ClickBate/ClickBait (Story Challenge!)

Soooooooo

The other day I somehow volunteered myself as part of a story-writing challenge with the marvelous DJ Pynchon (and by 'volunteered' I mean agreed when he asked me to do it).  We were inspired by a conversation about clicker training and its applications for erotic hypno-play, and from out of that came something interesting I hope.  As always, this story may not be suitable for reading at work, in front of small-minded people, or possibly dog trainers.

Part 1 – CLICKBATE

“CLICK”

                Darcy sprawled across the couch in her robe and slippers, and glared at Sam. 

“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about!” she said.  “The thing where you click your fingers!  Every time you click I lose track of what I was saying, and it’s starting to get irritating!”  She did her best to stare Sam into apologizing.  “When I agreed to let you try to hypnotize me I didn’t realize that you were going to tease me instead.”

“There is no ‘try’ happening here, Darcy, only ‘do’.  I’ve been putting you under since lunch, you just don’t remember it.”

“Oh please, there’s no way that can be true.  I’d know it if we’d been here all day long.”  Darcy checked the clock, which read 9:27.

“Really?  And you’re in your robe because?”

“Obviously because it’s still morning and I haven’t dressed yet.”  She sat up straight, causing the robe to gape.

“And the reason you have nothing on under your robe is?”

“Sam, you know you stopped me on my way to showering to issue your little challenge.”  She put her hands on her hips defiantly, arching her back and exposing her breasts.

“And the reason you’re posing for me like that is?”

“Because you have hypnotized me into being an exhibitionist tart.”  On the word ‘tart’, Darcy slumped back into the couch, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

“CLICK”

                Darcy sprawled across the couch in her robe and slippers, and stared at Sam.

                “You keep doing that clicking thing with your fingers, right when I’m about to say something really important, it’s really annoying never getting to finish what I’m saying.”  She did her best to glare at Sam, but she kept getting distracted by the large clock over the fireplace.  “It’s already 9:30?  Have you been trying to hypnotize me all morning?”

“I don’t have to try, Darcy, you’ve made it so easy for me.  And I’ve been hypnotizing you all day, you just don’t remember.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m in my robe, it’s still morning.”  She sat up straight in order to better show off her bathrobe.

“And the reason you have nothing on under your robe is?”

“Because as soon as you give up I’m going to shower, of course.”  Darcy slid her robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around her lap.

“And the reason you’re showing me your breasts right now?”

“Because you’ve hypnotized me into wanting to be naked for you.” Darcy slumped back into the couch, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

“CLICK”

Darcy sprawled across the couch in only her slippers, and tried to focus her eyes on Sam.

“Do you have to keep clicking at me like that?  I forgot what I was going say.”  She breathed deeply, and settled into the couch a little more firmly.  “What time is it anyway?  Are you going to try to hypnotize me soon?

“I have already hypnotized you Darcy.  You just don’t remember.”

“What?  No, I just got up just now, look, I haven’t dressed yet.”  She struggled to sit up, leaning heavily on the arm of the couch.

“And the reason you aren’t wearing your robe anymore would be?”

“Duh.  I haven’t put it on yet.”  Darcy  swayed back and forth in time to her words, swinging her breasts.

“And the reason you’re making sure I really get a good look at your tits right now is?”

“Because you’ve hypnotized me into loving having you look at my tits.” Darcy slumped back into the couch, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

“CLICK”

Darcy sprawled across the couch and blinked dully at Sam.

“Um, did you do the click thing again?  I have to tell you something.”  She concentrated hard on remembering what she wanted to say.  “It’s really important.”

“I have to do the click thing Darcy, it’s part of me hypnotizing you.”

“Oo are you hypnotizing me?  That sounds fun.”  Darcy smiled brightly at Sam.

“Do you want to put some clothes on first?”

“But I want to be naked and horny!” She whined.

“And you want to be naked and horny why?”

“Because you’ve hypnotized me into being your horny little slut!”  Darcy slumped back into the couch, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

“CLICK”

Darcy sprawled across the couch and floated in the bliss of being near Sam.

“This is fun, do it again!” she begged.  “I love when you make me feel all warm and floaty and horny!”

“That’s a good girl, Darcy. Happy to have me hypnotizing you?”

