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the mind control erotica author discord that I'm in, recently started a movie night. I don't think the movie is mind control themed, but they are using a service so that people are watching the same thing at the same time.

these fools, these absolute naive fools. have they not read their own content? Clearly, its going to end with them kneeling in front of their computer screen saying, "I will do as my mistress commands..."

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technically any adult male who's received his confirmation in the catholic church is eligible to pope

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one of my hobbies is reading relationship/family drama threads on Reddit, and there is a tendency there to misspell "bawled" as "balled." it is really funny to think that in the middle of this big paternity drama, the husband took time to go shoot hoops

"I'm not sure that that is my baby!" he yelled, "now watch this dunk."

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this isn't exactly a ground-breaking take, but Billie Eilish's most recent album is really good

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This one is more silly than anything, but silly is fun and good in mind control porn. My apologies to Stan and Jack

Full comic is available at Hypnopic Collective.

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♪And that rhymes with T, and...

The comic is available at hypnopics-collective.

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I'm really happy that you're still making stories and comics. I miss when you were posting regularly it's nice to have you back

Thank you!

I took a little break in December and January, mostly because starting in January, I'm going back to school, trying to get my Master's. In general, I feel like I wrote quite a bit of stuff in 2024, the most I've written in this genre in a decade. Most of what I'm writing ends up on CHYOA here. Some stuff gets posted both to CHYOA and here on tumblr, but not all of it. And very occasionally, I will make a comic and it'll end up on hypnopics-collective, also under the name remora.

Chances are I will never be as active as I was back in the day, mainly because at the time, I was only working part-time and living with my parents. Being responsible for the bills means less time for writing.

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Here are the first two pages of the first comic I've done in a while, reformatted for Tumblr. I decided to cut it off because I still don't actually really know what is and isn't allowed on tumblr, but you can see the full comic at this link.

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Nancy realized that they were no longer locking her door anymore. They didn't unlock and then re-lock the door when they delivered her food and smoothies. If she wanted to, she could leave her room. She had to work up the courage for a bit. What if they caught her leaving? What would happen to her then? Finally, after at least two days of making sure this wasn't just a momentarily lapse, she tentatively cracked open her door.

There weren't guards posted at her door. She got as far as the banister, before she heard someone coming, and she rushed back into her room. They must have been wearing the same ridiculous heels that were in her room, from the little click-clack they made when they stepped. She tried to control her hyper-ventilating when the glowing pink screen came on in her room.

The next day, she got a little more courageous, and walked out her room and down the stairs. The outside wasn't quite what she imagined when she was in her room. She imagined her kidnappers would have armed guards protecting her, waiting for her to crack. Bars on the windows. But no, this seemed to be a very nice old house, near the ocean. She could smell the salt on the breeze. And far from armed guards, she discovered the other people living here were like her.

Girls.

Pretty girls. They wore the ridiculously high heels, and the tight little outfits that were in her room's closest. Some were in their underwear, well, lingerie. Some were wearing what looked like the fetish-y maid's outfits and were cleaning. Some were wearing tight dresses with slits cut up to here. They smiled at her as she passed by them, through the house. Some were watching TV, with actual TV shows, not just the pink screen. Some were making out. Some were applying make-up to another, and the maids were, of course, cleaning. A few were listening to the radio, and singing along to that old Nelly Furtado song. It seemed like they were having fun.

She had to imagine that they were kidnapped like her, too. But, she had to ask the question. Where were the kidnappers? She lost her nerve, and hurried back to her room. Her room's TV turned on shortly, and the pink glow returned.

The next day, she made a vow that she was going to leave the house. And she did. The grounds were extensive. She found more pretty girls playing tennis, and a couple girls on a putting green. This gave her hope. They were playing in bikinis, but both groups were wearing tennis shoes, not ridiculously high heels.

It wasn't a true beach, but there was a river, and a few girls were laying out on towels, sunning themselves on the sandy riverbanks. Everyone seemed friendly, enough, though they didn't seem to want to converse. She'd tell them that her name was Nancy, and they would just cock their heads to one side in confusion. She asked what was going on here, and they just said they were playing golf. She asked why. They said they had to do something while they waited for Master to get back.

Master, she thought; her knees went weak. She realized then, that she had to get out of there. She continued to walk the grounds. There was a road leading away from the front. At the end of the driveway, a guardhouse, and a private gate. She tentatively walked to it. There was an older man, salt and pepper hair, in there.

"Can I help you, little missy?" he said. Nancy looked into his little booth. There was a girl kneeling in front of him, the top of her head just barely visible, bobbing up and down. Nancy flushed, and shook her head no.

She rushed back to the house. She needed to start planning. The road outside the guardhouse didn't seem like it was a main road. She was probably in the middle of nowhere. She found a pair of tennis shoes in a closet filled with different shoes. Most were strappy little things, but there were a few pairs of well-scrubbed sneakers. She'd needed something she could walk in.

In the basement, there were huge rooms with mirrors, and racks and racks of clothes. Again, most of them were not exactly practical. But she found a pair of yoga pants and a lycra top. It was tight, and Nancy didn't love the fact that it didn't have a midriff, but it was at least actual clothes and not just something to be sensually peeled off.

She should have changed right there, and get to stepping. But... she wouldn't the chance to see the pink glowing screen again. It helped keep her calm, the soft glow of the screen. She wanted the screen again.

She could watch it one more night, and head out in the morning. It was getting late, anyways. She wouldn't want to get lost in the dark, not when she could stay safe and warm and fall asleep to the glowing pink screen.

She woke up the next morning, and put on the high heels that were in her room's closet. Maybe she could help put on make-up while she waited for her Master.

