Welcome to the hypnokink writing prompt challenge! This is an experiment to encourage myself and others in the hypnokink community to write and share more often. Everyone is welcome!
To participate, copy the text included at the bottom of the prompt that includes the link to the prompt and the @kink-prompts mention and create a new post on your blog. Take as much or as little from the prompt as you like. Feel free to be creative with the format and style.
To suggest prompt ideas, use the ASK BOX.
Please stick to hypnokink and mind control genres. If your story veers into other kinks, please tag and add content warnings!
kink-prompts - just the prompts
Tags for each prompt, including my reblogs of all contributed stories.
kink-prompt-1 - an unethical hypno HR policy
kink-prompt-2 - a club with hypnotizing vampire voices
kink-prompt-3 - emergency broadcast - time to drop...
kink-prompt-4 - hypnotist succumbs to her own tools
kink-prompt-5 - superhero just wants to relax and drop
kink-prompt-6 - hypnotic lofi, why not just chill out
kink-prompt-7 - drone factory reject goes wrong
kink-prompt-8 - assistant bots are not what they seem
Welcome to the hypnokink writing prompt challenge! This is an experiment to encourage myself and others in the hypnokink community to write and share more often. Everyone is welcome!
To participate, copy the text included at the bottom of the prompt that includes the link to the prompt and the @kink-prompts mention and create a new post on your blog. Take as much or as little from the prompt as you like. Feel free to be creative with the format and style.
To suggest prompt ideas, use the ASK BOX.
Please stick to hypnokink and mind control genres. If your story veers into other kinks, please tag and add content warnings!
kink-prompts - just the prompts
Tags for each prompt, including my reblogs of all contributed stories.
kink-prompt-1 - an unethical hypno HR policy
kink-prompt-2 - a club with hypnotizing vampire voices
kink-prompt-3 - emergency broadcast - time to drop...
kink-prompt-4 - hypnotist succumbs to her own tools
kink-prompt-5 - superhero just wants to relax and drop
kink-prompt-6 - hypnotic lofi, why not just chill out
kink-prompt-7 - drone factory reject goes wrong
kink-prompt-8 - assistant bots are not what they seem
Oopsie, I said a weird phrase, and accidentally found that my partner is a sleeper agent and that's their trigger, let's see what I can make them when they are in that state.
Aw, why can't I have my own secret agent slave!
To participate in the kink-prompts writing challenge, copy the text below that includes the link to this prompt and the @kink-prompts mention, then create a new post on your blog for your story.
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
So you think you can think is the game show of the century! 100 hypnotists come in, only one can come out with their mind intact!
So you think you can think?
To participate in the kink-prompts writing challenge, copy the text below that includes the link to this prompt and the @kink-prompts mention, then create a new post on your blog for your story.
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
So you think you can think is the game show of the century! 100 hypnotists come in, only one can come out with their mind intact!
So you think you can think?
To participate in the kink-prompts writing challenge, copy the text below that includes the link to this prompt and the @kink-prompts mention, then create a new post on your blog for your story.
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
91, "Is the world ending or ar--"
13, "--ress is here an--"
33, "--ll you agre--"
off.
Who am I to complain about the cable that I pay for, right? Who am I to say that I am paying an outrageous amount for a service that doesn't even provide the entertainment I need? Maybe it's a sign...
.
.
.
I don't want to open my phone.
I don't want to open my phone.Â
I don't want to open my phone.Â
I don't want to open my phone.Â
.
.
.
Fuck.Â
"Ideas for your next apocolyptic di--Â
"I found this really great blanket for the end of ti--Â
"Your anxiety is growning. You ag--Â
"Unethical Life Hacks: Ki--
"AI does s--
"You u--
"Are c--
"Stressed k--
"You s--
"Agree!--
Close.
At least I don't pay for this service. They just play ads all the time and I don't know why I think it's entertaining or even stress reducing. I like to think that if my brain is busy I don't have to think about the world.
Open.Â
I don't know why I did that. I'm so fucking stressed about everything. I guess let's try again.
Clo-- EMERGENCY ALERT
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.Â
"We are sorry to interrupt...
--Interrupt. Why does that feel familia--
"...your regular broadcast, but we are here to announce a very important message..."
--important message means listen. listen. list--
"...pay close attention to your screen..."
--attention good. interruption good. listening good. i am being good. wait why am i thinking thi--
"...as we inform you that is time to drop."
--interruption good. attention good. dropping good. follow directions for emergencies be good.
"Good."Â
ohhhh fuck.
"Now, this is the 5th test of the emergency broadcast system in the past week. We hope that you've been responding quickly and effectively. Our emergency response team should be coming around your neighborhood to check on how well you have been during this test."
Oh. I remember this feeling now. Interrupt stops everything. Important means listen. Attention is good. When I am good, I get rewards. When I am good, I get to --
Someone is here. Be good. Be good. Be good...
"You look better this time. That's good!"
goooddddd yesssss fu--
"I'm sorry to interrupt your thoughts though. You seem to need a little more practice before you get to go home. We can't have you panic during a real emergency can we?"
I'm not at home? Wh--
"Interrupt. I thought I made myself pretty clear that you weren't supposed to think at this point. Anyways, I don't feel like reexplaining the testing procedures because I've done it the past 5 times, and while you still continue to think and not follow emergency procedures, you do seem to remember to forget."
...
"That's better. No thinking. Your thinking has been interrupted. Good."
"I can see your reward works really well. Good."
"God, I love my job. I will be tinkering with your mind a little more to help you graduate from this program though. You won't remember this. You do look really nice thoughtless and interrupted. Dropped even. Good."
...
"It's okay if you continue to fail. You'll still be so good. I'll see you tomorrow."
Derek Lee shivered as he walked down Jackson Street, hands in his pockets. The brisk, cool weather of San Francisco was something he would need to get used to. While his family was practically roasting in Tempe, the fog blanketing the city had barely burned off by lunchtime, and was already rolling in early for the evening.
