BrainJACK: The Ultimate Hypnosis


This dangerously powerful and deep journey will have me brainjacking you to the extreme. You will find it impossible not to be worshiping after this. It will change your brain and make you more receptive to me. It WILL cause addiction. Be careful with my content– loads of people think that they can play pretend with it. This is no make-believe game. My brainjacking works. You have already seen how it’s better than anything else you’ll find online. It alters your mind. It shapes it. It changes you. The effects are very real. Be ready for it. 

This one turns much more harsh, sadistic, and aggressive than usual. It is devious and full of mind-tricks. You’ve been warned. If that’s too much for you, watch a different one. If you like it hardcore, then you have no choice. You have to watch this. 

41 minutes. Suitable for any gender

Text Trance BrainTraining Hypnosis

Text Trance BrainTraining

I’m going to work your mind to make it more susceptible to text trance. For some people, text trance works well.

For others, it does not seem to work at all. But I’m going to change that.

I’m going to make hypnotic text have a powerful effect on you.

Be careful with this, because people will be able to send you messages that may hypnotize you.

How the Irresistible Hypnotic Barber Turns Nerd Into Hairy Jock

Hypnotic Barber Turns Nerd Into Hairy Jock

Corey was always a book nerd. But after meeting an infamous new barber, he becomes muscular, hairy, and begins to love sports. 

Corey had never truly cared about appearances. He was what he was, and that seemed ok to him. Sure, others might see him as too thin, too gawky, perpetually lost in a book, but it was simply who he was.

He had never known any different, after all.

Ever since he was a kid, he had been too sickly to participate in sports like the other boys in his class, and even as he grew, Corey didn’t develop muscles easily either. He remained rangy all through high school, pale from spending too much of his time in the library.

Today, though, he had decided to finally listen to his mom and go to the barber shop. His hair had gotten a bit long for comfort, and usually that meant going over to his mother’s house for a trim, but the older woman sighed at the idea.

“Come on, baby, you should pamper yourself a bit,” she said, offering her son a nice cup of coffee. He was almost completely hairless from the neck down, something that added to that geekish appearance he had dealt with all his life. “Get a new, hip haircut. I noticed a barbershop just opened up a few blocks away, why don’t you give it a try?”

A perpetual mamma’s boy, Corey couldn’t find the determination to argue with the woman who had raised him. It seemed to always go that way for him. So he meekly nodded and once his tea was finished, Corey stepped out onto the street, following his mother’s directions.

It wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself. Just a few minutes on the chair. He wouldn’t even have to make too much of a conversation, right? Corey was socially awkward, the idea of small talk put him on edge.

The barbershop was everything he might have imagined.

Cool, sporty, with an owner that looked like he would belong in any sports league. He was tall and broad-shouldered, muscular, a macho sort if he had ever seen one. He was also hairy beyond belief.

“Here for a trim, boy?” the barber asked him, and Corey nodded meekly, flushing under that strong stare. The man was at least a full head taller than he was, and twice as broad. Corey nodded, and the barber motioned toward the chair. “I’m Hank.”

“Uhm, nice to meet you. I’m Corey. I just want to cut my hair short, neat, so I…” he began to speak, but Hank shook his head, standing before the chair. His intense stare was on him then, and Corey found himself unable to look away.

“I know what you need. Don’t worry, just sit back and relax,” Hank spoke smoothly, his voice hypnotic. It was hard, if not impossible, to focus on anything else but that bearded face.

So Corey went silent and did just that: stare, while the barber began working his magic.

The sound of the scissors filled Corey’s ears, Hank’s smooth hands moving over his scalp increased that feeling of irreality. It was as if he wasn’t simply sitting on a barber’s chair any longer. It was as if he had been transported to a place where only both of them mattered. 

This man… oh, this barber, it was suddenly so clear to Corey he was everything he ever wanted to be. Maybe he always had wanted that, secretly, down in the bottom of his heart, but didn’t realize until that very moment.

“You would look so much better if you grew a beard,” the tall, muscular man told him, and suddenly it made so much sense. Yes, he would look better that way. He would look like Hank, and wasn’t that what he wanted? What he ached deep inside?

Hank continued to make eye contact, never looking away, never losing focus.

He spoke in a low, masculine growl that filled Corey’s ears, his touch numbing him to any other sensations, any other thoughts.

“More hair, that’s what you need. More hair here, everywhere… don’t you think? Yes… more hair, more hair…” he continued to speak, repeating those words over and over again, almost like a mantra which surrounded him.

Corey was in a haze, his mind spinning. The idea of being like Hank, just like him, was more and amore appealing with every passing second. To be muscular, strong, hairy. To be into sports instead of books.

Why had he wasted so much time in the library to begin with? It seemed so stupid now, such a bad decision. Books seemed dull all of a sudden, and though Corey had never sat through an entire game of football in his life, he suddenly felt an urge to rush to a gym and begin bulking up.

He was a man, after all, and he was far more similar to Hank than he had ever given himself credit for.

