hypnodome - Tumblr blog

hypnodome · 8 days ago

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The Best Volunteers are... Disgruntled Daddies...

This fine specimen here is exactly what I'd call my "guilty pleasure." The kind of man who'd rather be sipping a beer than sitting through my stupid little hypnosis show. The blatant disregard for my profession is written all across his stoney scowl. The only time he's met my gaze is to roll his eyes and frown.

"Let's get this over with," he huffed as his wife shoved him up and out of his seat.

"Get up there, Steve!" she giggled excitedly, "Dr. Dormand chose you!"

I flashed the woman a mischievous smile, making her bubble up with even more excitement as the couple's two young boys stared back in awe. Their father figure shuffled up to his seat on the stage, and slumped down in the chair, spreading his legs and sighing as if all of my showmanship were beneath a man like him.

"So, Steve, is it?" I ask, rounding the man, walking with my usual performative flourishes.

"Yes," he grunts.

"You don't seem to eager to be up here?" I hiss, "Is it possible you are nervous?"

"Nope."

A few chuckles sound in the crowd. I'm sure they're all thinking that there is no chance in hell of hypnotizing a man as stubborn as this.

"You have a lovely family, Steve," I smile brightly and step behind the man, planting my palms on his shoulders, "What brings y'all out here tonight."

"Vacation," he grumbles, sneering at my hands on his body before continuing, "My wife thought a hypnosis show would be fun."

He says it as if I'm already proving her wrong.

"Thanks, Steve...LADIES and GENTLEMEN!" I announce, addressing the whole room, "What if I told you that Steve here has already fallen under my control? He just doesn't know it yet."

There are a few gasps in the crowd, but mostly scoffing. Steve just shakes his head.

"MY EYES..." I say, rounding the chair to peer directly into the man's gaze, "...do all the work for me. You can't stop staring can you?"

Steve doesn't answer, but his brow furrows and his lips tighten as he tries to look away, to look anywhere aside from my stare. He's realizing he can't.

"...HOT!" I continue, "This room is so hot, Steve. I don't know how a big guy like you can bare it in that suffocating Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. You must be itching to pull them off, to finally feel some relief!" I lean in, wrapping an arm around the increasingly docile hunk of a father. "You know, nobody here would judge you if you did take them off. In fact, we'd all be happy for you to be comfortable, Steve!"

I break eye contact with the man; his eager eyes reluctantly pulling away from my own like he already misses them. My arms raise at the crowd dramatically, garnering some cheering for Steve, who now has a dazed look on his face as he sits in the chair, deciding what to do. I already know what he'll decide. He just needs a few seconds to relent and five in to my suggestions.

With a deep exhale, a grin of relief washes over his face. The childish glee seems unnatural on him, though I suppose that's just because I've only ever known Steve to scowl and frown.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," I purr in triumph, "It looks like this one is ready to comply!"

Steve hastily drags his tacky Hawaiian shirt off his shoulders, tearing it down and off his arms. His cargo shorts are next, as he jumps up and fumbles over his belt buckle, before dropping them to the floor. Just like that, I've got this daddy standing in front of dozens of audience members in his pristine white undergarments.

"Oh, that's better..." he sighs in relief, stepping out of his shorts, "...it's so hot in here."

"Yes, Steve, this room is BOILING HOT!" I quip back with a quick wink at the audience.

Amid the cackling voices of the crowd, I clock the man's wife doubling over in laughter as their two sons squeal in delight. She tries to stifle her amusement enough to get a photo with her phone. I bet they've never seen their daddy outside in his underwear, and some permanent evidence of the event would be great to pull out at any future family events.

"Jesus..." Steve mutters, pulling at his undershirt, "It's still boiling in this place."

"I'm sure you're SWEATING BUCKETS, Steve, but you can't take anything else off," I pat him on the back, already feeling a thin layer of moisture, "It's not that kind of show, folks."

