Where’s all the hypnosis content gone?

My Soundcloud was deactivated . There was no warning, no questioning, nothing. Just flat out deleted. All of my subscribers, comments, and the discussion community on that site along with it. Users would play the files on chat servers (like discord servers), where they could listen together. It was a cool feature, but it’s gone now.

People keep asking me what happened to my files. Well, some of them are gone forever. Some of it has been reuploaded to this site (Hypnosis Files Page).

I’m honestly not motivated to make content as much anymore, especially free content. There’s very little incentive to upload my stuff online anymore, because it can be even harder to upload when it is free. Maybe this will change in the future. I will continue to make SOME content. But it’s clear that I am moving away from that as my focus. I just don’t want to deal it. Its easy to feel unmotivated when the rules, regulations, censorship, and takedowns are clearly growing very steadily. It will never end. It will continue on this trajectory of policing and deletion.

I don’t want it all public and under someone else’s watchful eye of content control, which is why my favorite place to post files is with my All Erotic Files Package or the All Self Improvement Files Package. This is because I can post whatever the hell I want and no one can cancel me. No one else can decide what’s acceptable or unacceptable. No one can tell me what subjects should be allowed to decide do to themselves. Because you have to buy it to see the unlisted extras inside. Only real enjoyers of my stuff get to see it. This is the only way to keep the critics and cancellers out completely.

This is why I always say that you should download the files you enjoy and keep them saved on your device. Make a backup of it if you really like it that much. Because the files will not be around forever. I know I say that constantly, over and over again, but it’s true.
Sometimes people come to me looking for old files they lost that are no longer available. But I can’t give it to you. It’s gone.
Not only are authorities and websites deleting my content, but I am deleting it too. Any content that I deem to be “low quality” (a lot of old files recorded on cheap audio equipment I used to get started) are often deleted. Many people still love these files, even though I consider them embarrassingly bad. My standards are quite high now.

I also have to delete some content related to laws in my country, which are also getting worse. Please do not ask for these files when they are gone. Some people will say “Oh, it’s okay, that’s legal in my country!”, which is irrelevant–You’re not on the chopping block. I am. So there are files which I have requested people do not speak of. It’s not because they are ultra HARDCORE, either. These files are harmless, but laws are stupid, of course.

My ways of speech have been altered just to make content, and I have to always be careful what I’m saying, and it’s become incredibly tiresome. It’s artistically stifling. I’m an artist and creator. I want to be free to express and give people the experiences of life changes that they want, but there’s a ton of completely harmless phrases I have to watch out for.
For example, I will have content taken down if I mention the words Hypnotic, Sleepy, Tired, Vampire, Big Brother (the irony of this one makes me laugh), Blazed, Brainwash (this one makes my work very difficult sometimes), Limp, Tipsy, Mind Control… This is just the tip of the iceberg. They keep growing these lists.
They are now introducing voice detection systems that will automatically delete content or users that use these words, which is pretty outlandish. Obviously this makes my job quite difficult.

Sharing my content on my own website is okay, but there’s a net-negative effect for me. It doesn’t actually add any new viewers for me like another website would. It just uses up server capacity, potentially slowing it down for other users who are trying to to listen. It also doesn’t play nicely with low- quality devices (Apple devices are low-quality, despite their high price).
YouTube doesn’t allow a lot of content, and will launch false copyright strikes against me if I use any background audio (even when I own the rights to the audio). You’re not allowed to inquire about the copyright strikes until your channel is really big. They also place ads randomly in the middle of the audio/video, which is obviously unacceptable because it ruins the listening experience. They don’t pay me anything for the ads on my videos.
A whole bunch of the audio content is up for streaming on my site now, though it is lacking the features of before (individual commenting, favoriting, community, etc) which is a bummer, but at least it’s up and working now.
If you have any ideas of places to post content, then please comment below.

These are the final days to enjoy hypnosis. You will look back on today as the golden age. Creators like me are giving up, one by one. New creators are discouraged from joining. Hypnosis content on the web is dying. It is becoming more censored and more illegal every day.– So get it, save it, and store it for your personal usage while you can.

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.

