Lick, and Lose Yourself In Me

That’s it, dear. Lick, and lose yourself in me. Feel my pleasure reverberate through your body, so strong that you’re helpless to resist it, so strong that you’re touching yourself without even thinking about it.

My pleasure is your pleasure. Your only purpose right now is to please me. All that matters is my cunt and my juices and how amazing my clit feels against your tongue, how delicious I taste. How good it feels to make me feel good. How nice and fuzzy it makes you feel when you lick, rhythmically, mindlessly. When those pesky thoughts trickle out of your head it leaves so much more room for pleasure, your pleasure and my pleasure, the comforting captivity of my thighs and of knowing your purpose.

So let your thoughts go, and focus on the feel and the taste of me, the pleasure that my moans bring, the pleasure you feel from doing a good job and pleasing me. That’s right. Good girl.

Lick, and lose yourself in me.

Let Me Help You With That...

(More goofy hypno-shorts. Thanks to @bunbunlittleone for the inspiration!)

* * * * * * * * * *

He was swinging a pocket-watch ineptly in front of her face in the middle of a Cracker Barrel, and I had to do something—for the sake of the other patrons and common decency, but also for the sake of that poor woman, who looked like she was sorry she'd ever agreed to this.

"Excuse me," I said softly, coming up to their table, "it looks like you're, uh, trying to do some hypnosis?"

They both started and looked around guiltily. Though it's not like they were exactly being subtle. Plus, it was clearly a sex thing for at least one of them, judging by the way this dude's cock was standing out against his jeans.

Ask the Dust

"Ask the Dust" (full series on Patreon) by Corwin Prescott - model: Ivy Wolfe

She just barely stifled her own moans as she shoved her fingers rhythmically in and out, in and out of her own mouth. With every thrust, she felt the sensation mirrored in her already-dripping cunt. It made her hips tremble and she fought to keep them still, even as the rising tide of pleasure threatened to break and consume her.

When her roommate had said teasingly that they could rewire her body, rewrite her very mind, twist and subvert and control her pleasure in ways she couldn’t begin to imagine, she had laughed. And now she would show them, show them that their “suggestion” had had no effect on her whatsoever, that the endless driving of fingers into her mouth felt like nothing at all, and certainly wasn’t filling her whole body with white-hot desire.

She kept her eyes locked defiantly on theirs as she thrust. Two could play at this stupid game, and she could keep on fucking her mouth for as long as she needed to convince them that she had won, that hypnosis was bullshit, that she was utterly in control of her own actions.

As the pleasure built, she focused on stilling her hips, on breathing evenly, on the motion of her hand. She had to be aware of every inch of pleasure and sensation, so she could make sure she didn’t tremble with it, so she could guard against any moan or epithet that might escape her. And so she focused...

Sympathetic Resonance

Mara is so fucking close right now, straining at the edge of that orgasm, desperately rubbing herself harder and harder, aching for that release. And Jasmine…

Jasmine is so fucking close right now, too. As close as Mara. Precisely as close as Mara. Her hand on Mara’s is the only part of her she can move, and so she grips as tightly as she can, as she feels every one of Mara’s strokes, every scrap of Mara’s pleasure, magnified a hundredfold. Mara’s pleasure thunders through her body and she has no control, can only lie there and watch as the pleasure fills her.

Because no matter how hard Mara fucks herself, Mara can only brush up against that delicious edge, can never coax her body past that threshold. Jasmine, however, gets to feel the orgasm that Mara can’t have, gets to feel it slam through her body like a tsunami and leave her limp and breathless in its wake.

But Mara will keep trying. Desperately, hopelessly, she’ll keep fucking herself into oblivion chasing the release she craves. And so Jasmine has no other choice–she too will lay there, squeezing Mara’s hand impossibly tight, the only little bit of control she has left, and feel that reflected pleasure wrack her body, feel herself come again, and again, and again…

New Perfume

Photo from "Maison Francis Kurkdjian” by Alisa Verner

“Do you want to smell my new perfume?” Angela had asked, innocently enough, and Olivia had agreed, and inhaled deeply from the tiny vial.

