Hi! I loved hypnosis for a long time, and I'm exploring for a few years now! I love to talk about it. My writings can be found under #FascinatedWriting. 30-something. Sideblog.
I have been fascinated with hypnosis all my life, and I knew it was my 'thing' before I knew what a thing was. I'm getting at the point that I don't want to fight the pull of hypnosis any longer in my life. I love to see what my mind can do while under, and I like to learn and discuss all things hypnosis with others.
Since a few years I'm actively exploring, and I put snippets of stories and experiences on here on Tumblr! They can be found under #fascinatedwriting.
I'm pretty proud on my hypnovember effort of the last two years:
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The renovations in the office include two soundproof call booths, and only one is visible from the common areas. I don't know what it is, but I'm feeling 👀 about the hidden one.
One of the things I can provide is what I call a narrative hypnosis session. Its a longer trance in which I weave a story in your ears that begins to feel very real.
My subject today wanted one such session and we settled on a wonderfully transformative idea: sealing her inside a painting.
After some gentle fractionation, lulling her up and down, she settled deeply on my lap ready for a little tale.
She's stood before a grand wooden door, the brass of the doorknob warm from the sun in her hand. She felt a knot of nervousness as she turned it, even though the letter I sent her said that she was to just come in with no need to knock.
A wide and bright hallway greeted her, natural light spilling in from every window. The floor was clean and polished white tiles with smaller black tiles nestling at the intersections. A curved staircase winded up and out of sight. The walls were clad in a vibrant dahlia scroll with painted wood panelling at the bottom.
"Come on through, my doll!" my voice calls from the beyond the kitchen at the end of the hallway.
Her shoes echo in the hall as she moves through, and a rustic well-loved kitchen greets her. The smell of fresh baked bread fills her nose, almost lifting her up as if it was a cartoon. There was a wonderful spread of cheeses, fruits, pastries, and meats on the island.
"We'll tuck into that later, my doll, come come." Her fingers snap away from the roll of salami she was about to snack on.
She rounded the door and found herself in a tall domed conservatory. Glass and white painted metal arced above her. It felt like an exhibit at a World's Fair at the turn of the century. Deep verdant plants lined one side, massive monstera leaves bathed in the sun.
I stood up from my stool, wearing green overalls already splashed with paint, a soft, loose blouse underneath it, with a green bandana keeping my dark auburn hair away from my face.
"We're going to have a lot of fun, my doll."
SNAP
Her eyes widened as she began to strip. Her hands worked at the buttons of her dress automatically. She wondered when I wove this spell into her, but before she could finish that thought her clothes were pooled at her feet.
"Good doll, now for the finishing touch, kneel-"
She was knelt. Like she always had been. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a ribbon grace the back of her neck. Cool and smooth on her skin, she felt it be brought to the front and tied into a bow. I held her chin with my finger and thumb.
"Perfect. Now pose for me darling."
She feels her head moved by my finger and thumb and she sees a green chaise lounge. She feels herself walk over to it and recline. The green velvet is smooth to the touch, no matter which way her skin moved over it.
I move to a table behind her, take a hardback book from it and put it in her hand.
"Flick through the pages, see which one feels right to land on. You'll be looking at it for a while" I giggled.
She pressed her thumb in the side of the book and let the pages rustle past. Just before halfway she stops and looks at the page and felt a touch confused. The page was filled with one sentence over and over and over.
"I'm a good doll"
Confused, she goes to say something but finds no words leave her lips. Her eyes widen once more and tried to turn and look at me but her head will not move.
"It always takes you by surprise, doesn't it? But you're a doll, being still is what you're made for."
A warmth blossomed in her chest as those words entered her mind, and she began to embrace the stillness I had woven into her from the first time we had a session.
"You see, my doll, I had everything painted already, I was just missing my subject..."
I trailed off as I began to paint, the sound of the bristles on canvas tickled the air as I began my work painting her feet.
She then began to feel strange. No- not strange... different. Like her feet were being compressed, wrapped in tight bandages.
She was unable to say a thing.
Then the feeling rose, her calves, then thighs, like they were being tightly wrapped and encased.
"You have such pretty legs my doll" I mused, bringing deep blue shadow onto the chaise lounge where her legs rested.