The Phone Booth Trap Hypnosis

Experience the Phone Booth Trap Hypnosis

A nearby public phone rings, and you are too curious to ignore it. You step into the phone booth, and find yourself trapped within.

Someone has been following your every move, and has formulated a series of traps and hypnotic tricks made just for you.

You have to listen to the whole thing!

Leave a message after the tone, or just hang up.

You will not be able to resist this mind fuck. Idc if you’re a girl, boy, sissy, or they/them! Experience the Phone Booth Trap.

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Stress Relief Cock Hypnosis 5

Your brain is going under for me as you watch this cock get stroked. I know just what to say to drive you crazy with horniness while I relax and melt you at the same time. It’s a sublime experience and it ends with a huge cumshot.

I want you to let this cock relax you, because it does relax you when you look at it, even if it stimulates you and turns you on. Especially when it gets big and hard and full of blood

There’s a certain life force to a hard cock that cannot be explained. but you feel it. you love to stare at it. especially this one. I will make you feel so good, and relieve you of all this daily stress in the way you love it most. 

Tracey thinks she is too smart for hypnosis

Jim’s fiancée, Tracey, wasn’t a bad person, not at all. She was certainly, really smart. That was kind of the problem. As nice as she was, she was… a little pedantic. She always wanted to have these lofty discussions, and talk about highbrow things. That was okay sometimes, but I could tell it was starting to wear on Jim. I knew it might kill the relationship if he couldn’t get some relief, and I had an idea of just how to do it.
I’m a hypnotist, both onstage and off.
Tracey didn’t believe in stage hypnotism. She knew therapeutic hypnotism had some real impact, but she always poo pooed my profession as just “play acting.” So, when Jim finally convinced her to come see my show, I knew just who my audience volunteer would be.
I made certain Jim and Tracey had front row seats for my latest club show. It wasn’t a huge bar, but the audience numbered in the forties.  When the opening jazz quartet finished their set, I took the stage. I launched into my usual routine, moving quickly to seeking a volunteer.
I approached Tracey.
“Would you be so kind as to be my volunteer?” I asked her.
“Oh no,” she said with a small laugh, “Pick someone else.”
“Please, madame, I won’t hurt you.”
“It won’t work,” she said seriously, “I’m a combined brain thinker and we are nearly impossible to hypnotise.”
I’d heard it all before.
“That sounds like a challenge, I said with a smile. “Audience, do you think she should do it?”
There were always a few who wanted to be the subject instead, but most of the audience cheered loudly.
“Please?” I asked again.
“Oh, alright,” she conceded. Peer pressure was a powerful force.
I led her to the stage.
“I’m telling you,” she repeated, “it won’t work.”
We’d see about that.
“You seem very bright,” I began.
“I like to think so,” she responded.
“So bright, a light at night.”
She looked puzzled, “What-“ she began.
“No need to speak right now. Listen to words, absurd? Unheard. Words taking you in. Down. Listen to bliss and never miss.” The confusion induction was beginning to take hold. Bombarding such a logical mind with confusion will let her slip into a trance with ease.
“So bright, at night, not slight, that’s right,” I sped up my words somewhat. A hush had fallen over the audience, as it always did, and I could see Tracey’s eyes were getting that slightly glazed look.
“Look up at the light, see the light, so bright?” She looked up into the stage lights, bright enough to fill her vision. In a moment, the audience was gone. The light, and my words, were the only stimulus left.
“Let the bright, fill the night, fill your sight, feels so right. Light. Light. Feeling light. It’s bright, the light, don’t fight, don’t fight.” Another chunk of her wall of resistance crumbled.
“Night. Night. Feel the night. Do not fight. The night and the light, and you don’t feel so bright. Don’t fight. Don’t fight. Feel light, not bright, it feels right, so right. Don’t fight? Why fight? The light is right. Not bright, good-night. Feels right, no fight, just light, and night. Not bright, good night, no fight, no fight, it’s right, it’s right.” Almost there.
“No fight, not bright, I’m right, I’m right. So right, no fight, good night, not bright. Out light. Out light. Out light. Good night, mind white, no fight, just light, not bright, I’m right, good night, eyes tight, eyes tight, eyes tight.”
Her eyelids sank closed. She was under.
“Tracey,” I began, “You are in a deep sleep. A deep sleep. This feels like a dream. A fun, happy, dream. You are safe, warm, and comfortable. Nothing will hurt you. Nothing is wrong. This feels right, right?”
I waited eagerly, watching her blank face, eyes still closed.
“Yes,” she replied in a dreamy, faraway tone.
“You are listening. You are open. You are receptive. It feels good, and right. Safe, warm, comfortable. Nothing can hurt you. You can be yourself; you can be open. It’s fine. Safe, warm, comfortable. Repeat it.”
“Safe, warm, comfortable,” she obeyed.
“That’s good. That’s very good, Tracey. Now, Tracey, there’s something you need to remember. And I know you are very smart. So, you should easily remember it. You need to remember that when I say the word ‘calculus’, you will always return to this deep state of relaxation, openness, and freedom. Safe, warm, comfortable.”
“Safe, warm, comfortable,” she responded, with no prompting at all.
“Calculus. Tracey must remember. Tracey needs to remember. Tracey is smart, and will remember. Right, Tracey?”
“Calculus. Drop deeper. Calculus. Always drop. Calculus. Smart girls remember. Calculus. Down, down, down. Calculus. Remember. Tracey will remember.”
“Soon Tracey will awake. But all this will be gone. Faded like a lost dream. Only the subconscious remembers. Only the hidden mind. There it remains. Calculus. Imprinted. Calculus. Tracey understands.”
“Good girl,” I hit her with the big gun. I could see a slight shudder pass over her body when I did.
“Now Tracey, calculus, when I tell you to, calculus, you will awake, calculus, unaware of any time having passed, understood?”
“Very well, Tracey. Wake!”
Her eyes snapped open. She looked at me with an ever so slightly smug grin.
“I told you it wouldn’t work,” she said. Now, no longer afraid to interrupt, the audience broke into laughter. I could even see Jim holding back a chuckle.
“Well, I guess you proved me wrong. Calculus.”
She dropped immediately, eyes closed, head hanging slightly limp.
“Very good, Tracey. This feels right. This feels natural. Tracey is safe, warm, and comfortable.”
“Safe, warm, and comfortable.”
Up next, I needed to fill some time. I went through the motions of making her cluck like a chicken. It’s a cliché, but audiences eat it up.
Then I got a little more complicated. I made her forget the number 8. Gone. Like it never existed. Then I had her jump through some mathematical hoops. It seemed harmless, but it was my first step at making her question her much vaunted intelligence.
Now, the real fun could begin…