This was it, wasn’t it? The moment he changed his life, realized that he had always been meant to be a jock.

Muscular. Hairy. Why not? It made sense, it was right.

He had never wanted something more in his entire life. It was hard to look away from that powerful stare. Impossible even. How could he do it, even if he tried? There was this magnetism about Hank.

Powerful, indomitable, hypnotizing. The scissors kept on clipping and clipping away, over and over again. That manly voice filling Corey’s ears.

And his body began to tingle then. An odd sensation that seemed to almost tug at his skin. Hair seemed to grow where there had been nothing but pale skin.

He felt so skinny all of a sudden, so lame. The idea of going to the library, of being his old geeky self seemed so impossibly stupid all of a sudden.

How much time had he lost reading books when he could have just as easily spent it at the gym, or down at the field throwing a ball? Yes, that seemed far more interesting in every sense of the word.

“You’d look good like me. More hair, don’t you think? Yes, more hair. That’s it, you want more hair, don’t you?” Hank kept on talking, his voice captivating. Corey listened, he stared, he would have nodded if he could have moved his head while getting a haircut.

Hair grew on his arms, on his chest, on his back. His legs suddenly seemed stronger, his arms larger… more muscular? Was that even possible? He didn’t know how, but it was happening, something was changing, both on the inside and out, and Corey wanted that to happen. Oh, he wanted it so badly.

Those words kept on circling endlessly around his head: Hair, hair, hair. Sports, sports, sports.

Muscles, so many muscles. Strong, bulky body. Strong and firm, not like the skinny frame he used to have. 

He wasn’t skinny because he had been born that way, he was skinny because he didn’t hit the gym often enough. That was going to change, yes, he was going to change. He could feel the transformation happening already, taking over completely.

His back was hairy too, his chest looked like a porn actor from the 70s, and it felt good. It felt right, the way it always should have been. He used to be so small, so thin, gaunt even. His body hairless, pathetic.

But now? Now… hair. That was all he could think about, all he could focus on.

It seemed almost like an obsession. One that had begun the instant he sat on the barber chair, the moment Hank stared deep inside his eyes and began trimming his hair.

Everything in the barbershop seemed to be designed to sink Corey further and further into a deep trance. Hank’s voice, the sporty decor all around them, the way those scissors moved at even intervals, like some kind of hypnotic magic which overpowered every single one of his senses.

“I’ll shape your beard too, just like mine. You’re going to like it,” Hank spoke smoothly, and though Corey didn’t have any facial hair when he first stepped into the barber shop, he surely did now.

A face full of hair that needed to be trimmed, shaped.

He would walk out of this place with a full beard and mustache, and it felt right.

He couldn’t even focus on how strange it was that he had been hairless and slim all of his life, obsessed with books and his studies, and it all had changed in a span of a few minutes. How could he suddenly be covered in thick hair? How had it grown so quickly? Why was his mind drifting toward thoughts of sports and beer?

No, Corey had always been a smart young man, noticing small details others might overlook, but not any longer. He was lost in a new world, hypnotized into a brand new man.

There was no way to escape the spell he had fallen into, the spell this guy had pulled him into with his voice, his scissors, his manliness.

“You’re into sports too, right? Say it… you’re into sports, just like your barber. It feels right all of a sudden, doesn’t it?” Hank continued to speak in a soft whisper, his voice engulfing Corey’s senses.

The barber kept on staring deep into his eyes.

He was done with the hair and now he was focusing on shaping Corey’s new beard, making it look just like the one he was sporting.

It wasn’t just his ears those smooth words filled, not any longer. Somehow they also managed to take over every other one of his senses. It was impossible, he could have told anyone who’d hear that only an hour ago. Now, now it made perfect sense. Hank and his beard, Hank and his hairy chest could make anything happen.

“Yes… I’m into sports. Yes…” Corey whispered back, his voice monotone, his eyes glazed over. He couldn’t think straight any longer, he couldn’t focus on anything but the man standing before him.

Hair, hair, hair. It covered his body now, like never before.

It was thick, it was dark and smooth, and it was all over. His back, his legs, his arms, his face and neck. Especially his chest. He felt manly, and oh, it was just right in every sense of the word.

This was what he was always meant to be without knowing it. A strong, hairy man, obsessed with sports, wanting nothing but to hang out with other guys and enjoy a good game on the television, or maybe even play football himself.

Why not? It made sense, it made perfect sense. Why shouldn’t he be just like the barber? There was no better role model to Corey at that very moment, no one he wanted to be like more than him.

It was right, it was what he had always been meant to be.

“Hairy…” he whispered, lost in a trance. His chest hair curled up then too, and he knew Hank’s must look just the same. “Yes, hairy”

“That’s it,” Hank encouraged his client, as he finished trimming that thick beard. 

Corey knew where he’d go once Hank finished working his -literal- magic on him. He had, of course, planned to visit the library, but not any more. Of course not. That sounded dull, boring, stupid.

