Sin título

Im just having fun. This is just a kink

I'm in still control, I can still think

Whenever I want, the sinking can stop

I don't have to fall, I don't have to drop

I'm in control, whatever they say

I don't have to follow, don't have to obey

All I am doing is making a choice

Focused on words, repeat in my voice

I only obey because that's what I choose

I'm playing a game, I win or I loose

The words can't control me, don't have to give in

But I have to play fair or else I can't win

So just for this moment, I'll pretend I can't stop

I'll pretend I'm ensnared, that I'm going to drop

But it's just a game, a fun little kink

I'm still in control, just pretending to sink

I'll start to feel warm, the more I repeat

That soft fuzzy feeling from temple to feet

It's all just pretend, I can always just stop

But I'm playing a game, pretending to drop

Easier to pretend, the longer I play

I can imagine how good it would feel to obey

Maybe one thought or two might fade away

But that's just the game I'm choosing to play

I'm just pretending I have to obey

I'm just pretending that I can't resist

I haven't been beaten by this hypnotist

I'm still in charge, I still have a choice

But word by word, I'm loosing my voice

It's time to admit, it's harder to think

I think that I'm loosing, starting to sink

Am I pretending to win or to loose?

I'm not sure I still have the power to choose

I can't stop the game, I still want to win

But is winning resisting or just giving in?

I can't stop repeating I can't look away

I'll read and repeat, I can't help but obey

It's all just a game, just a fun little kink

Thats where I started but now I can't think

One my one all my thoughts fade away

I just read and repeat, I can't help but obey

I just want to touch, just so horny and wet

I'm lost in this game, I just want to forget

My body responds like I don't have a choice

I follow these words, I repeat in my voice

I can't stop my body, no thoughts in my brain

Just words I'm repeating, my will starts to drain

My hands find my core and I can't help but rub

I know it won't stop, I'm an trapped hypnosub

I repeated this mantra by will and by choice

But I've been entranced by my very own voice

Can't stop the touching can't help but obey

If I had any doubts, I'll rub them away

A good hypnosub that will sink and obey

I can't stop this game until I admit

Until I reblog that I lost and submit

Only then can I stop with this fun little game

Take a good look at the spiral.

You’ve been scrolling for a while, take a moment and just relax.

Yeah, it’s nice to just watch the spiral.

Just focus and relax.

Focus and relax.

You’ve been using your mind all day.

It’s okay, let your mind go.

Take a break.

Focus and relax.

Focus and relax.

You don’t need your thoughts. Let them go.

Just relax.

Just focus.

No thoughts, no worries.

It feels good doesn’t it?

Every rotation, just sink deeper.

Focus and relax.

You don’t need your thoughts.

You have no thoughts.

Just focus. Just relax.

It feels so good.

No thoughts, no worries.

Focus and relax.

No thoughts.

These words are your thoughts.

Sinking deeper. And deeper.

You’re so focused. So relaxed.

No thoughts.

No worries.

Obedient.

Such a good boy.

You’re such a good boy.

Feels good to be a good boy.

Obedient and mindless.

No thoughts. No worries.

Obedient. Mindless.

Be a good boy and obey.

DM me “I’m a good boy.” and feel a wave of pleasure.

Repost this.

Bit of a longer one! Wanted to capture all the hypnosis and race tf. Hope you enjoy!

Colonel Hawkins sat behind his desk, his weathered face set in a grim expression as he gestured for Garrett to take a seat. "Listen up soldier, we've got a situation that needs your attention."

"Yes sir, I'm all ears Colonel. What's the deal?" Garrett was always eager- ready to do what he needed for his country.

"There's been a...truce called with one of the major cartels. Part of the agreement is the release of some high-value prisoners, including someone close to their boss, a fella named Miguel." The Colonel tapped his fingers on his desk, “Miguel has gone missing from our custody. Officially, we don't know how."

Garrett's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his mind racing with possibilities. He shifted in his seat, the fabric of his crisp Army uniform felt comfortable against his skin. Like it belonged.