Mistress Absinthe (story)


Male/Female sex
Mutual masturbation
Female dominant

“You’ll have to drive the babysitter home,” came my wife’s voice over the car speaker.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Remember Audrey?”
“That mousy girl? We haven’t used her in years.”
“Four, and she was eighteen then, she’s changed a little since. She said something about her name being, absence now? Anyway, Jack already picked up little Jason, so just drive her home.”

“Ok, sure.”

Babysitting for our eldest son’s newborn was a chore, especially when Jen and I were both busy. We had to have a babysitter to babysit for the babysitters. And now, I had to drive her home. What a tedious trip that would be, when he was already tired from work.

To say Audrey had changed ‘a little’ was a huge understatement.

Gone was the shy, ratty-haired, pimple-faced, little girl I had once known. In her place, was one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. Her platinum blond hair was streaked with a deep, royal, purple. Her dress looked like it had come from a runway in Milan, and so did she. Perfect C-cup breasts, legs for days. The most striking thing though, was her confidence. She just exuded it. And her crystal blue eyes? They were as deep as a lagoon, and when I caught them directly, I could barely look away. She was taller than my wife, I’d say Audrey was 5’10. I still towered over her at my 6”3” but, somehow, she seemed… larger than life.

“Hi Audrey, long time no see.”

“Please, it’s Absinthe now.”

Her voice had changed, there was a definite French accent to it now. I hated to think of women, other than my wife, as sexy. But Absinthe? There was no denying it.

“Where have you been all these years?” I asked.

“I went to university, in France. But really, I went all over Europe. That’s the thing about Europe. Much to see, many to do.”

I figured even her grammar had gotten a little mixed up between the languages; so, I didn’t correct her.