The crowd laughs at my innuendo and my volunteer chuckles awkwardly. I think the guy might even be blushing.

"No need to be nervous, Steve," I say, rubbing lower and lower on his back, "You know why?"

The dazed father of two looks back at me with genuine interest, asking, "Why?"

"Because you're HYPNOTIZED, of course!" I cry joyously, "I could tell you to do ANYTHING, and obeying wouldn't bother you one bit!"

"It wouldn't..." he tells me, saying it more like a statement than a question. His empty brown eyes find my gaze again. In just a few minutes he's become completely dependent on my stare. He's proving to be more programmable than most.

"KNEEL!" I command

He drops to the floor, almost falling on his face as he races to follow my instruction. His eyes never leave my own. At this point, the man is basically looking at me with total trust and adoration: he's like putty in my hands.

"Well, folks, you can't deny this! Can you?"

I look down at Steve as the crowd stares in awe. A man like this, kneeling on the ground like that, wearing nothing but his sweat soaked underwear; it's the kind of sight to give people ideas. This man might be a married father, but he's pretty built. He might not groom his body hair, or cut back on his growing beer belly, but he's a specimen the whole room can appreciate. Now that he's hypnotized and glossed up with sweat, he doesn't mind the wandering eyes.

The only eyes he cares about are my own.

"That's it, Steve," I say with the same tone as somebody praising their pet, "You're good at being HYPNOTIZED."

"Thank you," he articulates the phrase awkwardly, like all of his brainpower is being directed towards obedience, not silly things like words or thoughts.

"Don't forget my title," I say with a smirk to the audience, "I worked hard for that degree."

"Yes," he corrects himself, "Thank you, Dr. Dormand," with the same slow drawn out cadence of a brainless lackey.

I glance into the crowd. Most of them are still giggling. Steve's wife seems to have swapped photography for videotaping. I'm sure her husband would appreciate have his entire humiliation recorded his buddies to see. At her side, the two boys seem to have grown restless and disinterested, tugging on their mother's sleeve for attention. I do so hate when people bring children to my shows. Sure, this is a vacation spot for families, but I prefer my acts for a more mature crowd. Still, I'm not above some improvisation of my routine...

"Steve," I say, needlessly calling his attention when I've already captured it entirely.

"Yes, Dr. Dormand?"

"You're a WORM!"

I snap my fingers, ringing a loud crack through the auditorium that makes everyone jump. It also seems to break poor old Steve's mind, reducing it to truly believing he is a worm.

The crowd goes wild, the children scream in delight, and people stand up to get a better look as Steve writhes on the dirty stage floor. His arms and legs seem useless. For that matter, his face and basic senses seem so too, as he simply contracts and extends his thick hairy form, flopping himself across stage in a ridiculous fashion until his shirt is dragged off.

"Steve, the WORM!" I announce, gesturing towards the pathetic man with a dramatic flair.

My audience sees the ridiculous sight of a 30-something year-old acting ridiculous and applauds, but I see more. I notice the way the globes of his fleshy ass flex and then jiggle as his hips thrust the ground. His underwear, thank god it's still on, tightens around his crotch as he slams his package into the floor and drags it across the stage. He even leaves a trail as he moves, like some sort of human slug, soaking up the stage's dust and leaving his bodily moisture in his wake.

I need to move on before my own excited package becomes noticeable in my slacks.

"Steve!" I command back the attention of the human worm, bringing the room to silence.

"You're a DOG!" and I snap my fingers!

My sweaty little worm barely has a second to rest before his arms and legs come back to life, suddenly useful again, and he jumps up to his hands and knees. Steve's tongue rolls out of his mouth, panting since he still believes this room is boiling hot, and suddenly the man is bounding about like a massive 200lb puppy.

Once again, the crowd eats it up.

"Daddy's a dog!" one of his boys screams!

"Oh, he'll never believe this!" his wife snorts.