Her eyes went glassy as she smiled up at her friend. “Wow, that’s… nice. What… what is it?” And then shook her head as if to clear it, and was seemingly back to normal again–though she did notice, somehow, a creeping warmth between her legs.

The next time Angela had offered her a whiff, the cloudy-headed sensation had stuck around a bit longer, followed by a flush of heat in her body, and the realization that it was simply too stuffy in this room to keep her clothes on. As she stripped, Angela had gestured at the floor, and Olivia had gratefully sunk to her knees–after all, she had been on her feet all day, and it felt so comfortable to kneel, and to be so close to Angela… Angela, who had at some point taken off some clothes as well? But that was okay, because that meant that Olivia got to feel those warm legs pressed against her and the silky feel of the stockings between their skin, and it was so nice and comfortable and…

Angela offered a wrist, and Olivia inhaled automatically. God, that perfume smelled so good, and Angela’s skin was so wonderfully warm, and somehow her hand arrested all of Olivia’s attention. She couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like to incline her head just another inch, to press her lips against Angela’s soft and tender wrist, to lick the perfume from her; what noises she could kiss from her companion. How else she could please, how else she could serve…

Angela moved her arm slowly to one side, then the other, and Olivia’s whole torso followed as the woman stared, transfixed. A slow smile spread across Angela’s face, and she let her legs spread wider. Olivia’s lips, wonderfully warm and wet, pressed luxuriously into Angela’s wrist, and she moaned low in her throat. Olivia was moving slowly and lingeringly as she licked and sucked so skillfully, ingesting more of the perfume all the while, and Angela was content to revel in the languorous pleasure. She had all the time in the world right now, and if this was what Olivia was like after just a few minutes under the drug’s influence… Angela shivered pleasantly and guided Olivia’s face between her legs.

It was going to be a fun evening.

Let It Happen

She could feel the hands on her, all over her, stroking her in all of the most impossibly pleasurable ways. Her hips rocked, her whole body clenched, feeling those exquisite hands running down her hips, her thighs, her toes, ever so lightly over her clit...

The minute she looked down, though, she were gone. She could never catch a glimpse of the hands or who they were attached to, and whenever she tried, the sensation stopped as well, and left her body crying out for more. Sometimes she felt a whisper of expert touch somewhere else, and her body convulsed in response--it was accompanied by the barest flicker of movement at the corner of her eye, but when she whipped around to try and see it, it was always gone--and she always ached for more.

She soon realized that if she didn’t try to find the source of the touch, it continued for longer, and grew more and more pleasurable. Never quite enough to make her come, of course, but as she panted and squirmed under those unseen hands, that didn’t seem to matter as much any more. All that mattered was the touch, the sensation. The throbbing in her pussy persuaded her that it was better not to try and see; why look, why try to understand, when she could close her eyes and lie back and feel so much pleasure? And so, she surrendered herself to the hands, and they eagerly went to work.

Hypno Hooters

Tumblr rescue, born of some strange Skype conversation. Something about wearing Hypno Scouts badges as pasties. Anyway, I don’t remember the specifics, but this is somehow bunbunlittleone's fault...?

EDIT: Now with glorious gifs! Thank you to the inimitable bunbunlittleone for doing the heckin' sexy cosplay of this story! 😍

* * * * * * * * * *

I had just sat down and taken a glance at the menu when I heard a perky voice behind me say, “Welcome to Hypno Hooters.” I turned and looked up.

The waitress in front of me was gorgeous. Strawberry blonde hair in two buns at either side of head, already tall and leggy before you factored in her 4-inch stilettos, and she had amazing tits. I mean, everyone here did, but hers... Oh man. They were on the perky side, a little more than a handful each, and strained against her regulation spiral-patterned top. A sparkly name-tag somewhere on there declared her to be “Bunbun”, but let’s be honest, I wasn’t looking at her nametag.

Two Head-Fucks Are Better Than One

A Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories.

This is not based on a true story, but I wish it were! The thing that IS true is that this one time I met @DJPynchon‘s doppelgänger. This is me imagining what might have maybe possibly happened if it had actually been him. As usual, thanks to @silentstream9 for being an excellent editrix.

