When Andrew was a kid and first learning self-hypnosis, he had this exercise that he taught himself as practice. It was a simple exercise, really. He would put his hand on the arm of a chair or on the bed, and then he would imagine that it was stuck- so stuck that it just wouldn’t move. He would try different images- it was velcroed, glued, tied down- until he was able to really feel those stuck sensations.
He would routinely practice this exercise, mentally experimenting with methods and imagery. Mentally allowing himself to believe totally in reality of the stuck arm. He grew adept at experiencing the duality of both knowing that he was just imagining the sensations (and that he could move his arm anytime he liked) and feeling with absolute certainty that his arm was stuck. Glued. Motionless.
It was strange and exciting- like developing the ability to be two people at once. He was his own hypnotist and his own subject. Suggester and responder. Controller and controlled.
He thought about these early memories sometimes when they did resistance play.
Well, as much as he could think when they did resistance play.
Slave cannot think, slave just obeys.
His mistress loved resistance play. She delighted in watching him struggle and strain against an irresistible impulse. It was a satisfaction of a deep desire for both of them- bourne out of hours of cartoon hypnosis where strong heroes were regularly helplessly overcome by mind controlling bad guys. The heroes would fight and fight the control, their eyes rolling back and jaws going slack, to no avail. There was a furtive secret sexuality to it all, to the heroes losing the fight and becoming so helpless and enraptured. He thought of their blank looks or dopey smiles after they were defeated. They looked satisfied.
He wanted to be that helpless- for her control to be so real that he was helpless against it. Helpless no matter how much he fought. Helpless no matter what he did.
There were many ways to play with resistance. Today, she hypnotized him and had him repeat one of his mantras on a loop while deep in trance. She made it clear she would “wake him up” (“you’re never really awake when we do this” he remembered her voice reassuring) and the mantra would continue. His job was to try in vain to stop himself from helplessly repeating the mantra over and over again. If he was able to, he would win a reward.
They both knew the loaded meaning of that word- try.
To try meant to fail.
Andrew came back to himself as she snapped her fingers, somehow already kneeling and words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“I am your obedient slave. I am your obedient slave. I am your obedient slave….”
Try, he told himself.
Fail, a deeper part of him whispered.
As he came to, he could hear the quality of his voice change- moving from a monotone to more of an awake, surprised tone. His voice was still going. He needed to do something to stop the repetition. He could feel the mantra affecting his thoughts even now. He focused on the automatic movement of his mouth, trying to slow those to stop the words from forming.
“Good boys obey”, a deeper part of him echoed, obeying the earlier command to keep speaking.
To try is to fail.
He tried again more forcefully to stop speaking, succeeding only in making his voice seem strained. Nervous.
A part of him delighted at the change in his voice quality, how strained and theatrical it sounded. He used these signs of his struggle to further immerse himself in it, to confirm both his own efforts and their futility.
His eyes started rolling back a little bit. He wanted to resist (mistress loved to watch him try and resist be a good boy and give her something to watch) but- the idea that he was being controlled was so thoroughly hot that even THAT weakened him. He was turned on by his own impotence and that arousal just gave her more power over him.
The mantra continued.
He tried to bite his mouth closed to stop the torrent of words.
The words were a flood, water building up behind a rickety dam. Building and building, so much pressure. Too much pressure. Impossible to stop…
Trying is failing
“I am your obedient slave. I am your obedient slave. I am..”
The words cycled again. It felt so good. It felt like defeat.
Mistress chucked. “Oh, poor Andrew. That was a very good try though! I bet it’s difficult to even think of disobeying when you’re constantly reminding yourself what an obedient slave you are- isn’t that right?”
Andrew continued his mantra “I am your obedient slave..” But deep inside he answered. “Yes ma'am”.
“You should try again, slave. Try harder. I really want to see you exhaust yourself for me.”
“Mistress enjoys watching me struggle. Make a good show for mistress”
“I am your obedient slave..” The mantra went on and on. Andrew closed his eyes and concentrated with all of his might on stopping it.
Wear myself out for mistress. Drain myself for her.
He wrinkled his forehead. His voice took on a strained quality, like he was trying to grit his teeth. The mantra continued despite his best efforts.
“I am your obedient slave. I am your obedient slave…”
“Open your eyes!” her voice rang out imperiously.
His eyes sprung open, automatically.
She was starring at him. “Look at me, puppet. It’s not so hard to stop speaking. Let me show you.” She snapped her fingers and commanded “Voice off!”
Andrew suddenly found himself mouthing the mantra with no voice.
Mistress giggled. “Your mouth can stop too- NOW.“
She snapped and it did. Silence.
“That isn’t so difficult, is it?” She smirked. “Mouth and voice, on!” she said with another snap.
“am your obedient slave. I am your obedient slave. I am your ob-”
“Mouth off!” she said. The mantra stopped.
“… obedient slave. I am your obedient slave. I am your…”
She smiled again. “See, I’ve been nice and given you some practice. Now you can try it. On your own. Try to stop speaking.”
“…your obedient slave. I am your obedient slave.” He mustered all of his energy, really letting himself mentally push against the words.
“I AM your obedient slave! I AM your oBEDient slave!”
“Mistress is enjoying this,” he thought, noticing her pleased look with the corner of his eyes and the corner of his mind.
“ I AM YOUR uh-uh-obedient slave!!”
But it was no use. The words kept coming.
He was powerless.
He felt himself break.
“Good, ” said mistress. “Let those words overpower you. You can’t help yourself at all, now, can you? You’re too tired to fight. Y'know , if you keep repeating that phrase in a loop, you’ll probably just go right back into trance for me”
She was right. He was beginning to feel sleepy.
“You can try and resist that too, if you’d like”, she smirked.
But Andrew had no fight in him. The words were begining to slur “i ammmm your”
“even though you’re probably so tired from resisting earlier, so helpless already…”
He felt drugged, trying to keep his eyes open but they were blinking
As his head drooped down, Andrew felt himself let go into an endless falling trance. He was barely aware of his mouth still muttering his mantras under his breath. Mistress came over to where he was kneeling and petted his dark hair as he drifted.
“Good boy. You did very well for me. You’re so beautiful when you fight like that- I love to see it. Thank you.”
Deep inside, Andrew felt peaceful. He had gotten so good at letting himself experience this. He drifted and floated, satisfied.