Hypno-shorts
#3 of Hypnosis
A variety of very short hypnosis related pieces.
Rhythm
Grind, thrust, squeeze. Grind, thrust. The world stopped for a moment, just a fraction of a second long enough for Troy to regain his senses, long enough for the tiger to feel the lupine shaft embedded deep under his tail and the lapine sex holding and squeezing his own shaft. The rhythm was broken and with it Troy's mind began to click and whir back into action, wondering where he was and what he was doing and why he was doing it. But then those muscular paws were on his hips, pulling him back, whispering into his ear to grind, and he was still lost enough to enjoy the pleasure of sinking himself onto that wolf's wonderful shaft. He knew what was supposed to come next. He was supposed to thrust, supposed to slide off that wonderful rod and into the wonderful sex in front of him. But his mind again came to a standstill to ask why. Troy's eyes refocused, his gaze fell down onto the marvelous white-and-tan breasts before him. He saw the lapine's hand between them, resting for a moment, but then pointing to him and crooking, beckoning him forward. Troy forgot all about the wolf behind him and thrust, feeling the warm embrace of the rabbit envelop his shaft. It was another moment of pure bliss that rocked his mind and it took another fraction of a second, a slightly longer fraction this time, to wonder what he was supposed to do next. Neither of his partners took any notice, they only encouraged him to grind and thrust, and so he did. With every repeat of the broken sequence, he became more and more aware; his mind was being dragged between the two partners, focusing intently on one and then the other, and the sharp disconnect woke him more each time. Then, after a particularly powerful thrust, he heard the rabbit whisper, "Squeeze." He did. He flexed his hips and moaned as he tightened his muscles around the shaft in him and twitched his own shaft. Distantly, he heard the moans of his partners through the haze of a sudden burst of pleasure. Troy's mind reset under the incredible sensation. On the next sequence, he didn't question the orders to grind or thrust. And when he squeezed once again and all three moaned in unison, Troy's mind had settled back into the rhythm. Perhaps if he only had to fight against one of his pleasurers he would have broken free, but against both he was powerless.
The straight guy
Matthew and Rory hadn't had sex in months. The roommates had been trying to find anyone to sleep with and their standards were quickly degrading; they'd gone from wanting a lifelong partner, to wanting a fellow horny soul, to wanting a fuckbuddy, to wanting a one-night stand, to just wanting a chance encounter in the back of a club. Still, nothing happened. And neither could understand why. Matthew was the very model of a nice guy, a slightly short otter with a pair of big glasses and a heart of gold. Every friend they had would always come to Matthew for advice, especially relationship advice, and everyone with any problem knew they could lay it on his lap and sob on his shoulder, and he'd do all that he could to solve it. He was fit and a wicked sight on the dancefloor, yet for all the friends he had, no one wanted to go beyond that. No one besides Rory. That was part of the curse on Rory. The dingo was out of his element in Arizona. With his accent, every stranger would smirk and call out, "G'day, mate," as if it were the most original thought to ever happen. And by the same luck, every cute American guy he found was completely, unmercifully, and inexorably straight. Matthew, at least, didn't mind at all. He was such a stand-uppish guy that he took his roommate's crush on him as the deepest compliment Rory could have given. And Rory could have sworn that those times Matthew wandered the hall from the shower to his bedroom completely naked - claiming that he had forgotten Rory was still at home - were done just to tease him. As it was, neither could remember who first stumbled onto the idea for the system. Matthew had always had a slightly submissive and kinky side, and Rory had been studying hypnosis as a hobby since he was a teenager. After months of no sexual luck, they decided to put their odd pair of circumstances to good use: Rory would be allowed to trance Matthew and do whatever he liked, so long as they both got off. For Matthew, the thought of being a straight otter, hypnotized by a very gay dingo and knowing that sexual things would abound afterwards made trance difficult to impossible for the first few weeks. But they kept at it, trying every night, Rory swaying the watch and talking low and deep, while Matthew sat on the couch and stared. Even though it took weeks for Matthew to relax completely, the sessions had a different, but more immediate, effect. From the very first night they attempted hypnosis, they would finish what they could of their trance, slip off to their respective bedrooms, and jack off hard and fast. Soon enough, Matthew was entering trance every night and spending his mornings about the kitchen naked save for his glasses. Soon after that, Matthew had a trigger that would send him rushing to the bedroom with a rampant hard-on begging for attention. Soon after that, Matthew could be put in trance anywhere, anytime, with just a few seconds of staring into the swinging watch. And after that, Rory knew, it would be only a matter of time before he and Matthew could move from a two-bedroom apartment to a one-bedroom apartment, before he could make Matthew give up all thoughts of girls and have eyes only for him, and he knew he could do it, he knew it was allowed under the system: anything goes so long as they both get off. But he didn't. Instead, any evening when they were both feeling pent-up, the dingo would pin Matthew to the wall, sway the watch in front of the otter's quickly sagging eyes, command him to strip, to stroke himself, to cum, while Rory did the same. And what made it all worthwhile was after the orgasm that left them both light-headed, after their cocks had gone limp and sunk back into their sheaths, after the watch had been put away and Matthew's eyes could focus once more, after all that, Rory could see Matthew's shaft start to stiffen again and knew they'd both be stroking themselves to sleep, ready to replay the whole evening over the next day.
