Sleep! (Fast or slow?)

•August 31, 2014 • 1 Comment



Fast hypnotic inductions (yum). Slow, dreamy hypnotic inductions (mm).

I can tell you what each is like.


This is such a seduction. I don’t care if it’s for therapy or for just sexy, hot  “control me” fun, being drawn down the hypnotic stairs or watching the pendulum or being counted down or having every part of your body relaxed one limb at a time is a complete seduction. It’s exciting at first. There’s nervousness. What if it doesn’t work? There’s giddy tremors deep inside. What if it DOES work? But slowly, you just feel yourself slipping away. There might be a moment where you come out of it a little and realize that you haven’t really been paying attention for who knows how long before the hypnotist does whatever they do to lull your thoughts back to sleep. There’s certainly a dreamy quality to it. When your eyes are open and some part of you wakes up enough to remember the feeling, it’s like being in a daze, staring off into space and not quite tracking what’s being said to you or how you’re responding. There’s a whole lot of “in one ear and out the other”. Your hypnotist or you say something, and it’s there in your head, then you or your hypnotist says something else and the new thing bumps out the old thing and it’s gone.

For me, it’s always a feeling of sinking and getting heavy and like it’s too much trouble to move. Counting down really does a number on me (oops! pun, sorry, lol). Counting somehow gets me focused on the next number and where we are in the counting, and when they screw around with the counting that is very distracting, but in a good way. They start counting back up, and I’m like “wait, wrong direction”. They skip a number or they repeat a number, and I’m like “wait, you did something wrong there”, meanwhile the suggestions they’re giving me between numbers are sending my body and mind plummeting.

The most successful trance I think I’ve ever had though didn’t involve counting. It involved the hypnotist recognizing that I liked the heavy, sinking feeling and then suggesting that my conscious mind was floating up, lighter. So the heavier my body got, the lighter my mind got and by the end I felt strangely disconnected from myself. It’s weird, but I felt like he was talking to my neck, lol. Like I was stretched out, spread thin and my subconscious was somehow in between (in my neck, apparently).


This is a total thrill ride and a lot more of a feeling of being under someone’s control. That snap of the fingers or someone saying “SLEEP” is a complete shock to the system. It’s sudden. It’s sharp. It’s almost like a moment where you hear the fire alarm  going off. There’s even this little moment where you can think, “is it going to work?” but before you can get to the word “going” in that sentence, you feel yourself giving way. This is a lot more physical to me. It’s like someone hypnotizing my body first. My body reacts by letting go and then my mind is left to wonder what it’s supposed to do. It’s especially effective for me if I can collapse somehow, back onto a bed or even better, (yum) forward into someone’s arms or into their lap. That’s like being a kitten that goes soft and boneless in your owner’s arms. Still, though after that sudden thrill of the drop, I feel like I’ve never actually just sunk to the bottom like the slow, seductive trances. It’s like I fall onto a platform and someone has to show me the door to the stairs. Right through here, and we’re back to the slower sinking again.

The best for me so far was someone who wanted to “condition” me. So, at first I was told to go along with it. Don’t resist it, even though I knew I could. We must have done this a hundred (50?) times. And yes, it didn’t take long before I felt a lot less like I was going along with it, and a lot more like it was taking on a life of its own. That was the excitement. The sensation that my body was dropping on its own without my involvement. The thrill that maybe I couldn’t stop it anymore even if I tried, though I never really got a chance to stop it because I was busy dropping before the idea occurred to me. And I’m pretty sure once or twice, they quickly planted a suggestion or two into me. This going in and out of trance was more devastating (in a good way) to me when I was awake then anything else. There was at least twice that I was cautioned to wait for the trigger, because I only “thought” they were going to trigger me and I dropped. Oops! lol But yes, being awake got really dreamy and I knew I wasn’t following everything exactly, because I was very focused on being triggered again. Yes, I know, it’s called being “fractionalized” and it worked really well, but mostly because I think I got a lot more suggestible when I was “awake” then when I was under.