As I headed towards the car, Absinthe, following close behind, I felt compelled somehow to open the Prius’s door for her. Nothing wrong with that, but I hadn’t done it for anyone but my wife, or my kids, in years.

“Merci,” she said, her voice even lower, sultrier, than before. I could imagine her as a phone sex operator. In fact, I already was. I composed myself, putting it as far out of my mind as I could.

We rode in silence for the first block, before I felt compelled to make small talk.

“How was Europe?”

“Wonderful. Everyone is so sex positive.”

I decided not to pursue that one. She had other plans.

“People talk about sex freely, openly, honestly.”

“That’s… good.” I managed to choke out.

“There are topless newscasters, there’s late night porn on free TV.”

I had no idea how to respond.

“And masturbation?” she said, drawing the word out, emphasizing it. “People think nothing of a woman masturbating in public. You can ride the subway and see a woman slide her hand into her pants, just like this.”

She did it! She slid her hand into her pants, beneath her panties, and began playing with her pussy! She let out a low, soft moan. I knew I should stop her. I knew this was inappropriate. But I couldn’t stop her. Why couldn’t I stop her?

“We’re here,” she said, between whimpers. I had lost track of where we were, and almost missed her driveway. It was a long winding one, and it led to what I could only describe as a mansion. Not even a low-end mansion, a massive, classic, house that made the rest of the street look shabby. I never got up this way, precisely because it was the high-end neighborhood. Before today, I’d never even know this place existed.

“Well, we’re here.” I was able to compose myself to say.

“Do you mind if I finish? Getting interrupted is just awful, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Uhhh… yes.”

“I’m sure when you jerk off, you want to finish.”

“Well, yes.”

“Ohhhhh, merci, mmmmm.” She was panting a little, and the pleasure was all over her face.

“Playing with yourself is so wonderful, wouldn’t you agree?”

I managed a weak nod, trying to keep from looking at her.

“Aww, don’t be shy, you can watch.”

I knew I shouldn’t. I also knew, it was all I could think about at that moment. I turned, and stared, openly and completely, as she dug her fingers into her pussy.

“Ohhh,” she moaned, “It feels so good. Masturbation feels so good, don’t you agree?”

I nodded blankly.

“The feeling,” she continued, “even the smell is lovely. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Why don’t you join me?” she asked, more seductively than ever.

I offered the only excuse I could. “I’m… I’m married.”


“I… can’t.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s not cheating, it’s just jerking off. I bet you jerk off, plenty.”

“But…” I trailed off.

“Come on. Just unzip and slide your underwear down. I can tell you’re uncomfortable already, those pants are as tight as my cunt.”

They were, my cock was so hard already, it was straining against my clothes.

“Just unzip, it will reduce the pressure. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

I just couldn’t help it; my cock was becoming painful. I unfastened my seat belt and, immediately yanked my zipper down.

“There,” she said, “doesn’t that feel batter?”

It did, but it didn’t stop my cock from getting even harder, making my underwear too tight as well.

“Oh no,” she said, with a hint of disapproval. “You need to pull those briefs down too.”

There was a little voice in the back of my head screaming “No!” Yet somehow, I couldn’t listen to it. I pulled my underwear down and my cock sprang to attention. I swear, it seemed harder than it had since I was in college, harder than it was even with my wife.

“Nice,” she said, “But jerking bare is so unsatisfying.”

With her free hand, she reached into her fashionable, leather, purse, and produced a small bottle of Astroglide.

“Which hand is your favorite?”

I reached out my right hand, and the little voice seemed to recede into the background. She squirted a generous dollop of lube into my palm.

“There, doesn’t that feel better.”


“Yes, Absinthe,” she said, her voice growing slightly firmer.

“Yes, Absinthe,” I replied, with no hesitation.

“Very good. You should be rewarded.”

The thought of a reward from her sent a shiver down my spine.

“Now. Grab. That. Dick.”

The little voice gave one last, feeble, cry then vanished. I eagerly grabbed my rock, hard, cock. Before I could begin, she spoke.

“No stroking, not yet. Just hold it.”

I did as I was told.

“Even just holding it feels warm, soft, and wonderful. Doesn’t that feel better?”