Lazy
The three vixens had a system. The first stood. The other two knelt. The first commanded. The other two obeyed. The first was free to climax. The other two needed permission. Those were the rules, and all three vixens knew all three clearly, even if the second and third were so lost in trance that they could barely think at all. That was what the first wanted, so the second and third obeyed. The first had them facing one another, staring into the other's amber eyes and trancing themselves deeper into obedience. They kissed (at the first's command), stroked over each other's breasts, and when their frustrated needy moans reached a fever pitch, she let them each caress the other's sex, just once, with a single claw. The first herself lay on the bed with her favorite toy nestled against her sex, buzzing away joyfully. She'd climaxed three times in the past hour and yet she still wanted more. She leaned over to whisper into the third's ear, her slim tongue purring images and fantasies into the submissive vixen's mind. The first watched with glee as the third's eyes widened, as her breath caught in her throat, as her hips made futile humpings against the still, warm air of the bedroom. The first hummed to herself, sure that the mix of painful need and absolute obedience in her slave's eyes would be just what it took to push her over the edge of her fourth orgasm. Then the alarm rang to signal the top of the hour, and the minds of all three vixens went blank. The first knelt and became the second. The second scooted over and became the third. The third stood and became the first. The first commanded. The other two obeyed, just as they had always remembered doing. What else were three friends to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon?
The right command
Trent had the strangest thought pop into his head. He had to obey. Under different circumstances, it would have been stranger for such a thought not to nudge against his thoughts. If he were tied up, drawing air in short panting breaths around a thick ball gag, while feeling the sting of a crop against his rear, then he would have felt ashamed to never think of obedience. But instead he was the one holding the crop, wearing nothing but his favorite cockring, while his girl was the one tied up to a St. Andrew's cross. She was gagged, not him. She was blindfolded, not him. She was secured by every limb and her tail and muzzle, so that only her ears were free to move. So why did he need to obey? He laughed a little to himself, trying to regain his composure. Even though she could not see him, she could feel his presence nearby, and he knew his demeanor was everything in bringing out her deepest desires for submission. So he gave her belly a tap with the crop, enough to make her stiffen and pant a little in anticipation. He gave his hard shaft a quick stroke, exaggerating the movement and slapping his paw against his hips so that she could hear and know exactly what he was doing. He wanted to take control - no, he had to take control of her. He wanted to make her squirm and writhe. He wanted to fuck her in every way he could. He wanted to use her as his toy until he was too exhausted to lift his crop again And although he didn't know it, he wanted to fulfill all the deep desires she had, all the ones she had secretly placed in his mind for him to act out in the upcoming days and weeks. And although he didn't want to admit it, he had to obey.
