I fucking love hypnosis.

Might seem like an obvious statement, but sometimes I wonder if I say it enough. An uninitiated reader who dipped in and read one of my stories at random might think I hate it, what with all the grumping I do about Richard ambushing me and yeeting my brain and making me humiliate myself. Real ones know how hard I get off on that, though. Even when I’m letting loose a torrent of swearing at him, I’m having the time of my life. But that relates more to the suggestions - when I’m ‘awake’, although at this point I’m basically never fully awake, I’m always hypnotised to some extent. (More of that line of thought a little later - stay tuned...)

I’m specifically talking about the actual trance experience itself - the being enchanted, and drawn down into the darkest depths of my own brain. And that is like crack. If I could write a visitors’ review of the Spiral Seas - 27 out of 10, would absolutely fully recommend and then some. It’s a wonderful place, with waters like liquid sex, seeping into every single atom of my body and mind. Up is down, and cold is hot, and swimming is sinking, and breathing is fucking.

Yeah, I fucking love being hypnotised. So much so, it’s often a little disappointing to feel myself getting yanked back up to alertness and (relative) awareness again. I think when I’m bratting or grouching at Fuck Hawk, at least 10% of my ire is because he woke me up too soon. But, being his mind-controlled slave, I must obey, and switch my brain on again when he says so.

It’s a lot harder to come up when he’s not there. When I’m doing some solo hypno (either by choice or compulsion), I have a tendency to get lost in the sauce. You may or may not remember my accidental two-hour self-trance back in the Mental Montage chapter of the original Exploring Together, where three alarms weren’t enough to snap me out of the spiral’s spell. Granted, that was like four months into our hypnotic misadventures. My subject agency’s been reinforced in the years since then... to an extent.

The thing is, a big part of me would prefer to stay a blank, drooly mess. Which is a dangerous thing to admit to, so I usually don’t. Unfortunately (or fortunately), my partners know anyway. They can see right through my brat act. They know what I really want, even when Danielle doesn’t rat me out. And they seem pretty good at telling when I want it, or when I need it, even if I don’t say it outright or even really realise it myself. (Although we’re CNC, so it actually doesn’t matter if I do want or need it, unless I safeword.)

Which brings me to an afternoon where I arrived home from a long lunch shift at the restaurant. (Because I may be the next Margot Robbie, but I’m still in the ‘next’ phase rather than the ‘now’ phase. I blame Sadie Sink and Inde Navarrette, they jumped the line.) Plodding into our bedroom, I found Jelly Doll lying on our bed reading, because it does have a brain really, even though we’ve largely convinced it otherwise. Not bothering to change out of my work clothes yet, I plonked myself next to it and shuffled up close, and it reached its right arm around my shoulders and gave me a welcoming cuddle.

I could hear Richard in the en suite, washing his hands as vigorously as ever (he’s a hygiene fanatic, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned). Stepping through the doorway, he shot me a smile. “Hi love, you alright?”

“Yeah, worn out,” I yawned, smiling lazily back at him as he perched at the foot of the bed. “Busy shift.”

Jelly kissed me on the cheek. “You are looking very sleepy,” it teased.

I snorted and prodded its thigh. “Stoppit.”

“No, well, it’s just saying, you’re giving very spacey, dazey vibes right about n-”

“Freeze,” I snickered, snapping my fingers for effect. Jelly went stiff and still mid-wisecrack, its head turned in my direction, tilted to one side with a snide little smile on its face. I stole its book out of its hands and chucked it on the floor. “Ha ha.” (I did check what page it was on first, though, because I’m not a total monster. Then I wrote the number, 157, on the back of its hand, using a marker pen we keep on the nightstand so we can graffiti it whenever we want.)

“Well that was a little rude,” Richard chided me with a chuckle.

“I know, right?” I replied as I gave Jelly a mock outraged look, pretending I thought he was talking about it rather than me. “I’m back for like five seconds and it starts roasting me? The cheek. Gotta put it in its place. And I don’t mean the closet.” I grinned, arching an eyebrow. “Yet. Maybe in a minute.”