“Oh god yes!  I’m so horny I just want you to make me feel good!” She wriggled on the couch, using her body to invite Sam to fuck her.

“Darcy, it looks like you are trying to tell me something.  What is it?”

“Oh Sam, I want you to fuck me, can you fuck me? Now? Please?”  Darcy pleaded with Sam.

“Darcy, why are you asking me to fuck you?”

“Because I want you to fuck me!”  she explained breathlessly.

“And why do you want me to fuck you?”

“Because I asked you to hypnotize me into being a sex-crazed bimbo!”  Darcy slumped back into the couch, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

“CLICK”

Part 2 – CLICKBAIT

Sam parked in the driveway of Alyssa’s house, and congratulated himself again on finding a play partner who liked hypnosis as much as he did.  He had been sitting at a table alone at the student union coffee shop watching people pass by when she had come up behind him, tapping him on the top of his head and making him jump a foot into the air.

“Watcha reading there, Sam-I-am?” she asked.  “Looks like a big dry text book!  We can’t have that, it’s practically the weekend!” 

“It’s a book about hypnosis,” he’d told her, “I’m reading it for an extra credit project for Psych 101.”

It had turned out that Alyssa had been interested in hypnosis ever since watching “The Jungle Book” in grade school.  “Something about Kaa, those swirly snake eyes, it pushed all my buttons before I even knew what that meant.  I’ve been finding people to hypnotize me ever since!”

Sam couldn’t believe his luck, running into a beautiful girl who got off on hypnosis and was willing to let him practice on her.  He’d asked her if she wanted to meet up the following weekend and she’d enthusiastically agreed, and now here he was at her doorstep.  His knock at the door was answered by a cacophony of barking.

“Sam!  Hi!  Don’t mind the dogs, they love to say hello to people.”  She ushered him through the front door into the presence of two twitching and excited border collies.  “This is Mollie,” she said, pointing to the smaller, slightly fox-faced dog, “and this is Tippie.”  The larger dog barked once when she heard her name, and stared adoringly at Alyssa.  “They really belong to my parents, but I’m dog-sitting while they are out of town.  Come all the way in, they wouldn’t hurt a fly.”  She led Sam through the kitchen and into the living room, pausing to retrieve a small gadget from off the counter.  “We’ve just been working on a little obedience training while we waited for you.”

“Do they need training? They seem so well behaved.”  Both dogs were sitting intently at Alyssa’s feet, obviously waiting for something.

“Oh yes, I keep working with them so they won’t forget their lessons.  My folks kind of let them do whatever they want, which includes things like jumping on people and barking at nothing, so I help train them pretty much weekly. Today we are really concentrating on being calm around strangers.”

“How does the gadget fit into all of this?”

“Oh, this?” she said, holding it up.  “This is a clicker.  Instead of rewarding them with a treat when they’ve accomplished a task, I click it.  Eventually they learn to associate the “click” with the task itself.”

“So when you click they know to do the task?  Instead of having to be coached to do it?”

“Exactly!”

“That sounds exactly like you’re hypnotizing them to respond to a trigger, like snapping your fingers or something.”

“You know, it does, I hadn’t really thought of that.  But you’ve reminded me of why you’re really here,” she said with a smile. “I’ll just let these two out to play in the yard and be right back.  Help yourself to something to drink if you want.”  She opened the slider door to the yard.  “Come on doggles! Time to scare bunnies out of the garden!”  The two dogs ran for the door, sliding on the hardwood floor and careening outside.  “There,” Alyssa said as she closed the door, “Now we can work without feeling like we’re being stared at.  Let’s go sit.”

*    *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *    

“All right, Alyssa,” Sam said after she had made herself comfortable on the couch in the living room, “We’ll do this just like we talked about at the coffee shop.  Go ahead and close your eyes if you want to, and just relax and listen to my voice.”  He talked her through a brief relaxation exercise and was pleased to see her breathing start to slow and deepen almost immediately.  “Now, Alyssa, I know you’ve done this before, I know you know how it feels to slow down and relax.  I know you know how it feels to let the world become still around you and inside you while you relax and listen to my voice.

“I know you know that the deeper you go the better you feel, and the better you feel the deeper you go.  Just repeat that for me now while you concentrate on your breathing.”