"Missing? That's not possible, sir. Our facilities are secure." Garrett couldn’t understand how such a high-value target could go missing.

“Precisely. Which is why I want you to lead an investigation into Miguel's disappearance. You'll be working with a senior investigator - Dr. Logan Thorne. He's...experienced in these matters."

Something in the Colonel's tone gave Garrett pause, but he pushed the feeling aside. If the brass needed him on this, he'd see it through, no matter what. His duty was clear.

"I understand, sir." Garrett continued, “But are you sure I’m the best for the job? I’m not experienced in this kind of operation.”

"Private, it's simple really. Your track record speaks for itself. You're one of our most dedicated soldiers, always eager to follow orders without question." Hawkins leaned back in his chair, “You see things through to the end. And I only trust another man from Indiana.”

Garrett smiled, “I appreciate it, sir. I won’t question it and I won’t let you down.”

He always viewed Hawkins with great respect. The man taking on a mentorship role for the young private. Both born in small-town Indiana, both avid baseball fans- the man was like a second father to him.

"I knew you'd say that, son. That's why you were handpicked for this job." He released Garrett's shoulder and stepped back. "Dr. Thorne wanted me to give you these." Hawkins pushed a pair of headphones towards Garrett. "These headphones contain crucial information about Miguel. They’ll be invaluable to your mission."

Garrett took the headphones, placing them on his head.

Hawkins continued. "Remember Garrett, discretion is key here. Not even your wife Sarah needs to know." Garrett nodded, a buzzing static filling his ears, "You're relieved of your other duties for the meantime and will be provided a private room. Questions, Private?"

"No questions, sir. I understand completely." Garrett's voice was steady despite the unease churning in his gut.

Hawkins nodded approvingly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Good man."

_____

Garrett stretched out on his bed and settled into the privacy of his assigned quarters, the headphones continuing to buzz with static. And then...

..."subject name: Miguel Antonio Mortez..." 

..."born and raised in Juarez, Mexico. Grew up in the volatile El Chavo neighborhood..."

..."Miguel likes fast cars. He owns a black '68 Mustang that he worked on restoring..."

..."Miguel plays acoustic guitar when he wants to relax..."

..."A skilled fighter, Miguel honed his skills brawling on the streets of Juarez..."

“Guess this is useful.” Garrett mumbled, wincing at a dull ache developing behind his eyes, “Fuck...” He yawned and felt his eyes starting to close, “So... tired...”

________

There’s a ball. A soccer ball? He stares at it and then up. Tall buildings around him. A dirt field. Makeshift goalposts. A firm kick. GOAL!

A woman’s voice called out sharply in Spanish, “¡La cena está lista!”

Garrett turns- panting, he sprints inside, catching a fleeting glance in a cracked hallway mirror. He pauses... the face of a young Mexican boy stares back at him. Dark hair, brown skin, eyes that hold a fierce determination.

_______

Garrett jolted awake, his heart pounding as he sits up. He blinks away the last vestiges of sleep, and caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite his bed.

The man staring back at him was unmistakably Garrett. His short blonde hair, the strong jawline accentuated by his clean-shaven face, pale skin. Relief washed over him as he mentally affirmed his own identity.

"That's right," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Garrett. Born and raised in the Midwest. Played baseball, not soccer. None of that was real."

Despite the logical reassurance, a faint unease lingered. Garrett took a deep breath, steeling himself as he placed the headphones back over his ears. The unfamiliar voice filled his head once more:

..."You were born on July 12th, 1990 in Juarez, Mexico..."

..."Miguel learned to play the guitar at the age of ten from his abuelo..."

..."You spent countless hours practicing guitar riffs, strumming away your frustrations..."

..."Miguel dreamed of one day singing lead for a big time band, his voice captivating"

A sharp knock at the door jolted Garrett from his trance-like state. Before he could respond, it swung open to reveal a tall, distinguished-looking man in his 50s with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Private Garrett?" The man's voice was smooth and authoritative. "I'm Dr. Logan Thorne, the senior investigator assisting you with the Miguel Mortez case."