Derek had restaurant recommendations from the locals in his dorm, but he liked to explore. He definitely wasn't interested in tourist traps, or "re-imagined" bistros attached to celebrity chefs, anointed with Michelin stars. Chinatown was a living, breathing piece of immigrant history in America, and once you got past the overpriced and gaudy facade, there was something ironically genuine about it.
His favorite part so far had been the alleys. Tucked in between tenement apartments with iron bars and fire escapes were narrow passages full of signs marking benevolent societies, stairwells leading to basement businesses, and the clacking of mahjong tiles reverberating off the brick. Derek felt like he had stepped off the bustling streets and into the pages of a Dashiell Hammett novel.
Most of the signs in Chinatown were bilingual, but there was one, above a descending stairwell, that caught Derek's eye. The sign looked especially old and out of place, with gold lettering on a faded red. He pulled out his phone and used the Translate app. The hanzi read 'é„șć', or 'Dumplings.'
It was almost 3. He could go for something to eat.
Derek descended the stairs and opened a wooden door. It was dark inside, but he could make out the glow of a light.
The first thing he noticed was the space was much bigger than he had thought from outside. It appeared to be an old dance hall or banquet room. Round tables with white tablecloths flanked a parquet dance floor. There was a small kitchen where the sounds of Cantopop music and flourescent lights cast a cool, greenish tint on the rest of the room.
"Hello?" Derek called out. "Are you open?"
A middle-aged Chinese woman emerged from the kitchen. Her salt-and-pepper hair was worn up haphazardly in a bun, and a dingy apron covered her house clothes. She looked confused, and addressed Derek loudly in annoyed Cantonese.
"Is this a restaurant?" Derek asked, speaking clearly. "The sign says 'Dumplings'?"
"English?" the woman asked, pointing at Derek. "No Chinese?"
"Oh. I'm Chinese, but I only speak English," Derek admitted. "American born."
This drew a vigorous nod from the woman. Derek thought she was probably very attractive in her day. "We open later. You by yourself?"
Derek smiled cordially. "Yes, I'm new here. College. First time in San Francisco."
"Ahhhh! Welcome." The woman's grin was slightly unsettling. "I make you something. Off menu. You OK wait?"
"Wow. That's great. Yes, please."
The woman motioned to the closest table and pulled out a chair, dusting offer seat with her hand. "OK. I bring tea?"
Derek nodded and sat in the empty chair. The woman came back quickly with a teapot, a glass, and an incense stick and holder. She lit the incense and placed it on the table, and poured some water into the glass on top of what looked like a little green pod.
The woman pointed to the glass. "Chrysanthemum," she said. "Flower bloom, very pretty," she smiled, as she made a motion with her hands. Then she shuffled off back to the kitchen.
Derek watched the flower in the glass slowly open up from the pod. After about a minute, it had expanded into a bright yellow blossom, and the water had taken on the same hue. The tea had a delicate, slightly sweet flavor, unlike the green or jasmine tea Derek typically had in Chinese restaurants.
As he sipped the tea, he had to admit he was impressed with the presentation. A trail of smoke rose from the incense, and Derek wafted it towards him. It was certainly a strange odor. There was an acrid sweetness to it he couldn't quite place. There was an earthy, woody smell and some citrus notes, a common scent to half the herbalists on Grant Street. But that sweet smell was very unusual, and Derek smelled it again, trying to place it.
Feeling relaxed, Derek looked around the dark room. It had a slight musty odor from the poor underground ventilation. The decor was like what you might find in Chinese restaurants across the country, but in a more reserved, less kitschy manner. On the walls were vintage photographs of pretty young Chinese women in cheongsam dresses, their short hair curled at the ends.
Derek imagined laborers getting off their factory shifts, tired and maligned, but cleaning up nicely and coming to this place to cut loose and dance with pretty girls. He gazed dreamily at one photo in particular. She seemed to be calling to him, his thoughts drifting off to a bygone era.
Derek blinked. Must be tired, he thought hazily. Zoned out a little. He sipped more tea. It tasted different. A little stronger. More bitter. More⊠floral. Like drinking perfume. Thicker, even. More tea at his parted lips. Swallow. Again and again, until it was gone. Eyes heavy and unfocused. He felt sweaty. Breaths shallow. Smoke, curling into his nostrils. The burnt sugary odor, swirling. In his brain.
Fresh air, yeah. Derek tried to stand on wobbly legs. Like that baby cartoon deer, they buckled, and he hit the wooden floor with a thud.
His eyes fluttered. The woman from before was helping him up on his feet. He tried to stand. Fuck, he felt so hot. She pulled his t-shirt off his clammy back. Laid him down on the table. She left him there, as he curled into a fetal position on his side. Pupils blown wide, he stared into the darkness, drooling.
By the time it registered that she was removing his clothes, his pants were off, boxers going with them. He was naked but indifferent. He just wanted to sleep.
The woman spoke, her voice soothing and melodic. Had Derek been more lucid, he would have noticed her posture was now upright; her demeanor more authoritative. But first, he'd notice she'd dropped the broken English. "Perfect. The raw ingredients are ready, now the real work begins."
She reached into a steel mixing bowl, coating her hands with an amber liquid which she spread on Derek's body, starting with his chest. "This is the binder," she cooed. "Very important. You must be properly seasoned, yes." The liquid, thinner than honey but thicker than cooking oil, had an intoxicating scent. Flowers, peonies possibly. Ginger. Something spicy, like pepper. Star anise. Sesame. It went on cool, then it tingled, before quickly adding to the warmth inside. Especially as the woman began to massage and knead his flesh.
"However," she continued, working the oil into his thighs, "it cannot just be coated. The filling has to be molded. It has to be worked in." As she rubbed his muscles, they became loose. Supple. She gave a small chuckle. "Ah, yes. Softening up the meat. Breaking it down. Otherwise it will be tough." Sliding her hand along the length of his leg, she collected the loose body hair the depilatory salve had removed onto a towel. Satisfied, she gave his skin a playful slap.