Alyssa took a deep breath, held it, and let it out.  “The deeper I go the better I feel.”  She took another deep breath in the same way.  “The better I feel the deeper I go.”  Sam let her repeat herself for several repetitions, then began to speak again. 

“As you keep breathing and repeating, Alyssa, I want you to imagine you are in a hallway.  At the end of the hallway is a door.  As you keep breathing and repeating, I’d like you to walk to that door, open it, and walk through.  When you’ve walked through the door, leave the words “the deeper I go the better I feel and the better I feel the deeper I go’ behind you and shut the door.”  He eagerly watched as her quiet chanting slowed, then stopped.  “Very good Alyssa.  Have you shut the door behind you?”

“Yes,” she said distinctly. 

“That’s interesting,” thought Sam, breathing deeply, “I always have trouble speaking clearly when I am hypnotized.”  He watched Alyssa breath for a little while longer, enjoying how the synchronicity of breathing with her made him feel. 

“Alyssa, there is another doorway at the end of the hall.  Can you see it?”

“Yes. I can see it.”

“I’d like you to walk through that doorway as well, and tell me when you’ve gone through and shut it behind you.”  He thought about how being hypnotized always made him feel a little warm, like he’d been basking in the sun, as he waited for her to speak.

“Okay, I’m through it.” She said.

“Good girl.”  Sam started to continue, but suddenly all his carefully planned words were gone.

“Good girl,” he repeated, stalling for time.

“Good girl,” he said for the third time, and had to close his eyes as a wave of disorientation hit him.

“Why would I want to be a good girl when I can be a bad girl?” asked Alyssa.  “Open your eyes Sam, and look at me.”  Sam struggled to open his eyes.  Alyssa was sitting up and looking at him, all the while breathing slowly and deeply. 

“Yes, Sam, I am still hypnotized.  This is one of my fantasies, having us both be hypnotized together.  Do you remember at the student union, when we talked about our fantasies?”

(“wouldn’t that be amazing?” she had said, looking deeply into his eyes. “both of us going down together?”  he had agreed and looked into her eyes, and been unable to look away.)

“Yes,” he said.  He could feel himself slipping deeper as he thought about the conversation.  She had said something about being deep and being triggered and

Click

“That’s very good Sam, remembering us talking together about being hypnotized makes you feel more and more hypnotized right now.  And as you go deeper I go deeper.”  Alyssa shivered with arousal.

“Sam, do you remember at the student union, when we counted each other down?”

(“no one will even notice,” she had said.  “I’ll start. ten.” and they had continued to count down, alternating numbers, until Sam had started to feel distinctly woozy.)

“Yes,” he said, remembering more.  She had used the clicker then, hadn’t she? He began counting down.

Click

“I bet you’re counting down right now, remembering it.  I am counting down too.” Alyssa moaned a little as Sam carefully started counting from ten to one, mouthing the words silently.

“Sam, do you remember at the student union, I said I would help you fulfill your fantasy?”

(“it’ll be so great.” She had said.  “you’ll hypnotize me and I’ll go deep, and you’ll fall with me.  fall so so deep without even knowing it.  you’ll call me a good girl when you are ready to have your fantasy fulfilled.”)

“Yes,” he said. His cock twitched as he remembered and heard

Click

“Very good Sam, you’re doing so well. You’re making me wet right now, you’re turning me on so much, and the more turned on I am the more turned on you’ll be.”  She unzipped her jeans and slid her hand down into her wetness.

“Sam, do you remember at the student union telling me how to get you to cum?”

(after they had finished counting, they had imagined the kink that they each wanted to explore, and when she heard Sam’s, Alyssa had said “mmm, I love that idea, I’m getting turned on already, and as I get more turned on you get more turned on.”)

“Yes,” he said, his cock throbbing in his jeans.  He could hardly wait for the next

Click

“Oh my god Sam, this is so hot, I’m getting so close to cumming, I’m getting so fucking close!”  She fingered her clit rapidly, gasping for breath.

“Do you remember…ooohhhh…Sam, do you remember, at the student union, agreeing to let me give you an orgasm trigger for when we played together?”

(she had been very stern as she told him that he would only cum when she told him he could.  he hadn’t minded.)