Partial(?) Hypnosis

I don’t know what to call this, but I’ve had different hypnotists do this to me and it was both weird and sexy.

One decided she would only hypnotize my body and not my mind. I’d been under with her several times and we liked each other. She was sweet and nice and funny and like a best friend you just met, and I didn’t go under amazingly well for her, but I really liked being hypnotized by her even though we didn’t do it often. She hypnotized just my body and told me to make sure my mind was awake. It worked okay, but when she narrowed down her hypnosis to only my right hand, I kept losing that hypnotized feeling every time I moved it. When she hypnotized my left hand I got a completely disassociated feeling. I was looking at my left hand and it was sort of like it wasn’t mine anymore. It was, but it wasn’t. When she asked me whose hand it was I told her it was hers, but I knew it was really mine. I also had a strange sensation like it was a puppet hand and she’d somehow slipped  her hand inside it.

The other time, someone decided to only hypnotize the part of my brain that could talk, the speech center. I didn’t feel like anything was happening, but I had a little moment of (what to call this) dizziness? Not dizzy, not disoriented, but a combination of spacey and vertigo, just for a second or two. I told him this and he asked me if I wanted to stop and I told him (lol, what was I thinking?), that actually I wanted to see if he could make the feeling come back. We had a good laugh and he never quite got it to come back, but he had me remember what it felt like and I had a sort of ghost sensation of it, meaning I remembered what it felt like, so I was sort of feeling it, but not nearly as intense. Then I had a trigger which was a basic off and on command. When he said “on” everything was fine. I was a little dreamy, so a little trancey, but not overly so, but fine. When he said “off”, first I just stared away and didn’t say anything. I went kind of blank, but I knew what he was saying, then when he really pushed me to try to speak I was very drunk and slurred and slow and I couldn’t form the words. Again, I didn’t feel drunk, a little dreamy (not dreamy exactly, but a little out of it), but it was odd that he could suggest to my mind that this part of my brain right here wasn’t working anymore.

So, there you have it, slow inductions, fast inductions and I have no idea what to call it inductions.



•June 14, 2014 • 9 Comments

ImageI tried the doggy position with the first boyfriend I had that was sexual. I mean…I had boyfriends, but this was the first one I had sex with.

I didn’t like it. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good; it was that it made me feel a certain way. I couldn’t explain it, but it was the first time I realized that a sexual position was more than just a way of getting a good angle on pleasure, but also an emotional sensation that could either add to the arousal or completely wash it away until it was flat and lifeless.

It made me feel like an animal, and I didn’t like it.

Fast forward 5 or 6 years until I’m in college and I’m telling a boy I don’t like the doggy position. Of course, he doesn’t listen. He’s got a good strategy though. We’re all hot and bothered and doing it when he rolls me over. Even then, I remember telling him, “I don’t like it like that”. I don’t remember what he said, maybe something like “just for a few minutes” or something, but then he was fucking me from behind and I was waiting for those feelings to come, the ones that made me feel bad.

Only they didn’t come. I didn’t feel bad. I think I remember he had his hands up and down my back, and then  he grabbed me by the hips and started shoving me back into him and it was nice. It started to get nicer, especially when he started telling me how much he loved my ass. I got one spank and I remember feeling this total rush through  my body. It was like someone had opened my mouth and filled me with piping hot air. I went from mild disdain to completely hot and turned on. That one spank made me feel naughty. It made me feel dirty and he was doing me, not fucking, not having sex with me, “doing” me and I loved it. I got super wet and for a moment I thought he’d cum and I was worried because I thought he’d been wearing a condom. I thought about asking, but he was still going and that’s when I realized it wasn’t him that was so, um, juicy down there; it was me. I was literally dripping wet.

It change for me on that day. Or maybe it had changed before but I hadn’t known it. Suddenly, I liked the idea of hot, primal animal sex. In high school, maybe I was afraid of it. Maybe I was afraid he wouldn’t respect me. Girls have that unfair “slut” factor we have to contend with when we’re that age.