I let the crowd have their fun, entertaining any suggestion they have. Someone wants to see Steve act like a chicken. Another wants to see him leg an egg. Still more suggestions come in. I don't even have time for another volunteer with the audience's eagerness to exploit this man for their entertainment. I suppose there's something so universally indulgent in seeing a big serious guy like this, normally intimidating and standoffish, reduced to the whims and delights of a random crowd.

"Tell him to sniff his armpits!"

"Make him do the chicken dance!"

"Can he sing?"

"ALRIGHTY, folks!" I yell, calming the audience down, "I think we've had our fun with Steve."

I'm met with a few disappointed faces.

"The show is about to end, but I think we've proved here...tonight, that even the MOST strong-willed among us...are no match...for the hypnosis of Dr. Dormand!"

They erupt in applause, as Steve stands vacantly still and stupid behind me.

"Have a good night everyone," I smile and call, "Could I get Steve's family, up here?"

The audience begins filing out, giggling and chattering about the wild events of the night. From from the retreating crowd, Steve's wife, emerges with her two kids in tow.

"Oh, Dr. Dormand," she gushes, "That was just extraordinary. I know Steve, and that's how I know you're the real deal. My husband would never have done any of that!"

"I'm glad," I flash my brilliant smile, "Mrs...?

"Cunningham," she finishes, "And this is Bobby, and this is Joey."

She displays her two kids to me like they are prized possessions, but I don't think I've ever heard a more boring collection of names.

"Well, Mrs. Cunningham..." I purr, finding her eyes, "Steve deserves a nice REST. Right?"

Her head cocks to the side before answering, "Yes, yeah, he seems tired."

"Let Steve have a BREAK. Go enjoy your vacation ON YOUR OWN....FORGET HIM."

"Ok," she nods, with a plastered smile.

Mrs. Cunningham turns and guides the children out of the auditorium, leaving her nearly naked husband in and empty auditorium with the world's best hypnotist...

"Start marching, big boy!" I purr into his ear.

I can't help but reach out and grab at the muscle and weight hanging off his sweaty back. It ripples as his bare feet slap against the tiled floor and his sweat makes it glisten beneath the flourescent lights.

"Bet you haven't seen the service halls, Steve, being a vacationing tourist yourself," I speak, basically talking to no one, "My rooms back here. Much more private and...discreet "

"Yes, Dr. Dormand," he drones mindlessly.

"Don't call me that now," I snap, "Refer to me as...hmmm... What do I want to be called? Oh, how about, 'Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body'! How does that sound?"

"It sounds fine, Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body," his husky voice repeats it perfectly.

I almost cum hearing him call me that.

"Take a right up here," I instruct, "We're almost to my room, where you'll be spending the rest of your vacation as my plaything."

"Yes, Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body."

We walk down the hallways further, taking rights and lefts. Sometimes I command him where to go and listen to him obey with complete devotion. Other times I just reach out and hand and grip his torso, pushing his heavy presence in my desired direction. It turns me on to feel how solid he is, how immovable, only to instantly relent and go where my hand guides him. It's almost like driving a car. For a second, I consider hopping on his back and steering him with tugs of his ear, like the fucking rat in that Disney movie.

"Almost there, Steve," I say, reassuring myself more than him as my hands wander down to his jiggling man-ass.

"Yes, Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body."

"Alright," I groan, "Just call me sir, now."

"Yes, sir."

The simpler title still does wonders for my erection. I doubt this man ever uses that word, so it's delicious to hear him using it for me.

We pass a few workers as we dive deeper into the building's unseen core; a few of the restaurants busboys carrying out garbage, a couple housekeepers with bins of linens, even a manager or two. None of them batt an eye at the dazed man bounding by, glistening with sweat and exposed aside from his soaked white underwear. I've hypnotized them all too many times to count. They barely notice when I come down here anymore, accompanied by my brainwashed victims or not. In fact, they hardly notice that I've got the power to snap at any one of them to order a blowjob on the spot. Nothing like having any of the hotel staff's mouths at open and salivating at my convenience.