“Yes,” he said, his breathing gasping and ragged, but still in time with her.  They both gasped together as they heard

Click

“In just a moment, Sam, oh god, in just a moment Sam we’re going to cum together, we’re going to cum together, all you have to do is remember what you told me your fantasy was.” She arched her back and continued to moan as she fingered herself.

“Sam, Sam, Sam do you remember telling me what your fantasy was? Do you remember?”

(you’ll scream them for me, Sam, three little words and when you do you’ll cum and when you cum I’ll cum”

“Yes,” he said, feeling his need grow as he listened to her writhe in front of him.

“Do it now Sam, now Sam so we can cum!”  she ordered him and

Click

“Bait…” he gasped…

                                                                “and”

                                                                                                                “switch!”

Click

Water, or This is What Happens When It’s 8 Days to MEEHU and I Kind of Fancy Having an Interrogation Scene

This is something a little different, you can maybe almost even safely read it at work.  (Yes indeed, that means no obvious smut.)

Debrief Transcript (Trance Aided), Agent 12, RE: events of 10^th July 2015

               I approach the door to my hotel room and something’s off, something’s wrong, but I’m not sure what.  I examine the hallway, the light fixtures, the doorjamb – and there it is, the thing that tipped me off.  I always scatter salt under the door, it catches in the ridges of the jamb and is nearly impossible to clean up completely. Opening the door changes the pattern, and I am dead certain that someone has been in my room, and is probably still there.  I wasn’t having any fun at this convention anyhow, it’s time to blow.

               I find my partner, Agent 5, milling about with the real writers in line for the hotel-catered lunch.  I catch his eye and give him a thumbs up, which is our prearranged signal for “we’re blown, rendezvous later” and head for my personal escape route. Through the maze of rooms allotted to the Romance Writers of America Conference, (we’ve built our covers as two moderately successful authors over several years, 5 even writes his own material), down the freight elevator, out through the kitchens.  It’s just outside the lift that they catch me, clubbing me on the back of the head.  I go down hard, my body just quits on me, and I think ‘at least I warned…’

               “Fitzroy, is it? Nice alias.” are the first words I hear when I come to. Damn.  They’ve nabbed 5 as well.  I can’t see him, but I can hear someone needling him, doing obvious pre-interrogation patter, and I know it’s only a matter of time before it’s my turn.  Time to see what I have to work with.  There’s not much.  I’m tied to one of those rolling office chairs, wrists to the arm rests, legs to the pedestal, you know the drill.  I’m in what looks like a room within the Con hotel, double beds, over-size flatscreen, mini-fridge, those ridiculous lamps that attach to the wall next to the beds, you know, the ones you can never find the switch for?  There’s something weird about these lamps though. They’re putting out perfectly round halos of light, halos that seem to spin around the room on a line of light, entering my vision from the right and exiting on the left.  It’s almost impossible not to try and track them as they move, and it’s when I try to turn my head to follow them that I realize my head is being held in place somehow.  It’s a variation on the old ‘shine a light in their eyes’ trick, but I am confident that I can withstand it.  

               It’s almost a relief though when one of my captors comes in to view, blocking the lights.  Because of the glare, I can’t get more than just a sense of him – tall, powerful, probably over-confident because he’s looming over me and I’m tied to a chair.  When he starts to speak, his voice is mild, almost gentle, and barely audible.  

               “You’re going to have to speak up if you want this to work,” I taunt, and he slaps me.  Really puts his shoulder behind it, and it’s when my head bounces off the back of Agent 5’s that I realize that we are tied back to back.  Someone is talking to him as well, but he has the sense to learn from my mistake and keeps quiet.

               “You don’t get to speak,” says the tall man.  “You get to sit there and listen while my friend milks Agent 5 for everything he knows.”

               “Really? Are you going to hit me every time I make a noise then?” I ask.  He answers me with a feint towards a backhand, but stops before he does anything but barely contact my skin.  

               “No, Agent 12, I think in your case we’ll have to try something different.”  He fusses with something outside of my range of vision, when he turns he’s got a hypodermic in his hand.  ‘Great’ I think.  ‘Drugs. I can deal with drugs.’  I don’t struggle when he injects me, which seems to surprise him, but that’s because he doesn’t know about the new anti-interrogation techniques that the Agency has perfected.  I’m proof against any chemical he wants to use to try and make me talk.