Now my feelings about doggy position are entirely positive. It can be a slutty position if you like. For me, it’s a very submissive position, and that is a deeply satisfying feeling. Poking your little tush up in the air for him makes me feel happy now. It’s like “here it is!” and it usually gets very good results, plus  if I get a spank out of it or if he reaches out and gives my hair a pull, oh my, you do not want to be around when that happens. Well, maybe you do, but I don’t want you watching it because I feel like that really triggers me into a wonderful space where I am just a raw sexual being. It’s a little embarrassing when I think about it, but it’s amazing when it’s happening.

Boobs – How I made my nipples sensitive

•June 1, 2014 • 2 Comments


I realize now that I’ve never written about this before. I think what might shock guys is how very infrequently us girls think about boobs, except for when they are sore, making us feel fat, attracting unwanted attention, not attracting wanted attention, and swelling with milk for babies. I have not had that last experience so I’ll have to trust mothers I have known to chime in on that.

So, when I was without boobs, I had a circle of friends, and surprise, surprise, our boobs were starting to come in. It was not the central-most topic of conversation, but it was there as an undercurrent. And here was the deal: we already had our judgments in place. If your boobs came in too soon, that was bad. Not that it made the rest of us hate you, but suddenly boys treated you differently. I’m serious about this. Boys did a complete reversal. They didn’t like you or they thought you were stupid, then suddenly “boobs” and they were all over you, hanging all over you, hanging on your every word. It was the most bizarre thing. So any of us who started out jealous would no longer be jealous when it happened to us. It was almost like a game of red rover. Once you crossed to the other side, you were one of them.

If your boobs came in too late, that was bad. It was like maybe there was something wrong with you. If your boobs came in too big, then that was bad. We didn’t hate you, but there was something there that we sort of didn’t like, as if you’d done it on purpose. If your boobs came in too small, that was bad, but we didn’t hate you and we felt sorry for you. Sorry, guys, but I was in that category. My boobs grew around the same time as everyone else’s and they were about the same size, but as my friends grew, so did their boobs a little and mine did not. I still have small boobs. Cup size means less to a guy. I can go A or sometimes B, depending on the brand. I’m sort of in between which is a real pain because I’ve only found one brand that gave me a really comfortable fit and that’s Prima Goddess by Eberjey, and while I think they’re pretty, I also don’t think they’re very sexy. So finding a sexy bra is sometimes a chore and an unpleasant one that usually does not help my self esteem. (You can take the next 3 seconds to pity me and then you have to stop!) I’m about the size of the girl in the picture above (because I know how visual you guys are 😛

I remember being a teenager and noticing grown men looking at my boobs. Maybe it was my imagination, but I sort of don’t think so because as I’ve gotten older if I see a young girl who is well endowed, I can keep my eyes open and yep, guys of all ages are taking a gander.

I don’t blame guys for this. I think breasts are very pretty and I look, too, just so you know.

Except for being sore and uncomfortable, I didn’t get much pleasure out of my boobs when I was younger. It felt nice enough when someone rubbed them, but it didn’t feel any sexier or arousing than say, getting a back rub did. A back rub can be very sensual and can certainly get me aroused, but mostly it just feels nice and it’s not necessarily something that will get me turned on. Kiss my lips, kiss my neck (especially the back up toward my hairline, lol–I just shivered thinking about it–and mmm!), kiss my face and certainly kiss me between my legs and I will get completely wet and ready for you.

Until…so I’m in my early twenties and I’ve discovered hypnosis as a fetish or turn on. I’d been aware of it before, but now there are fiction stories and captions and all sorts of things that make me go dreamy and soft and make my body go “yes”. I had a boyfriend who loved my breasts and he didn’t know that they didn’t turn me on, because, yes, I was faking it. And guess what…that got tiring. So, in the spirit  of hypnosis and conditioning, I asked him to do something, and I don’t think he ever knew why I asked him lol.