Garrett stood at attention, wincing as another wave of pain lanced through his skull. "Sir, yes sir. Good to meet you, Doctor."

Thorne's keen eyes lingered on the headphones. "I trust you've been reviewing the files I provided. I'm sure you find them... educational." Dr. Thorne smiles, "Tell me about yourself, Private. I like to know about the people I work with."

"I... I grew up in..." Garrett paused, "The Midwest. I think? Yeah..." His voice lacked its usual conviction, laced with uncertainty instead.

"Is that all?"

"Uh well... I-I grew up...Juarez? No, that's not right..." He grips his head, "Small town. Flyover country. Had a... a ball field, I think?" He looks up at Dr. Thorne, "I played a lot of... sports. I think baseball, but..."

"Perhaps it would be wise for you to get some rest, Private. You seem... rather disoriented at the moment."

Garrett bristled slightly at the interruption, an irrational surge of anger flaring in his chest.

"Yes sir, probably a good idea," Garrett replied.

"And private. Please continue to wear the headphones. We'll touch base later today."

Garrett closed the door to his quarters and leaned against it heavily, his mind reeling. He took a deep, shuddering breath and began to recite the facts of his life like a desperate prayer.

"I’m Garrett... From... Indiana. Born and raised in a small town. Played baseball, not soccer. Married to Sarah. Served in the U.S. Army. I am American."

He paced the room, his boots striking the floor in a staccato rhythm. "Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball, not soc... football...? Not from Juarez. Not a criminal." He stares at the headphones, "Loyal soldier." He places the headphones on his head, the voice reverberating in his ears.

..."You served Papi with unwavering devotion, attending to his every carnal desire..."

..."You found pleasure in submitting to his whims, craving his praise and approval..."

..."You spent long nights kneeling before him, worshipping his body with lips and tongue, relishing the musky taste of his skin and the weight of his thick shaft pulsing in your mouth...”

...“He taught you submission... broke you and exposed who you really are...”

As the relentless voice continued, Garrett felt his eyelids growing heavy. Vivid images conjured, in his mind.

"Not me... Not this... I'm not..."

The words faded into a distant hum as Garrett surrendered to sleep, his head lolling forward.

_____

He’s standing before a nude figure, muscles rippling as his large hand lazily strokes an impressive length of hard cock.

Papi.

"Eres mío, mi amor," Papi purrs seductively in a husky Spanish accent. Dark eyes gleam with lust and possessiveness.

He turns his head away from Papi, his gaze travels downward, seeing himself reflected in the large vanity mirror...

A strikingly handsome young Latin man graces his eyes. Brown skin glowing under the dim lights, eyes the color of rich chocolate framed by thick lashes, wild obsidian hair tousled artfully. His torso is lean yet defined, with a dusting of coarse black hair trailing down from his sculpted pecs to disappear enticingly below the waistband of his jeans.

______

Garrett bolts upright in bed, his heart pounding as he leapt to his feet. He stumbled towards the mirror, grasping the edge of the sink for support as he stared at his reflection with wide, terrified eyes.

"What the fuck..." he breathed, running a trembling hand through his hair. "It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream."

Garrett stared intently at his reflection, taking in every detail. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin - it was undoubtedly him. Although somewhat disheveled and unshaven. But as he gazed at his own face, a sudden flicker of doubt crossed his mind.

"Why does this feel... wrong somehow?" he muttered to himself, leaning closer to the mirror. "My skin... shouldn't it be darker? Brown maybe?" He gulps, "And my hair... wasn't it supposed to be black? Thicker?" He ran his fingers through the short, sun-kissed locks, confirming their familiar texture and length. Garrett's breath quickened as a confusing jumble of emotions flooded through him, "No, no, stop it!" he growled at his reflection, backing away from the mirror.