               I can feel it though.  In training I practiced this, how to ride the wave of relaxation and lethargy that trickles over me.  Of course, once the drug became part of the scenario my plan of attack changes. It’s no longer ‘escape as soon as possible’, it’s going to be quite some time before my reactions and reflexes will be back up to par.   Now it’s ‘withstand their interrogation’.  The tall man starts to talk again, I have to really concentrate to hear him.

               “You are going to be quiet Agent 12, as quiet as Agent 5 is talkative, until we find out what we need to know.”

               “I’m really not, you know.” I answer. You can’t tell from my voice that the drug is affecting me.  Maybe my breathing has slowed down a little bit, but not enough to betray me.  The tall man laughs at me.  Laughs in my face.

               “You’re not what?  Not going to be quiet?”  He steps to the side and the lights are back in my eyes again.  I notice that they take exactly the same amount of time to revolve around me as it takes to take one breath.  In and they are on my right, out and they are on my right.  

               “No,’ I say.  “I’m not really a quiet sort of person.”  And if I’m talking then 5 can be silent.  The tall man’s friend is still muttering behind me.  I can’t quite make it out, but I think 5 is getting the same speech that I am.  Don’t talk, listen while your partner talks.  I feel the drug slowing me down, making my body feel like it’s in slow motion. The tall man’s friend is talking about how easy it is be silent and rest, about how hard it is to speak when your muscles are so heavy and tired from the drug, how easy it would be to just rest and let me do all the talking.

               “Let me do all the talking” I say to 5.  I think he says it to me at the same time.  The lights are on my right and I breathe in. “Don’t speak” I say to 5.  The tall man grabs me by the hair, a good strong grip, and wrenches my head around. “Don’t speak” he says to me.  I can barely feel the pain from the hair pull. The drug they gave me has made everything slow and heavy and I feel like I am buried under a mile of cotton. Nothing he does will hurt me.  I am safe from pain in this cocoon.  It’s just like we were taught at the Agency. Use their tools against them.

               They are circling us, the tall man and his partner, talking at the same time, sometimes alternating with each other, but always talking in that quiet voice that I can barely hear.  It is so frustrating not to be able to hear clearly.

               “You really have to concentrate to hear clearly” says the tall man.  For a second, I forget that I need to talk to keep 5 from talking, but I remember just in time.  “I really have to concentrate to hear clearly” I say to the tall man.  The lights are on my right and I breathe in.  The tall man’s accomplice tells 5 “You must speak so that your partner won’t talk.”  Oh no! Before 5 can answer I say “I must speak so that my partner won’t talk.”  I really have to concentrate to hear clearly, the voices are so indistinct, hard to pin down where they are coming from or what they are saying.  I notice that the lights are slowing down.  I breathe in and they are to my right, I breathe out and they are to my right.  I can’t forget to keep talking, I must speak so that my partner won’t talk.

               “I must speak so that my partner won’t talk” I say to the tall man as he and his accomplice continue to circle me.  They circle me like the lights circle me.  I breathe in and they are on my right, I breathe out and they are on my right.

               “I think he’s just about ready” says the tall man, referring to 5.  His partner looks at me and says “She is too, let’s turn them.”  My body is so heavy it’s like it’s become part of the chair.  The world spins on me and I can’t stop it, it keeps going and going and I’ve forgotten something that I’m supposed to do, something important.  I finally realize that I can’t be spinning, because the lights are still circling me, and now I am facing Agent 5.  He looks confused and dazed, like he’s forgotten something.  We’ve both forgotten something.

               “Did you forget already?” teases the tall man. “You have to speak so your partner won’t talk.”  

               “Did you forget already?” taunts the tall man’s accomplice.  “You have to speak so your partner won’t talk.”

               I am staring at 5 and he is staring at me.  We are locked eye to eye, I can see the reflection of the lights there as they go around and around.  They are getting even slower.  The lights are on my right and I breathe in.  The lights are on my right and I breathe out.  I notice that 5 is breathing at the same time that I do.  I watch the lights reflected in his eyes. The lights are on his left and he breathes in.  The lights are on his left and he breathes out.

               “Agent 12, I have some questions for you” says the tall man.  His accomplice tells 5 “You must speak so your partner won’t talk.”

