#Hypnofantasy

[sillygoosecatcher]

Soooo hottttt!!!

Need hypno to wash away my smarts so I can be what I truly am

Empty

She tried not to listen, she really did-- but the neighbors were making it legitimately impossible, with their shouts and laughter and the kind of raised voices that usually were a telltale sign of being high. She could have closed her windows, but it was a hot night and besides, she had become strangely invested in the whole affair despite herself. The whole conversation was, in its particular way, fascinating. In fact at some point Andrea had to assume this was some sort of strange performance art titled: How long can four people hold a conversation without ever uttering a single interesting thing?

    Topics ranged from “how drunk X was on Y night”, “stories of dumb shit I did while drunk”, “my crazy ex” to the masterful synthesis that was “how drunk my crazy ex got and what she told X on Y night, who also was so drunk.” Andrea had little choice but to admire the commitment to mediocrity. One would think that given a group of four and three hours, statistically speaking something interesting would come up sooner or later, even if by accident: maybe a drunken political statement, or one of those drug-induced metaphysical revelations that made dumb fucks go “woah, that’s deep, man.” Just… anything not related to getting wasted and crazy women. Anything of substance at all. The world was full of situations to have a right chat about, but the neighbors bravely steered away from them all with the skill of an Olympic skier dodging trees. These fuckers were doing triple helixes over anything of substance and sticking the landing every time. It was a thing of utterly depressing beauty.  

    She felt so alone. She tried telling herself that the quartet of banality next door were an anomaly, a particularly vapid sample of the general population, but she knew better. She was the anomaly. Most people simply didn’t give a fuck about important things, and when they did, they usually spouted misinformed, simplistic, braindead takes regurgitated from some online poster or another. It hurt. People had always told her “oh, you’re so smart!”, or “damn, how do you know about that?”, or “girl, you’re brilliant!”; they all meant it as compliments, but they sure didn’t feel positive to her. Sure, she smiled and cloaked herself with false modesty when she encountered such statements, but she knew very well that when she walked into a room chances were she’d be the smartest person in it. It was terrible.

Listening to the neighbors she wondered if they could ever know how she felt. Of course they couldn’t. They couldn’t know what it felt to dumb down their speech, knowing that saying what was truly in her mind would be a waste, for the listener lacked the basis to comprehend a complex, nuanced idea. They couldn’t know how it felt to be treated like living fucking wikipedia by everyone, because apparently googling shit was harder than asking the smart girl. They couldn’t even fathom what it was like to try dating: trapped between posing men that tried to impress her with facts and trivia and pointless debate and nice guys who served a purpose for a while but inevitably became boring and frustrating as they failed to understand her over and over again.

Sometimes she felt the only ones that could relate to her were strangers online, which added to her frustration with her chatty neighbors on their terrace. How on Earth was she supposed to relax and edge looking at good content with that bunch spewing nonsense three meters away?

A part of Andrea was slightly worried about her online habits. It was true, no doubt, that she was spending more and more time looking at her phone or her PC, sleeping less and less, often going to work with barely a couple of hours of rest to keep herself semi-sharp. Not that her work required more than the ability to filter out the inane bullshit around her and mastering the art of suppressing the urge to reply to all business emails with “This is meaningless. This contributes nothing to human growth or prosperity, and our jobs shouldn’t exist. Thank you, fuck you, bye.” Sadly, she couldn’t afford to tell everyone to go straight to Hell and get gangbangd by demons, so she endured in silence and occasionally used her smarts to make herself invaluable to the company. 

...And now she was thinking about work. Fuck. Miserable in the office, miserable at home because she would have to return to the office. That settled it. She was going to have her goddamn escapism and if the chatty neighbors naged to hear something, hey, good for them. She logged on, and the world melted away.

   It felt like home, much more than her apartment, her city, or even the house in which she had grown up. All those were places of loneliness; the site was a community, a sort of self-actualized society playing by rules that made sense, with a purity of purpose lacking in everyday life. In the website everyone could be whoever they wanted to be, paradoxically free within the limits of the screen. It was all performance to some degree, of course. People chose and curated what they posted, how they reacted, who they followed. It was something like psychological self-design: you looked at what you had chosen and the site suggested similar things, more of what you enjoyed but maybe slightly different, slightly more extreme, slightly darker. Every now and then you discovered a new side to your kink, your body reacted to something unexpected and unthinkingly you hit that “follow” button and the site would learn a little bit about you that you yourself didn’t know, and like a skillful dom subtly pushing their sub it shifted your limits and tastes just a little bit at a time… Andrea liked that: It felt like the site knew her, understood her in ways that sometimes shocked her, toyed with her mind and libido and existed only to give her a safe haven from a grey, dull world.