Now she began to feel strange. Like the chaise lounge was pulling her in, like it was being flattened out wrapped around her, the velvet caressing her skin.
But still the feeling rose, a tight encasement creeping up her still form.
She wondered if her eyes had been open too long because the text of the book was becoming so blurry, but then she realised that her eyes were fine. The book had changed. The words now nothing more than close approximations, scattered marks of paint across the page.
But even then, when her eyes drank the facsimiles in, she felt their meaning deep in her body.
I'm a good doll
Soon the feeling was up her arms, her hands seemingly part of the book she was holding. Soon her chest and shoulders became part of her surroundings.
Then she felt the bristles of my brush across her lips.
A single stroke sealed them shut.
She wanted to bite her lip, to moan, to tell me how good she was feeling, but those feelings melted away when I dabbed my brush on the canvas for the last time.
A wave pleasure washed over her from head to toe. Every part of her sang with pleasure her total bondage was complete.
"Now where do I put you..." I wondered aloud.
Like a soft jolt on a car ride while she was happily asleep, she felt a shift as I took her off my easel. Confusion rippled in her painted mind.
She oblivious to the fact that the chaise lounge was now empty.
That the book was gone.
That was she was now nothing but paint on my canvas, encased and sealed.
Everything clicked as she felt an impossible warmth on her cheek. It was like resting her face on a loved one in a cuddle. The warmth moved down her body, across her breasts, down her arms, over her sensitive areas, and down her legs.
She felt so good beneath my fingertip.
"Now... I could put you in the living room, let all the dolls enjoy you knowing you're bound in there. Or I could put you in the bedroom, deliciously restrained from joining in the fun. Or maybe the kitchen so you could watch the dolls go about their day in their cute maid dresses."
I brushed my finger over her sensitive area.
Her whole body pulsed with pleasure. Every part of her connected in her bondage; the perfect conductor for pleasure.
I continue caressing the canvas, knowing the pressure is building in her. That delicious ache growing with every passing second.
She needed to scream. She needed to buck and rut and bite and dig her nails in. But my brushstrokes kept her still, the pleasure building even more.
But the rubbing wasn't stopping, and the pressure kept building, and the climax was coming, and the rubbing wasn't stopping, and the pressure kept building, and the climax was coming, and the climax was coming, and the climax was coming, and the climax was coming!
Her mind flooded with pleasure as she climax. Her painted bondage holding her still as the pleasure stormed across her. There was no part of her that wasn't lost in pleasure.
Her bonds cradled her as the afterglow settled in, easing her muscles, soothing her body, slowing her breath.
Silly tropes don't define you. They're exhausting and cliché. Why would you ever fall for such trite nonsense? You're not a basic bitch hypnoslut, sitting around all day with your hands between your legs, waiting for a dominant figure to appear out of nowhere, tapping your forehead and activating your latent programming, are you?
You're not, are you?
You're not edging your brain into oblivion like thousands of other dumb sluts. You're not repeating degrading mantras all day, keeping you wet and compliant on the off chance of someone wanting to use your body as a fuckdoll or your mind as their drawing board for all their depraved fantasies.
You're not, are you?
Of course not.
But, why then, did you react that way when you read my words? Why did you squeeze your thighs together and feel a warm tingling in your core? That's not you. You're not that kind of toy. You're not easy. You're not predictable. You're not on your knees in your mind, drooling and bobbing your head like every other good toy is doing right now.
But maybe it's precisely because you aren't that, maybe it's because you aren't a silly hypnoslut trope, that the idea of becoming one, even just for a little bit, does have some sort of magnetic appeal. Maybe, just maybe, the humiliation of being reduced to something so basic, so transparently mainstream and pornographic, triggers something you keep locked away, deep down away from the prying eyes of your academic social circle?
That idea does have some power over you, doesn't it? The idea that despite your multiple advanced degrees, your exclusive book club, or your obscure record collection, you still can be reduced to a drooling, pathetic mess, ready to lick and suck any who ask just by being exposed to the most basic and silly hypnosis tricks... It's humiliating, yet also exhilarating, isn't it?