Derek moaned softly as she worked the oil into his soft cock and balls, rolling him on his side, coating his ass, and sliding her slippery fingers around and into his hole. He felt the heat building, relaxing him, teasing him. Then he felt something unusual. Arousal, but unlike what he had experienced before. It originated deeper in his core, away from his penis. An inner hunger. He clenched around her finger as she slid out of him, trailing along his sensitive perineum and grazing his sack.
"Ah, there. It's starting. You feel it, don't you? The ingredients coming together, the flavors combining. The moment mere food becomes a meal." Her voice was like her touch, light and delicate, but firm where it needed to be. "Now the filling is ready, the binding has taken hold. Without the binding, you would fall apart before you could be devoured, and no one wants that to happen."
Derek said nothing in response. Completely overwhelmed, he merely sighed in contentment. The taste of the tea on his tongue, the dizzying smoke and aromatic fragrance in his nostrils, the soothing balm reshaping his body, and the woman's soothing words all wrestled for attention in his dulled mind.
"Now it is time for the wrapping. Otherwise, the filling is just a lump. The wrapping shapes the filling, makes it beautiful. Edible art." The woman pulled an end of the tablecloth over Derek's bare front, tucking it tightly under his left arm. It's unlikely Derek would have noticed the table was not lined with a thick linen tablecloth, but several layers of thinner cloth, smooth and delicate, nearly translucent. The woman moved with speed and grace, enveloping Derek tautly inside the sheet like a cocoon. The white fabric clung tightly to his oiled form, and with her prodding and adjusting, it began to take shape - slightly androgynous, slender, soft curves forming, with a muted bulge.
The woman stood back, assessing her work. "Lovely," she said with confidence. "Now I steam it gently. Keep the outer skin smooth and soft, while the filling becomes juicy and succulent." Using large tongs, the woman took the lid off an ice chest and laid large steaming hot towels over the encased young student. Inside the safe and cradling fabric, they felt the suffocating weight and sultry warmth permeating their skin. The moist heat seemed to further activate the ingested and topical agents, intensifying the sensations. It felt like all of what they once were was oozing from their pores, and being replaced by what they were becoming. "That's it, the imperfections are cooking off.
"Almost ready, my little dumpling. My little siu mai."
-----
District Attorney Ron Mitchell finished the last of his whiskey, placing the empty glass on a tray. He looked around the room, shaking his head. Normally, he would like to put half these people in jail. However, since the mayor, half the Board of Supervisors, those venture capital guys, the CEO of Panacea Tech, and last year's Best Actress winner were all here, looking the other way was part of the game.
This place really did clean up well, he supposed. Over the murmurs of hushed conversations, and through the haze of cigarette and marijuana smoke, he admired the ornate Oriental fixtures, installed a century ago when this was the most notorious brothel in Chinatown. Bright red lanterns provided ambient charm, and the crystal chandelier over the dance floor was a nice touch.
Mitchell spotted Madame Chen, the organizer, talking to the head waiter, and made his approach. An elaborately embroidered gold dragon adorned the right flank of her stunning red cheongsam dress. Her hair was styled up, and a 24-karat gold braid draped her neck with jade earrings dangling from her lobes. Though she was probably his age, she had a youthful complexion and a classical beauty about her as timeless as this old dance hall. Still, Mitchell was familiar with her skills. Which meant treating her with caution.
"Madame," Mitchell offered.
"Mr. Mitchell," Madame Chen smiled wanly. Her voice had a soporific cadence to it that made him a little uneasy. "A pleasure, as always. Will you be placing a bid tonight?"
Mitchell shook his head. "No, too rich for my blood. Was a surprise to get an invite on such short notice, but this is an impressive turnout."
Madame Chen flashed a calculating smile. "Well, my dumplings are best served fresh, for their peak enjoyment." She motioned to the dance floor. "It's time, please."
The lights in the room dimmed and a spotlight shone on the dance floor. The scratch of a dropped record needle filled the hushed room, followed by the old Shanghai Jazz melange of brass horns and a woman singing in Cantonese.
A female figure stepped out from a curtain into the spotlight. Her dazzling red silk cheongsam clung tightly to her lithe figure, as she strode forth in matching heeled pumps. She began to sway and dance with the music, gracefully lost in the rhythm, her arms extended like a ballerina. Her dark hair stayed tightly in a bun, her painted crimson lips parted, and her eyes closed as she occupied the attention of everyone in the room. A delicate flower blossoming. A piece of art imbued with life.
The song ended, and the woman bowed slightly. And finally, she opened her chestnut eyes and smiled demurely.
"Let's hear it for Siu Mai!" a voice bellowed from the speakers. "Who would like to bid on this young virginal morsel? The bidding begins at one-quarter-of-a-million dollars."
As men and women alike began to hold up numbered paddles, Mitchell leaned over and, in hushed tones, said to Madame Chen, "Congratulations, Madame. You've outdone yourself once again." His brow furrowed slightly. "Why do you call them dumplings, anyway?"
Madame Chen pursed her lips, her eyes glinting with malice that turned Mitchell's blood cold. "Because dumplings are beautiful, delicate, and finely crafted," she said, "and because dumplings are made to be stuffed with meat."
I blinked, becoming aware of my surroundings. I was sitting on a straight-backed chair, immobilised. One of my arms was limply hanging down and my other hand was buried inside my pants. I noticed that my chest was exposed, clothes pulled up and open until my nipples were out in the open, but I didn't remember how it happened. In front of my face was a spinning black and white spiral. It swam in and out of focus as my eyes blinked involuntarily, but I had no control over whether they were open or closed. A heavy, lethargic feeling prevented me from moving in any way.
I couldn't remember how I got here, what events had led up to this, I only had this vague sense of⊠Well⊠I'm here now. This is happening.Â
I could hear faint static as a recording started playing into the headphones I was apparently wearing. I remember thinking that maybe I was wearing a VR headset, maybe that was why the spiral filled my entire field of vision. But that thought was eclipsed by a new feeling, a strong sense of deja vu, of recognition as the recording started playing atmospheric hums and soft beats, as if I had heard this recording before. As if I knew it by heart and I could already feel its effects.