That particular evening the site welcomed her with an animated caption. Oh, she loved those. Anything could be turned into the most perverted of ideas just by the skilful addition of a few words. A simple sexy swimsuit picture, the kind that barely was worth noticing suddenly became a call to embrace the patriarchy, to expose her body, to destroy her boring life and be reborn as something else. It was the power of language: it got inside her head more than anything else, because thoughts were built on language itself-- to read was to let some foreign mental being colonize her brain, just for a little while. To read was to surrender and let someone else’s thoughts inside her. It was a profound intimacy, a sort of consensual mind rape. 

She let the words and images wash over her as she rubbed her needy cunt under her shorts. It was all fantasy, of course, but she couldn’t help mouthing along to the words. “I’m just a fucktoy”... “Good girls obey”... “Good girls never cum”... “Toy always on display”... “I don’t need a mind, I need cock”... “Good girls make more good girls”...

If she had been truly aware of herself, she would have noticed the slight changes, the way the words made more and more sense, the way time shrunk and twisted and hours passed without her even noticing, the way she was refusing herself the release of an orgasm. Good girls edge. God girls never cum. It was all fantasy, that much she knew; but her body was soon covered in sweat and drool and the need to blur the line between fantasy and reality. 

One content creator had a special effect on her. She had no idea who he was, or where he was from. She only knew he understood her, even if she had never dared to dm him. He was inside her, she was sure of it with the certainty of madness. He teased her mind, molded it, chose the exact words and images to make her feel weak and docile and slutty… and she loved it. She loved him, loved the image she had built of him in her head: she saw him as a somehow strange, not quite human being; a ghost in the site that haunted it and her, like a living virus feeding her addiction.

Dawn caught her by surprise. She had no memory of anything except edging and feeling empty and dumb and horny and needing to be useful, used, abused. She had been scrolling through His page and at some point everything had gone… blurry. It was a first for her, a line crossed: she would go to work with no sleep at all, just because she was edging her needy pussy like a mindless animal. That realization only made her spend the last hour before work playing with her big, sensitive tits, just to be sure she wouldn’t accidentally cum at the last moment. She didn’t even shower, and went to the office smelling of sex, sweat and arousal.

The day went in a haze. She got home fully prepared to collapse on her bed and let the sweet, sweet arms of Morpheus take her away. Then her phone pinged. She knew exactly what it was: Andrea only had notifications enabled for a single creator on the site. It could wait. She could look at it after sleeping. She should, in fact. Yes, that would be the smart thing to do. Oh, that idea hit her like a train: yes, it would be the smart thing to do, but wasn’t it more fun to do the dumb thing? The slutty thing? Her eyelids felt heavy like tombstones, and yet she reached for the phone.

There exists a place, or a state of existence most people only experience briefly: the liminal area between sleep and wakefulness, where judgement is eroded and the boundaries between dream and reality become a blur. Usually, a person either falls asleep or snaps awake immediately and so they don’t explore that most peculiar mental space. Andrea, on the other hand, found herself stuck in it. She read the new story by the Creator, but she wasn’t sure if she was following the plot or even making sense of the words at all-- rather, it was bypassing her conscious self altogether as images, words and situations lodged themselves in her brain. Where they dreams, memories or fiction? It was impossible to tell. She saw herself wearing tight leather pants and heading into a bar. Had she done that? Had she read it? She felt some stranger’s cock in her mouth, and remembered her heart swelling with pride at being a good, useful little fucktoy. No, that wasn’t right. That was a caption, wasn’t it? It felt so real, though… She tasted the lips of her best friend as they watched degrading porn together and Andrea rubbed the girl’s cunt over her panties and whispered “don’t you want to be a good girl like her?” No, that hadn’t happened. That was a story by the Creator, right? One of the more popular ones? She couldn’t focus. If it wasn’t real, it should have been. She should have broken her pretty little innocent friend and turned her into a living fucking fleshlight… 

She edged, drifting between what was real and what wasn’t. The difference was insubstantial, and the need to become an empty vessel for the words was too strong. She didn’t cum. The idea never crossed her mind, and she stopped right at the edge on reflex. Good girls didn’t cum. She was a good girl. Or she should be? Maybe? It was too confusing, her mind and the Creator’s work melding into a single, twisting spiral…

Birds heralded the dawn once again, and once again Andrea was welcoming the new day by drooling and edging, humping the air and letting the Creator’s words and images wash over her, eroding her mind like the tide eroded rocks until they were smooth, slippery, featureless. She felt less and less like herself, if indeed there had been a real “self” there to begin with. She wasn’t so sure anymore. Wasn’t she an act? Wasn’t she performing always, even when she was the only audience? Did she even have a core, a solid thing she could call “Andrea”? Every minute it became harder and harder to find. Maybe it had never been there at all. Maybe it had been a particularly devious illusion, and there had never been a “self”. Maybe the only thing inside was emptiness, her personality just the result of an accumulation of experiences and situations, like mold growing on a tree trunk. Now, edging it all away, she realized there was no tree trunk at all. There was nothing there, which meant anything could go into that space. “Andrea” could mean anything. And the Creator’s words told her exactly what it should mean.

