The Siren and the Fae

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Dawn is loving every goddamn second of this. She’s staring at Leo’s crotch with a fascination that borders on the hypnotic, and not necessarily the near side of the border, either; she’s been put under dozens of times, and she’s intimately familiar with that drifting, disassociated feeling in her brain whenever she lets herself drift into total fixation on her focus object. When she watches his flushed, twitching, throbbing cock, dribbling surges of warm precum onto his own balls with every new pulse of arousal, she knows she’s at least lightly entranced by it. But that’s part of the thrill.

Because while she’s staring at his cock, she can’t really notice the way his nearby fingers continuously make a light, gentle strumming motion in the air like he’s petting an invisible cat. She sees it, and she’s loosely aware that it’s happening, but she’s not paying attention to it. She can’t, not with his pulsing, drooling shaft capturing so much of her concentration. It’s only her subconscious that really knows what he’s doing. And her subconscious has already decided to cut her waking mind out of the discussion. Dawn only gets the edited version of this particular conversation, and that directly from her tingling nipples rather than her deep self.

But even though she doesn’t know that the post-hypnotic suggestion that Mistress instilled into her brain makes her nipples tighten in unthinking pleasure every time Leo makes that particular gesture, she certainly feels it. It makes her breasts tingle and ache with sensual bliss, throbbing with euphoric sensation that only deepens the erotic trance she’s drifting into. It makes her more and more eager with every passing moment to continue the stroking motion that her hand and wrist keep performing automatically and instinctively,the one that she is allowed to understand. The one that makes Leo feel like she’s jacking his hard, horny cock.

She can tell exactly what kind of an effect she’s having on him. She’s attuned to his sighs and whimpers with the kind of focus that only the lightly hypnotized can manage, lost in a rapport so perfect and complete that she’s no longer sure which aspects of her arousal are her own and which ones are developing in perfect mesmerized sympathy for her lover. All she knows consciously is that the more she strokes Leo, the better she feels. And the better she feels, the harder and faster she wants to stroke. Dawn can’t stop now. And she wouldn’t want to even if she could.

Her deep self knows the rest of the story. It’s fully aware that Leo precisely mirrors her suggestions with his own, that he’s every bit as fascinated by the way her dark brown nipples have gathered into stiff buds as she is by his raging erection. He’s hypnotized by her pale, sensitive tits, and only his subconscious is aware of the stroking motion that’s turning his cock into a small fountain of precum. He only knows that he wants to keep building her arousal, to make her cum just from the phantom sensation of his fingers on her breasts alone. He wants to hear her whimper. He needs to see her moan. He’s absolutely fascinated by her right now.

And both of them know, on some level, that their Mistress is watching them both with a voyeuristic hunger that verges on hypnotic in its own way as well. She loves training her very good pets, and she loves the way they love it too. By the time they’ve had a few sessions of this under their belt, they’ll be primed to respond to their new triggers in any situation… and Mistress is already quite wet thinking about the implications of that notion. And all the things she can do with her sweet, obedient playthings.

(Like this flash fiction? Want to see more? Visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox or drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox if you like my work!)

——

My apologies, some of this shit is terribly heteronormative, mostly because lesbians and nonbinary people do not harass women in the way these jackasses do.

I was at an event this summer and I met a creep there. I had met him the previous year as well, but he hadn’t really stuck in my mind. I had seen his kind before and I had heard his jokes before: a geek and an eternal bachelor, who makes sophisticated jokes and puns, who contributes to the community with his knowledge and gives a good speech or demo. Over the years, I taught myself to ignore these guys so hard, that I forget what they said. (which is a coping mechanism for abuse btw) But there he was, joking about how I had blanket consent to do anything to him, gawking at my kinky outfit as if I was a porn video and he was in his bedroom by himself.

His jokes were so forward, they made my subby partner uncomfortable, and I started to wonder. So when I was talking to other women, I would just ask: “Have you seen that guy? Has he ever creeped you out?” And the answer was a unanimous yes. He was lecherous and forward to every woman I spoke to. Now, I didn’t speak to all the women at the event, of course. Still, that amounts to a lot of women who he creeped out. For perspective, this guy is 60+ and I talked to women between 20 and 40.