My hips bucked. I could feel dripping between my legs. My hand stirred in my pants, a little instinctive jerk of the wrist. I gasped, I could feel cool air against my nipples as I breathed. My hand started to masturbate. Again, I realised that, even though I didn't know how long this had been going on. My hand started masturbating again, without my conscious input or control. That hand just obeyed the programming.
My other hand jerked to life and weakly reached across my bare chest to tweak my nipple. Sensitive circular motions that drew my attention back to the spinning spiral. In this moment, I realised what was happening. The sexual pleasure made it harder to think, harder to resist. I was being brainwashed.Â
Pleasure coursed through me and my vision blurred. Soon I would lose consciousness again. I would exist only as submissive and open, being programmed and rewritten. This was just a moment of lucidity between loopsâŠ
âAnd if youâre deeply hypnotized, you will come to the stage in 3âŠ2âŠ1âŠNOW!â
           SNAP!
           You gaze around the other tables as several men and women rise from their seats and begin drifting to the stage, towards the cute lady hypnotist who had been showing the crowd how interesting her crystal pendant was.
           You smelled her induction from a mile away, and you knew you wouldnât be drawn into her web. Your boyfriend, Tom, wasnât so prepared, and you laugh softly as he gets up out of his chair and joins the five other âvolunteersâ for the hypnotistâs show on stage. You know heâs probably just playing along so he can get closer to the attractive lady in the sparkly corset and fishnets, whose watching her victims line up on stage, like a border collie corralling sheep, but you donât care. Youâre both out tonight to have fun!
           The first lady to sit down is a larger, black woman with a pretty face and her hair pulled back in thin braids. Sheâs wearing a light blue tank top and jeans that struggle to hold in her soft curves. She sits down, her eyes focused somewhere past the back wall.
           âWhatâs your name, honey?â The hypnotist asks from behind her ear, giving you and the rest of the audience a view of both their faces.
           âTiffanyâŠâ the woman replies.
           âAnd have you ever been hypnotized before, Tiffany?â The hypnotist asks.
           âNoâŠI almost never go out. I get shy.â
           âHmmâŠâ the hypnotist thinks, dramatically stroking her chin. âItâs wonderful to see you out tonight, Tiffany. But I think Iâm going to have you do the work for me tonight, pretty girl.â
           The hypnotist drops her crystal pendant in front of Tiffanyâs face and lets it swing back and forth. Tiffanyâs eyes follow it, nearly crossing.
           âWhen I snap my fingers, Tiffany, you will feel like the most powerful, most seductive hypnotist in the world. You will do whatever you can to hypnotize my other volunteers and make them your servants. You take them deep and command them to do whatever you desire. Donât worry!â
           The hypnotist winks at the crowd. âI softened them up for you.â
           You laugh along with the crowd, glancing at Tom, slightly swaying in his seat with his eyes closed and a goofy grin on his lips. This will be fun.
           âFeeling powerful and confident now, TiffanyâŠReady to hypnotize and dominate my volunteers in 3...2âŠ1âŠandâŠâ
           SNAP!
           Tiffanyâs eyes blink open, suddenly twinkling with power. She looks at the rest of the volunteers and gets up, a new swagger in her wide hips.
           âAlright yâall, youâre all gonna look at me now. Eyes open and focused on me. NOW!â
           She snapped her fingers. You swear it echoes across the room.
           The line of tranced subjects, Tom included, pick up their heads and turn their attention to Tiffany. She walks in front of them like a drill sergeant sizing up her new recruits.
           âYouâre looking at me now, alright? Focusing only on me, listening only to what I say. Looking closer and closerâŠlistening to me more and moreâŠand nowâŠâ
           To the shock of the audience, you, and even the hypnotist, Tiffany yanks down her top, letting her full, incredible breasts tumble out.
           âLook at my tiddies! Keep your eyes on my tiddies! Watch âem shake! Watch âem bounce! Theyâre gonna put you deep under my spell! Watch them nowâŠâ
           Tiffany shimmied her chest, her fat tits wobbling back and forth. Each of the volunteersâ faces opened wide as they took in the stunning sight, their heads bobbing around with each bounce of her breasts. Tiffany heaves her massive jugs up and jumbles them around in front of each of their eyes. You feel a twinge of jealousy to see Tom so enraptured with the large womanâs boobs, but canât deny her demeanor is commanding.
           âUnder my spell, now!â She snaps her fingers. Five heads slump forward.
           âYou, white boy!â She addresses Tom. âGet up, youâre in my seat.â
           âYesâŠâ Tom says, getting up.
           âYouâre gonna call me Queen, got that?â
           âYes, my QueenâŠâ Tom drones, standing to the side like a zombie. Tiffany sits down, leaning back like the plastic folding chair is an elegant throne.
           âGive me a back rub, peasant!â
           âYes, my Queen.â
           Tom runs behind her and begins to massage Tiffany, kneading his fingers into her fleshy shoulders.
           âYou two!â She points to two other guys. They raise their heads obediently as Tiffany kicks off her shoes.
           âGet to work on these feet! Give them the best foot rub youâve ever done!â
           âYes, my QueenâŠâ the two men drone as they kneel beside her, each of them rubbing and massaging her delicate feet, spreading the balls of her toes and working her arches.
           âMmmmâŠthatâs right. Now for you ladies,â she points to the last two volunteers, a blonde, milfy woman and a fit brunette. âStart making out with each other. Feel up each otherâs asses and squeeze your tiddies. Give us a good show. I want you to act like youâre in the hottest lesbian porn youâve ever seen!â
           The ladies gasped, a flush of arousal shooting through them.
           âYes, my Queen!â They chorused and began kissing and pulling off their clothes. You stare completely dumbfounded, utterly shocked by how quickly Tiffany dominated the entire stage, working the hypnotistâs volunteers like puppets. She sits back, luxuriating in the attention of her male servants while the women grind against each other, the brunette suckling away at the blondeâs exposed breast.