I asked him to play with my nipples at the same time that he played with my clit. My thinking was that the pleasure of getting wet and turned on would get associated in my mind with my nipples. Now, having my nipples played with when I was already turned on certainly wasn’t a bad thing, but just having my nipples played with during foreplay didn’t do anything for me. Without his knowledge, I was hoping to change that.

It worked. Well, it worked reasonably well. I didn’t tell him to stop playing with my nipples as foreplay; I just asked that when he started playing with me down below and when we were having sex that he keep playing with them. He didn’t exactly need a lot of encouragement.

Anyway, we eventually broke up and I was distraught for a lot of reasons, but one of the reasons (a very minor one) was he wouldn’t be helping me make my breasts more sensitive anymore. I think about a month or so passed before it finally dawned on me that I could do it myself. God, don’t ask. I feel dumb just writing that. Why did it take me so long? I don’t know. I guess in a strange way I hadn’t thought of my sexuality as my own. I had gotten to used to thinking as something that he controlled since he was always the one that wanted to and tried to and succeeded very well in getting me aroused.

So I started masturbating around this time, lol. I’m sure there were a lot of reasons I started. I was alone. I’d gotten used to having regular sex and suddenly there was no regular sex. I started to read a LOT of mind control / hypnosis fiction and to visit IRC chatrooms and things like that (is IRC still around? Now I have my fun on Second Life.) And also I decided to see if I could increase the sensitivity of my own breasts by masturbating. It worked pretty well I thought, but it was hard to tell because the second I started to get aroused just from playing with my nipples, my hand jumped with a life of its own (totally not my doing, I can assure you, it was like a ghost on a Ouija board!) right down between my legs and my finger jumped right on to my clitoris.

So at this point, my breasts are maybe like 30% erogenous, which was still better than 5%.

Then one day I met a nice guy and we dated and he did this thing which sort of did something in my  head (I never told him. I should start telling people things.)

He gave me a long breast massage. He’d never done it before so I wasn’t expecting anything. We were laying on the bed together. We had been kissing a little, nothing fancy, no hard makeout sessions or anything. He took my top off and relieved me of my bra and he began to just gently touch my breasts. Very gently, sliding his finger and fingers and hand around gently. It was nice, not terribly sexual, but nice. And then gradually he began to massage them harder. My eyes were closed by this time. I was just relaxing and enjoying it. He began to squeeze them and pinch my nipples. He started to get really rough with them. He would slap around them, hard, but not too hard, just right below that stinging threshold. He began to use his hands to clutch them, grab them, squeeze them and then he’d rub them and I got completely turned on. Not just turned on….hot. I laid there and just felt good while he stoked my fires and then the fire flared red hot in me and I had to have him inside me.

I’ve gotten seriously turned on before, but this was a surprise. I even remember thinking “oh he’s not going to get anywhere with my breasts, but I’ll let him try.” This was in the middle of feeling myself get hot and starting to want him. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he was turning me on just through my breasts alone. It had never happened before.

He had me and I was glad because I was so wet that he actually complained about it. I felt a little bad actually because he wasn’t getting a lot of, um, traction. I’m not sure what to call it. I was so wet that he tried to dry me out with a washcloth (which didn’t feel wonderful, just so you know). Anyway, he managed it somehow because I was very wet and it was very good.

Ever since then, it’s like I knew that I could get turned on just through my breasts and that was enough. I’d say my breasts are about 50% erogenous or so now. But with the right attention, under the right circumstances, I bet they’d go to 100%.

I’ve always wondered if I could climax only from nipple play. I’ve never met anyone in person who could, but I’ve always heard it was possible.

Maybe one day?


•May 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I’m 34 years old and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to come to terms with  my desires. Why is that? Because I live in a culture (a FREE culture for which I’m very grateful) that has come to the conclusion that women shouldn’t have desires. We should be tricked into desire. We should be manipulated into desire. We should be forced into desire. But we wouldn’t have desires of our own.