In the end, she had no one to blame but herself. The fact was that she edged and refused sleep and so, her mind broke. Sometimes things are as simple as that. Andrea would have liked the simplicity, if she could have appreciated it. As it was, she skipped work and edged herself into a deeper, almost meditative state of blank arousal. Andrea didn’t exist. Andrea had never existed. Andrea was whatever the site said she was.

Andrea was a cunt. Andrea was dumb. Andrea was empty. Andrea was slutty. Andrea was always horny. Andrea never said no. Andrea lived for cock. Andrea did anything to make men cum. Andrea had no limits, no morality. Andrea could be whoever made a particular cock cum. Andrea had no core, so she could become anyone. Anything. She was empty, and only cock could fill her: it was her purpose, her obsession, her God. All this came to her with the certainty of religious revelation. The Creator had told her so. She started to believe that they, whoever they were, made content just for her. The Creator was in her head, and was guiding her to the proper Path, to more profound enlightenment in the heaven that was complete, slutty submission.

She must have slept at some point, taken micro naps, perhaps-- or perhaps she was so far gone that sleep and vigil had lost all meaning, the duality destroyed by her new, elevated awareness. Dream and reality were the same thing, so who cared if she was asleep or awake?

Days and nights came and went in a mist of pleasure and emptiness. How long had it been since she had slept? She didn’t care. All she cared about were the voices. They were talking again, loud again. She didn’t quite understand what they said and didn’t much care. In another life she would have been annoyed, but that Andrea was long gone. Instead, a new idea popped in her head. A simple, shining, overriding thought: there were four cocks that needed to be worshipped. 

Andrea showered and did her makeup. She liked what the mirror showed her: a slutty, eager, glassy-eyed slut with a vacant, lustful expression. Her instincts told her the men next door liked trashy girls, so she became trashy. She could feel the curse words surging inside her, her neediness and shamelessness taking hold. She looked for trashy clothing, and failing to find anything appropriate she grabbed her scissors. Anything could be trashy if you cut it short enough, added a big V-neck, carelessly chopped away whatever made the outfit respectable. She was sloppy. Sloppy was good. Sloppy was trashy.

In the end what she created could barely be called clothing: it was the bare minimum to cover up her nipples and her pussy. She was dripping, and she felt the juices visibly running between her legs added a certain charm to the outfit. No one could confuse her for anything other than a cock-hungry whore. No one could ever respect her while she wore that. Good. Respect was bad. Only cock mattered.

She knocked on the door, hard. She needed to serve, needed to be useful, and needed it without delay. She hadn’t planned ahead at all. She didn’t need to: once she was inside she knew nature would take its course. Her nature, the primal lust of an animal in heat. They would use her, and if for some reason they didn’t want to, she’d just edge and become a different kind of slut until she was good enough to deserve their cum. She was nothing. She could be anything. The door opened and the man made no effort to hide his surprise as his eyes instantly were drawn to Andrea’s tits. Good. A man that wasn’t scared to be a man, to see her as the fuckmeat she was.

“I hear you are having a party. Mind if I join in?”, she said. The man was taken aback. It took him a little while but finally he recognized her from fleeting encounters in the elevator. He stammered a bit, but let her in.

The rest of the guys were already drunk, laughing on the terrace. They looked at her like hungry beasts as the host awkwardly introduced her as “the neighbor”. Suddenly, there was silence. She could feel them struggling with themselves, with the idea that they shouldn’t take any cunt they wanted, with a million social norms crashing against the embodiment of free sexuality before them. Fine. She’d take the first step. She took a beer from one of the men’s hand and downed it before sitting on his lap.

“Fuck, that’s good”, she purred. Yes, trashy felt right. Felt fun, at least for this set. She would become someone else for others, she knew-- but subtlety wouldn’t work here.

“You know”, she added nonchalantly, “I’m on the pill.” One of the men managed to mutter something like “Uh… that’s good?” 

Andrea smiled.