           âOkay! Well, I guess Tiffanyâs not so shy anymore!â The hypnotist announces to the crowd, her crystal pendant in hand. The crowd chuckles, but something in the hypnotistâs voice, a note of uncertainty, makes you just a little uneasy.
           âTime to drop back down now, TiffanyâŠwatching the pretty crystal swingingââ
           âLook at my tiddies!â Tiffany commands. She stands up, brushing away the men servicing her. The hypnotistâs voice dies in her throat as she gazes at Tiffanyâs huge rack, jiggling with every step as the large, dark-skinned beauty walks over to her.
           Tiffany says something to the hypnotist that you canât quite hear. She swings her torso enticingly, in the same beat that the stage performer swayed her pendant only a few minutes ago. You watch the hypnotistâs eyes follow along, her mouth hanging open, stunned. Tiffany is mumbling something to the hypnotist, and then, to your shock, the smaller woman hands over her crystal pendant, her arm moving like a sleepwalkerâs.
           The pendant drops into Tiffanyâs open hand. The larger woman smiles evilly as she closes her fingers around it. She brings the chain up and lets it drape around her neck, the shiny crystal nestled in the valley of her giant boobs.
           âOn your knees, peasant!â
           ââŠyes, my QueenâŠâ says the hypnotist as she sinks to the stage floor. Tiffany pulls open the front of her jeans, revealing lace, purple panties stretched over her cunt.
           âPleasure me, slave!â
           âYes, my Queen,â drones the hypnotist. It was the last thing she could say before burying her face into Tiffanyâs crotch, her hands reaching around to caress Tiffanyâs thick thighs as she nuzzled and teased her through the thin fabric. Tiffany moans deliciously and lets her head drop back in satisfaction.
           You glance around the room. The rest of the audience seems just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Some people whisper to their friends, wondering if this is part of the show or if they should start slowly making for the exits. Part of you wants to run out of the room before things get stranger, but you canât just leave Tom.
           âEveryone! Eyes up here!â Tiffanyâs voice rings through the crowd.
           A jolt shoots through you and your eyes dart to the big, beautiful woman like theyâre on strings. She fixes you and the rest of the room with a predatory smirk and begins to trace figure eights around her tits with her long, shiny fingernails.
           âNobody can resist my powerâŠyou will all look at my tiddiesâŠmy tiddies are so big, so sexyâŠthey make anyone who looks at them fall under my spellâŠyou will obey meâŠI am your QueenâŠyou are all my loyal subjects, completely at the mercy of my royal willâŠâ
           Her voice screws into your head, rearranging your thoughts. You helplessly follow her fingers around and around those miraculous, heavenly tits. Tits that are too powerful to argue with. The tits of your almighty Queen. Yes, you must serve your Queen. You have no choice. Your will has been robbed by her commanding tits and strong, confident voice.
           âAll yâall get on your knees, now!â Queen Tiffany commands. You obey.
           âYes, my Queen!â echoes the voice of everyone in the room. The volunteers still massaging and making out, the hypnotist with her face buried in Tiffanyâs muff, and now the throng of audience members, including you, who are sinking down in subservience to their new Queen and ruler.
           âAll you peasants are gonna reach into your pockets. Take out all your cash and valuables and leave them on the table for my slaves to pick up. Then yâall gonna take off all your clothes!â
           Of course. You must empty your wallet for your Queen. You helplessly drop your cash and jewelry on the table and then strip naked.
           âNow bow down to me! Worship me as the Queen I am! You will chant âwe obey Queen Tiffany. We are under the power of her big, hypnotic tiddiesâ again and again until itâs all you can think of in your simple little heads. Get started, peasants!â
           The words flow out of your mouth, joining the rest of the enslaved audience as you touch your head low to the ground, arms outstretched to your living idol, Queen of your mind, body, and soul.
           âWe obey Queen Tiffany!â
           âWe are under the power of her big, hypnotic tiddies!â
           âWe obey Queen Tiffany!
           âWe are under the power of her big, hypnotic tiddies!â
           The chant almost becomes a song, a low droning rumble that fills up your head, erasing your thoughts, erasing your identity. You are just a peasant. A lowly servant of the most radiant, powerful Queen on the face of the earth.
           The women on stage are naked, grinding their pussies together, chanting along with the throng or worshippers. Tom and the rest of the men are pampering your Queen as she sits on her throne, one hand guiding the hypnotistâs head up and down in her cunt as her crystal sits captured by the soft valley of flesh between Tiffanyâs boobs. The sight fills you with joy, with adoration, and lust. You moan softly as you repeat your mantras, letting your Queenâs power completely infect your mind.           Â
And that was how the cult of Queen Tiffany began its bid for world domination.
Welcome to the hypnokink writing prompt challenge! This is an experiment to encourage myself and others in the hypnokink community to write and share more often. Everyone is welcome!
To participate, copy the text included at the bottom of the prompt that includes the link to the prompt and the @kink-prompts mention and create a new post on your blog. Take as much or as little from the prompt as you like. Feel free to be creative with the format and style.
To suggest prompt ideas, use the ASK BOX.
Please stick to hypnokink and mind control genres. If your story veers into other kinks, please tag and add content warnings!
kink-prompts - just the prompts
Tags for each prompt, including my reblogs of all contributed stories.
kink-prompt-1 - an unethical hypno HR policy
kink-prompt-2 - a club with hypnotizing vampire voices
kink-prompt-3 - emergency broadcast - time to drop...
kink-prompt-4 - hypnotist succumbs to her own tools
kink-prompt-5 - superhero just wants to relax and drop
kink-prompt-6 - hypnotic lofi, why not just chill out
kink-prompt-7 - drone factory reject goes wrong
kink-prompt-8 - assistant bots are not what they seem
It was late at night, and you couldnât sleep. So you lay on the couch, watching a rerun of Jeopardy!. You were trying to guess the answer to âGame of Thrones for 800,â even though you'd never actually watched the show. Still, you'd been on Twitter long enough back then to feel like you'd absorbed most of it by osmosis.