He’d hit the gym. Sign up for the most expensive plan, one where he could work out day in and day out to bulk up just like Hank. He wanted his arms to be massive, his chest to be broad, his legs to be strong. And he’d look so good then, covered in thick hair, he knew it.

His body had already changed since the moment he sat down on the chair, since the scissors began to trim at his hair, at his brand new beard.

He was not slim, not any longer. But he still had a long way to go. He needed to bulk up, to work out until his body was just like Hank’s, and then come back to this barbershop.Come back and get another trim. Get a reminder of this new life he had embraced during his haircut.

Yes, that’s what he would do. It felt right, it was what he had always been meant to do, even if he hadn’t discovered that fact till he met Hank.

Hair, muscles, sports.

All that mattered any longer were those simple concepts. Hair that covered his body, thick and black. Manly, the way it always should have been.

“Well, I’d say you’re done for now,” Hank spoke, and the scissors went down. Corey stood up, no longer under that heavy spell, but still influenced by it. A brand new man, one modeled after the barber himself. “But come back next month for a trim. I’ll keep shaping this beard to make it look even better than it does now.”

Corey, of course, agreed at once, and he left the barbershop a new man.

Not a geek, but a jock, a sports fan.

There was a great gym two blocks away. He had walked past it a million times in the past, but never paid much attention to it. Now it seemed to be the only thing in his mind.

He spent the rest of the day working out, building up those muscles Hank had granted him, making sure to begin the journey that would turn him into a perfect copy of that handsome, broad-shouldered jock.

Corey couldn’t wait to go back to that barber chair, to sit down and stare into Hank’s eyes as he worked his magic, the sound of the scissors filling his mind, hair sprouting the way it always should have.Thick, black, plentiful hair, up and down his legs, his chest, his back, his arms. All over, and especially on that beard.

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Hypnotist Makes Her Cigarettes Sexy

Hypnotist Makes Her Cigarette Habit Sexy 

Darla had tried everything to quit smoking. Gum. Meditation. Acupuncture. Therapy. Nothing ever worked, not even for a day. The one thing she hadn’t tried was hypnosis. She was skeptical it would work on her. Next she considered going to a professional, but then how would she know if they were a quack? After weeks of agonizing, and chain smoking from the stress of trying to quit smoking, it came to her. She could go see a stage hypnotist, to see if they could actually do it, then she could approach them to see if they could help.

Luckily, Las Vegas was the place to find any sort of entertainment available. She found herself with three choices. Two were men, one was a woman. For some reason, her heterosexual self felt weird about being put under by another woman. That left two. One was “The Great Hypnotico,” the other just used the name Alan Miller. The first one sounded far too goofy, so she went with the second. Then, a phone call later, she had reservations for a Saturday matinee.

The opening act was a really crappy comedian. It was made worse by Darla not wanting to drink. She wanted to be sober to be hypnotized, if it did happen.

When Alan Miller was introduced, and stepped out of the curtain wearing a classic black Zoot Suit, Darla was surprised how handsome he was. A guy like him could be a model, not doing penny ante hypnotism shows. He gave an introduction then, as Darla had expected, he asked for a volunteer from the audience. She kept silent. Alan selected a mousy, withdrawn, young woman and led her to the stage. Darla was impressed he hadn’t simply picked the girl with the biggest tits in the room. Darla could see that woman, and she had volunteered. She was busy pouting now.

Alan didn’t use a watch or anything special like that. Just his voice and the occasional hand gesture. He began his induction, using a slow relaxation technique and multiple countdowns. His patience paid off, as the girl drifted away, right in front of the audience. Next, he led her through a typical series of tricks. He did the classic, cluck like a chicken. He had her forget her own name. The piece de resistance was him having this shy young girl give him a surprising erotic dance, that almost turned into a lap dance. Darla was amazed she would act like that in public. Maybe, this guy really knew what he was doing.

After almost an hour, Alan finally returned her to consciousness. The crowd gave the woman a huge ovation as she nervously returned to his seat. Alan bid the crowd good night, and the show was over. The crowd began to file out, but Darla hesitated. Would she go see him? Could she even get to him? She was lost in thought when she heard the usher.

“May I help you, miss?”

She made up her mind.

“Would there be any way I could see Mr. Miller?”

“Of course, Mr. Miller loves to hear from fans. He’s with someone else right now. Would you mind waiting? I can take you to our green room.”

“That sounds great.”

The phrase “green room” sounds great, until you learn it’s an oversized closet, crammed with chairs, there’s garbage everywhere, plus the food has been picked over to the point there’s only honeydew left. Darla felt nervous. She kept thinking about chickening out. She also craved a cigarette. That, ironically, was what kept her there. 

Almost ten minutes later, the usher returned and asked her to follow. When they reached a door with a paper star taped to it, the usher knocked. The door opened, but it wasn’t Alan who answered it. It was the big breasted woman who hadn’t been invited onstage.