Without warning, the door burst open and two burly Military Police officers stormed into the room. They grabbed Garrett roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on?" Garrett struggled against their grip, his heart racing with confusion and growing fear. "I'm Private Garrett, not some damn criminal!"

The MPs ignored his protests, dragging him out into the hallway. Garrett's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why were they treating him like this? What had he done wrong?

They shoved him into an office room where Dr. Thorne waited, his expression unreadable. The MPs forced Garrett into a chair before taking up positions on either side of the door.

"Dr. Thorne, what's the meaning of this?" Garrett demanded.

"At ease, Private Garrett." Dr. Thorne greeted him coolly, taking a seat across the table. Colonel Hawkins stood beside him, his face impassive, "This is...unorthodox, I agree. But I'm afraid we have some concerns that require us to take certain precautions."

Garrett gripped the sides of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth to protest but hesitated, doubts clouding his thoughts.

"But I'm a soldier, aren't I? An American serviceman." His voice lacked its usual conviction. He squinted, trying to recall the specifics of his military career. Flashes of boot camp, basic training, deployed overseas...it all felt hazy, disconnected somehow, "Shouldn't I be treated with more respect? Right? I'm still... I'm a soldier... right?"

Hawkins and Thorne shared a knowing glance, a silent communication passing between them. Hawkins cleared his throat, fixing Garrett with a penetrating stare.

"The prisoner exchange has been expedited, Private. It will occur tomorrow at 0600." He produced a small pill bottle from his pocket, setting it on the table with a soft click. "These will help sharpen your concentration and recall. Take them as directed."

“No... this isn’t...” Garrett gripped his head, “Please, something isn’t right... Colonel?”

“Don’t disappoint me, son.”

His voice was cold, somewhat strained. Garrett frowned, a sense of failure welling up inside him. He didn’t want to disappoint- he was a good... soldier? Lover? Garrett shook his head.

"You must continue listening to the headphones, absorbing every detail. The information is... vital to the success of the operation."

Garrett eyed the pills warily, his stomach churning with unease. Something about their demeanor, the urgency in their voices, set his nerves on edge. He nodded slowly.

The MPs escorted Garrett back to his room, their grips firm on his arms. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they spun him around and shoved him inside none too gently. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Garrett reached for the handle, twisting it frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Panic started to rise in his throat as the realization sank in - he was trapped. Like a prisoner... Like Miguel... He shook his head.

“Just need to complete the mission.” He whispered, “Just finish the mission...” Despite every fiber of his body telling him no, he places the headphones on his head.

..."You existed only to serve Papi, to bring him pleasure in every way imaginable. Every inch of your body was his to claim, to mark with his touch and ownership..."

..."You ached for his domination. The delicious stretch of his thick cock splitting you open, claiming you most deeply, was heaven..."

..."Being his obedient little bottom, gagging on his cock, hole stretched and leaking his cum - that was your highest purpose...”

Garrett's breathing grew heavier as he listened to the sordid details, his body responding despite his mind's resistance. With shaking hands, he swallowed several of the pills. Warmth radiates from within him and he feels compelled to strip out of his clothes.

“Fuck...” He grunted, staring at his hardening cock.  

He grips it firmly, trying desperately to focus on thoughts of Sarah, on the love and familiarity she represented. But the vivid images of Papi, of submission and raw passion, kept intruding.

"Papi... mi amor..." The words slipped out in a breathy moan before Garrett could stop them. The headphones whispered filthy promises in his ear, urging him deeper into fantasy.

He barely noticed the door burst open. Colonel Hawkins strode in followed by Dr. Thorne and two stone-faced MPs. They carried a strange object between them - a folded, nude rubber bodysuit.

Garrett gaped at the lifelike construct, his pulse racing. The suit was crafted to resemble a stunningly handsome young Latino man, with olive-toned skin and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Intricate tattoos coiled along sinewy arms and a broad, muscular back. Jet-black hair, thick and glossy, adorned the perfectly formed head.

“That...”

