It’s not hypnosis, technically—think of it as a teaser, a taster, an amuse-bouche to whet your appetite.

And it’s all things you’ve done before, just recombined a little. So don’t worry—you already know exactly what to do, I promise you.

Because what do you do when I talk to you like this? That’s right: you listen. You’re already listening so well, sweetheart—because your body is conditioned for this, isn’t it? You know that when I take this tone, when my voice gets all low and soft like this, that you’re about to feel so good. You love the sound of my voice, I know, and the feeling of all of my focus on you: I can see you squirming a little already. I bet you're getting wet just from this, aren’t you, slut? Just from my words and the anticipation, without me even having to touch you.

And of course, my focus on you is intoxicating. All that presence, all that attention, all directed right at you. It feels heady, it feels thrilling, to be the subject of such intense focus—and you also know that you’ve got nowhere to hide, that I can see every little twitch and tell of your body as you get more and more captivated, more and more turned on. I can see right through you, my good girl; how does that make you feel?

That’s what I thought. And that’s why I like hypnosis so much: it’s all about the focus, that rapt attention, about me perceiving you and you being perceived. It’s intimacy distilled. It’s like a drug. It’s me seeing you so completely, and using everything I see to undo you in the most delicious ways.

But we’re not doing hypnosis, not really. Hypnosis is big and complicated and specialized, and this? This is just us talking. Well, me, talking; you, listening. Listening so intently, because you love the sound of my voice, and you love the feeling of my attention on you, and you love the power I can have over you without even a single touch. And when I actually put my hands on you, well…

You know what happens.

You’re trembling on the precipice of subspace right now, just from words and attention, and just a single slap across the face—

Good girl. I love the way your eyes go glassy when I do that. There’s not a thought in your head anymore, is there? Oh, maybe one or two, but we can fix that. Because see, when you get slapped (good girl), that jolt, that sting (that’s right), you can’t not focus on it (there we go). It derails your thoughts and replaces them with sensation; with heat; with my presence; my control. Mmm, you look so beautifully dazed for me. Take off your shirt, sweetheart, and lay back.

God, your nipples are so hard. And from what—just from me talking to you, just from the way my words grab your attention and hold it right where I want it? Just from you being so good and obedient for me that you follow my will wherever it takes you? If you needed proof of how weak and needy you are for me, here it is: it’s in how your hips are rocking helplessly, how you’re pressing your chest forward to try and entice me into taking your nipples in my mouth. No sweetheart, I won’t, not till I’m good and ready. Remember, I have so much more self control than you do. Pants off too, please.

If this were really hypnosis, I could snap my fingers and say “freeze” and you would feel your entire body going stiff, feel that certainty that you’re bound by my will. Of course, this isn’t hypnosis, but I bet you could imagine what it might feel like if it were, hm? What would it feel like, if I were to snap my fingers and say “freeze” and you found your entire body stiffening, going rigid and imobile? Would it feel locked in place, or loose and limp and too heavy to move? What would it feel like to try and shift your arm, to rock your hips, and find that you couldn’t? How would it make you feel to realize that I can bind you with just my words and your own submission?

I know it’s not real, but pretend for me, sweetheart: “Freeze.” See how well you can pretend, see how vividly you can imagine it: that you’re held here in place by your own mind. Feel how impossible it might be to move, even though your body is crying out to squirm, to be touched. Feel how good it feels to be held in my words like this. And feel how good it feels when I finally start to touch you and your body has nowhere to go, nothing to do but feel every iota of that pleasure.

Because as you imagine your body locked in place, as you struggle against your psychic restraints and feel the thrill of fighting and losing, it can make my touch on your body feel so. Much. Better. When I touch your nipples, when I rake my fingernails down your sides, when I just barely brush against your clit, it feels so fucking good because because you’re frozen still: you can’t squirm away, you can’t release any of that tension, and so it all builds in your body, stronger and stronger and stronger.

That’s right. God, you’re beautiful like this. Imagine how gorgeous you look to me right now: naked and disheveled and trembling, eyes heavy, not moving an inch even as I assault you with pleasure. You look so submissive. So obedient. So gone.

And you know how good it feels to be in my control, right? You know how good you are at obeying, at following, and you know how good my mouth feels on your pussy, don’t you? I’ve heard you beg for it so many times. I bet you could imagine so precisely what it feels like: the warmth and wetness of it, the way my tongue feels against your clit. Imagine that, baby. Let it be as real as your bondage, as real as my words. Imagine my mouth on your pussy and how fucking electric it feels.

Of course, you’re still frozen: by my words, by your imagination, by your own submission. You can’t even rock your hips against that pleasure, can you? You can only lie there and twitch—needing more and more, imagining more and more, letting yourself feel that arousal build and build. There’s no way to bleed off that pressure, nowhere to escape to; struggling only redoubles the pleasure, fuels that fire, makes you more desperate and makes you imagine even harder.

There’s a good girl–I can tell you would be writhing if you weren’t frozen, and I’m not even touching you. How does that make you feel? Controlled? Mindfucked? Powerless?

I know you’re so good at imagining things for me; and I know you’re so desperate for more pleasure, that if I were to put my fingers in your mouth right now, I bet you could feel them driving into your cunt, couldn’t you? Even now as my fingers tease your lips, you can feel them as if I was teasing your pussy. You can feel that need and that desperation growing, and knowing how amazing it will feel when I finally shove my fingers all the way inside you, right—

Now. Fuck, baby, the noises you’re making are delicious. So debauched. Still frozen in place for me, that’s a good girl; feeling all the pleasure my tongue has ever given you, feeling these fingers in your mouth like I’m two fingers deep in your cunt and fucking you exactly the way you like it.

And I know what it looks like when you’re on the edge, slut. I can see you getting close even now, just from my voice in your ear and my fingers in your mouth. How easy are you, how desperate, how controlled, that you could be on the brink of coming, just from this?

But of course, we both know why: it’s because I control your pleasure. Say it back: I control your pleasure. There we go, good girl. Again. And every time you repeat it, it just makes your body feel better, doesn’t it? Again, that’s right. It makes that pleasure climb higher, it locks you more firmly in place, it makes that phantom tongue on your clit feel ten times as good.

And if I control your pleasure, I control your orgasm, don’t I? And if I control your pleasure, and I control your orgasm, then I get to decide when your body is allowed to come. I get to decide when this quivering pile of pleasure in front of me gets to explode, to unfreeze and writhe and scream, all of that built up sensation bursting its way out of you in the best orgasm you’ve ever felt. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my good girl?

I know you do. You want to come for me, you want it so badly. It’s pure torture that the pleasure is climbing higher and higher and you haven’t found that release; you’re trembling against your imaginary bonds and my will, you’re so fucking close, achingly close, you can’t even think anymore for how close you are… 

Come. Come for me. There’s my good girl, come for me, let that pleasure explode out of you. Unfreeze, thrash and writhe, all of that pent up motion finding its way out of you as more pleasure. Suck my fingers harder, they’re deep in your cunt, my words are deep in your mind, good girl, that’s it: come for me. Come for me. Come for me.

Very, very good girl. And hey, if I can make you feel that incredible while not technically using hypnosis on you…

Just imagine what it’ll be like when I show you the real thing.