hearing him becomes ecstatic, the most erotic thing, mindblowing, hypnotic beyond belief, the sweetest, the hottest.

I am just a toy for him, a blank, obsessed, patient toy waiting to be played with, all the time, any time he wants, he can make me whatever he wants me to be. It is nearly a religious experience to be so much just a thing, brain so wasted and dull and the experience of my body completely changing. Not quite outside of it and not quite within it. Not quite that I have to exert effort to move and not quite that I don’t have to.

He unwinds me even further, and I realize he is completely unraveling my identity now and it is too late to stop him. I am too opened up and too vulnerable. He easily, gingerly plucks my name away and I don’t care. This trance is oppressive and thick, fills my lungs until there is no space left, fills my head as he turns me truly into nothing, and I think that this could be the rest of my life, sitting like this forever, waiting, used, just the simplest, most low-maintenance thing.

He refers to me as “it,” and there are years of layers to it. The first and one of very few long-standing anchored words, making me preconsciously and automatically act to do whatever he says, “it sucks,” “it smiles.” But the memories are lost now, replaced simply with perfectly tuned, instant action. Obedience is wilful, this is mechanistic and too fast, and we have sunk into a place where it is my entire identity, a thing that responds, a nothing toy. I have a sense of feeling pretty, but it is far away and I have no attachment to it.

Time is meaningless until he wakes me up again. 

I blink slowly. As if on a delay, my face scrunches in my discomfort and arousal. My body still feels like a doll.

“Did my dolly go very deep?” he asks, dark and soft and big.

“Yes,” it whispers.

–

How do I give my feelings a hug? TikvaWolf.com

I text him in the morning like I always do, before I go back to sleep for a little while. He texts back, “Call at noon?” and I get so happy despite not really being awake, replying eagerly before I catch my last hour.

I have been feeling everything incredibly intensely for the past few days. We have been so on. Our long weekend call was so amazing. Afterwards I was completely fucked. The next day I was fucked. The day after that I was fucked. And the day after…

We have talked so much about the potential for truly long-term trance. Days. Waking up into hypnosis in the morning. I never really believed it would be possible without us being in the same place.

But I spent Sunday dumb because he took advantage of me feeling unwell. Monday we had a call. Tuesday afternoon I realized I had been in trance all day.

Now Wednesday. I wasn’t sure in the morning if I was in trance or not. But god, was I excited and needy for him.

We get on and I see myself on the little screen and how bouncy I look, hear how squeaky I sound. Our babble is stupid and flirty and inane. But watching myself, seeing the way I look and hearing the stupid desperation in my voice makes me feel something, like I’m in over my head.

“I keep having this feeling, like, are you proud, are you happy about what you’ve done to this girl?” I ask, and it’s thin, and it feels like I’ve started on this small thread that I have to unravel.

He gives me a big smile and a thumbs up. “Should I not be?” he asks, so high-spirited, reducing my little outburst.

“I feel like you should be a little… sad…”

…Because you’re changing her. Because you’re destroying her original personality…

“Why should I be sad?”

The energy has shifted. This chat is a farce. I know it. But I’m too deep into it, feel a strange confidence that is like there is nothing I have left to lose.

“You’re ruining me,” I say, plainly, almost pleading. “Really…”

It’s a pornographic conversation. Straight out of a story. I feel like a character, like text on a page, but I can’t stop it. I remember other moments like this, a date where I whispered, ‘You’re changing me…’ The way he responded…

“Yeah? And I should be sad about that?” His voice has started lilting, gotten softer, acknowledging the way my eyes have softened.

All I can do is make a tiny noise. I’m slipping…

– He’s trancing me hard and my consciousness truly feels like it’s slipping away, I’m losing myself, vision swimming, body swaying, can’t express the way that I really feel like I’m going away, really…

I realize that I’ve lost my ability to understand the words he’s saying, I really have no idea… Not suggested, just spontaneous, I feel so confused and at the same time I can’t bring myself to exert any effort to change it. This has been happening more and more often, to varying degrees… It feels futile… Too far gone. So far gone. His words wash over me and all I can do is sink into them and sink into the knowledge that I don’t have enough brain left anymore, like a young child, like an animal.