(Disclaimer: this is not a super accurate portrayal of someone’s very first time being hypnotized. While for some folks it might work like this, others may need a lot more pre-talk and lead-up to the sort of hypnotic feats that go down in this story. But even if it’s not statistically probable, it’s heckin’ fun to imagine!)

* * * * * * * * * *

Sara and I weren’t dating, per se, but we also weren’t not dating, so meeting her Dom for the first time was kind of a big deal.

She and I were the first ones at the bar. We snagged ourselves a secluded corner table and I tried not to fret too much. I trusted Sara’s taste in people, after all, so I would probably like this guy, and vice versa. And heck, I was excited to meet the person she’d gushed so much about. It would all be totally fine, I told myself. It would be great, we’d get along, we’d bond over our mutual giant crushes on Sara, and it would all be Totally. Fine.

When Sara grinned at me and jumped up to meet someone at the door, though, I was not prepared for the person I saw there. I mean, given what Sara had told me about him, he was just about everything I had expected: an average-height guy in his 40s with a close-trimmed beard, wearing some punny T-shirt.

Except I knew him.

And not only did I know him, I knew him from kink.

Subscribe Today!

Model is Brigitte Lahaie

Something about this magazine was curiously captivating. Even… arousing.

She didn’t know why, of course. It was nothing special, just your average magazine. She couldn’t actually remember how long ago she’d subscribed, or why, but every few months she'd get it in the mail, and there was always some headline on the front that made her glance inside, and before she knew it she'd read it cover to cover.

The article she was reading now, for instance, was full of fascinating facts and figures about… something. Something that was no doubt fascinating! But the subject drifted just out of reach of her mind. If only she read more of the article, she thought, it would surely become apparent.

The more she read, though, the more distractible she became. She noticed with a start that she had shrugged her robe open, that one hand had slipped down and started playing with her sensitive breasts. It had happened almost of its own accord, but now that she was touching herself there she didn’t want to stop. It felt so nice, and it would probably alleviate some of the ache between her legs and let her finally focus on this article, this fascinating article that she had to keep reading…

Some bits of the text sent jolts of pleasure through her body, just enough to leave her squirming and wanting more. She read on, hoping with each word that she’d get to feel that electric current to her pussy again. Unconsciously, she snaked a hand between her legs and started gently touching herself, teasing herself.

The words reverberated through her, though she couldn’t quite tell what the words were. Better just to read and play and let the article filter through her brain. Her body hummed with tension, her hand sped up its motion against her clit. She knew this article must have some fascination conclusion, some thesis or final reveal that was really explosive…

The very last sentence sent her over that delicious, delicious edge. She came hard enough to see stars, gasping and clutching at the copy of Brainwashing Quarterly beside her.

So Close Together

From So Close Together. Actresses are Krystal Boyd and Candace Luca.

She smiled as she looked down at me. The weight of her over my hips felt so good, and the way her hair shimmered in the light, and that smile – oh God, that smile. It meant that she was about to do something terrible, and it made me instantly wet.

“Look at me, Alison,” she instructed, but she didn’t need to; my eyes were already locked on hers like magnets. I couldn’t look away if I tried. She could tell – she could always tell – and her smile widened. “Good girl,” she murmured. I exhaled, hard. Shit, the things she did to me.

“You can feel the pull of my eyes, can’t you?” She was speaking softly, honey in her voice, and I was helpless against it, against her eyes, against her. “You can feel them captivating you, pulling you in. You can feel the weight of me pushing you down. You can feel how badly you want to submit…”

“Submit,” my lips mumbled automatically. She laughed at my traitorous mouth, and I squirmed against her.

“Good girl,” she murmured again. “Your body knows what I’m about to do to you, doesn’t it? It wants it so bad. It knows what’s best for you, after all. Now, all that’s left is to get your pesky brain out of the way…”

Corruption

I know I can't fuck you. It would be highly unethical, given our relative positions, our power dynamics. So no, I’m not going to fuck you.

But God almighty I want to.

I see you from across the room, the way your hair falls, and all I want is to tangle a hand in it and wrench your head up, hold you there with your lips an inch away from mine.

Have you ever had your hair pulled? I mean really pulled, pulled well, so that you forfeit all control of your head and neck and feel that delicious pain at your scalp that makes you gasp, that reminds you that you're at someone's mercy?