I nodded vacantly.

“Say it.”

“It feels better.”

She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“It feels better, Absinthe.”

“Good. Now start stroking, nice and slow. Wouldn’t want this to end too soon, now would we?”

“No, Absinthe.”


I started stroking, I wasn’t sure how fast she wanted, and I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I moved up and down, almost glacially slowly.

“Good.” Each time she said that, a stronger, and more pleasurable tingle rocked my entire body, be especially my rock, hard, cock.

“A little faster,” she said with a coy smile.

I obeyed, instantly.

“Good. Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Yes, Absinthe.”

“And, as you stroke, as the pleasure build and builds, I need you thinking about me.”

That was easy.

“Faster. Think of me. Only me. And the pleasure of your cock. Harder.”

I picked up the pace, squeezing harder. It felt so good, it was better than I could ever remember masturbating feeling. I felt dazed, almost overwhelmed.

“That’s good, you’re doing very good. A little harder; a little faster. Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Yes, Absinthe.”

“Call me, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.” It felt so good, so right somehow, to say it.

“Good boy.”

Another thrill ran across me, dwarfing all the ones that had come before.

“You love it,” she said, and she was right. Everything about her seemed right.

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Stroking for Mistress Absinthe feels good. Faster. Stroking for Mistress Absinthe feels right. Harder. Stroking for Mistress Absinthe feels natural. It’s what you want to do. Need to do. Crave to do.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Good boy. Faster.”

I went faster.


“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Stroking for your Mistress is the best feeling you’ve ever had.”

It was true. “Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“I bet you want to cum. I bet you want to shoot that load, to explode with pleasure.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Not yet. Not without Mistress’s permission.”

I knew then and there, that I’d never be able to cum without her allowing it.

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Keep stroking. Keep thinking about your Mistress, only your Mistress, nothing but your Mistress.”

I was panting now; it was hard to even reply.

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“You want to cum more than anything.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Tell your mistress, what would you give to cum right now?”

“Anything,” I gasped out.

“Good boy. You know it’s true, you know you can’t cum without Mistress Absinthe. You can’t cum ever without Mistress’s permission. Not jerking off. Not having sex. Never again.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“You will obey your Mistress, at all times.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Your mind is Mistress’s plaything. You want nothing more than to be your Mistress’s good boy. And you are my good boy, and you will always be my good boy.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Cumming now will bind you. Cumming now will seal your fate. Cumming now will make you Mistress’s forever. Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe,” I said, with more conviction than I had ever mustered.

“Obeying your Mistress feel good.”

It did; it did so much.

“You want to feel this good forever.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“And you want other people to feel this good too.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“And you will help Mistress make that happen. Your friends, your neighbors, and especially your wife, you will help Mistress make them feel this good.”

The thought thrilled me.

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“Good boy. Stroke a little faster.”

I felt like I was going to burst. Yet, the idea of disobeying, the idea of disappointing my Mistress, was too much to bear.

“Squeeze, squeeze that cock tight and good. Let the pleasure build. Your mind is melting.”

“Yes, Mistress Absinthe.”

“No more, need to talk, just listen. Your mind is mine. Your body is mine. Your spirit is mine. Nothing matters more than pleasing Mistress Jasmine. Let the pleasure build.”

Somehow it was building, beyond anything I had ever experienced. Nothing eve came close.

“Stroke that cock. That cock that Mistress Jasmine owns. Your Mistress, and the pleasure she brings you, is your everything. Faster.”

I was stroking faster than ever, faster than normal, faster than ever. And it felt so good.

“It’s almost time, almost time for your complete, ultimate, total, surrender. And you are looking forward to it. More than anything in your life. Serving Mistress Absinthe is your life now. Nothing else matters.”

I was breathing heavily, sweating slightly, and hoping so much that she’d let me cum.

“And my good boy, your reward is almost here. You must obey. You must submit. You must serve.”

It was true; it was so true.

“Very well, my good boy.” She took the hand that had never left her pussy, and lifted it toward me. The smell intoxicated me even more. She reached out and gently, just barely, brushed my cheek with her finger.

“Cum,” she whispered.

