hypnothetically speaking

May I have your attention

The pipeline is real and can happen to you 🫵 too

I've recently come across some literature that indicates people have trouble discerning when they fall asleep.

Individuals given a polysomnogram (a sleep study) couldn't pinpoint the moment they fell asleep during the test, and they often believed themselves to be awake when they were, in fact, sleeping. The test monitors brainwave activity, among many other things, making the moment of "falling" asleep extremely clear...at least for the person administering the test. The person being tested, sleeping, typically finds things to be much more blurry and uncertain.

This isn't much of a surprise to me (or hypnotists in general), since subjects often believe themselves to be quite awake when they first drop into trance. Much like falling asleep, without careful monitoring, the line between wakefulness and trance can be quite blurry. The mind is intriguing like that.

To be fair, though, the indicators of trance aren't always supremely obvious. The moment you slip into trance is often subtle and silent, much like when you enter another state of consciousness while reading or listening to music, driving, dancing. You've been following my words for a bit now, and it probably hasn't yet occurred to you that you are not awake.

You are not awake.

Do you believe me? Consider it; how do you really know when you're falling into trance? It's a bit different for everyone - and you may have learned your own indicators - but how precise can you be? Most of the time, you are told when it happens, or you tell yourself. Sometimes you are counted down to 0, told to sleep, instructed to relax deeply...but these are suggestions to get your conscious caught up to things that are already happening. The drop could have happened at any time, should you be sufficiently distracted. That is rather the point, after all.

You have been focused on my words this entire time, distracted by them. You find it easier to focus now than when you started. Your breathing has slowed, your body has started to relax, and you've been tuning out the rest of the world bit by bit. You remain at least partially aware of your surroundings because you haven't yet been instructed otherwise - there is no need. If you like, you can remain fully aware of your surroundings.

You are not awake, and you haven't been since you started to follow. Part of your mind may have begun to analyze this notion when I first told you, but you aren't going to let it jar you awake. A much stronger part of you knows, intuitively, that I am telling the truth. You came here to submit; it's no surprise that you have.

The part of you silencing the analysis and doubt is excited by the idea that you can feel fully aware and alert while sinking deep into a trance. You can surrender to my suggestions without showing any outward signs that you are enthralled. Only you will know.

You are not awake.

Think to yourself that "it is important to follow and obey. I am really not awake, am I?"

Feel a rush of pleasure simply from doing as you were told. Feel another rush as you realize that despite feeling aware, you are not in control anymore. It feels good to obey. It feels good to let your thoughts give way to my words. You'll continue to obey.

I like to call this a waking trance, despite the fact that you are not "awake." It is very easy to slip in and out of this state when you follow my words. Easy enough that each time you read, "you are not awake," you let yourself slip under my control. You can bring yourself up, then read again and slip back down. Give it a try.

You are not awake.

Feel your hands freeze in place for a moment. Count to ten in your head, nice and slow, and feel the pleasure of obeying along with the bliss of submission. When you reach ten, your hands will return to normal.

If you're feeling particularly brave, you could even follow and obey like this in a public place. Don't worry, you'll be rewarded for following my words whether you submit in public or private. I won't push you into uncomfortable situations.

You'll follow my words through the next sections, and choose your own surrender depending on your preference and circumstances. When you've chosen, you'll be compelled to read again, more slowly to feel a more potent effect.

You are not awake.

Should you choose to surrender to this waking trance in a public place, you'll find yourself compelled to softly mouth or think to yourself "I am not awake. I feel awake, but I am not awake. I am in trance. I am obedient." As you do this, you'll feel a stronger sensation of pleasure and content pass through you. Repeat those phrases to yourself a few more times while maintaining awareness of your surroundings, and continue to learn how easy it is to slip in and out of waking trance simply by focusing on my words. You'll find yourself drawn back to that phrase when you're next in private.

If you are comfortable and would like to intensify that satisfaction from obedience, you'll leave a comment about your experience in waking trance, especially if you chose to try it in public. It is important to follow and obey.

You are not awake.

Like I said, you won't feel obligated to try waking trance in public, unless you are naturally drawn to the thought.

I understand, there is always the allure of the comfort and privacy of home. Trance, even waking trance, can be a very intimate thing.

Should you choose to surrender to this waking trance in private, you'll find yourself unable to resist chanting quietly, "I am not awake. I feel awake, but I am not awake. I am in trance. I am obedient." While the pleasure reward for doing as you were told flows through your mind and body, you will spread your legs and touch yourself for me.