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” I say before 5 can answer.

               “Agent 5, I have some questions for you” says the tall man’s accomplice.  The tall man tells me “You must speak so your partner won’t talk.”

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” 5 says before I can answer.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” We say together.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” We breathe together.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.”  We chant together.

               My body is a weight pulling me down.  The lights circle me and I can’t stop staring at them. Across from me, 5 slumps in his chair, but I can tell that he is staring at the lights too.  It’s hard to think.  I have to speak so my partner won’t talk, but I don’t know what to say.

               “You don’t have to think” says the tall man.

               “You don’t have to think” says his accomplice.

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” we explain to them.  

               “You don’t have to think.” they say.  “All you have to do is respond.”

               “I must speak so my partner won’t talk.” we plead.

               “We will think for you.” they say.

               “You can speak without thinking.” says the tall man.

               “You can speak without thinking, so your partner won’t talk.” says his accomplice.

               “I can speak without thinking, so my partner won’t talk.” We say.

               “Our words are your words.” They say.

               “Your words are my words.”

               “You can speaking without thinking, our words are your words.”

               “I can speak without thinking, your words are my words.”

               We speak together.  We breathe together.  The lights circle us.  They are on my right and we breathe in.  They are on my left and we breathe in.  We speak, so the other won’t talk.  We can speak without thinking.

               -transcript ends-

               “Well, that was certainly interesting.” said the Deputy Director.  He flipped a switch and turned off the monitor.  “I guess you were right about hypnosis being the wrong way to go with interrogation resistance.”  He stretched to his full height, joints popping as he did so.  “If it was that easy for us to break them, think of the damage our enemies could do.  They could have all our secrets in an afternoon. I’m glad you came to me with this. I’ll make sure that your higher ups in Research know how instrumental you were in this discovery.”

               “It was very interesting the way they reacted, wasn’t it?” asked the research tech. “Of course I have worked very hard in the process of teaching them how to withstand interrogation to prepare them for the moment when they are completely open and can be programmed to do anything I need.” She smiled at the Deputy Director. “By the way,“ she said, grabbing a bottled water from the mini-fridge, “It’s time to relax for me, relax right there where you are standing, perfectly comfortable and perfectly content to listen to my words.”  She popped the water open and drained it.  “This is thirsty work!  Now let’s you and I plan the best way for me to continue to infiltrate your organization.

Darcy At The Dealership

At least I got some writing done while they were working on my car today!
This post contains sexual themes not suitable for children et cetera et cetera ad nauseum.
Also, if you enjoy what you read, please consider helping me solve some of my car problems by contributing here.  Thanks!

Darcy In The Shower (Because I promised you smut)

The following is for mature audiences only, and contains sexual scenes and contexts that might be offensive to some.  You have been warned!

The Defining Experience of My Adult Life (Real Life Feelings, No Smut.)

 December is such a hard, hard month for me, and mostly I keep it to myself.  I suffer more because if it, but I haven't had too many people in my life with whom I truly felt comfortable being honest about how I feel.  Things that I say that from my point of view are little cries for help seldom translate that way in other ears.  I have always longed for someone who would notice that I was hurting and needed a shoulder to cry on without me having to ask (which feels like weakness) but I have never felt comfortable getting close enough to anyone for them to develop that kind of awareness of me.

So I write.  For the impersonal, faceless strangers of the internet, who checked out this blog for the smut and maybe stuck around when it turned into something more personal.  I write because expressing how I feel really does help, and I post because, recklessly, I get as much out of no one responding as I do from anyone responding, just in a different way.  A lot of the way that I feel right now is due to me being very, very tired after a long work week.  A lot of the way that I feel right now is due to me being very, very tired of isolation but not being totally certain of how to change that.  The second wouldn't bother me so much if not for the first.  And I foolishly read something from when I first started learning about hypnosis that has reminded me of how positive and optimistic I was at that time, before I learned just how easy it was going to be for me to get hurt "playing" with trance.

So.  December.  The month in which my Grandfathers died.  The month in which I fell in love with my husband.  The month in which I first knew in my bones that I was going to be alone forever.  The month when I lost a baby, not realizing that I would never get a chance to have one again.  I have been fired from jobs, given last chances, and humiliated personally, all in December.  I have had the best moments of my life, found new communities, and fully experienced erotic hypnosis for the first time in December.  The up-and-down of it all makes it worse, somehow.  But every year I march on through, because January is always so much better.  But this year is a little different.