As for his behaviour: the guy stayed carefully within the lines, staring without inappropriate touching, being polite and funny, to a certain degree of funny. One woman I spoke to described his creepy behaviour as “not offensive enough to report”, and most of them talked about how he flirted with them even if they had never given him any affection in return, and even after they had told him they were not interested. His excuse was that he was just making pleasant conversation.

In private, one woman (under 30) told me the story of how that man, a few years ago, at a different event, had violated her boundaries. She had told him about that boundary, but he did it anyway. The violation was verbal, something he said, and it happened in a public play area. He was trying to trick her into playing with him again, into topping him. It was reported and handled appropriately at the time. It made me wonder whether he was still as forward with her as he clearly was with all the other women. It made me wonder whether he had started to carefully stay within the lines since that slap on the wrist, and I wondered how many times he had tried to trick other women into topping him.

This man is intelligent and educated; he knows that what he’s doing is wrong. It’s not just pleasant conversation, he wouldn’t act this way towards a man his own age. This is how a man makes us women into the gatekeepers of sexy times, by treating it as a challenge, a series of hoops he needs to jump through, after which he expects to be rewarded. I’m sure some of you are inclined to snicker at him, because this is the reason he is single. But the rise of incels in our community casts a dark shadow on this behaviour.

We, all of us in this community, are creating an environment where men are allowed to act like this. An environment where men try to badger and trick women into playing with them, where women have to be constantly on their guard, where our inboxes are bombarded with messages asking, pleading, ordering and manipulating us into playing with them. Somehow, we have created this environment where many people deny the existence of sexism, but this shit happens every day, online and at events!

It makes me sick to my stomach. And this is just the glimpse of it that I get as a white woman. If this man in my example was a black man, no one would let him get away with it. If I was a black woman, I would have been called hysterical. Ugh, there are people who will read this and not understand why I’m making a fuss. It makes me so sick.

And the fact of the matter is, these men who behave like this, they are people who learned this behaviour somewhere. Their experiences throughout life have taught them that this is how to interact with women. And one woman telling them to stop does not deter them. Getting slapped on the wrist does not deter them. They refuse to treat women with respect, and I don’t know how to change that.

But I do know that I want to be at and organise events where all participants can feel safe and wanted. And that means that I want men like this to feel unwelcome at those events, to stay away. I cannot change these men into good people, but I can create a space where I, and people like me, can feel safe. That is the extent of my power.

You can go to make friends, and to see existing friends that you’ve made online! Yes, there is definitely play going on, and it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the purpose of the con is to hook up and do sexy things. But you will have plenty of time to simply hang out with people, get to know them and chat with them about your shared interests, and make friends that will last a lifetime. This is why hypnokink cons are great for people who may be ace or aro as well. If you’re going to the con thinking, “There’s no purpose in interacting with women if it doesn’t lead me to sex,” that is a big part of your problem right there.

You can go to develop your skills! Even if you’re a submissive who never plans to hypnotize anyone, there is a real set of skills that you can learn for being a better subject. You can find plenty of hypnotists who want to help you practice those skills, which will make you better at going into trance and following suggestions and that, in turn, will make you more interesting to a dominant hypnotist! (It’s important not to treat these practice sessions as covert invitations to make the situation sexual. Learning how to respect boundaries is another very important skill you can go to a con to help develop.)

You can go to build your reputation within the community! I certainly don’t want to suggest that there’s a “moral dessert” aspect to this, but at the same time, if you want people to know that you’re a hypnokinky submissive who’s charming, witty, friendly, respectful and open to a relationship with the right dominant, there’s no better way to do it than to go to a hypnokink con and be charming, witty, friendly, respectful and unattached. Spend some time volunteering, getting to know people, and being genuinely interested in them as something other than sources of fulfillment for your fetishes, and you will be amazed at how fast you change from “that dude” to “[Scene Name], that really nice guy who spent the whole weekend being really cool to everyone and who [Other Scene Name] really liked being around!”

(Possible CNC, possible dubious consent)

“Raise the curtain.”

Agatha paced the floorboards offstage, nervously. The stepped shakily onto center stage. She was trying not to crumple the piece of paper in her hands, but her fingers, her hands, her whole body was shaking. This wasn’t working.