"Right through there," I push him towards my apartment door.

"Yes, sir," is all he says as he steps in.

I immediately push him into a small alcove of my room. It's supposed to be used as a closet, but I tend to park my hypnotized daddies in it.

"Ok, Steve," I take a step back, preparing myself, "I'm going to wake you up in a moment. You'll be out of your trance, back to your old self EXCEPT for some things..."

"Yes, sir," he drones numbly.

"...you'll know you can't leave. You shouldn't leave. SEX DADDIES don't leave there HYPNOTIST, and they don't want to. You understand that's what you are now, for the remainder of your vacation. You're my SEX DADDY, it's like a daddy version of a sex slave. You might not like gay sex, you ming find me annoying, and strange, and prefer your wife, but it doesn't matter because, my good man, are a SEX DADDY for me."

"...sex daddy..." he quietly digests the term.

"Yes, and I am your HYPNOTIST, understand? You might not believe in hypnosis, you might believe I'm a fraud, and a lier, but you will obey me and everything I've commanded of you. You'll still treat me with the utmost respect, still calling me 'sir' and still taking orders."

It's quiet for a second.

"...my hypnotist..." his voice is barely audible.

I give his numb, unmoving face one last caress against his rough stubble, gazing into his simply overeager eyes before I snap.

"WAKE!"

His body twitches back to life, and his familiar scowl readjusts itself to his face. Steve's stone serious demeanor seems to fill his body again as his shoulders hunch over and his eagle eyes search his new surroundings.

"Where the hell am I, sir?" he grunts, "And where's my clothes!" his voice raises.

Goosebumps appear on his skin as he finally registers the true temperature of my chilly room. He's probably also feeling sore from all the flailing about he did as a worm.

"You don't need clothes."

"Oh, ok, sir," he nods, though looks a bit disappointed, "Because, I'm your Sex-Daddy?"

"BINGO!"

I thought I could get him to crack a smile, but he doesn't. Steve just grimaces at the thought.

"Let's get this over with," he huffs as he shuffles over to my bed, "Am I fucking you?"

"Oh no," I reply, and he sneers disappointedly.

"Get over here and start using me, Hypnotist," he sighs, pulling off his shorts and crawling on bed. His long flaccid cock flops out and swings with his equally heavy balls, "You only get me for the next five days. Then I'm going home with my family."

"So soon?"

He grunts as I climb on top of him, "Would love to leave sooner, sir, if it weren't for this whole Sex-Daddy thing."

"So you don't want to be used as a home for my cock?" I ask playfully.

"No," he scoffs, "But I'm your Sex-Daddy. I get it, sir. So use me how you want!".

"With pleasure," I moan in his ear.

I'd describe the hours of sex we had that round, how I increasingly used his body in more and more creative ways. He couldn't say no to anything, so it got kinky real fast. I'd explain it all, but your imagination is probably capturing it.

Steve would become increasingly disgusted and uncomfortable as I used him, but he continued to assure me that I had every right to his dad-bod. If that isn't consent, I don't know what is.

"Go kneel in the corner Steve, hands behind your head," I command, panting from the exertion. Receiving hours of one-sided sex can really drain the energy. "I want to see my Sex-Daddy on display when he's not used..."

"Yes, sir."

I chuckle and go to the closet to pull on some fresh clothes. Steve is still shivering.

"Still think Hypnosis is fake?"

"Are you kidding, sir," he rolls his eyes, "I know it's your whole thing and all, but it's literally the stupidest thing anyone could believe in. Don't tell my wife I said that though."

"Don't worry, Steve, I won't."

I flick the lights off and head out of my room, buttoning up my shirt. My hypnotized Daddy will have to get used to kneeling in the dark. I have another show to host, and who knows? Maybe I'll find another disgruntled dad to share the load with Steve...

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