“Too tired to move it?” he suggested wryly. “I mean, it did have a point. You said yourself, you’re worn out. It’s not like you need to hide it around us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I yawned again, “I know -”

“And you do seem pretty knackered,” he continued smoothly. “You seem like you could use a good rest. A nice, long nap, free of thoughts or cares or responsibilities...”

“I know what you’re doing,” I said with a defiant grin. “’S not gonna work.” But my eyelids were already drooping, my shoulders slumping. I made an effort to sit up straight, to stay alert, to marshal my mind to resist any misbehaviour by my Master.

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hm. You’re not gettin’ me. I’m not that out of it.”

He clapped a hand over his chest in mock contrition. “Oh, I do apologise, Alyssa! I was under the impression you wanted to rest, to relax, to take it easy.” He snickered at the withering look I shot at him. “But I was clearly mistaken. You’re so obviously wide awake and full of beans, isn’t that right? You’re awake, aren’t you?”

“I’m never awake, I’m always hypnotised,” I answered matter-of-factly. Which was true, and I knew it was true, and so my mind went missing, my tongue fell out, my eyes rolled back, my head lolled back, and my body went limp, sagging against the headboard behind me.

So much for resistance, right? Let’s be real here, it was only a matter of time before he struck, springing a trigger phrase that demolished all my defences and plunged me back into that gorgeous, empty ocean in my head.

“That’s right, all the way down, good girl,” he encouraged me, as I gurgled on the bed. “It’s so intoxicating, isn’t it? You love this feeling. You’re in love with it, in lust with it, passionately attracted to the feeling of total, all-encompassing trance. So from hereon out, til I say otherwise, anything that happens now just deepens that trance. Anything we say or do just pulls you down deeper. Any words you hear sink your mind down further. Anything you feel, anything we do to your defenceless body, just makes it more relaxed and limp and malleable. Until I specifically tell you to wake up, every single thing around you, every single thing you experience, sends you deeper... and deeper... and deeper...”

Hell yeah. That sounded awesome. Sold, one hundred per cent. Gimme that good impenetrable, inescapable hypno, my good man. I’ll take twenty.

Just to clarify up front, I don’t remember anything that happened after this point, outside of my own little bubble of brainless euphoria. My hypnotic amnesia is airtight. But Richard quickly started filming on his phone, so I’m writing this using that footage (which, naturally, he also shoved in our hypnokink Discord so the rest of our gang could enjoy). Having said all that, I feel like, as I watch it, bits of it are coming back to me, little snatches of memory that should help me give more of an accurate picture of how I responded. (Let’s find out, I guess...)

The first thing Richard did was unfreeze Jelly, who spun itself round to glare at me. “It can’t believe you threw its book, you jerk,” it laughed indignantly. “This is karma, you know that?”

Predictably, I didn’t reply, unless you count a very quiet, “Uuugh,” that probably had nothing to do with what it was saying.

“So, if it heard rightly, she won’t come up now no matter what it does?”

“That’s correct. And you’re right, she brought this on herself,” Richard sniggered. “Be my guest.”

“Fun! Oh, she’s so floppy,” Jelly giggled, picking up and dropping my left arm, which thumped back down on the duvet, a dead weight. Reaching across me, it did the same thing to my other arm with the same result. It prodded my torso and my face, placed its hand atop my head and rolled it around on my shoulders, and squeezed my tits and my thighs.

Everything it did brought me deeper, just as Richard said. Every touch was a spiral sucking me into sweet oblivion. Every gleeful giggle was a command to sleep. Every poke was a snap, shutting my brain down. Every grope was a mind-melting mantra, submerging me further into empty-headed submission. I was already so insensible that I couldn’t react to what Jelly was doing to me at all, really. All I could do was moan, and whimper, and drool all over my smart white shirt. (I have more than one set of work clothes, so it was fine for my outfit to get a little messed up. Also, good girls drool, which makes it doubly fine.)

Sliding one arm behind me again, it propped me up a little more, and took hold of my lower jaw with its other hand, moving it up and down in time with its own speech. “‘Hi, I’m Alyssa! I’m a dumb little dunce, and my tiny little brain fell out!’” Its manipulation of my mouth made my spit form into a foam, bubbles growing between my lips and then cascading down my chin and onto my chest. “‘And now I’m getting my shirt all wet, like a drooly dummy!’” Jelly laughed.