It had worked in rehearsals and in previews, but this was opening night... why wasn’t it working? “Raise the Curtain,” she whispered to herself, again, more insistently. Nothing happened.

“Raise. The. Curtain.”

She didn’t have time to call her roommate, Naomi, who had given her the hypnotic trigger in the first place. The actual curtain was actually going to raise in mere moments and Agatha was actually going to have to actually remember her lines and actually.... act.

Her roommate was out there, probably, just beyond the curtain. This was her idea.

“You’re an amazing actress.”

“I’m not.”

“You are! Whenever you read me a story from the newspaper, or one of the plays from our literature assignments, you really make it come alive.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind, but I get so flustered talking in public. I tried auditioning once, and I was just so pitiful.”

“I have an idea. But you have to promise not to laugh.”

“...OK”

“Well, you know I’m taking a class in hypnosis?”

Agatha blinked. “Yes.... no. Come on.... does it actually work??”

“It does. And it’s actually really good for these kind of things, helping you out of your shell.”

Agatha thought briefly that there was a strange look crossing Naomi’s face when she said that.

“I don’t know....”

“Come on.” Naomi gave Agatha one of her crooked smiles. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”

Agatha gave a look. “Two words. Tattoo. Removal.”

Naomi laughed. “Ok. Name another time. Besides, college is supposed to be the time you cut loose and experiment. Here’s a chance to show how talented you are.”

“Fine! But no funny business.... no... making me bark like a chicken.”

Naomi smirked. “I promise. I won’t make you bark like a chicken.”

Agatha threw a pillow at her.

But that was it. For that entire weekend, Naomi hypnotized Agatha repeatedly. For Agatha, it seemed like the weekend flew by, and she seemed energized and alive by Monday. Naomi, for her part, also seemed overjoyed, but a little tired.

Still, Agatha felt a brand new sense of confidence: she was participating in classes more, had dumped her pushy boyfriend (what was his name? Derek? Rick? Frederick? Whatever.), and had gone on a wardrobe overhaul with Naomi. They had been spending even more time together, and Naomi was only too happy to donate some of her parents’ platinum credit limit to Agatha’s sudden interest in ties and bespoke blazers.

Agatha was also so happy to have found herself in rehearsals for a brand new experimental play. It was a mark of how effective the hypnosis had been that she barely remembered auditioning for it.

The play explored interpersonal power dynamics between women, and it was called “Look Into My Eyes.” Each night was a completely different experience, with roles drawn out of a hat from random suggestions. Some nights were extremely risqué, and Agatha always seemed to draw the dominant roles. It wasn’t like Agatha to enjoy putting the other cast members in their place on stage. But Naomi had helped her. She said that any time she felt unsure of her role or her place, she could just use the trigger “Raise the Curtain,” and everything would fall into place.

“It’s just a variation on the Stanislasvki method,” She remembered Naomi telling her, “say that trigger, and your unconscious will make sure that you’re ready for the role that’s presented to you.”

And it worked. She’d say it, and she became the characters she was given. It was as if Agatha was shoved aside, and the character was in her place. And Agatha grew to love the experience.

The first few rehearsals were relatively tame: “horny woman making the first move,” “experienced senior teaching virginal sophomore,” and “therapist/patient” were some obvious (and cliche’d) suggestions.

Agatha was surprised by how well she took to them. And she hugged Naomi and thanked her after every performance for giving her the confidence.

One night, though, she was given “CEO,” and she remembered the scene ending with her forcing her costar to bend over her desk writing “I’ll be a good capitalistic worker” over and over while Agatha spanked her with a copy of the Wealth of Nations.

Naomi had been there, and said she thought it was unusual but incredibly hot.

Just the night before the opening, Agatha was given “Nun/naughty college student at all-girls college,” and before too long had her co-star crawling across the stage on all fours, we Agatha spanked her with a ruler.

But this was tonight. Opening night.

“Raise the Curtain!” Still, nothing. Nothing was happening. Tonight’s role was written on a piece of paper in her hands, but she was too nervous even to look at it.

Finally, she heard a voice- it was Naomi’s voice.

“Raise the Curtain, now.”