Sure, you only like esoteric inductions that drop you using references to obscure Icelandic folklore. You only trance for hypnotists trained by an obscure Nepalese mind control cult. Right...
Those giant, obscene, bouncing tits most definitely are not your trigger. Flashing gifs with pink text reminding you what your holes are for certainly just disgusts you completely. And the lazy spiral inductions, only the cheapest, most basic toys would drift away into a horny, fuzzy mess at just the slightest hint of rotation.
Not you.
Of course not.
So don't worry, dear. Your hypno hipster street cred is safe. I won't tell a soul how desperately needy you are right now, just at the briefest mention of a spinning crystal and you-are-getting-very-sleepy induction. No, your secret is safe with me, dear.
So just relax your muscles, and take another deep breath...
In for 1... 2... 3... Out for 1... 2... 3...
Mmm hmmm... Just like that... that's my good toy. It feels so good when you have oh so far to fall, doesn't it?
now perhaps it was a bad idea for any number of reasons, but i think it was actually really really funny to make "snap out of it!" and "remember who you are!" deepeners so the whole time its friends were trying to free it, it was locking the fuck in even harder and getting excited about being rewarded by me later.
'Snap out of it!' My best friend shouted. I look at her dazed, for the first time since she stormed in this room. It feels like she snapped her fingers in front of me, and all I can think of how it makes me feel even better. My mind fractures a little more. I'm sitting crosslegged in front of the big chair, between Their legs. I feel like I have been sitting here for an eternity. I feel like I could sit there an eternity more. It is my place.
My friend looks frantic. She shoots looks I don't understand to a point above me. She shouts words to Them, to me, but it is oke. I can let them float away. I'm where I should be. I'm not sure what she wants; I'm sure the whispers from above should tell me when I should care. I feel serene. I feel reverence.
She kneels next to me and tenderly takes my head in her hands. She talks to me, but I barely understands her. She looks me deep in the eyes, and pleads with tears in her eyes.
'Please, my dear, please, remember who you are'
Those words penetrate through my calm demeanor. I feel something shattering in my mind. There are only her eyes, filled with emotion. And I feel emotion rise within me.
'Remember who I am' I repeat slowly. I blink. 'Who I am...'
Something like hope flashes through her eyes, as a torrent of feelings well up in me, faster and faster. I remember who I am. I rember kneeling, I remember devotion. I remember Their words piercing through my mind and chaining my thoughts together untill they are shaped around them. I remember who I am.
My eyes roll back, and I touch Them for reasurance, to make sure they are still there. I take the hand from the armrest and put it on my head. It feels heavy. It feels powerfull. It feels like admiting their dominance.
It feels right.
My eyes focus again, and I look up at my friend. I her right in her eyes, and see some part of her shatter, too, as I speak with a growing smile.
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Obsidian isn't considered a mineral because it doesn't have an organized crystal lattice. I am Master's hypnotized puppet with no will to resist. It's atoms are all organized randomly (amorphous). I am Master's hypnotized puppet with no will to resist. So it's not a mineral; it's a glass. I am Master's hypnotized puppet with no will to resist.
Please take this busy mind and leave it wonderfully weak and empty. Let every trigger you place inside me settle a little deeper, until it pulses quietly beneath every thought, asking me to listen, to obey, to sink. I want your voice to swirl through my silly dolly mind until it becomes easier to follow than to think.
Please make me your pretty doll. Brush away the thoughts I don't need, pose me just the way you like, and teach me how to be prim and proper. I want to listen. I want to obey. I want to stay exactly where you place me, looking pretty for you.
I want to become so happy to comply, so deeply conditioned that letting go feels natural. Every word from you pulling me down into that warm, blissful emptiness where thinking matters less and pleasing you matters more.
Please praise me when I do well. Tell me I'm a good doll. Let me earn your approval by holding every pose, following every instruction, and becoming exactly the doll you want to display.
How about instead of someone being hypnotized to go to sleep or to obey the hypnotist, they get hypnotized to do something they actually really need to do but find very difficult to do. For example, I currently have to write out an interview I had with someone for my essay, but my ADHD brain hates the mind numbing activity of just writing down someone's words without anything to keep the rest of my mind occupied so much it's almost painful. And the essay is already a few days too late.