Inopportune
The orgasm was pure bliss. Not just bliss, but utter bliss, candied chocolate with a fluffy mint center bliss, watching your favorite movie at eight in the morning because its saturday and you don't have a care in the world bliss. It was nothing short of the perfect orgasm. Estelle sighed. The mare could still feel the thick shaft of the hunk underneath her twitching within her sex. Her whole body trembled every time it moved. The wolf beneath her was gasping for air. His big eyes were slightly dulled from the many weeks of brainwashing she had forced him to undergo to turn him into the perfect sex toy. She had eradicated all from his mind except that which could be used to pleasure her, and damn, if it wasn't all worth it in the end. She bit her lips, imagining waking up every morning to this kind of pleasure. Ah, but tonight was just tonight, and she didn't want to think about tomorrow, or the next day, or what deadlines hung above her at work next week. She just wanted to relax and - R-R-RING! R-R-RING! Estelle's inner monologue was broken by the curious thought of why she wanted to ring. Then she heard the sound again. Her ears perked, her eyes widened, and she immediately sat up straight. "Crap! The phone!" She scanned the bedroom, cursing as she realized that she had not brought the cordless in with her. The mare made as if to stand, but the motion ended an inch after it began, as the wolf's knot tugged her straight down again. She tried again, and again, but the only result was that the mind-fucked wolf under her started to moan and thrust. "Stupid male," she muttered as the phone rang yet again, although she wanted to grind back as much as he probably did. She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, "Slave, lose the arousal." "Trying, Mistress," was the monotone response, but twenty seconds later and her patience had run out again. "Oh nevermind," she said and pointed to the edge of the bed. "Scoot over there." He did as told, dragging the mare with him by the sex. "Ok, now legs over the edge." He obeyed. "Now, stand." He obeyed, but Estelle really wished he had the sense to warn her of the consequences before he did. She had forgotten that the male stood a good half-foot taller than she did. As he stood, and all that wonderful muscle of his pushed them both upright, she found herself suspended in midair on nothing more than his shaft. Her arms windmilled a few times, but she fell forward all the same, bopping her snout into his legs. "Sit... on... floor..." she spoke through gritted teeth. Again, he obeyed. Estelle slowly picked herself up, spat some of her mane out from her mouth, and got herself balanced again on his marvelous shaft once more. She was just about to give up and let the phone ring itself quiet when she had a terrible thought: what if it was her mother? She couldn't come over. Not now! "Slave," she shouted - quite needlessly - over her shoulder, "scoot forward, and hold me upright." The wolf gripped her right on the breasts and started to bounce and bob and shuffle his way forward. Estelle sank back into his touch with a moan and then a yelp, as the wolf's kneeling shuffle had gone mindlessly forward - right into the wall. "Back up, turn right. No, more right. There, now forward, and take us out the door." Estelle sighed. She hadn't left him this braindead, had she? Or maybe it was just the aftermath of the orgasm that had left her not thinking straight enough to guide him properly. Once out in the hall she turned her head every which way, trying to remember where she had left the phone. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was still downstairs. She smacked her forehead and directed the wolf to shuffle over to the stairs. She puzzled for a moment on how to get down them, eventually directing the wolf to lay on his back and act like a toboggan as she rode him down the stairs. The constant bumping of the steps made his shaft go wild in her sex, and by the end of it, she had given up on trying to make him go soft. She wanted him hard and grinding. "Good boy, now back up to kneeling and get us over to the phone there." She could almost see it now, sitting on a countertop by the front door. Thankfully, the wolf had figured out what she meant and managed to scoot them both over to it. Try as she might though - and given the good feelings of the cock inside her, her might was steadily dribbling away - she could not reach the countertop from the kneeling position. She bit her lip and in careful detail directed the mindless slave to stand and balance her. He did, but the process got them both so worked up that he started to grind deeper. She couldn't believe that his shaft could go any deeper, but she could feel it, oh boy could she ever feel it. Panting, gasping, and completely forgetting to tell the wolf to keep his hips still, she picked up the phone. "Hello?" "Hello, we were wondering if you are interested in buying a copy of the Encyclopedia Americana for the one-time low price of - " Estelle moaned at the top of her lungs as the shaft hit a sweet spot within her. "Hello?" "I don't have time to buy your crazy crap! I'm getting FUCKED!" Estelle gripped the phone tight in her paws, commanding the wolf to drive into her harder, faster, to get each tiny mote of friction that the tie between them would allow. Her second orgasm was (almost) as blissful the first, but took nearly an hour of panting, writhing, and grinding for it to occur. On the other end of the line... the managers at FreeCo telemarketing were none too happy about their entire staff packing into one particular office to listen to one particular customer, but they kept their mouths shut: never before had morale been so high.