Chelsea just…couldn’t help herself. Sure, it was stupid. Sure, it was probably a waste of time in the grand scheme of things. But for all her years of experience, all her hundreds of sessions, there was still something so fundamentally compelling about reading just…the stupidest hypnosmut she could get her hands on. It wasn’t even that she got off to it- not quickly, at least. There was just some kind of unique satisfaction to be had in vividly imagining the dumbest of scenarios.

Sure, she was perusing with pleasure in mind. A good story had its worth in…ecstasies indescribable. But sometimes she just wanted something silly to read. This one was freshly-written story from an unknown author that clearly had no desire to either proofread their own work nor understand how hypnosis actually functioned. Chelsea had met some open minds in her time, of course. She knew all too well the fantasy of falling for something as cliche as a swinging pocket watch going back and forth- well, all right, in her mind’s eye it always seemed to be dangling right above her gaze, taunting her with golden gleams as it ever so slowly followed its tiny arc- but even for one as well-trained as her, the prose was just…not painting a flattering picture. 

“Yes mmaster,” she read, sighing at the spelling error. Maybe, if this were a transcript or something, that might come across as authentic. Chelsea did have a tendency to start losing track of her typing when she got all hazy and her eyes blurred and her eyelids starting falling and…all that stuff she really wished had been described in this story instead of this poor girl just, dropping instantly. Couldn’t they at least have mentioned her posture going limp or her words falling quiet? Of course, the focus was more on the devious plans of the probable author avatar. It wasn’t the author’s fault she wasn’t into men- most of the time, anyway- but it really wasn’t helping.

Still, there was something almost profound in this story’s…what was the opposite of profound again? It was late, she was reading on her phone in a near-delirious haze, Chelsea could be forgiven for not knowing a word or two. Not expecting much more than unappealing sex, she returned to the passage about the golden watch swinging back and forth. “Back and forth,” it said- once, then twice, then three times- and yeah, repetition did legitimise conditioning but…she wasn’t giving this stupid story any credit for her instinctive reactions. So what if her gaze shifted back and forth a little even time she read it? Sue her. It was inconvenient that it made her read the words again and again, but…honestly that little snippet was the most hypnotic part of the entire experience.

It was stupid. It was ridiculous. That anyone could fall for such a thing in just a few swings. Chelsea had tried, worked very hard on herself in an effort to chase that desire. Even the static image of a watch could make her fuzzy, a good description could outright put her into trance, but just a few swings for total control? She was imagining it now, a world in which this generic smut had at least some effort put into it. She could envision the shine, the gleam, the rhythmic motion, the soothing ticking. Why did nobody ever mention the ticking? The hands? The way a watch was designed to keep time, so it told her when it was time to obey?

…time to obey? Hadn’t she read that…that was one of the stupid lines, wasn’t it? Chelsea blinked, realising she’d almost let a line from a piece of random unproven hypnosmut act like one of her own thoughts. Had she always felt…why was she feeling some kind of fuzzy, distant pleasure right now? Why couldn’t she get that image out of her head? Had she really focused so hard on doing better that she was…Chelsea decided to clear her head by reminding herself how stupid this story was. There was no way any girl, no matter how desperate, would let the mere thought of a cliche golden pretty shiny swinging, swaying, gleaming, glistening…ticking…tocking…pocket watch…

…she blinked the thoughts out of her head. …no, she was blinking her thoughts out of her head. Eyelids heavy yet reading over the words again and again and again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a blush creeping over her cheeks as she realised what she was allowing to happen yet it already felt so good to imagine that she just…couldn’t…

…help it…

…she…yearned for that kind of helplessness, she wanted it, she needed it, she’d have it, even if it meant letting words some stranger wrote on the internet into her…into her head. Letting the pretty, imaginary sight…sound…compelled by a very real desire…lure her into her own conditioning. She wanted this…to let the mere image lull her into a deep…obedient trance without any ability to resist and it felt so…so..

…good…

…bliss washed over her…

…and her eyes blinked back open. Hadn’t she been…reading smut? Bad, smut, at that? Chelsea rubbed her eyes, barely managing to keep a golden gleam out of her thoughts as she did. …soon a blush settled on her cheeks as she realised what she’d done, how half an hour had passed her by in her little delirium. Had she really let such stupid words do that to her? But then, every word conveyed an idea. Every word had the power to communicate something, and to some degree, to command her imagination. Even random words on the internet.

…you know what? 

…that was pretty hot.

…and she had to admit, well…

…so was the fact she couldn’t help herself.