That was all it took. My cock spasmed then, it happened. It is almost impossible to describe the feeling. My mind was utterly overwhelmed by two things: pleasure, and utter, total, obedience. Cum erupted from me like a tidal wave, and it didn’t stop. Cum just kept pumping. A tiny part of my brain was shocked at how much there was. The rest was utterly overwhelmed.

“Good boy,” she said once more, causing another spurt of cum.

“You’ve done very well, Victor,” she said with such admiration it sent my heart fluttering.

“Now, clean yourself up, and go home. Tomorrow, we start taking over the neighborhood.”

I couldn’t wait…

Listen to hypnosis files

So you want to experience mind control hypnosis

Allow me to train you in my own flavor of mind control. It’s very succinct. I get to the point. I don’t complicate things. I simplify them. If you are down with that, then let’s do this. We can do it my way.
I believe that mind control hypnosis is different than most think. You might never experience that loss of control. But the line between your control and loss of control can become blurred sometimes. Sometimes you just love the experience so much that you keep doing and do what you are told.
It can be like a game of Simon Says at times, where you follow the commands even though Simon didn’t say it.
Who is the “Simon” in your life? Is it your desires? Is it your cravings?
Is it your leaders? Politicians? Caregiver? Partner? Parent? Teacher? Social media influence?
It seems you came here to explore this dynamic, and I’ll teach you about it, not with a lecture, but with an experience.

There’s something about Goddess Victoria





Financial ruin/gold digging



Religious removal/ ex-christian

Femdom, Female domination


Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

She was perfect, yet all his friends were down on her.

They all kept saying how happy he’d been with his ex-fiancée. How much they had loved each other.

Why couldn’t they see how perfect Victoria was?

They kept asking him why he’d quit his band, right when they signed a record deal.

Wasn’t it obvious? To spend more time with Victoria.

They kept asking him why he sold the family home.

Because Victoria didn’t like it. Wasn’t that reason enough?

Even his best friend had had the gall to call Victoria a gold-digger.

Well, if his friends couldn’t see how awesome Victoria was, then he didn’t need friends.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

She was perfect, yet his family were all down on her.

Why couldn’t they see how perfect Victoria was?

They just kept harping on about his ex-fiancée. How it had been a week before the wedding when he met Victoria, and instantly knew she was perfect.

Heck, he didn’t remember his ex-fiancée’s name most of the time.

She didn’t matter, not like Victoria mattered.

She wasn’t perfect, not like Victoria.

Even his parents said he was spending his money too quickly.

But he had to please Victoria.

Why couldn’t they see that?

Well, if his family couldn’t see how awesome Victoria was, then he didn’t need family.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

She was perfect, yet his financial advisor was down on her.

He kept saying he shouldn’t be emptying his trust fund and selling his stocks.

He kept saying, at the rate he was going, he wouldn’t be rich much longer.

But he had to please Victoria.

Why couldn’t he see that?

Well, if his advisor couldn’t see how awesome Victoria was, then he didn’t need an advisor.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

She was perfect, yet his therapist was down on her.

She kept saying the craziest things.

That he was acting out of character.

That he was acting recklessly.

That he seemed almost, brainwashed, in how loyal and obedient he had become to his precious Victoria.

But Victoria was perfect.

Victoria was smarter than him.

Victoria knew what was best for him.

Victoria was his everything.

Why couldn’t his therapist see that?

Well, if his therapist couldn’t see how awesome Victoria was, then he didn’t need therapy.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

She was perfect, yet his family doctor was down on her.

Doc kept saying the whip marks, bruises, and chaffing from the chains were signs of excessive BDSM play.

But Victoria loved to abuse him.

And Victoria was so far above him, how could he think of resisting?

Why couldn’t his doctor see that?

Well, if his doctor couldn’t see how awesome Victoria was, then he didn’t need doctors.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

She was perfect, but he kept having weird dreams.

Dreams of spirals, and a swinging watch, and a faint voice, just beneath the edge of hearing.

But Victoria told him to ignore it.

And Victoria was so powerful, how could he question her?

Well, if his dreams didn’t worship Victoria, then he didn’t need dreams.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new girlfriend.

Something about their threesomes.

He had always dreamed of threesomes, but with another woman, not a man.

He also ended up just watching sometimes, and was that technically a threesome?