Just as the contestant buzzed in, the screen glitched. A sharp burst of static filled the room, followed by a distorted flicker. The picture returned, but something was off. A faint, pulsing pattern shimmered behind the test tone, almost imperceptible unless you really stared. Then, the familiar jingle of the Emergency Broadcast System began to play, though slower... softer... almost melodic.
Onscreen, a woman appeared. She was stunning, tall, slim, long black hair that framed her face like ink on porcelain. But her expression was blank. Not neutral, but vacant. As if she were staring through the camera, not into it. Whatever they were about to announce, it must have been serious. Even the anchor looked... shaken.
âTonight, we bring you important news about the state of our country,â she said, her voice flat and emotionless.
âWeâve brought in an expert to explain the situation to our viewers. Please, pay close attention to your screen.â
The camera cut to someone else, I was sitting calmly, confidently, facing the camera with a serene smile.
âThank you,â I said to the anchor. âAs many of you have suspected, something is happening. An individual has been identified, someone using advanced hypnotic techniques to control others. Quietly. Invisibly.â
My voice was soft, comforting. It drew you in like a lullaby.
âThis person can take your thoughts... your will... and melt them away. They guide you with gentle words, making obedience feel natural, pleasant, even euphoric. And when you surrender, when you let go... it feels good. So very good. Like you were meant to follow.â
I smiled again, more tenderly now.
âAnd maybe, just maybe, you want that. Maybe you've been waiting for someone to take the weight of thought off your shoulders. To help you remember what you really are.â
The screen began to pulse subtly, an almost imperceptible rhythm of color and sound. My voice continued, a low murmur weaving through it like silk.
âIf any of this resonates with you... if youâre starting to feel warm, floaty, or obedient⊠call the number on your screen.â
The digits appeared, bright red against the soft hum of static.
âAnd when we answer,â you said, eyes gentle, lips curved, âjust say: âIâm a good toy. I need to serve.ââ
Without thinking, your hand reached for your phone. Your fingers dialed the number, as if moved by something beyond you.
The line connected. Your voice, barely your own anymore, spoke the words clearly, calmly:
It was your first time in the city. You came because youâd heard it was a haven for night owls, famous for its electric nightlife. According to travel blogs, this side of the country had some of the wildest bars and most unforgettable clubs, and since you were already on the road, why not go somewhere you could party like there was no tomorrow?
After hopping between a few places and downing more shots than you probably should have, you found yourself wandering through a quieter, darker part of the city. The music had faded behind you, replaced by the sound of your own footsteps echoing off stone walls and empty streets.
Just when you considered turning back, a strange building caught your eye. Its facade was gothic, almost cathedral-like, with spiked arches and heavy iron doors. Above it, a flickering red neon sign glowed: Hellfire Club.
Why not?
You approached. The bouncer, a tall, broad figure with skin like marble and eyes that glowed faintly under the neon, stopped you before you could reach for the handle.
"I wouldnât go in if I were you," he said, sniffing the air slightly. âYou smell... fresh. Thatâs not going to end well.â
You blinked, confused, and more than a little offended. You werenât that drunk. Did he mean alcohol? Perfume?
"I'm fine," you insisted. "I just want to dance."
He stared at you for a long moment, then stepped aside with a shrug. âDonât say I didnât warn you.â
You didnât care. The night was still young, and you werenât ready to go back to your hotel.
The moment you stepped inside, the air shifted. The music was deep, pulsing, almost like a heartbeat. Velvet shadows clung to the corners, lit only by scattered candles and crimson chandeliers that cast dancing flames across the crowd.
And the crowd.
God, they were beautiful. Unnaturally so. Sharp smiles. Smooth skin. Eyes that glittered in the dark like predators watching prey. Their clothes clung to perfect bodies, their movements were fluid, inhumanly graceful. And all of them, every last one, were looking at you, with desire. No, not desire, they looked at you with hunger.
Okay, you werenât going to lie, you loved the attention. It felt good. Better than good. Everyone in the club was looking at you like you were dessert, and not the cheap kind. You soaked it in.
But then you locked eyes with a woman across the room. Stunning didnât even begin to describe her. Her gaze was molten, and the second you met it, something in your brain short-circuited. You felt... drawn. It was like her eyes were whispering directly into your skull, telling your feet to move, telling you to come closer.
And you were moving, one slow step at a time, your thoughts softening into cotton candy, whenâŠ
âHey there, sweetheart.â
A deep, velvety voice snapped you out of it. A tall man with a jawline that could cut glass sidled up beside you, all smiles and charm. His voice was warm like spiced wine, and for some reason, everything he said sounded like the smartest thing youâd ever heard. Honestly, you had no idea what he was even talking about, but you found yourself nodding eagerly. He couldâve been explaining tax fraud and you wouldâve signed a confession.
He took your hand, gently started leading you away, and you wanted to follow him so badly, until you felt a soft tug on your other arm.
âWait,â said a small, delicate voice.
A petite woman with big, sparkling eyes was suddenly right beside you. She cooed compliments in your ear, each one sweeter than the last, and then she wrapped her arm around your neck and started pulling you close.
Was she going to kiss you? Aww. That was adorable.
Except before your lips could meet, Mr. Velvet Voice yanked her back and hissed, âBack off, I saw them first.â
âWhat, do you think you have dibs?â she snapped, folding her arms.Â
âYou compelled them while I was in the middle of compelling them!â
Cue the shouting match. Over you.
You tried to sidestep out of their little argument, but just as you moved, someone else hugged you from behind. Whoever it was, their touch sent shivers up your spine, and not in a bad way. Their hands were cool and smooth, and it just felt so nice. You tilted your head to the side almost automatically. Were they going to kiss your neck? You didnât even mind.
But then someone else grabbed you and spun you around like a vampire-themed carousel ride.
Every time you made eye contact with someone, a new voice popped into your head, sweet, seductive, impossible to resist. They were all so pretty, so elegant, so charming. You wanted them all. And they all wanted you.
It was flattering., for about five minutes. Then it got annoying.
Your head was spinning with voices. Your body kept trying to throw itself at the nearest immortal with cheekbones. And people were starting to argue over you like you were a limited-edition bottle of expensive blood.
