If you had told me two months ago that I would be a great candidate for hypnosis, I would have replied that you were full of shit. My mind, my will, my consciousness… these are sacred things to me, and the thought of remanding them over to someone else seemed preposterous. Just no fucking way. Two months ago I didn’t know that my dominant was interested in learning how to hypnotize me, so when he and broached the topic on the ride to a party, I figured he was mostly kidding. It turned out that he was serious, and I soon found out how much.
That party was the first time I was ever hypnotized. Our friend, Kuma, was happy to teach sir the fundamentals. Kuma taught classes on hypnosis and had years of experience hypnotizing people. He was an ethical man and a mentor to sir. So when he told me to stare at the iridescent knife, I obeyed. Part of me thought it wouldn’t work. I assumed that I would stare at the knife, indulge my master and then refill our drinks. The idea of hypnosis was exciting in theory in a similar way that the theory of a gangbang is exciting to me. The actual real life application, though, inspired some anxiety. I was a little leery about someone messing with my mind even though it would be my beloved.
The reflection of light from the knife seemed to glow in swirling patterns of greens and blues. It was like staring down into a well of aquamarine water, the patterns undulating and ever-changing. Kuma’s voice was deep and even when he told me to relax and let my eyes shut. As I felt the last of the tension leave my muscles, I had the spark of thought that this felt like meditating. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the exact same position with sir and Kuma watching me intently.
“Did it work?” I asked.
Kuma picked up my arm and held my palm. “Can you feel this?” he asked. I watched as he pressed the point of his knife into my hand.
“What did you do?” I shrieked.
One blaring thought pushed to the forefront of my mind. I should be yanking my hand back. The knife point should hurt, but I didn’t feel a blessed thing. My right arm hung like a bag of meat from my shoulder, and my feet were stuck to the floor as if they were mired in cement.
After the knife, a lighter was held under my palm and still I felt nothing. My brain was sending me all sorts of messages about what should be happening, but physically I felt the opposite. The cognitive dissidence left me breathless and unsure exactly how I should feel about it. I stood that way, slack-jawed and in awe, until I was released when Kuma said the word “broccoli.”
We left the party that night with the promise from Kuma that he would teach us more. Sir was feeling pleased and excited. I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes and the tone of his voice, and he kept talking about all the fun we could have. I agreed for the most part. The catch for me was bringing the fantasy into our reality. My mind immediately shifted into practical mode, and I couldn’t help but worry about the implications. I willingly submitted to sir on a daily basis. Hell, I lived most of my life in a 24/7 D/s relationship, and I was owned and collared in every sense of the word. But I considered my mind a stronghold of independence, the last frontier for lack of a better phrase. Even though Kuma assured me that I wouldn’t do anything under hypnosis that I wouldn’t do consciously, I still felt some reservation.
The second time I was hypnotized, sir, Kuma and I were at my house. We had good food and great conversation, and afterwards we moved into the living room so Kuma could give a more formal lesson about hypnosis. I sat on the floor and looked at a swirling pattern on Kuma’s phone. This spiraling image became a vision in my head, the same kind of mental movie I get when I write. My eyes felt heavy as my body slowly relaxed, and when I closed them, I could see the white marble stairs that curved into a spiral staircase. My heels clicked on the stone as I stepped down, and the wrought iron bannister felt cool and smooth beneath my fingers. Down and down I walked until I reached the bottom. There was a room with a fireplace and a leather chair placed before it. I sat and relaxed into the chair, the leather warm from the fire. I watched the flames dance merrily, pulling me in further. Deeper. And I lost myself watching them.
This time when I opened my eyes I was still seated on the floor, but I felt different. Mainly because I was no longer wearing jeans and a shirt. Kuma and sir were grinning at me like two Cheshire Cats.
“Why am I in my underwear?” I asked.
“Because Kuma told you it was really hot by the fire. You got sweaty and had to take off your clothes.”
The fact that the fire they referred to was the imaginary one in my head in the vision of the room at the end of the spiral staircase was unsettling to say the least. Not only had I reacted physically to a vision they had given me, but they had also planted a trigger word. If sir spoke a specific word to me, I would drop into a trance immediately. I had visions of going under at a party, or even worse, at a dinner with friends. One thing was certain, I did not want to end up as a joke like the person who’s hypnotized and told they’re a chicken. Sir promised to be judicious, and I trusted him. And from the experiments done that evening, we determined that I was highly susceptible to hypnosis. There are people who can’t be hypnotized at all and others, like myself, who can be hypnotized easily. Most people fall between these two extremes of the spectrum.
Kuma reminded both of us that if I didn’t consent to being hypnotized from the outset, and if I didn’t trust sir in this capacity, it would be impossible to hypnotize me. I had to want to go under in order for sir to be able to do it. He would also be able to make me remember everything he said or the things we did while I was hypnotized if he wished. Kuma then pointed out that hypnosis could be a powerful tool for reinforcing positive, constructive thoughts which was how I was familiar with it. My mother had used hypnosis as part of her therapy practice for years. And to illustrate his point, they hypnotized me and worked on replacing a mental block I had about running ten miles to make me think something positive and helpful instead. It worked. When I hit mile ten during the half-marathon, I felt a burst of energy and I had the thought, “this feels easy!” None of us knew that night that I would also need the positive message planted for miles 11-13 too.
I still don’t know what the trigger word is, and so far sir has used hypnosis only during sex. I have a second to think, “Oh, so that’s what the trigger word is!” Then I’m opening my eyes again and can’t remember the word. Dammit! Sometimes the hypnosis feels like a skip in the vinyl record of my brain. There’s this hitch where the music and lyrics don’t flow continuously. For example, one night I gave sir a great (I like to think fantastic) blowjob. He had an orgasm, I swallowed, and I remember thinking that we could snuggle and fall asleep. Moments later, I was still kneeling beside him, but I was reaching for his cock again. I felt hungry for him, and I wanted his hardness in my mouth and his come down my throat. It was an overwhelming need all of a sudden and I acted on it.
Sir said in mock innocence, “but you just gave me a blowjob.”
“Are you complaining?” I replied.
In that moment, I felt like I was the one in control. Even though I had a sense that my desire for another blowjob was his idea planted through hypnosis, it felt like my own. It was like the day-to-day concerns of my “regular” brain had been thrown aside to tap into the wild child that I keep (mostly) restrained. We fucked for hours with abandon, and I loved every moment of it. All it took was that one idea to throw open the doors of a fantastic night of sex that I hadn’t previously considered. Now I can’t wait for the next time.