He wakes me up and I have no idea how long it’s been, no idea what he did to me.

“I really, really couldn’t understand you,” I breathe, and I’m shaking with the force of that. I’m still in trance.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

He keeps trancing me, and I keep not being able to comprehend it.

–

He wakes me up. All I can do is blink dumbly at him, burning with obsession, but completely subdued by thick trance, thick pleasure and surrender.

“So is that kind of the topic?” he asks, and his voice is so sweet, dangerously, venomously sweet. “The thing that’s been happening, the feeling of being perpetually caught in this trap, that you walked into like a fucking moron?”

My throat tightens as I try not to cry out in delicious anguish.

–

“Do you remember when you first noticed that I was making it harder for you to understand what I was doing to you?”

“Not exactly,” I whisper. “But I remember the first time I thought that…”

“Yeah,” he says. “And it’s kind of sad, right? You don’t like that you’re not able to analyze it anymore?”

I nod, pained.

“That’s why we record the calls, right?” he says. “To give you some sense that there’s something you can go back to later?”

I’m holding my breath.

“But then what happens when you listen back?” Patronizing. Knowing.

I make a horrible little high-pitched noise.

I go away when I listen back. It doesn’t matter. I’ve tried time and time again, listening and helplessly going into trance, sometimes able to catch things, sometimes they slip away… My memory and my intelligence in this so faulty…

“That’s right,” he says. “It’s awful. Because that was something I took away from you.”

My body tenses hard in the terrible pleasure of that and I remember again my favorite date and the long interrogation of what he could take away from me permanently… Realizing that this is it, that this is a thing that he found that he could, that he kept his promise… How long it took me…

–

“Be porn,” he says, turning away from my screen and focusing on his computer. “I have to do some work.”

My brain short-circuits. I blank out. My body begins moving automatically, far more graceful and erotic than I ever can acheive consciously, my hands delicately moving across my body, fingers over my collarbones, teasing at the front of my shirt. My shoulders cock seductively. I am in control of none of it, but find what’s left of me just observing helplessly what I look like on the screen, and extraordinarily focused on him, absolutely needing him to respond to me, but at the same time having an infinite patience until he does.

He’s busy typing for a moment as I start teasing my tits, pulling at my shirt, and he looks over, and just stops and stares.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he says, suddenly ragged, and I know immediately there is no pretense, no show for me, I can hear and see so clearly the way I’m affecting him, so genuine. His response is the hottest thing in the world to me, even as my vision comes in and out, and I feel myself smile, bring a finger to my lips and suck obscenely on it.

I never would be able to do this normally. Not like this, not without shame.

He wrenches his vision away from me to turn back to work, and I feel nothing, no disappointment, no decay in eroticism. I am just porn on his screen. I am just here to get him off. It is my entire purpose and I keep performing even when he is not looking.

I suck two fingers this time, feeling the drool start leaking just a little bit out of my lips, making perverse suction noises, and I notice that that makes him look over at me, and feel myself learning that.

He looks like he is in trance watching me. I love that face, it gets me off so much, and it has been so long… I feel my body adjust with that little thought, how to make my motions more hypnotic, more alluring. I am dynamic, learning porn, programmed for so long to turn him on and hyperfocused on becoming even more totally perfect in every single moment. It uses all of my conscious knowledge to do it.

I feel completely disconnected from my body. I want to stare at the image of myself to see what I look like but I can’t, really. Sometimes I glance. But I imagine she looks like a dolly, totally blank-eyed and docile even as she moves like a seductress. It is impossibly good.