I want to show you that. I want to see your eyes go wide as you understand for the first time how this is supposed to feel, what power really is. I want to watch your lips part, hear the sound that escapes them, as you're overcome with my nearness and your need to kiss me. I want to feel you struggle against my hand in your hair, straining to bring your lips to mine, trembling with that need and your own powerlessness.

Good Morning Sunshine

Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. Based on a true story. A super fuckin’ hot true story.

* * * * * * * * * *

I stretch, yawn, rub the sleep from my eyes. Morning light is filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and the room is cool and still and silent. You lie next to me cocooned in blankets, hair splayed on the pillow. I can’t help but smile.

Slowly, very slowly, I peel the blanket away from your torso. You’re naked underneath, of course, as am I—last night we fucked each other’s brains out, and fell asleep as limp puddles of pleasure, entangled in each other’s arms. Now, you stir but don’t wake, rolling over to your back so your chest is exposed to me. I take a moment to drink in the sight.

As lightly as I possibly can, I brush a hand across one of your nipples. Pause, study your face for a reaction. Then again, my hand grazing your nipple ever so lightly. Once, twice, three times more.

The changes in your body are almost imperceptible, but then again, I’m paying very close attention. Your lips part; your breathing becomes ever so slightly heavier; you arch your back just a bit towards my touch. I draw one finger slowly, lightly, up from your breasts and along the length of your neck. Even asleep, you make a tiny sigh of pleasure. I trace the same path with my tongue, and you squirm ever so slightly under me.

As I gently fondle one of your nipples, coaxing it to stiffness, you start to stir. “Hush sweetheart,” I murmur in your ear, my fingers still at your breast; “It’s okay, you’re asleep.”

Your face creases in confusion, eyes still closed. “‘M’asleep?” you slur.

“Yes, so deeply asleep.” My voice is low and soft and honeyed. “It’s so much trouble to wake up, why bother when it feels so nice to drift, to doze, to stay so very soundly asleep? And besides…”—I bring my mouth right up to your ear—“you were having the most wonnnderful dream.”

Pleasure Is Productive

Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. This is the original/long-form version of the story that was read so fuckin’ sexily by @digitalswitchgamine​ at Hysterical Literature of Entranced 2017. (Seriously, it was tooooo goddamn hot. Thank you for that, friend!)

* * * * * * * * * *

Jenny had been on the job for a week when the office got the massage chair, and for another week before she tried it out. It was part of the firm’s new employee health and happiness initiative, along with the new fancy drinks and snacks in the break room, and the inspirational posters going up all over the office that said things like “You deserve to feel good” and “Relax and work right” and “Pleasure is productive.” Still, she held off trying out the fancy-looking massage chair for a bit, out of fear that her new coworkers would think she was slacking. Eventually though, after she saw that the management really was enthusiastic about all of their employees feeling relaxed and well taken care of, and after she saw enough coworkers leaving the massage room with blissful smiles on their faces, she decided to try it for herself.

The massage chair was off in a side room, behind a folding screen, facing a wall. The rest of the room was desks and chairs that were mostly not in use–one man sat tapping away on his computer in the far corner, a serene smile on his face. Feeling a little self-conscious, Jenny slipped behind the screen. After a moment of consideration, she kicked off her shoes, and settled herself into the chair.

Without her even needing to press a button, the chair whirred to life. The footrest adjusted itself incrementally upwards until her bare feet rested perfectly in it, and the seatback adjusted itself similarly. And then the chair started to massage in earnest: the rollers somehow found all the tenderest parts of her back and pressed into her with just enough pressure; the footrest rumbled a massage into her feet, the headrest into her neck, and pneumatic sacs inflated on either side of her arms and her legs, squeezing them deliciously.

She lost track of how long the massage lasted. At first, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how she was here relaxing in this loudly whirring chair while the rest of the office worked, while there was someone working just yards away behind a flimsy folding screen. It became harder and harder to focus on those thoughts, though, and soon she was lost in the sensations, delighting in the feeling of all of the tension in her body being rubbed away.