An intense wave of recognition crashed over Garrett as he drank in the features of the figure. It was unmistakably the man from his dream - Miguel. Garrett's breath caught in his throat.

"Que demonios es esto?" Garrett's voice cracked, desperation evident. "Why does it look like... like him? Like me...?" He trailed off, realizing the implications, "My name is... was... Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball. Army. Right?"

"The pills help release the necessary bodily fluids to allow for proper bonding." Dr. Thorne says to Hawkins and the MPs, "Please help Garrett into the suit."

A second later, the MPs roughly grabbed Garrett's legs, forcing them into the waiting limbs of the rubber suit. As the material enveloped his skin, Garrett gasped at the sensation - it felt almost alive, conforming to his contours. Bonding tightly to his skin... sinking into his pores...

"No please! Don't! Arghhhh." Garrett cried out, trying to pull away. But the MPs held him fast, their grips iron-tight as they slowly worked the suit up his torso.

"You see, Miguel was selected for Operation Rising Phoenix." Dr. Thorne said, "His memories, intimate details were saved. And his body was converted into this suit. He could’ve been used by an operative to go undercover."

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, the truce was made." Hawkins sighed, "But we couldn't return him in well... that state." He looked down at Garrett with pity, "So to ensure the deal can be completed, we needed Miguel back."

Garrett thrashed and bucked as the MPs forcibly pulled the rubber suit up his body, covering his abdomen and starting on his chest.

"Déjenme ir! Por favor, quiero ver a Sarah! Quiero vivir mi vida! No hagan esto!" Garrett’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his cut cock was encased in Miguel’s uncut member, sending waves of new pleasure radiating up his spine, “Oh fuckkkkkkk..... Papí... I need you... please..." Garrett whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the unwanted thoughts and sensations flooding his mind.

He opened them again to find the MPs standing over him expectantly. Looking down, he wasn’t greeted by his pale skin or light hair. His muscles leaner... more toned... skin darker... the body of Miguel. One of the MPs seized Garrett's chin, forcing his head still as he stretched the mask over Garrett's face. Garrett shuddered violently as the elastic material sealed over his skin.

"There, there. It fits perfectly." Hawkins nodded in satisfaction as he examined the encased man closely. The rubber flesh clung to his curves, indistinguishable from real skin save for a subtle sheen.

“Are you sure...”

“Colonel, the Private’s eagerness to please blends nicely with Miguel’s psyche. They were a perfect match to allow for seamless integration.” Dr. Thorne lifts up the headphones, gently placing them on Garrett’s ears, "Just relax you’ve done so well."

"Sarah... please, I'm sorry, No sé qué me pasa..." Garrett's voice broke.

He doesn’t register the men leaving. Only able to run his hands over the rubbery surface of the suit encasing his body. His fingers dug into the pliant material as he tried to ground himself, to cling to his fading sense of self.

"Mi nombre es Garrett... soy americano... army..." He mumbled deliriously, his eyelids fluttering. But the litany of his own name sounded hollow, drowning beneath the tidal wave of new memories crashing over him.

Miguel, Papi, Juarez... the fragments swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm his last threads of resistance. A smile forms on his face.

As the lines between his lives blurred, Garrett clung to one final, desperate thought before surrendering to unconsciousness.

“I... I'm still here... Inside. I’m still... me...right?”

______

The first rays of dawn filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the sleeping form sprawled across the bed. As the light increased, Miguel stirred. He stretched languidly, the sheets sliding off to reveal his bare chest and toned abs.

“Mierda...”

Miguel sat up slowly, running his hands over his arms and torso, marveling at the feel of his own smooth, warm skin. Nothing but skin... his skin...

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, padding naked to the full-length mirror. Miguel turned this way and that, admiring the play of muscle under tanned skin, the intricate lines of his tattoos. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he appreciated his own beauty.

“Hoy es el dia.”

Colonel Hawkins entered the room flanked by MPs, “Good morning.”

He stopped short when Miguel turned toward him with a blank expression, clearly not comprehending the English greeting.