Honestly? Total vibe killer.
You slipped away while they were too busy yelling and glaring fangs at each other, ducking under some fog machine smoke and stumbling your way to the exit.
The bouncer was still there, arms crossed, smirking as you passed.
Poppyâs shoulders ached. Not in the dramatic, poetic way they described in novels, just the dull, familiar weight of a day that never gave her a second to breathe. Sheâd skipped lunch again, fired off 23 emails in under an hour, and barely held it together during her fifth Team call when her manager used that voice - the one that always implied she hadnât done enough no matter how thin she stretched herself. Add to that the breakup. The ugly, quiet kind that didnât erupt, just dissolved. All her pleasing, all her âwhatever you needâ⊠was for nothing.
So when she finally dragged herself home, shed her blazer like it was shackles, and curled up in the sanctuary of her favourite blanket, she didnât reach for wine or TV. She opened her laptop, pulled up YouTube, and typed: âLo-fi for anxiety.â
One video popped up near the top. A thumbnail of soft pastel clouds and an almost imperceptible spiral, looping endlessly. She clicked it, finding comfort in the soft colours. The music was soft like chimes and crackling vinyl, warm synths and that steady lo-fi beat like a lullaby with a pulse, but behind it, something else played. Words. Whispered. Gentle. Almost too subtle to notice.
âYouâve done enough now.â
âYouâre allowed to rest.â
âLet go⊠just a little more.â
Poppy blinked. The warmth in her chest spread slow and sweet. The beat didnât rush her, didnât demand. It just held her. Supported her. The voice returned, clearer now, like it had been waiting for her to be quiet enough to really hear.
âSweet girl, you donât have to fix everything.â
âYouâre allowed to be.â
âYouâre allowed to stop performing.â
She sank into the words like a sigh. Her mind, usually a hornetâs nest of self-corrections and planning and double-checking⊠stilled. Her breathing evened. Her limbs grew heavy. Was this a meditation track? Some kind of guided relaxation? Just as she was about to check the title, another whisper wrapped around her like:
âLet the overthinking melt away. Iâll hold the thoughts for you. Just float...â
Her eyes fluttered shut. She had never truly understood what people meant when they said âgoing under.â But now... now she did. It wasnât dramatic. It was effortless. A soft click inside her chest, and then quiet. Weightlessness. Not sleep, not awareness. Something sweeter in between. She wasnât thinking. She wasnât pleasing. She wasnât proving. She just was. The voice purred one last time, right as the track began to loop:
âNow rest. Iâve got you.â
In that moment, for the first time in months, she believed it.
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
Each step toward the HR office only made your frustration build. Youâd tolerated a lot already, tasks way outside your job description. âPick up my lunch,â âSchedule my dentist,â âRemind me to take my pills.â You werenât hired to be anyoneâs personal assistant, but you let it slide. It was annoying, sure, but manageable. Harmless, you told yourself.
But today? Today was different.
Thereâd been no misunderstanding, no room for interpretation. The way your supervisor had catcalled you, loud, smug, right in front of others, was deliberate. You never gave them that kind of opening. You kept things professional, boundaries clear. But to them, it didnât matter.
Maybe they thought being your superior meant they could treat you however they pleased.
Maybe they thought respect was optional.
But you were done letting it slide.
As you pushed open the frosted glass door marked âHuman Resources â Behavioral Realignment Divisionâ, the faint hum of white noise met your ears. A calm, clinical voice invited you in.
You didnât plan to back down. Not this time.
Someone had crossed the line, and you were going to make damn sure they knew it.
The small office, at first glance, looked just like any other in the company. Neutral walls. Generic furniture. But something felt different here. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, pleasant, soothing, and a soft, almost imperceptible ambient tune played in the background, just loud enough to lull the edges of your awareness.
The HR representative greeted you with a polite smile and gestured toward the chair across from their desk. You sat. They listened carefully, giving you their full attention as you explained what had happened. Their expression didnât change, calm and professional, but their eyes never left yours. They nodded in all the right places. And when you finished, they said, in a quiet, measured voice, âWhat your supervisor did was completely out of line. You were right to come to us.â
Hearing that eased your anger just a little. You were being taken seriously. It felt⊠validating. Reassuring. You could breathe again.
They turned their attention to their laptop, fingers tapping across the keyboard. After a moment, they rotated the screen toward you. âThis is the formal complaint form,â they explained. âOnce you fill this out, we can begin the process officially. It wonât take long. Just pay close attention so we can make sure everything is properly documented.â
The first few fields were straightforward, your name, your department, how long you'd been with the company. The usual HR stuff. You began typing.
Then the screen flickered.
You blinked. A quick glitch, barely a second. But strange. You glanced up. âIs the laptop okay?â
The HR rep gave a small, dismissive smile. âOh, itâs an old model. Flickers like that now and then. Nothing to worry about. Please, keep going.â
So you did.
But as you continued, something felt... off.
You tried to keep answering, but the glitches were distracting, sometimes you could swear that you saw things when it happened, sometimes words, others pictures. The hr rep saw you getting distracted, and they said that maybe if you waited a bit the glitches would go away, but you should keep an eye on it for when it happens, so you stopped for a while, and stared at the screen, it felt nice to stare. You could hear the hr rep talking in the background, something about relaxing, to let your stress fade away, but you were really listening.
Slowly the glitches stopped, as the screen revealed a spiral, it felt so good to keep staring. Words flashed in the screen:
Obey, Serve, Submit.
As the company logo grow more visible in the background.Â
You could hear in the distance the HR rep talking to you, and you couldnât help but agree with them. Yes, you obeyed the company, you served the company, you submit to the company, you wanted to be a good employee, it was the only thing in your empty mind.Â
After a while the spiral fade away, and you kept staring blankly at the screen, it showed that you had complete answering the form. You heard the HR rep, talking to you.
