Miss HypnoFascinated

“I’m a good toy.” Your voice was monotonous, your mind was blank.

“I don’t think.” They said, pressing a little harder. The finger felt like it was squeezing your mind completely empty.

“I… I don’t think.” You said, it was so easy to repeat their words. So hard to think.

“I just sink.” They finished, pulling their finger back.

“I just sink…” As you said the words, that constriction on your mind was released. But the only thoughts that were left were the three you had just had given to you. “Keep repeating toy.” Your hypnotist said, a smug smile crossing their face.

“I’m a good toy.” You said, the words slipping from your lips without conscious thought. “I don’t think.” They were the truth. “I just sink.” And they became truer with every repetition. “I’m a good toy. I don’t think. I just sink.” Over, and over, and over again.

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It's fuzzy, your memory is. You believe you woke many times, drifting in and out of slumber, cycling between dream and reality, lines blurring of awareness, fantasy and real bleeding into each other like an undulating pulse, matched only by the pulsing pleasure you felt.

The pleasure. Rippling through your body. You are unsure if it was real or imagined; induced by your own hands, by your exotic dreams, or possibly by the will of another. It seduced you, it controlled you, and it edged you for what seemed like the entire night, leaving you needy and desperate when you woke.

And you woke, hungry for more, knowing that you'd need to wait. Yet you felt a satisfied comfort knowing your spend the day in the delightful torture of anticipation, understanding that if you were good, tonight you would be able to submit once again.

The thought sends a pulse through you and you clench as it spreads and settles right where you need it the most.

You're eager. You're ready. You're mindless, wet, and obedient.

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

Hi hi~ This appeared not so long ago~

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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.

Just teasing and toying with it with just the right warm tone and honeyed words.

Always right on the edge but never an outright induction or set trigger.

Watching it get more and more desperate to the point that it’s basically just looking for any excuse to put itself under.

Soon it’s getting drifty just from the slightest shift in your tone, pattern recognition working overtime to find any key word to respond to.

The adorable thing is it probably thinks it's all its own idea. It just got so desperate it had to condition itself for you.

On some level maybe it did.

It's definitely been a delightfully willing participant in its own undoing.

But it’s not as if it's made meaning where there wasn't any. It's just been picking up breadcrumbs you left out for it.

Ironically its desperation for trance left it almost entirely oblivious to all the subtle ways you've been conditioning it. Even when you intentionally show your hand the poor thing is so many layers deep into its own overthinking it can’t trust itself to know the difference.

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.

so like, turns out tetris lends itself to an induction very well.

you know how there are just..staples of hypnosis? like commonly referenced things by everyone because they can easily be related back to hypnosis. rain, staircases/elevators, the ocean, the beach, etc. all things on their own that aren't explicitly tied to hypnosis but have been used so often that they're all known and loved.

i unironically think tetris should become one of those things. the whole "dropping pieces and clearing lines" to "dropping subjects and clearing minds" was silly wordplay, but that tie in to hypnotic words is exactly why it works well.

the pieces drop into place. they sink and fall down. every line clears away. already so many usable things to go off of just from that.

one of my favorite parts was being told to imagine the pieces falling at different speeds. a slow, steady descent into trance, or a quick and snappy drop. both absolutely delightful in their own ways.

empty spaces, as well as each line clear being thoughts disappearing line by line. until there's nothing left.

empty board, empty mind.

ready to be filled.

even better was playing tetris after the fact and just letting those things linger...dropping pieces at different speeds, letting my mind go even more blank with every clear. i think i went for about 20 minutes before i just put the game down and closed my eyes and drifted for a while, and after being brought deeper, is what spawned this post.