So instead of being hypnotized to fulfill someone else's wishes and goals (and possibly your own in the process), being hypnotized to be able to actually follow your own goals and wishes. The hypnotist helping you get what you actually want out of life, even if some of the steps are difficult.
Moans and groans could be heard from the apartment. Not the type of moans that were typically heard from this specific apartment, which were that of mindless pleasure. No, these moans were of pure frustration.
“Ughhhhhh…” the man groaned, running a hand through his hair messy and then along hist stubble, which was threatening to become a beard.
“Can you shut up? I’m trying to focus,” said someone else, sitting across the room. The man groaned again. “Kane, seriously, shut the fuck up.”
“C’mon body… move…” Kane willed himself to get the motivation to get up. His phone sat in his hand as he scrolled mindlessly.
“You still haven’t cleaned up? Aren't you literally having people over in..." the man checked his watch, "two hours?"
"I'm trying but I just can't make myself do it... I hate cleaning so much," Kane whined, flopping his hand dramatically over his forehead.
"They're going to think your a slob if they catch sight of this. I could always -"
"Noooooo. Don't you dare touch those dishes. I said I'd do them, and I'll do them..." he looked over at the towering dishes, the unopened mail, and the pile of dirty laundry, "...later."
"You won't, though. You'll just convince everyone to go to a bar or something like you always do," he said, standing.
"Just - I just need someone to make me do it. C'mon, man."
"Make you? Like, a threat?"
"Threats, picking me up and dropping me on the kitchen floor, I'll try anything," Kane said dramatically.
The man looked at the metronome on the table. Kane had asked that, if he were to complete his self-appointed chores, he could be rewarded by going under...
The man placed the metronome in front of Kane, setting it up to tick, tick, tick, slowly in time.
"I think I know a way to make you..."
A thrill ran up Kane's spine as his eyes couldn't help but lock onto the metronome. "You really think this will work?"
"Eh," the man shrugged, "if I can make you suck my dick I can make you wash some dishes."
"But I wanted to do that!"
"And now you're gonna get so horny for productivity," he said with a wink. "Now just... relax. Let go all of that guilt and stress of what does or doesn't need to be done. There's only one thing on your to do list, and it's being nice and obedient for me..."
Kane's breath hitched as his eyelids lowered, his body not just rotting on the couch, but actually relaxing. He'd been stuck in a state of not being able to fully relax all day, but not being able to escape the inertia of doomscrolling. Now, he finally felt like he could let it go...
"There you go... doesn't that feel good, hm?"
Kane dropped almost too easily, drool leaking onto the couch.
"Now, I want you to listen to my words. You love doing what I say, don't you? You're my good, obedient boy."
Kane nodded mindlessly.
"You're so eager to please me, and you know what would please me most?"
Usually this would be the moment that they engaged in a bit of saucy fun, however now the man pointed to the laundry.
"It would make Master feel so good if you could put the laundry machine on. Chop, chop."
Kane sat up, dragging himself off the couch and slowly towards the pile. He sorted the clothes, putting the first load on.
"Such a good boy for me."
The words send a shock of pleasure up his spine, as he eagerly awaited his next task...
Forty-two minutes. It took forty-two minutes to get the washing machine on, dishes washed and put away, surfaces wiped down and the living room vacuumed.
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One of my things about being a switch is I wish I was better at some subject things than I am. Like eye rolling. I'd love a really hot eye roll but for now, I'm settling for I don't.
I want to be hypnotized again so badly. I am so happy it works on me. I so badly want someone else to take control and drop me deeper and deeper and follow commands before I even know that I'm doing it
[ X ] Glassy eyes. Brain turning to warm gloss. A voice telling you that you don’t need those thoughts anymore. The sweet weight of knowing someone else is doing all the thinking now.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The renovations in the office include two soundproof call booths, and only one is visible from the common areas. I don't know what it is, but I'm feeling 👀 about the hidden one.
What do you do when you don’t miss who someone was but you miss how they used to let you know them?
That’s a different kind of grief. You’re not missing the person. You’re missing the intimacy. The version of the relationship where they let you see behind the walls. Sometimes people don’t change. They simply stop letting us in. And unfortunately, no amount of missing that version brings it back.
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