Agatha blinked. She suddenly wasn’t on a stage. She was in their living room. Naomi was sitting in a chair, looking at Agatha with a look of trepidation.

Agatha looked around, and the memories shifted back to her, of Spring Break, and Naomi and her enjoying role after role in their apartment staycation.

She looked at Naomi again. Naomi was tied to her chair with ropes. Agatha was somehow sure she had tied them, but could barely remember that. There was a pile of plays on the coffee table, and an assortment of sex toys and flogging equipment, including a nun’s habit, as well as a pocket watch and some flashing lights, scattered around the room.

There was a pause. Naomi glanced down at the paper in Agatha’s hand.

Agatha looked down and read it.

“Hypnotist,” it said.

Agatha felt a surge pass through her.

“Really.” She said more than asked. She could see Naomi’s breathing and pulse quicken.

Agatha rolled up her sleeves, and grabbed the pocket watch. “Well, then,” she said, “let’s find out what’s been really going on. And what roles you can play.”

“Calling oneself a submissive is not consent. Being into the same kinks you are is not consent. Not being currently owned is not consent. Even explicitly saying, “God, I am horny as fuck and really want to be dominated” is not consent, although it is certainly an indication that respectfully expressing an interest in negotiating consent might be very well received. The only thing that is consent is a clear, unambiguous, enthusiastic expression of non-hypothetical interest in doing kinky shit with you specifically.

If they didn’t say that, if they didn’t do that, if they didn’t clearly and directly express that, then you don’t have consent and you should not be acting sexual to that person. Not because it drives women out of the scene, not because we can’t have as much fun when submissives don’t feel safe, but because women have an inherent right to be treated with respect and basic decency and they should get to enjoy their kink on their own terms without constantly having to fend off assholes. I really don’t think this is or should be a controversial stance.

Consent, motherfuckers. Please.“

I will add further to that statement that no, women should not have to put “owned” or “taken” into their profile, because being the property of another man is far from the only reason why they would not necessarily welcome a smug insinuation that the only reason why they wouldn’t do something sexual with you is that they don’t really enjoy the thing they just very literally said they enjoyed, and a woman should not have to deflect unwelcome attentions by explaining that another man has claimed exclusive rights to their bodily autonomy.

Think of it this way. Would you think this shit was weird in any other context? “I really like pizza.” “Well, I make an excellent pizza, I could even show up at your house unexpectedly and make one and shove it into your mouth. What a pity you’re not serious.” “I love motorcycles.” “I’m heading to Sturgis tomorrow for a three-day rally. What a pity you’re not serious.” It would be taken as incredibly intrusive to assume that interest in a hobby automatically meant an interest in sharing that hobby with you right now in a very intense way, but for some reason any woman who talks about kink is fucking assumed to be asking to be dominated right that second or else they’re lying.

Stop reposting gifs and art without sources

Tag gifs appropriately with proper warnings

Content warnings for files and inductions

Eliminate underage content/child character content

Don’t steal people’s selfies to put gross captions or roleplay on them wtf

Stop. Fetishizing trans people

Respect doms and subs and consent

Don’t caption other people’s work to capitalize off of it (“msg me if you want to look like the guy in this video I didn’t make”)

Pay sex workers

For a long-ass time, I’ve been a fan of D/S and hypnotism. With those kinks comes a large power split between dom and sub. I personally am a straight guy dom who has a straight girl sub. I’m completely fine with having substantial power over my female partner.

But for the love of Christ, can you stop talking about eradicating feminism?! Like how fucking stupid do you need to be to think that a “men are superior to woman” or that “women live only to serve”? We are all goddamn equal in worth, respect, and dignity. If a woman wants to submit to a man, that’s her right; but you don’t get to pull this pro-patriarchy bullshit. Feminism is about fighting for equality between the sexes and respect a woman’s decisions that she’s made.

So all you Men’s Rights Activists and supporters this misogynistic shit, you all can swear off. You’re not welcome here, you’re not welcome on Tumblr, you’re not welcome in society. Any place that has even the slightest shread of dignity will disown you.

Go to hell assholes.

Sincerely,

But to be clear: women are mens equals and feminism has been a tremendous force for good. If you disagree fuck off.