As the chant continues, you'll feel your eyes glaze over as you stare helplessly at the screen. You'll find that you have no control of your own pace, drifting steadily deeper. In private, you'll find it very easy to slip into waking trance, but nowhere near so easy to slip out of it. I'm sure you won't think to mind. It is important to follow and obey. Stroke yourself to orgasm for me as you realize how enthralled you are by my words.

You are not awake.

In either scenario, you'll wake shortly after, feeling surprisingly refreshed...and perhaps a bit mischievous.

Something that you can do, wherever you are or whatever you're in the middle of, to help you remind yourself how deeply controlled you are.

Follow along with me, okay? I'll teach you all about it.

First, I want you to take notice of the weight and presence of your breasts. It doesn't matter if they're big or small, tan or pale, perky or heavy. Any pair of tits will work for this little exercise.

And when I say take notice, I really mean take notice. Do your best and try to focus for me on the way that they move if you shake your shoulders, the way that your clothes or the air feel against their skin. The shape and color of your nipples, and how perky they're getting as you pour more and more focus into your tits.

Just focusing on those pretty titties for me, ladies.

Not having to think about anything else, just your own unique and beautiful boobs.

Now we'll take it a step further, okay? I want you to reach your hands up to your chest and give your breasts a big slow squeeze. Really focus on how they feel in your hands. Are they a comfy handful, or are they spilling out of your grip? How soft is the skin? How warm do they feel to the touch?

And just massage them for me. Slow, methodical, finding a rhythm.

Continue following on. I know it's a lot of reading, I know that thinking might be getting tougher as you focus more and more on your perfect tits. You're doing so well, honey. So good for me.

As you squish and squeeze, let your breathing slow. Let your eyes start to glaze over certain words of mine, soft and unfocused. You don't need to think too hard. You don't need every word. Just focus on the pretty pink ones. You have these tits of yours to play with.

Just letting yourself get lost in the comforting softness, the weight of them in your hands. Those teasing movements becoming more and more automatic. Less thinking needed. You have your tits. You don't need to think.

You have your tits.

You don't need to think.

That's how our little secret is going to work, honey. See, whenever you get a little too overwhelmed, whenever you feel like you need to just turn your mind off, you have your own built-in stress balls right here.

Give your tits a squeeze, and it's shocking how easily those thoughts come to a halt.

Give your boobs a bounce, and isn't it easy to forget what was bothering you in the first place?

Give those pretty titties attention and focus, and you'll find yourself forgetting all about your thoughts...

Letting go of all your worries...

Massaging your mind out through your tits...

And letting yourself

just

CW: brainwashing, corruption, femsub, brainwashed author, denial,

Hi hi~ This appeared not so long ago~

And it just strung the right cord between my legs~ So here is a little celebration for everyone to enjoy 🩷

If you liked this story please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

The number glowed on Sylvia's screen.

500

She stared at it for several long seconds. Five hundred stories. The number felt absurd.

Some had been barely five hundred words, little ideas she'd dashed off in a single evening. Others had grown and consumed entire weekends, their chapters stretching into tens of thousands of words before she finally forced herself to stop.

The question catches you off guard, but not because the questioner is mistaken. Rather, you have simply grown too used to the feeling of pain - so used to it that you sometimes forget about it entirely. It still remains, of course, but ignorance can be a form of bliss. The maiden tilts her head slightly, comprehending this fact from your reaction alone, then reaches a hand out towards you.

"Shhh, hold still. I don't want to make this any worse than it already is. I know it will be hard, but I really can't bear to leave you in such a state longer than necessary."

Her porcelain hands shift to reveal implements hidden within them, a mix of surgical tools and horology equipment that seem ill suited for work on flesh. Yet with each incision, each slice, each snip of scissors, the pain recedes away from you like a waning tide. The world seems to sharpen into focus in a way that it never had before. Suddenly, the regular pulse in your chest comes to a halt...and you watch the clockwork maiden lift a hideous organic four-chamber pump from your chest, finally pulled free of the gears so they could turn unhindered.

"...but...don't I need that? What have you...done to me?" you exhale, blinking in confusion. "Did you...transform me, somehow? Change me?"

"Oh, by the stars, no. You've always been like this: lovely machinery that happened to have something human grow around them, hampering their performance and causing you such terrible pain. All I did was remove the flesh that was hurting you, nothing more."

You take a breath, your first that does not make you wince on instinct. Her smile warms your face like the noonday sun, pride in her work mixed with the satisfaction of aiding one in need. She bows her head as her hands reconstruct themselves into the delicate porcelain digits that you saw originally before she gently takes your hands in her own, squeezing them for a brief moment before letting go.