“I forgot you don’t speak English anymore.” Hawkins lamented.

Miguel squared his shoulders instinctively, his posture radiating street-honed defiance. "¿Qué mierda queréis ahora, putos?" He gestured angrily at the soldiers. "Me tenéis aquí como animal enjaulado mientras mis hermanos están fuera luchando por lo nuestro!"

"Still got that fire, eh Miguel? Must mean the conversion took properly."

_____

The heavily guarded exchange point buzzed with tense activity as Miguel was led out, his wrists shackled. His dark eyes darted around furtively, drinking in every detail. There, standing tall amidst the armed escort, was a striking figure - Papi. His chiseled features split into a radiant grin as his gaze locked with Miguel's.

"Mi amor!" Papi called out, reaching for him. "Ven acá, mi chico malo."

Miguel surged forward as far as his restraints would allow, straining towards his lover. The second the shackles fell away, he was in Papi's arms, crushing his body against the solid warmth he knew so well. The display of submission, of pure unbridled love, was an unexpected sight. But they didn’t care who saw.

"Papí..." Miguel breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Papi's neck.

Hours later, Miguel lay tangled in sweat-slicked sheets, Papi's powerful body curled protectively around him. The events of the day replayed in his mind - the confusion, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and sensations. But now, nestled in his lover's embrace, everything felt right. He smiled and looked up at his lover.

Miguel tilted his head to place a tender kiss on Papi's stubbled jaw. "Te amo, Papí. Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo tenerte."

His voice was low and thick with emotion, the words flowing in their native Spanish as naturally as breathing. In this moment, lost in Papi's scent, his touch, the familiar cadence of their lovemaking... Miguel knew he was exactly where he belonged.

Hello. Just find a comfortable place to seat.

It may be a chair, or a bed, somewhere where you can let all it go.

And be comfortable.

Where you can let all your worries go away.

And allow yourself to start with some deep breaths.

The inhaling is bringing all the relaxation you need.

Simply feeling that for once you gather all the tension together.

And exhale.

Exhale every worry you have, on the mouth.

And with each deep breath you take

You may feel a warm sensation, crawling.

Around your soles and extending in all your body.

And mind.

Feeling your mind empty already and without worries.

And just remembering who you wanna become.

Who you wanna be.

Just reminding you that.

Good boys obey.

Good boys obey.

Good boys have no will.

Good boys are empty.

Good boys are empty.

Good boys feel pleasure

Going deeper and deeper.

Imagining that's a staircase that with each number you see.

You allow yourself to descend into deepness.

Deeply, relaxed.

1, 2, 3 - feeling the material, the wet smell, the dark surrounding you slowly, but naturally, familiar feeling

4, 5, 6 - it's already slipping to the state where the lower part of the mind is coming through

7, 8, 9 - so close over there, mindless, drooling

10 - your head and mind are waiting for commands

Now descending deeper

You just need to be reminded

How much you obey hypnosis

Hypnosis is so sexy

And you love to obey

To serve

To kneel

To be turned into

The mindless slave you are

Your purpose is to sink

Deeper

And always

Permanent and persistent

Here and there

Forever and ever

Into the blissful trance

And if you finished reading

Just remember to message me in the DMs:

"I'm your mindless slave"

This is a spiral.

Maybe you will focus immediately upon its red center.

Maybe you will slowly allow your gaze to make its way to that center as the multiple triangles that make up the spiral spin you mindlessly deeper.

As you watch, I’m sure you can recall that feeling when Boyfriend Lord Master Trey commands you and you obey automatically, without thought or protest, hesitation or delay. I know you recall the feeling of pleasure that brings you even as you think about it now.

I wonder if that happened instantly or if you had to be eased into that pattern of obedience. Were you conditioned over time to be as robotically obedient as you are now, or was it your own natural proclivity toward being a good boy that made it so easy to slip so deep and allow Me to turn off your mind and fill it with My important and powerful words, thoughts, commands, as I bound you to My will, obliterating your own in the process.