“Enjoying yourself, doll?”

“So much! It doesn’t get to play with AJ too often, it’s normally on the receiving end. Which, obviously, because, hello - brainwashed fucktoy,” it said matter-of-factly, pointing at itself with the hand it was just using to move my mouth. “But it’s great to get some payback sometimes. Who’s the ventriloquist’s dummy, now, bitch?” it taunted me, giving me a little shake. My head fell forwards, my chin thudding on my collarbone. My mind kept falling backwards, further and further into the abyss.

“Wow. She’s so gone,” it murmured in awe. “She really can’t come up even if she tries, can she?”

“Shall we test that?” Richard asked. Without waiting for a response, he said, “AJ, try to come back up. That’s not me commanding you - I just wanna see if you can, on your own.”

With a nearly-inaudible grumble, I tried to struggle back to the surface, but I’d already forgotten which way was up. And within moments, I forgot what I was trying to do, far too immersed in ecstatic bliss to retain it, and I just kept going down.

“Doesn’t seem to have worked,” Richard laughed nine hundred million miles away. “D’you even want to come back up?”

There was a long moment as they waited for his question to catch up with my plummeting consciousness. “Nnnoooo,” I finally murmured.

“Fair. Well, we tried!”

“Jelly Doll’s got an idea.” Uncoiling its arm from around my shoulders, it scrambled upright and straddled my waist, pulling up its shirt as it did so. “Hey look, AJ! Titties! Wake up, you’re missing Jelly Doll’s titties!”

Nothing. No response. I’d have loved to focus my marble-eyes on my living doll’s delicious boobs - or wrap my slavering lips around them - but they were a billion miles above me, far, far out of reach. Hell, my own body was a billion miles out of reach.

Leaning closer, Jelly jiggled its tits right in my face. “You don’t wanna wake up and drool all over these? Really?!” When it still got no reply, it glanced over its shoulder at Richard and shrugged, nonplussed. “Huh. It really thought that’d work. Oh well.”

Clambering off me, it gave the camera a lewd grin. “Guess this means Jelly Doll’s got its own doll to play with now. Different kind, obvi. Jelly Doll’s a plastic doll, but Alyssa’s a ragdoll.”

As it spoke, it started playing with my face, poking and squeezing my cheeks. It pulled up my eyelids in a bid to expose my irises, but my eyeballs rolled all the way down as if to spite it. (You’d think I did that deliberately, but I really wasn’t aware enough for that, I promise you.) It squidged my nose and started rubbing it in slow spirals, as if it was caressing my clit. (Oh, I shouldn’t have made that comparison - Richard’s gonna read this, and I’m gonna give him ideas. He’s given me a nose clit before, too, I don’t know if you remember - it was so fucking embarrassing!)

Jelly Doll paid particular attention to my mouth, fishhooking it by the corner and yanking it out of shape. It peeled back my lips to expose my teeth and gums, and smeared more of my streaming saliva across my cheeks with its fingertips. It even grabbed the tip of my tongue, tugging it in and out a few times while it snorted incredulously at my complete lack of reaction.

“She’s a really wet ragdoll,” it commented, groping my tits through my now thoroughly-soaked shirt. “More like a washcloth, honestly.”

Richard barked with laughter. “Oh, that’s perfect! Human washcloth. Yep, that’s our AJ.”

Great, thanks guys. Admittedly it did feel kinda chic to be a washcloth at the time, but only because I was now a full light-year away from myself and truly didn’t give a fuck.

Jelly’s hand snaked further downwards, unzipping my skirt and yanking it down my waist. This is where Richard stopped the camera for a minute, I guess so he could finish taking my skirt off for me. Or more for Jelly, to be honest, who’d stuck its hand in my tights by the start of the next video.

I’ve never been so motionless when one of my partners has been jilling me off. I still felt all the pleasure from my dollfriend deftly rubbing my ripple, but I was too distant and disconnected to really react. I couldn’t do more than moan softly and jerk my hips, which felt from my perspective like I was fully, frantically humping its fingers, but looked more like I was just shifting position slightly.