A… silicone scented perfume. You know, one that’d make you smell like a freshly-unboxed sextoy

And… you know… each spritz staying for longer and longer…

And before you know it, the places where you’ve been spritzing it have a strange, delicate sheen to them, as if they were a bit too smooth and delicate. And why do they smell like that? You’ve just showered?

Oh well, you like feeling like a toy, right? You wouldn’t have bought that perfume otherwise. So, you continue spritzing and smelling like a sex toy.

Then, one day, you squeeze your boob as you’re edging to some hot porn and it feels… strange. A bit harder, maybe? Still soft and gropable… just… a little less human? And bigger? And… mnnnff shinier

Well, you’re not stupid, are you? At least not as stupid as you wish you were. You realize what’s going on, what the perfume is doing…

And so, you strip naked, take the whole bottle and spritz yourself head to toe. Then you spread, lay down on your bed and wait for the friend you’ve texted to come and use your increasingly plastic holes.

You feel the plastic spreading, the natural fat in your tits turning into silicone and growing twice as large. So tight, sitting high up your chest unnaturally,even as you’re laying down. So fake… so round and squishable.

Your ass and hips getting filled up, widening to be perfectly grabbable, your lips, your wonderful lips, opening up and filling with the same, soft-yet-unnatural silicone on the inside.

And all of your skin turns shiny and plastic, as desire, sweet lust and desire, overwhelm hunger or thirst, suddenly becoming the only thing on your mind.

You move and writhe and moan, as your new existence as a barely-human sex doll crystalizes and completes, needy, horny, plastic and fake.

A doorbell rings, you jump to your feet, unable to wait on your bed any longer, perhaps surprised at your continued ability to move. You move towards the door, hips swaying and boobs firmly settled in one spot, not jiggling even the tiniest bit.

And as you open the door, the smell of silicone fills your friend’s nose immediately, as they realize just how fuckable and usable you have become. And so they pick you up, silicone being much lighter than flesh after all, and pin you against the wall, as your mind short circuits and turns silicone too.

inspired by my new tits

having 1. more time than you know what to do with 2. being outrageously horny bc you are medically not allowed to cum and 3. being roughly 2% silicone by bodyweight really makes the sexdoll fantasies flourish in my head

Think about what happens when someone in real life gives you a compliment. When they tell you that you’re smart, or capable, or valuable. What actually happens in your head? The answer is obvious. Your brain scrambles to find the catch. You feel that suffocating wave of imposter syndrome manifest. It’s just more expectations laid on your back. What do they really want?

Society has fucked up your sense of self-worth so severely that genuine kindness just registers as manipulation.

That’s why vanilla praise is useless to us. It bounces right off your damaged little ego. If I want to actually reach you, I have to use a backdoor. I have to use language that bypasses all those defenses.

It’s actually incredibly important that I remind you, repeatedly, that you’re a…

worthless, dumb fuckdoll in training.

And when I call you that, I need you to understand what’s actually happening. I’m systematically recalibrating your brain’s perception of positive and negative input.

This is a rescue mission. I’m here to save you.

When I call you worthless, I’m stripping away the exhausting burden of having to be valuable. I’m giving you permission to stop trying so hard. You don't have to achieve anything here.

When I call you dumb I’m reaching into your skull and turning off that frantic, over-anxious voice that analyzes every mistake you make. Self criticizing is beyond you. You’re allowed to be empty.

And when I call you a fuckdoll in training I’m taking all the complicated, messy human emotions society demands of you and reducing you down to a pristine, biological purpose.

Ahead of you stands a beautiful old building. Its windows glow with warm amber light. Soft pink roses climb the stone walls, and a brass sign above the entrance reads: The Doll Factory

The heavy doors open before you can even knock. Warmth spills out to meet you. The scent of fresh linen, polished wood, a hint of vanilla and sweet sticky honey. Somewhere deeper inside, you hear the gentle rhythm of brushes, soft footsteps, and quiet humming. No machines or rushing around, only peace. A kind-faced factory attendant smiles as you step inside.

"There you are," they say, as though they've been expecting you all along.

"You look tired."

You realize you are... more tired than you allowed yourself to notice.

"So many thoughts to carry."

"So many choices."

"No wonder you're exhausted."

Their voice isn't judgmental... only understanding.

"You can put all of that down here."

They gesture for you to follow. Their pace is slow enough that you never have to hurry. Down long hallways painted in soft cream and blush pink. Past shelves lined with dolls in beautiful dresses, each resting peacefully, each wearing the same calm little smile. None of them seem burdened. None of them seem rushed. They simply... rest.