“It is good. Because it means you can fill my slutty cunt with your warm cum, if you want. Or I can swallow it all for you… or drool it on my tits! Oh! You can cum on them directly! Or on my face! I just need your cocks! All of you! Use every fucking hole, treat me like the cumrag I am! Gangbang me, pass me around, slap me, make me say disgusting things, make me shove bottle up my tight asshole! Please… use me. Make me feel useful. Make me feel like a complete fucking whore! You, grab my tits… I feel your cock hardening under me… why don’t you take it out? All of you, please, let me see those beautiful cocks! I exist for them!”

They got the message. Still, Andrea had to make sure of one thing. She looked at the host.

“You. Take your phone out. Make sure you film every little detail”

He pulled his phone out and pointed it at Andrea. He gestured that it was recording. She smiled.

“Hi! My name is Andrea Jackson… and today you’ll all see what I truly am” 

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[mko001]

#cophypno story P1

So, it turns out my stupid idiotic idea that I thought might get me arrested, actually ended up being the best idea I've ever had!

What was the idea? Well, to get myself a personal cop plaything of course.

How would I implement my idea...well that's the tricky bit...I didn't really know. I kept hoping I'd meet one on one of the lesser known gay apps, or recognise one in one of the seedier bars outside of town. Sadly none of this worked out, well I thought it was going to...I did actually see one cop I recognised in a gay bar in the next town...sadly for me, turns out he was undercover... or so he said anyway, who knows.

So, what did I end up doing...well for a while, absolutely nothing. I'd pretty much given up.

Anyway, one day I ended up down a YouTube rabbit hole, watching one video after the next...I can't even remember what the first video was, when I ended up finding a video about mind control. Worth a watch I thought, even just for a laugh if nothing else.

Well this video ended up captivating me, maybe the video used some sort of subliminal technique to keep me watching, if so it worked. After finishing the video, I went to the user's channel and found loads more videos all covering the subject of hypnosis, mind control, manipulation etc. I was surprised these videos had never been removed, they taught the basics of hypnosis on the willing...and the unsuspecting!

This was when my idea came to light once more...I was going to hypnotise a cop. Wait...I'm being stupid right? I can't just go up to a police officer and use some mind tricks on him...can I?

Turns out I can do exactly that. I spent weeks, maybe even months, researching hypnosis, I even got chatting with the video creator to get some one to one training. I didn't tell him my plan of course. He taught me several ways to hypnotise someone, including a few ways when the subject doesn't even know they're being hypnotised!

Now was the day...there were several officers at my local station I liked, but there is one motorcop I've had my eye on for some time. He seems to be one of the senior officers on the bike squad, bit older than some of the other guys, but that is how I like them. He looks so good in his smart tight fitting uniform and tall boots. So now I just have to wait near the station until he returns from patrol, luckily I didn't have to wait long. As I saw him approach, I drove my car right onto the no parking area outside the main entrance, got out and leant against the outside of the car. Just as I'd hoped, he started to approach. Oh damn, I hope he doesn't notice my trousers starting to tent, I shouldn't have expected anything less though, seeing him approach, looking so damn sexy.

"sorry son, you can't park your car there, you'll have to leave it in the parking lot round back" he said to me. His voice was so smooth, it nearly made me forget why I was here, but I composed myself.

"oh sorry officer, I'll only be a few minutes, can't you just overlook it this time please?"

"sorry, if you don't move it now I'll have to write you up a ticket".

Just as he is about to start writing, I start to distract him,

"hey, before you start writing, have you seen the shine I get on the hood of my car? It's a special wax I use, if you look right at it, it seems to shimmer"

I wasn't lying either, it was a special wax I used. It turns out the hypnosis video youtuber I spoke to had a really developed it himself. He said it's one of the best ways to quickly distract people to start working on them, and he wasn't wrong. The cop was now staring directly at my car, he'd even stopped blinking.

"nice isn't it officer. You find yourself getting drawn into it, it's almost relaxing just to look at it don't you think"?

The officer looked slightly back up at me, his eyes already looked kinda sleepy

"uh huh" was all he could manage to say, before looking directly back at the car. I left him to stare a little longer before continuing.

"Officer...err, what's your name?"

He just about manages to reply;

"Officer Jack Bailey"

"ok Officer Bailey, continue to stare at the car, enjoy getting drawn in, it's magical, you feel so happy, relaxed and at peace as you stare. You can still hear my voice but all other sounds have gone silent. Your thoughts now should be focusing only on the car and on my voice. My voice is the only one you will want to listen to from now on. Keep staring and relaxing"

Jack looked so relaxed I thought he was going to fall over. I went over to his side and put my arm round him, like someone would do with their friend. I didn't want to look suspicious to anyone around, but in reality I was holding him steady. When I placed my a round him, I felt his firm body, he clearly works out. Well this made my trouser tent grow somewhat!