She turned back, waved and said “Thanks, Alan.”

Darla heard his reply, “It was my pleasure.”

The woman bounced away, literally bounced, in more ways than one. Darla wondered how anyone with tits that big could go without a bra. She needed one herself, but not that badly.

“Come in,” Alan called.

The dressing room was a step up from the green room, but hardly the Ritz.

“Hello,” said Alan with a smile. He had removed his jacket. Darla took one look at his swimmer’s build, not overly muscular, but as cut as a Greek statue. 

“Hi,” she said, nervously, “I’m Darla, Darla-“

“He cut her off, “First names will do. Now, how can I help you?”

“I want to quit smoking,” she blurted out, happy to just get it off her chest.

“I’ve worked with people who needed that. I won’t make any guarantees, but I also won’t charge you, unless you feel you need follow up sessions.”

“Ok, I’m willing to try. What do I need to do?”

“I want you to close your eyes, and listen.”

She did. She heard his fingers snap, then, seconds later she heard him speak again.

“You can open your eyes.”

She did, turning to him, “Why?”

“I can tell already it won’t work, you’re too tense. Maybe some other time.”

Darla worked hard to hide her disappointment. Still, it was a Hail Mary to begin with.

She looked at her watch and realized it was later than she had thought.

“I should go,” she said.

“Maybe some other time.”

That wasn’t going to happen, Darla told herself.

“Thanks for trying,” she said, before heading straight for her car.

She wasn’t even at the car yet when she lit up a cigarette. No help at all. She got in with the cigarette still lit, and kept it going inside, until it burnt to the filter. Darla felt flushed as she finished it, so flushed she turned on the AC, despite it being 70 degrees outside. She got home in twenty minutes, headed inside and lit another cigarette. The flushing returned, and her nipples began to harden. She realized what it was; she was horny. It had been a few months since she dumped her ex, and she’d gone without since. She figured she’d just make dinner to take her mind off it. It helped, but not entirely. She barely tasted her meal, she was so preoccupied, and she sank into her sofa for her after-dinner cigarette.

Halfway through the cigarette, her pussy got wet.

By the time she finished, her panties were soaked. She headed to the bedroom to change. As she opened the drawer for a new pair, her eyes fell on her vibrator. She didn’t use it often, but…

After an hour of self-fucking, she felt a bit of relief. She staggered back to the living room, desperate for a smoke. As she finished it, she realized she was still horny. This was crazy! She lit another cigarette, just to try to calm it, but it only got worse. She needed to get fucked, masturbation was not going to cut it, but how? The idea of calling her ex flashed across her mind, but even this horny, she couldn’t bear the thought. But there was no other option, unless…

This was Vegas, after all, and she made decent money. The prostitute she called came highly recommended, and she came over and over and over, until she lost count. It was, quite literally, the best sex she had ever had. Twice, she had to buy another hour. She was exhausted at the end, and the hooker had another appointment. Darla thanked him, tossed him a $50 tip, and said goodbye. Out of breath, she collapsed on the bed. When she did get her breath back, she lit up a post-coital smoke, the best kind there was.

Two puffs in she realized it. She was horny again!

There was a knock at the door. It was 4 a.m., the prostitute must have forgotten something. She went to the door, naked, since he’d certainly seen everything already. She opened the door… and there stood Alan Miller. She was too shocked to be embarrassed. He smiled at her.

“How was the sex?”

“It was… wait, how did you know?”

“I saw the guy leave. Plus, you’re naked. May I come in?”

“Yes,” she said, wanting to get to the bottom of this. It didn’t even twig in her mind to ask how he’d learned her address, without even knowing her last name.

“Yes, the nudity and the hooker leaving paint a pretty clear picture.”

“How… he wasn’t a hooker,” she lied to save face.

“I know one when I see one,” he said with a wry grin before continuing, “Besides, when I hypnotized you earlier tonight, I planted a trigger.”

“You didn’t hypnotise me,” she said, puzzled.

He ignored her and continued. “I made it so whenever you smoke, you get horny. More smoking, more arousal.”


“So, I’ll ask again, how was the sex.”

She hesitated then went with the truth. “Amazing. So good I can’t really describe it.”

“That’s part of the trigger too, you’ll enjoy sex far more from now on, that is…”

“Is what”

“Or what”

“The way I see it, you have three options, I can undo the hypnosis and free you of the entire trigger.

You can keep trying to quit smoking, but you’ll be giving up the amazing sex too.

I can leave you as is. The knowledge that  smoking makes you that horny should be enough to help you quit. Or…” He paused.

“Or, you can just keep smoking. Then you’ll be a wanton, sex addict, but it will feel so good. Imagine feeling that good, all night, every night. Besides, it’s not like you can’t make a living doing it.”

At this point, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“Smoking feels good. Sex feels even better. Why not dedicate your life to both?”

“I… I don’t know.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his own pocket. He pulled out two, lit one, and offered her the other.

“What’s it going to be.”