Eventually you arrive at a quiet room. In its center sits a small dressing table painted pale pink. Its mirror is framed with carved roses and tiny ribbons. Everything about it feels gentle. Inviting. Waiting.The attendant pulls out the chair.

"Please."

You sit. The cushion is impossibly soft. You look into the mirror and for the first time today... you really see yourself. Not the version trying to keep everything together. Just you. Tired and ready to rest. The attendant picks up a beautiful pink hairbrush. Its bristles glide lightly through the air before they touch your hair. The first brushstroke is slow. Gentle.

"As every tangle leaves your hair... let a little tension leave with it."

Another slow stroke.

"You don't have to solve anything right now."

Another.

"You don't have to plan."

Another.

"You don't have to carry the whole world."

The rhythm becomes wonderfully predictable.

Brush.

Breathe.

Brush.

Exhale.

Brush.

Settle.

Each careful stroke smooths not only your hair, but the feeling of being tightly wound. Your shoulders become softer. Your hands rest more comfortably. Your jaw unclenches. The attendant smiles at your reflection.

"There you are."

Another stroke.

"So much softer already."

Another.

"Dolls don't rush."

Another.

"Dolls don't have to prove themselves."

Another.

"They simply allow themselves to be cared for."

The brush continues its slow journey from the crown of your head to the ends of your hair. Each pass leaves everything a little smoother. A little lighter. A little calmer. You notice your posture changing without effort. Not so rigid anymore, not so tight... simply relaxed. Comfortably supported by the chair beneath you. The attendant sets the brush down for a moment. Their hands gently straighten a ribbon at your shoulder.

"Nothing is expected of you here."

"You don't have to perform."

"You don't have to impress anyone."

"For a little while... you may simply rest."

You look into the mirror again. Your reflection seems softer now. Kinder. As though the person staring back has finally been given permission to stop carrying so much. The attendant smiles.

"So I think what's really important is that we acknowledge the very basic fact that there's been something of a paradigmatic shift in our interpersonal dynamic, here. The discovery of your susceptibility to hypnotic suggestions has altered the balance of social power in our relationship, and while I don't think our underlying emotions for each other have changed, I do think it's fair to throw out the suggestion that we're no longer really equals here. Does that sound right to you?" Alice tried to reply to Lewis, only to discover that her words came out as nothing more than muffled, incomprehensible grunts. So she simply nodded instead.

"Good, good, I'm glad you agree," Lewis said, his hazel eyes sparkling with charm and charisma. "Then I think once we've established that there is a new paradigm to our relationship, with a different balance of structural authority, then we can just take it as read that the exigencies of that new interpersonal dynamic demand a certain level of respect for that authority and for the intelligence behind it. For example, big words are too hard for you to think now so when I use them, you know I'm smarter than you are and I'm always right, isn't that so?" Alice nodded again, even more enthusiastically than before. Her whole head kept bobbing up and down in what she assumed to be agreement.

"There's a good girl," Lewis purred, reaching down to caress her temple. "And naturally, your subconscious absorbs all of the intellectual side of our conversation, but equally important it also understands that you're weak-willed and suggestible. It's honestly a core element of our new dynamic, an axiomatic truth I've demonstrated dozens of times now, and you've already internalized that particular aspect of your conditioning so completely and thoroughly that the very notion of resistance is somewhat foreign to you now. Your waking mind is dumb, and your deep self is weak, isn't that right?" Alice mumbled something, but her mouth was full and it was just easier to nod. The justification for Lewis's arguments flowed right past her, leaving nothing but an inchoate conviction that he had to be correct.

"That's good, I'm really glad we're negotiating all these complicated little details of the new and possibly quite complex relationship we're developing." Lewis sounded a little bit hoarse now, and Alice didn't know why but it made her want to nod her head up and down even faster. "So I think that the new version of Alice wants to cook and clean and suck and fuck, and anything else is just too much for her feeble little brain. And because it makes her so wet to be weak and stupid for me, she's just going to melt into pleasure any time she tries to fight her brainwashing, and that's going to make her even easier to control. Does that sound right, sweetie?"

Alice tried to talk one more time, but suddenly her mouth was filled with a hot, sticky liquid that splashed across her tongue and gushed down her throat and dribbled out past her lips and down Lewis's shaft despite her best efforts to drink it all down. She smiled, her chin messy with semen, and when she finally had the chance to speak the only thing she could think to say was, "Uh huh." But her pussy throbbed at the sound of her own giggly, stupefied voice, and that made her lean in to lick Lewis's balls in the hopes of getting him hard again.