His head was now drooping, I had to be quick now before any other officers showed up.

"Jack, listen to me closely, later this evening after your shift is over, I want you to come to my place, stay in your uniform and come alone. I'll put my address in your pocket. You won't question why your coming, it will just feel right to you. Once you're at mine, we'll continue your programming"

When I said that last bit, I saw his face twitch slightly, he almost looked confused. I needed to strengthen the hypnotic control properly in privacy, but this should be enough to get him to that stage.

"now, in a moment I'm going to wake you up, you won't remember this happening, but you will do as I've told you. Also, you won't write me that ticket, you'll just remember that we've been having a friendly chat before I head away. Do you understand"?

"yeesss... I understand", he sounded so sleepy when he responded.

"now, when I snap my fingers, you'll wake up and we'll finish our conversation, you'll then carry on with your day as normal, but you won't tell anyone about our little chat out here.

*snap*

His face comes back to life, he blinks a few times before turning to me.

"well it's been nice chatting buddy, you take it easy out there" Jack said in his normal voice.

"err yeah thanks officer, I will do. See ya later"

He walked away into the station. I got back in my car and just sat there stunned...had that actually just worked? I kept waiting for some other officers to come out to arrest me...but nothing. Well the true test will be tonight! And you, fine readers, will just have to wait for part 2 to find out if I get my own cop plaything.

[pugugly001]

Hypnofantasy idea: Women’s kisses are hyperarousing but getting a kiss also locks your penis into being unable to orgasm for some period. If you can keep from begging for her kisses you can orgasm.

[pugugly001]

Okay, I don't get into findom because I *absolutely* could. 'Money is Power' moves pretty easily into 'Women draining men's Power' symbolism.

I could get into that in a thoroughly self destructive way and other than a few specific things like making strippers and such explicitly centers of findom fantasies (and well, reality) avoid it.

That said, although it's pretty common on large sites like Clips4sale, there are lots of dommes that (seem to) actively dislike it. Maybe even *most* of the genuinely talented hypnodommes I've seen it's an extremely minor part of the offerings compared to the 'faux dommes' that are sex workers doing hypnosis as a fantasy project.

I'm not objecting to the latter by the way - my hypnofantasies are pretty directly traceable to comics, cartoons, Julie Newmar as Catwoman, and Star Trek - imaginative but utterly unrealistic mind control scenarios are absolutely fine with me, but don't confuse them with the Mistress Candice's or Nikki Fatales of the Hypnodomme community.

Haha I just wish that there were female hypnotists that were not into findomme too, because unfortunately, not every male sub on the planet has the budget to afford the possibility that they might get a trance a month later

Well i cant answer definantly for other female tists but as females in a fairly male dominated kink, we are in “high demand” and do get frequent messeges from subs so i think for some requiring some form of payment is not only a way to filter some of the numbers but also as a way of supporting themselves, as a job.For me personally i like to leave the option of tributing in some way completely up to you, with access to my content regardless (save for the downloadable versions that patrons get). I don’t like charging for sessions. Hypnosis is very personal to me and i enjoy it, and wish to continue enjoying it. I don’t want to trance just anyone who pays, it doesnt feel genuine for me and i think it would burn me out very quickly.I kinda went on for a bit there but i hope that answers it?

[subject-e]

Scene idea: passing the Turing test... or not?

Mindfucks are tasty, frustration is delicious, and there’s something kinda hot about consensual gaslighting.  

Imagine a scene wherein your hypnotist is convinced that you are a robot and keeps pointing out ways that you are failing their tests to prove that you are human.  Where everything you say is just what robot you would say, where every attempt to prove that you are a person just convinces them that you are not.  

And that point when you start believing that maybe you are just a program... 

[pugugly001]

A Moment of Clarity

I hope this works - Soundclound tried to post directly to Tumblt but got an error when I tried to save it. Hopefully the URL: https://soundcloud.com/user-17145464/a-moment-of-clarity/s-RR0Hg works for people.

I wrote ‘A Moment of Clarity’ at Inraptured - the original was lost when the site died, but Nikki Fatale was tickled by the drabble and made a gift to me of a reading of it at the time. As a tribute to the many women I’ve found doing such nice work here I thought it would be worth sharing an audio ‘Not sold in Stores!’ as it were.

If you feel so moved, her many and excellent recordings are still available via Bob Browns Hypnofantasy site. She is certainly the artist that I have the largest single collection of (And I need to get over the slight melancholy I have that she has more-or-less retired from the scene and learn to simply enjoy them as I should) and is a wonderful person.