And to be honest, I enjoy being tricked, manipulated and forced into my desires. It’s highly exciting and it gets me as wet as a seal on a waterslide (lol, sorry, I’m drunk and that just popped into my head, cute though, right?). But I’ve come to that realization slowly and it’s taken me years. That’s years of wasted time that I could’ve been exploring the deepest part of my heart and sexuality.

I can’t exactly complain though, can I? All the women before me fought and marched so hard and for so long to get equal opportunity, and I’m really grateful for that as well. I’ve got a great job, and if it was 1951, I probably wouldn’t have it. And that’s the problem. It’s 2014 and the thing that shoots my heart down that waterslide is to be utterly seduced and controlled. Do you have any idea how difficult that is to feel that way in a culture that now prides itself on its ascension up the equality ladder all the way to “girl power”?

I feel like I’m betraying my sisters and “the cause”. I’m “supposed” to be independent. I’m supposed to not need a man for anything, but I do. I’m sorry, but I need him to be in control, to put me in my place, to make me feel like a little girl with hot mean spankings. I like and need and want a good broad chest, a deep voice, a little razor stubble on a chin and a pair of arms that embrace me like iron chains, and a pair of hands that twist and clutch and pull my hair to let me know that I’m wanted, needed, and entirely and utterly fuckable.

It’s crazy, but anyone who takes the time to learn the secret language of my heart can do thing the most depraved things to my body. It’s crazy, but there seem to be very few men on the planet willing to take the time and spend the energy to get such an amazing payoff. I have a boyfriend, so don’t freak out, but he’s such a sweetheart (again, sooo grateful) and so respectful that there are times that I silently wish for him to be less of a sweetheart. He tries and he does a good job. It’s me though, right? I should be more honest with him. Why is it so hard to tell your boyfriend to fuck you and spank you and rule you until you hurt and cry? Because he cares and I love so much that he cares, and I wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t.

This is the point where my brain starts its insecure rant in my head which sounds like this: “What is wrong with you?”


I will always be grateful for feminism and all it has given  me. I promise. I swear a blood oath to my sisters. I’m grateful!

I will also be grateful for the men in the world that don’t mind applying their hand to my backside until I’m all soft and warm for them, but it takes a lot of time and seduction to get me there. Just so you know.


I have a fetish!! (Two actually).

•May 15, 2014 • 2 Comments

ImageI was on SL recently, bored out of my mind. It was late and there was no one around my favorite haunts, so I went to HBC (heavy bondage club). I’m not into heavy bondage really. I’m not quite sure what heavy bondage is actually, but I went there because it came up for my search and there were people around so I stayed. I got the usual little probing IMs, but one of them complimented me and she and I got to talking. She was a “he” in RL, which she freely admitted and the subject of fetishes came up.

Fetishes seem more prevalent with men. I’m not sure why. But then I can’t say anything, because I do have this control me, hypnotize me kind of thing running around my head making my undies go squish. Who am I to judge? But I’m not into body parts. Men seem to really like that objectification of our bodies, which I find a little peculiar and hard to understand. Not that I don’t enjoy a little appreciation, but sometimes I feel like guys just take it to a whole other level. It’s all about boobs or butts or feet. There’s a lot about women’s feet apparently that is incredibly sexy. The stinkier the better, and just writing that kind of makes me go “ew” a little, but I really don’t want to judge, because if I was dating a guy that was really into it, I’d probably try to indulge him.

And here I am saying to this lovely Domme that I don’t really have those kinds of feelings about men. I like a nice smile or a nice face, and I like a nice head of hair or a nice chest, but I don’t go to websites where that’s all there is. But then I thought, I have always really loved men’s hands. I’m not sure it’s a fetish exactly, but I’ve always noticed men’s hands and there are some hands I like more than others. Swarthy, lol. Strong, powerful looking, with the veins and all, and maybe some arm hair. I still like clean nails, but not manicured, just well cared for. But here’s the thing, while I find I notice men’s hands (and always have), I love them the most when they’re on me. When their dark hand is on my soft skin. That contrast does something for me. They’ve got that dark arm hair and I’m all smooth and white (mostly). The idea of just seeing a man’s hand resting on my belly or my breasts or on my legs is really makes two different parts of me drool simultaneously. I can’t usually see when they’re wrapped around my wrists, but I love the idea of it. I can feel it, and that’s so much better.