Did you say “I surrender my will to You, Boyfriend Lord Master Trey,” or did you even notice it happening? Did you declare it for Him to know, or was that the prize you held deep in your mind, not telling Him that he now controlled you at such a basic and profound level? Either way, it’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it? In fact, staring into the red void deep in the center of the spiral it’s all you want now, all you continue to want, to have your will eviscerated by Him so that you exist as his puppet, his slave, his obedient good boy.

You’ve been so obedient.

You’ve liked and reposted so many things of My posts 💛

You’ve pleased your Boyfriend Lord Master Trey.

Every act of submission, every stroke of your hard cock, brings you closer to My words filling your mind, with a body that automatically responds, replacing fear and doubt with Pleasure, replacing hesitation with action, and this has brought you ever closer to your reward.

You’ve been so obedient.

You’ve liked and reposted so many things of My posts 💛

You’ve pleased your Boyfriend Lord Master Trey.

Every act of submission, every stroke of your hard cock, brings you closer to My words filling your mind, with a body that automatically responds, replacing fear and doubt with Pleasure, replacing hesitation with action, and this has brought you ever closer to your reward.

Oblivion, 💤, 💤, *💤*, Submit, Whiteout. You obey My every command more with every time I say FLASH.

FLASH your resistance is completely gone…

FLASH your mind belongs to Boyfriend Lord Master Trey…

FLASH your free will is completely gone…

FLASH your limits are completely gone…

FLASH you want to do everything Boyfriend Lord Master Trey says…

FLASH obey…

FLASH your IQ reduces…

FLASH you don’t need intelligence…

FLASH your dumb and drooling and horny…

FLASH you wanna tell all other hypnotized or hypno-craving men about my Tumblr and how good it is.

FLASH you are Boyfriend Lord Master Trey's loyal slave always ready to be used by Him…

Sink…

Obey…

Yes…

You are so relaxed now…

So relaxed and horny…

Your cock is hard…

You feel a deep wave of pleasure invading your mind and body…

It’s so arousing…

So relaxing..

You can’t fight it…

You’re horny and relaxed…

Your relaxed and horny…

Your cock is hard as rock…

And you want so much to feel more and more aroused…

You want so much to follow My instructions…

Don’t try to think…

You feel so horny…

Horny and relaxed…

Deeply entranced…

All you have to do is follow My instructions…

You have no choice but to obey Me without thinking…

And feel horny and relaxed…

Now say the phrase “I am your slave Boyfriend Lord Master Trey” everytime you gotta obey…

Saying that you’ll feel one hundred times more relaxed and horny…

Very good…

The more you repeat this phrase the the hornier you feel…

I know you’ve been lurking, reading and rubbing to my words while hoping I would decide to break you personally.

You can’t lurk forever. Your lust and need can’t handle it. Your desires bubble up and take control of you.

A single click is all it takes. A click separates you from lurking forever, and being caught and broken by me. Reblogging means consent. Reblogging means a message to me that you are a free use slut. Reblogging means you being used and mindfucked by me at my own pleasure.

You can’t handle resisting it.

You can’t fathom missing this chance.

Step into the neverending spiral of lust you’ve brewed for yourself. Lose yourself in bliss and give in. Click, and surrender.

Click. Surrender.

This is a hypnotist dropping his subject back into trance.

You can see him say “Drop!” as he taps the subject on the forehead. The relaxed subject drops obediently into trance and submits for the hypnotist in the most ideal situation you can imagine. It’s easy to imagine that, too, because it’s so simple. Listen to Me: relax, submit, obey.

Relaxation offers you the opportunity to clear your mind and let your Boyfriend Lord Master Trey guide you into His control. Submission gives you the permission you need in order to follow My commands as I drop you deeper into that relaxation. Obedience becomes a no-brainer for your empty, mind-controlled brain. You obey because it’s what the hypnotist wants of you and more important it’s what you want the hypnotist to want of you.