She snatched it from his hands and lit it up, drawing deeply.

After a few long puffs, she asked “Are we going to fuck now?” hoping for the answer yes.

“Fuck yeah!”

Darla wasn’t quitting smoking any time soon.

Amazing Gamer Girl Program (Mind Control Story)

Gamer Girl Program

December 31, 1987

This was her life, alone in an arcade on New Year’s Eve.

Ok, there was one staff guy hanging out by the jukebox. Either he was a creep, or too shy to talk to a real-life “girl”. Of course, having just turned 18, she wasn’t a girl anymore. Anyway, she didn’t care about him. She needed to blow off some steam. Another fight with her mother had left her both physically keyed up, and mentally exhausted. She needed a challenge.

Josie wasn’t your ordinary girl.  She was an arcade queen. She wasn’t just the best female player in their little town, she won almost half the tournaments when the “boys” played too. She loved showing them up. This arcade was her home away from an excruciating home. She had a strategy for every game in the place. That was, until she saw the new one.

First and foremost, it was sleek, black, shiny and smooth. Only one blood red lettering was scrawled across it: Program.

Seemed like a bland name. Every video game was a program. But it was new, and new was just what she wanted right then. She reached into her heavy coin pouch, to make sure she had at least twenty quarters in there. It shouldn’t take more than seven or eight to figure the game out. She eagerly closed on the joystick, and controls. Just two buttons. Seemed simplistic. She glanced down at the directions.









That’s it? Fine then, she’d play along, literally. Still doubtful she popped her quarter into the coin slot. At the same time she did the staff guy hit a button on the jukebox and Salt n’ Pepa’s “Push It’ began playing. It wasn’t a bad song, it had just been so overplayed. MTV had the video on so many times a day. Anyway, time to focus on the game.

Push push it real good.

As soon as she hit Start, the lights began. In addition to that the lights were flashing, whirling, forming spirals and shapes that dissolved into mist within minutes, only to turn into patterns, and waves and energy. Nonetheless the graphics were really great. Then the game began. Round one was still simple enough. The point was just to match colored bubbles by hitting one, then the other of the same color. Josie needed less than a minute to work out the sensitivity of the joystick, from there she was picking them off like womp rats.

Push push it real good.

Now, the bubbles had words in them. As a matter of fact, there were three on each side, still three different colors. The words though, seemed to make no sense. She tapped on a blue word on the left side that read “Obedience,” the matching one on the other side read “Pleasure.” They really had nothing to do with each other, but the combo matched and she earned more points. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been playing, but she knew she was doing well for her first quarter. She knew she was doing well.


Push push it real good.

The next combination was “service” and “bliss,” followed by “surrender” and “orgasm.” Woah! That was naughty. She was caught by surprise, then surprised again as the screen began to flash and swirl even faster now. She really had to focus.

Push push it real good.





She looked at the first line which was simply “I.” The next columns began moving, like a slot machine, spinning quickly. She really had to focus.

The first combo was “I love sex.” She was a bit shocked, but yes, the two times she’d had sex had been great.

“Obedience is pleasure.”

What? The spirals and swirls and lights were making it so hard to focus and she really had to focus. Nevertheless, she needed to focus on the colors, the words didn’t matter.

“Service is bliss”

“I want sex.”

True, she guessed, in fact a little New Year’s nookie would have been nice.

Push push it real good.

“I am bi.”

Wow, she’d only just realized that all of a sudden.

Pus-pussy’s real good.

“I love cock.”

Yeah, cock was great in fact.

“I suck cock.”

She was just thinking also, wouldn’t some cock taste great right about now?

“I love cum.”

Suck suck it real good.

Then, she licked her lips.

“I’m a slut.”

Was she? Besides, It would be fun, wouldn’t it?

“I must obey.”

Then, she hit the sweet spot, as the dancing lights, the text, and the subliminals laced in the jukebox took complete hold. Her eyes glazed now; her mouth gaped open. 

“I must obey.”

“I must obey.”

“I must obey.”

“I must obey.”

“I fuck men.”

“I fuck chicks.”

Fuck-fuck it real good.

“I must suck.”

“I must fuck.”

“I must lick.”

Lick-lick it real good.

“I must submit.”

“I must obey.”

“All holes open.”

“All are welcome.”

“Fuck me good.”

“Fuck me hard”

“Be a slut.”

Slut slut baby.

“Turn and kneel.”

“Turn and kneel.”

“Turn and kneel.”

After that, she clicked the first two lines, before the command sunk in. Next, she turned and slowly sank to her knees. While at the same time her eyes dutifully looked to the floor, it was only his shoes she saw. But she knew who he was, the staff guy from the arcade. Then he stood close, facing her.

He undid his fly.

Josie had a new favorite game.

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TV Brainwash Hypnosis with Jack: Your New Favorite Show

Jack’s TV Brainwash Hypnosis

You know watching television isn’t good for you, right?

It seems you got caught up in watching TV and left the shopping channel on. The TV host has a hypnotic plan for you.