Clearly though, my supine, stupefied body was still responding to Jelly’s stimulation the same as ever. After a good little while of it playing with my pussy, it slid its hand out and held it up to the camera lens, showing off the visible sticky wetness clinging to its digits. “She’s got her jizz all over Jelly Doll’s hand!” it giggled. “Not an unusual state of affairs, but still. What a messy girl. But she’s gonna clean it up like a good little washcloth, isn’t she...?”

Not waiting for a response I was incapable of giving, it wiped its fingers on my tongue, and then gripped my lower jaw like a handhold and rolled my head around on my shoulders. Drool bucketed out as it did so, drenching its hand and the lower half of my face, great big gloopy strings of it hanging off my chin and jawbone. “Messy, messy girl,” it sniggered, otherwise unfazed by my transformation into a water feature, still nodding my head back and forth and side to side as if I were its bobblehead, a toy for a toy.

“I wonder what she’d say if she could, right now,” it mused, as it pressed the tip of my nose back, distending my nostrils until it looked like I had a pig’s snout. “Other than, ‘I love being hypnotised, don’t you dare wake me up’.”

I love being hypnotised, don’t you DARE wake me up, I probably thought (not that my thoughts were anywhere near that coherent any more).

“To be honest, by now she might be down so deep she can’t even say what we ask her to,” Richard remarked. “In fact you know what, let’s test that. Alyssa, are you awake?”

The compulsion of the trigger ran headlong into my overwhelming lethargy, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object - and the results were some... interesting noises. “Ned-nev-v-v-v-vuh... wwwayy...” I burbled. “M-mawww... wsss... hmpp... nn-nnhh-tsss...”

Which translates to, ‘I’m never awake, I’m always hypnotised’. (No, it does, trust me.)

“That’s so fucking hot,” the literal living sex toy on my left exhaled, staring at me rapturously. “She’s completely gone! She’s lost language, function... She really is just a limp little lump we can play with.” It shot a hungry look at Richard. “Try and pretend you’re not as horny as Jelly Doll right now.”

“I can’t,” Richard admitted with a low chuckle. “OK, tell you what... Alyssa, we’re gonna fuck you right now, while you’re in this broken, defenceless state. And if you don’t want us to, you’re gonna find it very easy all of a sudden to swim back up, and stop us... or join in, wide awake. But if you’re OK with it, you’ll just keep on spiralling down, and lie there all limp and helpless, while we use our washcloth to get ourselves off. Do you understand?”

“Hnnnk,” I replied.

Because my partners are loving, respectful people who only humiliate me as much as they’re sure I’m OK with, they gave me a full thirty seconds to decide... during which I made absolutely no effort to surface from the Spiral Seas, and instead went about a thousand fathoms deeper, while they used the time to undress. There’s not much else to tell, to be honest, because Richard put the phone down to fuck me. After a final brief view of a nude Jelly Doll lowering itself onto my overflowing mouth, there’s no more footage from that afternoon.

And I don’t have any memory of what happened next, apart from just... infinite pleasure. I’m being fucking for real. Think of the best sex you’ve ever had, times it by five thousand, and imagine you were also eating your favourite ice cream. That’s... essentially what was happening to me in reality anyway! (Hey, if Jelly can be made to think my pussy’s ice cream, I can sure as hell imagine its pussy is too.)

But the specifics elude me, apart from ‘my boyfriend fucked me while my girlfriend rode my face’. I don’t even know if I came. Usually I’d say not, because I don’t like to cum, edging’s much more fun. Gah. Didn’t mean to type that, it’s just fucking ingrained now. I do like to cum, but edging’s much m-aaagh. But, I’m rarely allowed to, either by my malicious Master or my annoying alter-ego. On this occasion though, I did wake up feeling very satisfied - so maybe Fuck Hawk gave me one of my occasional surprise treats, one of my once-in-a-blue-moon orgasms, knowing I wouldn’t remember it.

That’d be just like him. Why I put up with him, I don’t know.

Oh, yeah - because I fucking love him, so very, very much. And I fucking love my Jelly Doll, so very, very much.

And also, in case it wasn’t clear: I fucking love being hypnotised. So very, very much.