January 1st, 2015 will be the 10 year anniversary of my husband's death from a nasty and rare form of brain cancer.  As we were lousy at being married we had been separated for several years by then, but we were still best friends.  December 23rd, 2014 will be the 10th anniversary of the last day I saw him alive, when my Mom and I made the 300 mile trek to where he was being cared for to give him Christmas presents and check in with him.  I didn't know how close he was to death at that time.  I wish I could say that if I had known I would have found a way to stay there and be with him, but the truth is I was terrified every time I saw or spoke with him that that time would be the one in which I finally broke and ran away.  I lived in a different city and had work and a thousand good reasons for why I couldn't drop everything and take care of him, but the strongest of all was that I was too scared to do it.  I have never gotten over feeling guilty about it.  I have never stopped hating myself for being that weak.  Most of the year I remember that I did the best that I could and that I shouldn't judge myself in this way, but in December, especially this December, I can't hold those feelings back.  And it will all be over in two weeks and I can go back to being someone who doesn't really talk about her past.  I can go back to being someone who, when she does talk about it, does so in an almost flippant way so that no one will know just how much I still feel it.

People have often asked me what it is I like most about being hypnotized.  What I like most is this:  when I am deeply entranced my sense and understanding of the past and the future is eradicated, and I am just existing now.  I can't be hurt by what has come before in the now.  I have no fear of what may come later in the now.  I just am.  And I am trusting someone else to have the power to control the now, which leaves me free to completely let go of everything and just exist.  That is why me trancing myself, while entertaining and useful, is ultimately just me passing time until a hypnotist comes along.  I don't want to be in charge of it.  I want to give myself to it.  And it's why, when someone abuses my trust, I am so very very upset.

I went back and read the logs from some of my earliest text-trance experiences.  Back when I was shiny and new and optimistic and had no reason to think that finding someone I could trust would be difficult.  I had had a few negative experiences, but not heart-breaking emotional ones.  The person who would become the heart-breaker was just getting to know me and those are the logs that I read.  I don't remember half of what I am reading ever happening, I don't know if it's because of how long it's been or if I never remembered them.  And what I discovered is that everything he did to me in the end were things that he had already done to a previous subject.  He basically told me the story of how he got in too deep and cut her loose, and I never saw that it was a warning to me of what might happen.  I never thought it would happen to me, and when it did it took me over a year to really recover from it.  Over a year to trust new people enough to give them a chance at messing with my mind.  I am slow to recover from emotional things.

So a double whammy today of reminiscence and nostalgia.  Wanting to talk about it but having no one to talk to has at least resulted in a blog post, so that's something.  For next time, I promise I will write some actual smut to make it up to you all.

Ambushes: Part Two

I am meant to be sleeping, but instead I am writing.  It's a fair trade.

I received a comment on my previous post about being ambushed that made me think happy thoughts and so I thought I would expound upon that topic before bed tonight.

The aforementioned post, which can be found here, (go read it if you want), was written after a particularly frustrating day of everyone I interacted with refusing to accept it when I said no to something.  I was cranky fucking mad, which fact I think was clear to all readers.  There is one mostly non-angry paragraph, however, and that is the one wherein I point out that people who are allowed to ambush me may do so.  Pretty much whenever the whim strikes them.

So, I will expound (starting with the comment that I left in answer to the commenter mentioned above.)

"There is nothing I can think of at the moment hotter than having someone whom I trust take me under, forcefully and commandingly, in such a way that I don't even notice the transition. Like a light switch (because you can flip those things on and off as much as you like.)"  Here is an example:

So I'm chatting with someone who has me figured out really well.  Trust has been built, consent has been given, all it really takes is a little push to take me down, and most of the time when I fall, it's like I'm a weighted fishing lure, spinning through the sea as the lead drags me ever downward.  And this is fun.  This is enjoyable.  This is a great starting place for knocking on the door to my mind and having interesting conversations with whatever happens to be home.  It is one of my favorite sensations, but it is not, technically speaking, what I would describe as "hot."  