These guys can be so cunning and manipulative without you even realizing it. Better not fall for it. 

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The Hypnotist’s Cursed Mask (Story)

The Hypnotist’s Cursed Mask

In ‘The Hypnotist’s Cursed Mask’, a hypnosis story is told.

A man is drawn to an antique shop, where he eyes an old rubber mask.

The shopkeeper tells him it’s been cursed by a very powerful hypnotist.

He doesn’t believe in all of that superstition. But he is definitely drawn to it….

It’s a rainy afternoon, and he finds himself begrudgingly walking down the sidewalk, hearing the splashing of his shoes slapping time and time again onto the little pools of water. He’s tired, and truth be told, bored out of his mind.

It seems that lately his life had gotten into an eternal loop. Nothing new, nothing to break the monotony 

Not only has he broken up with his girlfriend almost a year ago, but his current dating game leaves much to be desired. So enjoying any sex was totally out of question.  

With his hands stuck in his pockets, he stares at the locals on either side of the street. He doesn’t feel an urge to return home, even though the day is overcast, and it seems to be threatening to pour down at him at any second.

Something seems to be calling to him… beckoning him closer. He deviates from his usual road back home, getting closer and closer to the slums.

The apartments surrounding him begin getting smaller until he’s only surrounded by old houses. He begins to wonder if he had ever seen this part of the city before. More puzzling still, even when he tries to find the location on his cell phone, he can’t pick up even the slightest bit of signal.

That was it for him: he can’t risk his life just because a gut feeling kept pushing him to walk further and further. He decides to turn around and begin his way back, afraid of having to make a fool of himself by asking a policeman to take him home.

But his feet didn’t seem to want to obey that command. He felt an internal pull which made him come to a complete halt. He looked to the side, and there, waiting for him to just step inside was a large, odd-looking store. He has never seen anything quite like it before, though it isn’t particularly eye-catching either. It’s one of those places people only seem to find when they are actually looking for it. 

As he approaches the building, he begins to notice even further details. An inventory so diverse it doesn’t seem to fit a single store, objects which don’t not seem to have any type of connection between them.

He stops in front of the door, feeling a strong, strange pressure on the back of his neck. His heartbeat begins growing faster and faster. It’s irrational and yet completely irresistible. 

Something calls him from the inside. It was creepy too: through the windows closest to the doors, he can notice odd, ancient dolls. Their dead eyes appear to look into his soul.

That’s already scary in and of itself, but there is something peculiar about them. He can  feel their glassy black eyes, dark voids, watching him, almost as if they are staring at him no matter which direction they face. On the opposite wall various tarot cards are mounted in strange patterns.

“If I go inside and there’s an Elvis poster, I’m gone, I’m not bored enough to find out I’m stuck in a Stephen King novel,” he tells himself as he steps through the door.

The interior of the place does not alleviate his feeling of unreality, it is clearly an emporium, and it sells all kinds of oddities. He can see some grenades from the second world war in boxes on the back with a sign which read: “Don’t worry! they won’t explode! ( I think!)”

He wanders through the shelves, seeing piles and piles of what any normal person would say garbage, worthless junk, but something begins to rise inside him, a voice. Faint and almost imperceptible in the background of his consciousness, where the most primitive part of the human brain operates.

His hands become moist by a layer of sweat, his heart beating hard, like a rolling drum.

 Although the place seems like a labyrinth, that voice guides his feet. It seems to be coming from inside his brain, yet from so far away, as if there is another version of himself stuck at the bottom of a cave.

As he searches and follows that voice blindly, the convulsion seems to grow stronger. He doesn’t notice the pair of old eyes watching him from behind a pair of ancient glasses. 

“What object is he going to take?” The old timer muses to himself “how is this man going to be condemned? Each person who enters the store takes something unique, destined to change their lives, in the most varied and unique ways, and the results are not always negative… but are they truly for the better? These objects are very much so like the fairies of old, who do not share our concepts of right and wrong.”

“I wonder… What is calling to him? Perhaps one of the rings in the backroom, or perhaps one of our exquisite coins?” he whispers to himself as he runs his finger down the page of the book he was reading before the new customer walks past him at last.

“Take it, you want it” The young man walking through those long corridors hears the unnatural voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. 

He finally comes to a halt in front of what appears to be a mask, made of a material which is difficult to decipher. Its entire surface is a wonderfully blue hue that, depending on the direction you look at it, flashes of different colors across its length. He extends his hand slowly, almost trembling, he begins to feel its texture on his fingertips, he can feel something stir inside of him.

“It’s cursed, I think you should know.” The old man’s voice snaps him out of his trance, turning back so he can see who’s talking to him.

“Cursed you say?” He laughs at the old man, and deep inside, he laughs at himself too, because he believes those words all too much.  “There are no cursed objects, although I understand the reference, I suppose you also change shape every time a new client enters?”