The cycle repeats, over and over, him turning to look, the shift of his feedback, and me being perfectly distracting until he wins the struggle and can look away. He is so, so turned on, it is completely palpable to me, more important than anything in the world.

Sometimes the sucking blanks me out. I’ve been so conditioned for so long to go away when I have fingers in my mouth. It is purely instinct, purely muscle memory. (Now, I think of Pavlovian conditioning and get upset that I didn’t talk about this idea of when a conditioned behavior approaches the same level of base responsiveness as unconditioned behavior…) But I know I must look immensely dumb, immensely mindfucked, vision just nonsubstantial and tongue moving rhythmically.

He loves it. I could talk about it for pages and pages, the back and forth, the true exchange of energy and power that happens in such a casual way, over miles and miles apart. For me, I exist only as a creature of the moment, seconds ago forgotten so easily. At one point, he shifts his focus entirely on me and trances me hard after he pulls himself out of trance.

Finally, he snaps, and it is so jarring, far too instant, far too different than the bliss object that I was.

I breathe heavily. I feel broken and I feel thrilled, like we just did something otherworldly and precious.

He looks about as fucked as I do.

The first thing I am able to say, shaken, but excited, is, “How long was that? Do you know?”

He takes my request seriously. “I can look,” he says. “…Just about ten minutes.”

I look back on the past ten minutes in my memory and find a blur of sexuality, impenetrable when I poke at it.

“Oh, my god.”

We talk about it for a long while.

–

This is a writing about my weekend. This is a writing about EEEHU, and a writing about a Skype date. They are very different in tone, but inevitably interconnected. This is a writing I debated on doing – on how to express it, and whether or not I should share it.This is a writing that starts very hard, but gets easier. 

I was a part of two classes on Saturday. I thought that would be easy; I had been kicking myself for not submitting more and was very close to deciding to put on an unconference class. 

It was not easy. 

I didn’t sleep well that night, and haven’t been sleeping well in general. Since shifting my work, I felt like my sleep should be pretty stable, since I work on my own schedule now. But I’ve been staying up late and waking up early. It’s a bad pattern, and it was the second day in a 5hr sleep cycle. 

I was already drained, and I had a lot to juggle to get everything running smoothly Saturday morning. It was taxing and I was exhausted. I was snapping at stupid things, uncharacteristically. I kept saying, with forced glee, “It’s just like a real con! I’m sleep deprived and stressed!”

But once we got started, the first class with MrDream went well, and I enjoyed it. The audience was incredibly generous towards both him and me. I was so pleased at how many people were getting information and how many people said that they loved my trance face, although I had to force down a little bit of juvenile bitterness that we couldn’t just monopolize the class with play and go as hard as we usually do. There were 140ish people in the class – a lot. We did Q&A to wrap up, and then I had to run to do tech testing for the podcast.

What I couldn’t do was give MrDream a hug after the class. What I couldn’t do was walk down the hotel hallway to see him and decompress. What I couldn’t do was hang around and chat with attendees in the lobby and in the con spaces.

I felt that immensely, stinging, but I had to push it down, because I had more to do.

The podcast, despite some inevitable technical issues, went well enough. By that point, I was feeling incredibly drained, and hadn’t been able to eat more than some yogurt for the majority of the day because of feeling crappy from not sleeping. It went for 2 hours – very long, and we had no breaks. I was on autopilot. I had a good time, but felt almost dissociated, far away from myself.

I turned off the meeting, and I was suddenly in my bed, alone, just with cc, waiting for the audio to save.

I could not go see MrDream. I could not go see my friends. I could not get a hug. I could not text someone to ask where the party was and then stay up until 4am doing hypnosis and talking bullshit.

I started crying – not weeping, not choking out tears, but wailing, hard crying.

It was the build-up of nearly a month of not processing that life, right now, is different. I cannot see my loved ones. I cannot see my community. EEEHU was a monstrous effort by its organizers which I applaud, and am so dearly happy that so many people enjoyed it, but for me, it was a harsh reminder that it was not a con in the way that I needed, and that I will not get that in the foreseeable future.