Me and a former boyfriend were driving to his place late one night (he was driving). And he reached over and placed his hand over my arm in my lap. I’m sure I silently encouraged it, but eventually his hand ended up around both of my wrists. When he squeezed them every  now and then, I went into a quiet little heaven. I didn’t squirm. I didn’t budge. I was afraid he’d get the wrong message and take his hand away and I didn’t have the words to tell him that it was okay, that I liked it. It was a completely silent affair. We didn’t talk about it. He just cuffed my wrists together with his hand and I just felt the blood rushing around my body making me feel very nice and warm.

Now that I think of it, that dark muscular hand reaching down between my legs and playing with me is a nice idea, too.

So, I guess if I had to objectify men, that would be my fetish. Now I just have to start a male hand fetish website.

Spankings must be fair(?)

•May 13, 2014 • 2 Comments

ImageMust spankings be fair?

Well, yes, sort of. I’ve found that out.

There are playful spankings, but those aren’t really hard. They’re more like tickling and slapping the butt, which might get a little warm, but there’s not all the “you’ve been naughty” feelings that go along with it. It’s like foreplay really.

I’m talking about the real spankings though. The ones that hurt. The ones that I don’t like, but I do like. I’ve discovered they have to be fair. You can’t just make something up and wallop me. I have to have done something wrong. So, let’s define fair, lol, because I don’t mean “fair” fair. I don’t mean, I had to have been a bitch that day. Although that would work, too. I mean I had to have done the thing I’m being “punished” for. And if it’s real, if he really did think I was being wrong, then that makes it super intense, because I DO feel guilty, and the guilt really intensifies my spanking, because now it’s not just a physical punishment, but an emotional one as well.

But if you make something up, and it’s not true, and I didn’t really do it, then it doesn’t work. I take the whole spanking just thinking “this is stupid, and it’s not fair”. It ruins it.

I need the chance to be sorry. I need the reason to get softened up, to get weepy, to get cuddled, to get put in my place and pressed hard under his thumb, but if I don’t really have anything to be sorry for, I’m not going to have that excuse, and I’ll probably be a bitch about it.

On the other hand, being a bitch about it might get me a fair spanking with all the excuses I need. 😛


•May 11, 2014 • 5 Comments

ImageWhy is a collar important? What’s it all about? How did it ever come to be some fetish thing? I have no idea, lol.

But I can tell you why it’s important to me.

First, it feels restrictive. I can feel it tight around my neck. I wear necklaces all the time though. I even have a few chokers. Those are restrictive and sexy (I think). So, it’s not just the restriction. I mean the restriction is sort of a feeling of being controlled. It reminds me of having a man’s hands around my neck, and even though I’m not into being choked, it’s still an erotic feeling. Having my hair pulled by him is nice, too, but I don’t have any hair items that somehow symbolize BDSM.

So, maybe it’s the symbol. After all, a dog gets a collar and there is a clear ownership there, right? Dogs also get tags and those don’t seem to be heavily fetishistic. The collar goes with  leash and the leash is all about control. I’ve worn a collar in RL, but it’s only ever been a cheap one from Walmart. It is a rather nice idea though of someone who loves me buying me a very nice quality personalized collar. It’s sort of a symbol of connection, too, like a BDSM wedding ring. I can’t help getting that feeling of tears in my eyes at the idea of someone gave me a collar with meaning behind it.

The dog thing is a bit wet spot in my imagination. I don’t know why. I’m not really into being an actual dog or anything, but the idea of being told or ordered or expected to remain naked on my hands and knees or just knees is a big dizzying turn on.