The old man laughs at the reference. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe that author was inspired by me when writing that book?” He walks towards it, accommodating some of the many objects accumulated on the shelves. “After all, there has always been a store like mine, throughout history.”

He already rolls his eyes, a little tired of the mysterious old man’s routine. “Could it be… and what is the supposed curse that this object has?”

“That mask belonged to a hypnotist with strange tastes, if you are willing to listen to the advice of an eccentric old man who clearly has you bored, I would leave it and run out of this store,” the shopkeeper tells him knowing that he will not accept the offer, once you enter here there is no way you can leave without your curse

“Ah, a hypnotist, of course, what is supposed to happen to me I’m going to cluck? Don’t be ridiculous, don’t worry about sweetening the product, It’s already sold, I’m going to take it, I know where I’m going to put it” He tells him, already squeezing the mask between his fingers, with an unconscious fear that the man will try to take it away.

The owner nods, giving him what seems to be a pitying smile. “I won’t insist on it anymore, it’s clear that you’ve already made your decision.” 

“That’s right, how much is it?” He asks, taking out his wallet, being careful not to let go of the mask, for no justifiable reason, he feels an irrational fear that he will take this precious item from him. 

“For you, because I liked you, and I see that mask means a lot for you, I’m willing to offer you half the price” he smiles at him offering a bag, leaning in front of him, trying to take that mask from him would create a very uncomfortable moment for both of them.

Without taking a second, he pays him, putting his mask in his bag ” keep the change” he tells him without waiting for the owner to react, he leaves and starts walking through those unknown streets, without knowing why he is in such a hurry, but the further he goes from the store, the calmer he becomes, that frenzy, that irrational fear of not being able to buy it, that the old man does not want to give it to him vanishes.

“I don’t know why I got like that… it doesn’t make sense,” he says to himself out loud, feeling how the mask moves back and forth in the bag. The streets that take them to his house, become long, eternal, like an obsession, he needs to arrive and with every second that passes it becomes more and more unbearable, the bag weighs him down, and he wants to hold the mask in his hands, the bag offends him, it is a barrier between him and his destiny, although he is not fully aware of the thoughts and compulsion he begins to feel. awakening in the deepest parts of his being 

Almost like a zombie, he searches for his house keys, standing in front of the door of the entrance hall of his building, the keys get stuck in his pants, he begins to pull, he begins to hear the fabric of his jean pants, even the tip of the key caught in the fabric begins to scrape and hurt the skin of his leg, but he doesn’t care, it’s like he’s in a trance, the mask pulses from his right hand, the bag in which he carried it has gone a few blocks back. The smooth, stiff texture of the mask burns the fingers of his hand with craving.

“Come on, hurry up, why are you taking so long?” His own voice tells him, inside that hole, with an echo that threatens to completely rob him of his sanity. “I’m already trying!” He answers himself with a cry full of despair.

*RRRRRRIIPPPPPP!!!* The noise of his pants giving way, the pocket completely annihilated, releases the key, which had already started to stain with the blood on his leg. “Yes!!!” he shouts without caring that some pedestrians on the sidewalk in front move away from him, scared.

“Well, you were able to open a door, do you deserve an award?” that distant but close voice tells him without a drop of mercy, he can’t tell if it’s his own voice, or if it’s the mask, or maybe he’s too aware of his own thoughts.

He opens the door of his apartment, with all his willpower, puts the mask on the counter in his living room, and gets into the shower with clothes on and everything. As the minutes go by, feeling the water running through his body, cleaning the small puncture in his own knee, he feels his mind begin to calm down. While washing his hair he feels silly, it’s clear he let that old man get into his head, there is no such thing as curses, and it’s just a good mask. He can hang it in his living room that way when he has visitors, you can use it to generate talking points.

After drying off and getting dressed in a shirt and pants from home, he is about to go cook dinner, when he passes in front of the mask, and his entire body stops there as if his legs were screwed into place. eyes fixed on it, he licks his lips, the anxiety, the temptation to touch it.

“It’s like a band-aid, take it, put it on, get it out of the system and that’s it, so you stop thinking about curses and stop talking to yourself,” He says out loud taking the mask between his fingers, turns it looking at it, seeing through his eyes, and although there is a part inside him, he tells him, he begs him to stop testing that object of the devil, but at the same time he could feel how heat was beginning to be generated in his crotch, his member slowly headed toward the biggest erection he’s ever had.

“Come on, put on the mask, stop wasting time doubting… no wonder life is going that way for you” that voice in his head, was as if he was provoking himself, trying to humiliate himself. He swallows and begins to bring himself closer to his head, each millimeter that shrinks between him and the mask, the heat in his crotch expanding more and more, his heartbeat racing, anticipating the storm.