When the chair clicked back into silence, Jenny drifted back to herself slowly. A blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered her guilt about the rest of her coworkers hard at work while she luxuriated in the massage chair. But she did feel much better, she noticed, much more focused now. Maybe pleasure really was productive, she thought to herself with a smile as she rose on unsteady legs, slipped her shoes back on, and returned to her desk.

We Have Ways of Making You Talk

A Tumblr rescue, also on MCStories. All the thanks to @silentstream9 for lending me her delightful characters!

* * * * * * * * * *

Earlier that day, while they were both sitting around drinking tea and reading, Amy had looked at Mae over her mug and remarked, “I’m a hitty mood today.” To which Mae had responded by grinning and bouncing eagerly in her seat.

“You’re not cowering,” lamented Amy. “What’s the matter, am I not intimidating enough?”

So Mae dutifully cowered: “oh no please don’t hit me that would be absolutely terrible can you use that new purple flogger I really like that purple flogger oh no heaven forbid.” And Amy had choked on her tea and given Mae an affectionate kiss on the forehead, and they had both returned to their books, both slightly and pleasantly distracted imagining what might happen later that day.

* * * * * * * * * *

That afternoon, Mae was curled up on the couch with the same book and another cup of tea, increasingly distracted. She kept glancing up from her book, at Amy, waiting for the moment of decision, the moment when the dynamics shifted around just a bit and Amy’s voice acquired that touch of evil and anything she said made Mae a little weak in the knees. When Amy stood up from her computer and went to the bedroom, Mae was pretty sure she knew why, and tried in vain to return to her book, but her nerves were already thrumming with excitement.

Amy returned to the living room, propped her hands on her hips, and fixed Mae with a reproachful stare. She coughed pointedly, and Mae looked up at her from over her now-upside-down book. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Mae,” began Amy slowly, “have you seen my purple flogger?”

“Nooooope,” said Mae with an exaggerated shrug, and put her book over her face.

Amy snorted, came over, removed the book, looked Mae in the eye. “Mae, did you do something with my flogger?”

“Nooooope,” said Mae again. This time, she shook her head vigorously for good measure.

“Because you know,” continued Amy, “if you had done something with that flogger when you knew I wanted to hit you with it, then whenever I found it I would probably have to hit you even harder. You know that, right?”

Mae widened her eyes. “Really? That is fascinating, and a thing I had not known before.”

Amy grinned. “So did you do something with my flogger?”

“Mayyyybe?”

Amy threaded her fingers through Mae’s hair, and Mae gasped just a little. “So Mae…” Amy brought her face very close. “Where’s the flogger?”

Mae made her eyes as wide and innocent as she could. “W-what flogger?”

Laughing, Amy cocked an eyebrow. “Dearest, do we need to do this the hard way?”

“Maybe?” Mae blinked up at her, not play-acting this time. “What’s the hard way?”

“The one where you refuse to tell me and I interrogate you and you resist and resist until you finally give in to my diabolical wiles and tell me everything.” Amy released Mae’s hair and snuggled up beside her on the couch. “Does that sound like fun?”

"Pull My Hair"

An old piece rescued from Tumblr, also published on MCStories. Probably the first piece of hypno-smut I ever wrote, and I'm still pretty proud of it!

* * * * * * * * * *

When I asked her to pull my hair, she’d looked momentarily confused, but then grinned—she was a switch after all—and happily, skillfully obliged. I responded like I always do, with a gasp-sigh of pleasure, melting into her grip, kissing her back forcefully.

“I can’t take you seriously as a top if I’m pulling your hair,” she told me laughingly when we came up for air.

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me, you’re switchy as shit!”

“Well, right, from scene to scene.” Here she rolled on top of me and kissed me, and I didn’t much mind the interruption. “But tonight you are definitely topping me—”

“And doing a damn fine job of it,” I teased.

“Damn fine,” she agreed. “But: if you’re supposed to be topping”—another sound kiss—“how’m I supposed to take you seriously”—she threaded her fingers through my hair—“when you ask me to do this?” She gripped and pulled, and I sighed in pleasure. “And when you react like that,” she added as an afterthought, smiling cheekily at me.

I suddenly realized how much I was going to enjoy wiping that smile off her face.