And I can’t see MrDream.

Our 2-year dating anniversary was just over a week ago. We would have had a date, riled up from not seeing each other for a month, meeting near the vernal equinox, the change of seasons having become important to us. And then we would have seen each other at NEEHU, a week later.

Now I don’t know when I will see him again.

After keeping that fact so distant from myself, taking one day at a time, I was slapped in the face by it.

I cried. I cried so hard. I have not cried like that in months, maybe a year. It was the rawness of isolation, the feeling of tragedy, of separation.

After a few minutes of it, I stopped, because I didn’t want to dig myself into a hole I couldn’t get out of. I saw myself in a mirror, and saw the mascara running in streaks down my face – an effect I’ve tried hard to achieve for kink and in scenes for my partners who enjoy tears.

I took out my phone and snapped a picture – the picture I take for MrDream every day of myself when I feel particularly brainwashed. If this wasn’t such a clear sign of how brainwashed, how dependent, how addicted, how in love I am, then I don’t know what is.

He responded well.

I went to bed early, feeling like I had immensely screwed up in everything the entire day. Again I had trouble sleeping, but I was comforted by the knowledge that I would talk to MrDream on Skype, and woke up feeling still drained, but less raw.

Our call was, of course, what I needed.

It was not the kind of call where we dove headfirst into trance. We spent time decompressing and talking, the sort of relaxed conversation I’ve missed so much since not having long time together.

But when he shifted his tone, when I saw his eyes change so subtly, I felt it all, and I felt everything melt away, helpless to it.

–

This trance is so overwhelming, the lowness of his voice, the feather-light touch of it makes me feel as though this is so much more powerful than aggression, as though I am a fluid which yields so much more softly when given the most gentle pressure, and how weak I feel to that.

He talks about how I can feel myself melting into him and suddenly I feel it, I feel the way his body feels. How much he wants me. How much when even I think about him from far away, he feels it, unconsciously, the force of our connection, we can smell each other, we know the weight of each others’ bodies.

Sinking into him. Filled with him. Empty. Deep.

Going through vivid memories of us together, flashbacks to dates that I suddenly am able to access more effectively.

I weep in trance at how precious that is. I weep while aroused as he controls me, even as I feel myself totally slipping away. The tears stop quickly, leaving me with his control.

He is calling back to the podcast that I know he was there to listen to, using my words, using my ideas, the recognition that he is always paying attention.

When he snaps me up, I am a hypnotized wreck, I can’t talk. He has to snap me up again.

“My shoulders are doing the thing,” I say, smiling, finally. “My brain is doing the thing.”

Loosened, relaxed.

–

We talk about how much we miss each other. He future paces gently about what it will be like when we finally see each other. I cry a little bit again, and it’s the first time I’ve acknowledged this thing with tears in front of him.

We banter Erickson at each other – our ultimate love language.

–

I’m amazed how quickly I fall away when his flirting shifts intent just slightly. I have been going deeper, I have been going away so much further and faster.

He turns me into a cow, all body, no brain, taking over everything. Dumb cow braincells making me all mouth, all pussy, all tits. Calling back to my fey memories, how holographic they are.

Flashback to his apartment and cumming on top of him.

“Feeling the way the light feels,” he says, and it triggers the exact memory of my thought, in his room, when he took something away from me permanently – ‘I will never forget the way the light looks in this room at this moment.’

“And then fading away even from this much comprehension into the deepest trance.”

Just hypnosis, just mind control. The absolute feeling of that, the way it drugs me.

I am so close to nothing, he is draining me away… Again I have that sense that if he just pushes a little more, I would go, something would happen, I would be totally gone forever… Again, I flash back to another date, the solstice that I did not share, and how close I was…

“You’ve always been a dumb little girl, wanting this so badly…”

Another flashback…

And he wakes me up, and I just stare at him. He makes a whooshing sound.