The cold texture of the mask touches his skin, and his heart is about to explode, and he feels the scream in his mouth that is about to come out, but at first, for the first few seconds, it feels like an eternity is passing. The humiliation and shame begin to take over him now. How can he think and convince himself that something like this is actually doing something? But before he can complete that thought, the mask takes on a life of its own, sticking to his face as if trying to take the place of his skin. The first thing his hands can notice as they uselessly try to peel it off is what seemed to be a kind of rubber. And to his surprise he couldn’t differentiate the mask from his face. His eyes open, his mouth in a null expression, almost as if he were an artificial being, a mannequin. 

The material of the mask continues to expand around his cranium, and begins to go down what is his neck, as it continues to expand, what was a heat, becomes a completely uncontrolled hell he cannot escape from. His mind begins to fill with ideas, of sex, of pleasure, his dick at the same time threatens to break his pants, without thinking about it, he lowers the zipper and begins to help him free it.

The rubber begins turning black, as his skin turns a shiny ebony. 

“This is the only thing I am…” that voice, repeated inside him, “I am nobody, I am not a person, I am absolutely nothing” he could feel how the rubber was already beginning to cover part of his shoulders and his chest, With his hands he tears off his clothes, leaving him completely naked, his head shining. His penis was fully erect, swollen, veiny, and no doubt at risk of exploding from blood pressure. 

“Horny…. HORNYYYYYY….. SO HORNY…. “he heard himself say, although his face couldn’t cry right now if it could. He would let the tears flow, it’s such an overdose of stimulation that he was rubbing his shaft.

“YOU SEE! This is the only thing that matters to you. You are basic, without depth, only looking for pleasure”. It is really difficult for him to differentiate if it is the mask or himself. Everything is confusing, and half of his body is covered by this layer of rubber, he is no longer even a person, he is only a doll, a being of pure desire, but the most exasperating thing is the fact that it is a desire without destiny, that just expands to everywhere without finding any destination, already in his mind there is no woman or even man he wants, he just looks for the explosion, the ecstasy of the moment, it’s the only thing he needs, the only thing that matters.

 If his face still could change its expression, he would be surprised when he noticed how his dick grows, like a fairground balloon, a rubber sword, pointing forward, his hands moving along it, each millimeter of such a monster, completely destroying what little reason he still has left inside him. In an unbridled frenzy, he searched his drawers for a knob of lubricant, at that moment it was the only thing that mattered, he needed to be able to slide it within his hands. It’s a monster, he doesn’t think he can live much longer if he doesn’t get the ecstasy he so badly needs.

“Touch yourself… TOUCH ME…. NEEDED…. sooo horny!” the voice screams inside him the moment he manages to find the knob, and at that moment, as if he were a robot, with a single objective, lying there on his bed staring at nothing, with his hands going up and down, the sound of slick rubber on rubber, generating heat, shrieks of pleasure flooding every corner of the building. Everything begins to turn completely white and blank until the climax arrives, dragging him into the middle of an uncontrollable storm, his dick becomes a violent geyser, which he releases to everywhere, and he ends up falling asleep right there, exhausted. Confused. Until he is unconscious.

Slowly he comes out of the stupor, still feeling like his body is trapped in a some sort of  thermal contradiction: his skin burns but the sweat that covers him is cold as frost. He is in his bed now. He looks over to his bedside table. The mask is sitting there innocently. He must have remembered the color wrong. It’s jet black in color now. Wow, it must have been a dream… right?

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Simp for Jack: How to Make Hypnosis a Part of Your Life

Let’s face it. We’re in a real relationship. But it’s a parasocial one.

I’m more visible than you. I’m out there to see and to listen to.
You follow me from a distance, while I can’t really see you because you’re not in the public eye like that.

Maybe you like that you don’t have to be visible. Or maybe you would like to be more visible. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

You simp for ME. Just be honest–you’re in love with me. You love the way I mesmerize you every day with my voice. You love the feelings you get. You love the way it makes your life better, just to put it simply.

You respect me. You admire me. You are attracted to me.
Now I’m going to teach you how to be a good simp. After all, if you admire me so much, it’s best that you do what I say.

Watch the Video Here

Tags: Dumbing down, subservience, slavery

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Best Werebear Vape Animal Hypnosis Transformation Hypnotic Vaping Fantasy

Werebear Vape Transformation Hypnosis

(Vape needed, Male)

You found a 420 vape cartridge from a shady guy and went home to get high,

only to find that your body transforms more like a werebear every time you hit the vape.

You become very large and hairy. Your cock and balls become bear-like, and you

emit an aphrodisiac musk that causes other men to become aroused and causes

you to masturbate afterwards

(fantasy changes only, no real effects).

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Premature for Big Dick 3

You will become even more premature for me. I’m going to work you hard. You’re only allowed to use one finger this time.

You will have to get off just using that.

And it will increase your sensitivity for the next time!

If you can orgasm with just one finger, your nerves will become accustomed to this stimulation level.

Once you add more stimulation (such as a full hand), your nerves will become overwhelmed and you will cum incredibly quickly. 

Of course, I’m also going to use my psychological powers to make you cum quicker.

I’m going to get more dominant in this one, and you are going to get more submissive. 

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