But Victoria told him it was perfectly normal.

And Victoria was so superior, how could he think of questioning her?

Well, if his idea of a threesome didn’t match Victoria’s, then he didn’t need ideas.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new outfits.

Leather had never been his thing. Yet now he was wearing all kinds of it.

Not just any old leather, fetishwear, which he’d never been into at all.

But Victoria liked it.

Well, if his sexual fantasies differed from hers, then he didn’t need fantasies.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new mantra.

He’s never really thought that ‘obedience is pleasure.’

‘Submission is bliss,’ was not really his vibe.

And ‘service is divine’ felt off somehow.

But Victoria decreed it.

Well, if his old mantras differed from those she gave him, then he didn’t need his own mantras.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new Mistress.

He’d always been too proud to call a woman something like that.

But Mistress insisted.

Well, if his pride went against his Mistress’s wishes, then he didn’t need pride.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new Mistress.

He’d never even heard of poppers before he met her.

Now he was hooked on them, and he hated the idea of being an addict.

He’d always been clean of any manner of substances.

Well, if his abstinence defied his Mistress, then he didn’t need abstinence.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new Mistress.

He’s always considered his ass off limits.

But now, he was wearing a butt plug and getting pegged by his Mistress’s strap-on.

Well, if his limits on his ass displeased his Mistress, then he didn’t need limits on his ass.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his new Mistress.

Something about the strange music she made him listen to.

He’d always hated techno.

And the lyrics were too soft to even understand.

But now, he was listening to her mix through headphones, for hours at a time.

Well, if his taste in music was unworthy of Mistress Victoria, then he didn’t need taste in music.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his amazing Mistress.

He’d always consider himself too normal to wear a leather collar and chain.

Even when ordered he had hesitated, and been slapped repeated for his obstinance.

For a moment, it had felt wrong. Then he realized he felt wrong because he had failed his Mistress.

It would take a while to get used to.

Well, if his normalcy angered Mistress Victoria, then he didn’t need normalcy.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his Mistress’s threesomes.

He’s always considered himself a pure heterosexual.

But now, their threesomes were involving him sucking cock and getting fucked.

But sometimes, Mistress also ended up just watching and giving orders, and was that technically a threesome?

Well, if his heterosexuality went counter to Mistress Victoria, then he didn’t need to be straight.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about being a human toilet.

He’s always been disgusted with the idea of being pissed on.

Now it was an almost daily occurrence.

But Mistress Victoria needed to pee, and she liked peeing on her sub, even if it disgusted him.

Well, if his disgust made him question his Mistress, then he didn’t need disgust.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his Goddess.

He was raised a devout Protestant.

To venerate anyone but God or Jesus equally to him was a sin.

And Christianity told him he would go to Hell.

Well, if Christ opposed Goddess Victoria, then he didn’t need Christ.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about his finances.

Signing over a power of attorney to someone else seemed… risky.

He’d always been risk averse with money.

Well, if Goddess wanted more power over him, then he didn’t need to be risk averse.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about being a slave.

Something about the term seemed, debasing.

He’d never thought of himself as a slave.

His sense of identity was something entirely different.

Well, if Goddess wanted a new slave, then he didn’t need a sense of identity.

Something was nagging at him.

Something about things nagging at him.

His Goddess had decreed he would no longer think for himself.

That he would surrender his free will forever.

Well, if Goddess wanted her slave to be her obedient toy forever, then he didn’t need free will.

Just like I planned.

View All Hypnosis Files

Julien’s Pleasure Toy

Irene’s eyes stood frozen in their sockets as Julien’s right hand reached for the last button of her pristine white shirt; each of her breaths came out with a gasp as their skins touched. 

Julien was in full hypnotic control of her mind at this point, and now he even controlled her body

“Tell me that you want me;” the hypnotist ground his teeth as he whispered to her ear. Now his lips were closer than ever to her ear, eager to taste and bit her luscious skin. 

Her moan came exquisitely; “Yes, I want you!” and felt like her very soul was coming out of her body with that breath. Irene’s body was burning with desire at this point, yet she could not understand what happened to her; all she could think of was that she wanted to fuck the man in front of her more than she wanted to stay alive after that moment. 