Hot is when you're having a conversation about nothing in particular and out of the blue he says "Down. Now." And I go from breathing air to the bottom of the ocean before the sound of his voice has had time to fade.  My mind flip-flops, my body is crushed under the pressure of all that water, and I'm so turned on that I will do practically anything to have my body fucked the way my mind has been.

Hot is when you are listing out all the places you would go if you won the lottery and in between saying "I could go to Prague" and "I could go to any museum I wanted" he says "You could go to sleep." 

Hot is having your control over your body taken completely away, while your mind is busy trying to count.
  
Hot is being brought back up, but still having no control over my hands while they pinch my nipples and rub my clit until I helplessly cum.

Hot is talking with him afterwards and realizing that the hand that I haven't bothered to move yet is  feeling my heart beat from the inside.


So, yes, sometimes being ambushed is a very very good thing. 

...singing a good harmony with someone can be as good as sex...

Some ideas are bad and some ideas are very bad; some ideas are so bad they're good, just ask anyone who's seen Point Break if that's not true.  My bad idea that seems good for today is to write a blog whilst in trance, a trance of my own making, (which, really, isn't that different from normal writing), but comes with certain parameters that I normally follow lifted.  For instance, although I have written previously about how people do not get to randomly ambush me, I don't think I've ever come out and admitted that (for people who I have accepted) being ambushed is one of my biggest turn-ons ever.  And, while I've talked about what personality types in a hypnotist annoy the shit out of me, I've never gotten into the types that I really, really dig.  Because the more I expose about myself the more vulnerable I am, right?  But that's the point today, being vulnerable.  I know people who won't write (or act or sing or dance or pretty much create anything) because they think it will expose too much of themselves to strangers.  And they are correct, but it is exposure from a place of anonymity (as any comment troll can tell you), and is massively liberating once you get into the habit of doing it.

So--
This happened today.  I wussed out of going to a funeral for someone with whom I was a friendly acquaintance but not really a friend.  I intended to go.  I got my shift at work covered, I had my outfit planned, I had the directions written out.  Then I started thinking about how I was going to have to look at the body of someone who in my mind is still alive.  I haven't figured out yet how he can actually be dead.  It makes no sense to me.  And the more I thought about the body, the more I didn't want to go, and finally I admitted that I was a chicken-shit and stayed home.  I worry as I write this that most people will be horrified, and that people who thought they were getting to know me will think less of me for my cowardice.  It matters to me what people think, but if I had to choose right now if I were going or not I still wouldn't.  I can't reconcile in my mind the idea that looking at a man's shell makes the situation better.

And I started thinking that here, on the internet, that is all we are really doing, is looking at someone's shell.  And not even the best angle of it, because all the really important stuff is on the inside, floating intangibly out of sight, and my perception of it is never going to be the same as the perception of the person to whom it belongs.  Maybe that, in its simplest essence, is the real attraction of hypnotism as a fetish.  We're cracking the shell, and even though the substance we find inside will always be murky and obfuscated it still feels real and meaningful.  When my shell is cracked, and I feel the secret parts of myself sniffed at and prodded, it feels like I am being really seen and understood.

Well, this all started off fairly light and got weirdly deep quickly didn't it?  But really, I'm still on point.  The idea here is to reveal my vulnerabilities.  And shell-cracking is a big one.

I also like voices.  People who have talked movies with me know that I would rather watch a mediocre movie with a killer soundtrack rather than a fantastic movie with a crappy one.  Same thing for hypnotists.  Vocal quality is super important, although an annoying voice can hypnotize me just as effectively as a fabulous one.  For perspective, (using actors for familiarity), if David Tennant were to show up and want to entrance me I'd be all over that--but if Tom Baker showed up at the same time Tennant wouldn't even exist.  If Gillian Anderson came to my door I'd be thrilled to be enthralled, but if Gemma Arterton was standing next to her...actually that's a bad example because what would kick ass is if Gillian Anderson and Gemma Arterton wanted to do a dual induction on me.  But you get the idea.  Some voices, you don't even hear the words because you are too busy feeling the resonance in your bones.  And other parts.

(It's also why singing a good harmony with someone can be as good as sex.  No.  REALLY.)

And none of this gets into the true beauty of well written words.  Maybe next time.  For now, this is enough.