“Boy, do I miss this,” he says, all low, so turned on. “Gonna shred you so bad.”

I say his name.

“I’m… somewhere,” I manage, softly.

“Me too,” he says.

I’m so completely focused on his face, so completely keyed into his expression, his eyes, just like I would be if we were together, just like I’ve been learning how to do over Skype after all this time.

“Are we just going to spend 15 minutes staring at each other now?” I whisper, locked onto him.

“If we were alone, do you think we would?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

We fix on each other, silently, and it is just like we are.

He makes another whooshing sound, and it breaks, and we both laugh a little.

“Well,” he says, “that was two minutes.”

–

“As if a candle can tell that it’s melting.”

I become an object, melting itself, lit by him, finally no longer a person, finally even more easy to exist as a vessel for his control.

“As if you are a candle in the dark night, dripping wax into your hand, thinking about spells and magic…”

Flashback to Samhain, and the frustration.

“Who we are when we are alone, when we are together, even if there are people around, no matter where, we are always in this other world where magic is happening to us both. Knowing we are always connected, knowing we always have this thing, and no one can stop it.”

Flashback to DMDW.

Flashback to flashbacks of DMDW.

Weeping, again, in deep, deep trance, feeling the magic bubble in my body and bubble where the air meets my skin, just for this one moment, so long since I’ve felt it and never over distance like this – the magic that I will always question, the magic that seems unquestionable when I feel it and then dreamlike, it fades…

He counts me up, and I feel a tightness, and before 5, I whisper his name and ask to stay here, at 4.

–

I have looked at the picture of myself ever so often. The enormous emotional outpouring feels more distant now, and more manageable, but I don’t ever want to forget how hard that day was for me. I don’t ever want to take things for granted ever again.

It makes me so happy that I was able to have meaningful conversations and input at EEEHU, and help people learn, and watch people having fun. I wish I could have been more present, but I know I was doing the right thing by being at home, and not “at the con.“

The hypnosis community is so incredibly important to me. I dedicated my first book to it, and surely I will do the same with my next. I believe I was meant to be here. If I believed in destiny, which I do not, I would say that it has been my destiny since I was a tiny little girl, confused and barely conscious of myself.

All I have to say is this: Take care of yourselves. Stay strong, but know you will fail sometimes. Cry. Laugh. Keep in touch.

I will be here.

–

NEEHU 11 Cancellation / Digitalization Info

1. I am unable to find a time to reschedule NEEHU in 2020 that the hotel and dungeon furniture provider have availability, so I have made the decision to officially transmute NEEHU 11 into EEEHU.

2. NEEHU 12 will be at the end of March, 2021 at the same hotel with the Magic theme. I will have registration information up for this soon.

3. Regarding hotel room cancellations, the hotel told me that they would handle cancelling our entire block so individuals don’t need to take action. I will confirm this with the hotel.

4. Regarding tickets purchased for NEEHU 11, we have it set up so that you WILL need to manually request a refund. **All funds NOT refunded by April 8th will be sent to me ** and will go towards next year’s event (scholarships, cool stuff.) Please request a refund through Brown Paper Tickets if you want one! Here’s the link to the ticketing site to help you get this done!

5. Ok, now time for some happy news! We’re organizing an online conference called EEEHU!!  It will be held on a private discord server and Google Meet on March 28-29. (And maybe March 27 if there is a lot of interest!)  This event will be FREE with option to donate $10-20, which will again go towards defraying costs of cancelled event and making next year’s event better. You need to register to get the info for the event!

6. If you are interested in presenting an online class at EEEHU, here is the presenter signup sheet! Classes may be voice only, video, voice with slides, or whatever else you come up with! This is not limited to NEEHU presenters! We’re getting so much interest from people who have never been able to travel to NEEHU!