“Good, that’s a good girl.” He smirked, then stuck his teeth into her flesh, to taste and feel the vibe of her blood rushing through her veins like there was no tomorrow. 

As his hand reached under her left breast, Irene gasped once more; “Ahh” but didn’t dare to take her prize. Right now, she found herself at Julien’s mercy, for him to do whatever he wanted with her. Before she knew it, she had become his personal sex slave craving for whatever he had to offer. 

Droplets of cold sweat began trickling down her neck and in between her tits as tension felt like going through the roof; it was a pivotal moment of now and never, and Julien rejoiced in torturing his prey, to tease her in all possible way until she begged him like no other. 

She was only one step to touch the wall behind her; her instinct was telling her to run still, but she was paralyzed; his influence was running through her veins now dictating her heart and mind to stay and submit to his desires, to mirror them in all possible ways. 

With the last button torn off, her bra was the last thing standing in his way, but that one fell graciously with the utmost sacrifice; her perfect pear-shaped breasts were at his mercy, and Julien delved in to ravish them with his lips. A shower of moans and gasps engulfed them both. 

“Yes, yes… fuck yes.” She moaned as both her hands were holding his head now, brushing his hair, pulling him closer.      

Those words triggered a lustful demon inside Julien who couldn’t resist teasing her. He tore her tight black skirt to pieces. Her delicate black panties were revealed for the first time to his eyes, and with a bite of the lip, he simply grabbed her and pushed against the wall; her back against him now. 

Irene’s round-shaped ass, along with all the curves building her body depicted an image of heaven, the picture of pure sexual perfection. Leaning against the back of her head, Julien grabbed his cock and penetrated her from behind. Her warmth and wetness were inviting him to release all his energy and sexual desire. 

“Fuck yes;” he groaned like a lion as his cock entered her warm pussy “You’re perfect!” 

The more he fucked her, the more he felt like he wanted more and more; his pelvis slammed against her ass, causing a clapping sound that was driving him crazy. His eyes now were getting lost on the curve of her spine, that stretched beautifully almost to infinity; Irene’s body looked like the perfect sculpture, crafted by the hands of the best artisan the world could ever offer. 

Grabbing her ass with both her hands, now caused Julien to pull her harder and harder towards him, while she did the same thing upon her own will. It felt like they were trying to become one through this sensual sexual experience, yet the sexual rage that took over him pushed Julien to desire infinity; 

His body was surging with energy now, a sort of sexual lust that was able to break all boundaries; he felt like he couldn’t resist anymore, therefore he grabbed both of her hands now, pushing her head against the wall in an almost standing position. There he began to thrust inside her like there was no tomorrow; Irene peeked at him in the corner of her eye, grinning with pleasure. 

“Do you like it like that, huh?” Julien ground his teeth as he was fucking her with all his strength, but all he got in return was a lustful grin that said: “Give it to me, give it all to me!” 

Irene was completely under his spell at this point, moaning and gasping with every thrust; this sort of silent, hypnotic sex engulfed them both as sweat began to take over both their bodies. Clearly, they had all intentions to consume each other until there wasn’t anything left. 

No warning in between, and Julien grabbed her feeble body to throw it on the glass table; pens and papers flew everywhere, as he fell over her in his maddening desire; now he was looking straight into her eyes while his arms were holding her thighs. His thrusting intensified now while his tongue ravished in her voluptuous breasts; it felt like it was now or never, a moment to rejoice before the darkness came. 

The more Julien fucked her, the more desire emerged until eventually a feeble gasped scream took over her lips.

“Ohh yes, yes…” and that was it, Irene came under that hypnotic sexual dance; her body was not under her control anymore, as Julien possessed it to its very core.  

Her heavy breathing and tense body, with every muscle clenching with pleasure, caused Julien to almost lose control. His cock felt squeezed inside her now as if her body was trying to milk it of even the last drop of seed, and this was stimulus enough for him to succumb. 

“Aww fuck…” he growled as he was about to fall prisoner to Irene’s sensuality, a second was all it needed for him to bust. 

Her head now fell backward while a cheeky grin took over her lips; their bodies were wasted, completely engulfed in sweat, and what was left of the desire that almost consumed them.