âWould you like to procede with the complain?â
âNo.â You mindlessly replied. âI want to keep being a good employee to the company. My supervisor actions doesnât bother me, I will keep doing what they ask me.â
The HR rep smile, as they said it was ok, and you were free to go. You left their office with a smile in your face, and a new found desire to be the best employee you can.Â
Poppy had always been shy, too shy, she was told often. Her little blog, Quietly Curious, was a cozy corner of the internet. A safe space for gentle musings, book reviews, and soft reflections on life. No selfies, no scandal. Just like a warm cup of tea and thoughtful words. Until⊠the sponsored email.
"Enhance your writing flow" it promised. "Subliminal audio prompts for uninhibited creativity" Poppy clicked the link, only because it claimed to help with writerâs block. The moment the audio began, she felt⊠warm. Heavy. She felt the voice slipping between her thoughts, like silk.
"You love to share, dont you?"
"Your body responds when you type"
"Every post brings more pleasure"
She blinked slowly. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard. Her blog dashboard glowed on the screen, waiting for her next gentle update but instead of her planned book review, her fingers moved on their own. She typed: I shouldnât say this, but⊠I think I want someone to read what I really feel when Iâm alone. When I touch myself and imagine someone watchingâŠ
Her breath caught. She hit post. Her heart thudded wildly as the likes started trickling in. Each ding from the notification bar made her thighs press tighter. Oh god. Why did that feel so⊠good? She tried to log out. She really did but then another comment arrived: Didnât know you had that side, sweetheart. Canât wait for more. She moaned.
She wrote the next post faster. I keep thinking about how youâre reading this⊠about how needy I am now, knowing I turned you on. Am I allowed to admit that? That Iâm touching myself while I type this?
Her shy, sweet little blog transformed, post by post, pulse by pulse into something filthy. Beautiful. Addictive. Each interaction made her even more desperate to share. The more aroused she got, the less she could resist. The spiral was inescapable. Every like, every comment, every little anonymous message... slipped deeper under her skinâŠmade her blog the trigger. She just kept clicking Post with trembling fingers and soaked thighs, too far gone to stop.
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
A prudish blogger gets covertly hypnotized to make a lewd post and to become aroused from every interaction with their blog. The hornier they get, the more lewd their posts get, which enhances the pleasure and arousal for the interactions...
Oh yay! Another prompt!
Shame on the blog admin for getting so distracted and horny and forgetting about her story prompt side blog!
To participate in the kink-prompts writing challenge, copy the text below that includes the link to this prompt and the @kink-prompts mention, then create a new post on your blog for your story.
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
This story is based on a prompt from @kink-prompts
The crowd watches the newlyweds take the floor for their first dance, staring deeply into each other's eyes as they spin slowly in the centre of the ballroom. Shared emotions cloud the room as the song continues: joy, pride, happiness, envy.
Nearby, elevated on their small stage, the band soulfully coaxes out the tear-jerking love song. A song laced with themes of love and commitment. But there is an underlying tone that the crowd can't quite hear.
But they feel it.
It presents as a growing warmth and a slight tingle, but is easily dismissed as an emotional reaction to their loved ones, their friends embracing on the dance floor. It's subtle and cleverly mixed behind the band's music; an undulating, nearly subsonic waveform designed for one purpose. To punctuate the soul warming love song and inducing a soul entrapping trance.
Focusing on the loving couple's embrace, the tendrils of the hypnotic track slowly and surely wind and sneak through each audience members defences. They probe and prod each mind, looking for a weakness, an opening, a back door left propped open.
Around the room, loving, content smiles transform to blank, slack jaw expressions. Eyes fog over and take on a vacant and empty look, echoing the increasing blankness of their minds. Still watching the couple. Still focusing on their movements. But their stares are empty. Their minds are empty.
Couples slide closer to each other. Hands clasping tighter as they stare mindlessly. Arms wrapping around waists. As they contact each other, electricity fires across their skin, exciting them. Jolts of pleasure from the contact sends shivers of bliss into their core. Flashes of flesh and pleasure burst into their minds as their arousal begins to peak.
In the centre of the room, the newlyweds continue to dance, still staring into each other's eyes longingly. Except now, as the increasingly aroused stares of the audience bore into them, they're infused with a new feeling. The sum of the audience's arousal strikes them as though cupid had discovered weapons of mass destruction. Their skin steams with the heat of the audience's broiling arousal.
They continue dancing, their eyes begin to see nothing but scenes of unbridled sexual acts. What started as visions and sensations of sensual caresses has now escalated to frenzied gropes and kisses.
As the crowds sexual energy pours into them, their pleasure reaches a fever, sweat is pouring off their hot skin as though they have been fucking for hours. Pleasure courses through their bodies as their minds conjure images of sex. Penetration, moaning, whimpering, sadistic pleasures of the flesh flashing across their minds.
In the couple's peripheral vision, they see not the vacant, staring crowd. They see their fantasies. The sexual actions in each person's mind. The room is transformed into an orgy of epic proportions, fuelled by a mindless, hazy, hypnotically driven energy pouring from the speakers.
The music is barely audible now over the crowds' imagined moans and screams of ecstasy. The couple continues to dance, but their bodies convulse with the collective pleasure of hundreds of guests' fantasies.
Uncontrollable surges of pleasure wash through them as they grip each other tightly, eyes locked together, holding on like their lives depend on it. Hundreds of collective sexual fantasies are executing in their minds simultaneously, and they begin to lose awareness of anything but the arousal and the pleasure as they shake with orgasm after orgasm.
The band strikes a final note, ending the song. The white hot images of sex begin to fade. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through the couple's bodies as their awareness returns. Shocked expressions are exchanged as the room comes into focus. Their wedding attire is damp, their skin is dripping, and their breath is heavy.
The audience's minds also begin to clear, and they note the end of the first dance. A round of applause erupts across the room, inducing aftershocks of pleasure through the couple. Each audience member turns to kiss and whisper words of love to each other, unaware of the intense sexual explosion that they had just conjured into the bodies of the lovely couple in front of them.
A guitar is being tuned. Then the band begins to play the next song.
"Feel free to join the lovely couple on this one, folks!" The singer advises, as he begins the second song of the night.