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But that's not how umbrellas work???

trad_living_usa (Instragram)

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silly new chyoa chapter

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It's my 11 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

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"Oh my god," she said as she tried to relax in her seat, "I can feel you inside my mind. Oh my god, this is bizarre."

It was big step, showing Allison that you had your powers, but you had been friends for a while. She deserved to know, you reasoned.

"So, can you like... do stuff to my mind?" she asked, slightly uncertainly. She was a little nervous, a little giggly. She wasn't creeped out, that was a good start. This was still closer to a magic trick to her than anything else. Look at what I can do.

"Look at your left hand, Ally," you said. She glanced down and realized her left hand wasn't where she left it. She followed her and realized that you had raised her hand next to her head.

"Holy crap, dude, what the hell? How can you do that without me noticing?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Practice, mostly. You get good at making sure people don't notice you. I kind of had to do the psychic equivalent of stamping my feet to make you notice that I was in your mind."

"So, wait you can like, read my thoughts? Like -"

"Four thousand ninety-five," you spit out before she can ask her question. At least Allison had the sense to ask for a number between 1 and 10,000 rather than 1 and 10.

"Oh my god!" she bounced in her seat and slapped her knees, "Wait, so not only can you read my thoughts and make me move my body, could you like... change my thoughts?"

You shift in your chair uneasily, "Well, theoretically, yeah, that's possible, but like, I wouldn't. It wouldn't be... ethical, right."

She laughed, "Oh yeah, you're some sort of like, mutant telepath, and that has nothing to do with you dating Heather."

"Hey," you interject, "I'm not like, bad looking. I'm like, average at worst. And I'm funny, right?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, slightly above average looking and funny gets a guy into Heather Procter's pants," Ally laughed.

"Listen, joking around is fine, whatever, I can take it, but its really important to me, you don't actually think I would do something like that, right?" You said, putting your hand forward across the table.

You could sense Ally thinking about her behavior since she met you. The hours she spent in the gym, the time she spent learning to put on make-up. The number of times that she went with just a salad so she could lose weight. The personal loan that she got to get her tits done. The number of nights that she masturbated to the point of exhaustion to the idea that some guy controlling her every move and thought. To some people, maybe that would have been a red flag.

She let that thought bounce back and forth in her brain like popcorn. She smirked slightly, "No, I guess, no, of course not. I can trust you implicitly. You wouldn't do anything untoward to me or Heather."

You smile and shrug your shoulders, "Thank you."

"So, when we're done here, uh, do you wanna hang out at my place, maybe? I just bought some new lingerie, and I could use a guy's opinion on it. Especially someone as trustworthy and above board like you."

"Oh, yeah that sounds great, Ally."

"Also, are you and Heather, like, exclusive?"

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a lot of people will credit Mr. Grey or Downing Street for inventing the bimbofication genre. In this essay I will argue and prove that Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew should be considered the first bimbofication story...

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<You look really hot today, Mrs. Lainton! 😻 Your tits are amazing!!>

<Ethan that is incredibly not appropriate!>

<ok>

<but ifeel like ur sending mixed signals>

<y r u sending me stuff like that if you don't want me to look? 😕??>

<What are you talking about?>

<Scroll up and look at what you just sent me!>

<I didn't send that! I don't take pictures like that? How did you make it look like I sent that?>

<What? I can't make it look like you sent it cuz you sent it! Check yr camera roll!>

<I don't take lewd selfies! I don't take selfies!>

<Check your camera roll!>

<Well? Whats in your camera roll??>

<I DIDN'T TAKE THESE!>

<Scroll up! U keep sending selfies like this to me!>

<U sent me selfies like this all the time since i said id help you quit smoking. quite frankly, its making me uncomfortable. and then now you're acting like im rude when u r coming on to me!>

<I'm sorry...>

<Are u going to be good when I come over tomorrow for your hypnosis session, Mrs. Lainton?>

<Yes, I want to be a good girl.>

<I know I'm just your next door neighbor's dorky kid, but you can't send me pics like that and expect me not to say anything!>

<I'm sorry! 😭 I want to be a good girl! How can I make it up to you?>

<I'm a poor college student, how about you give me some money?>

<Yes of course!>

<And your hot bod gets me distracted I've got needs Next time you do your session naked>

<Of course. I've been teasing you so badly, and I didn't even know it!>

<and you blow me>

<Okay, so if I give some cash, and then give you a naked blowjob before our hypnosis session, you'll forgive me for unknowingly sexually harassing you?>

<If you do that you'll be my good girl again>

<I want to be your good girl.>

<OK in the meantime send me a video of you masturbating to the thought of blowing me>

<right away!>

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“Why does my head feel soo…”

“Empty?”

“Yes.”

“Its just the after-effects of the treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“Yes.”

“Was I sick?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“And you made me better?”

“Yes… I did.”

“Thank you!!  I hope I can find some way to thank you!”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Me too… but my head’s so…”

“Empty?”

“Yes.”

“Its OK.  I’ll think for you.”

“Yay!!  Thank you!”

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Matthew silently wailed inside his own head as the elevator crept up to the 19th floor. He should not be in this position. He had told his client that clearly in the first meeting.  He wasn't a divorce attorney. He had no desire to be a divorce attorney. He wasn't really an anything attorney at the moment.  He had only passed the bar barely five months ago, and was working for the little shingle that his dad had set out.  Obermeyer and Franz was now Franz, Obermeyer and Son.  Ostensibly, they were an employment and personal injury law firm. He wanted to turn Mr. O'Shannon down, but Mr. O'Shannon was so insistent, that he ended up briefly leaving his own office to discuss with his father.  Mr. Obermeyer Sr said it was good for a young attorney to try out a bunch of different areas of practice. It was one thing to learn the law at law school, it was an entirely different beast to actually practice law.  Besides, someone who knocked on the door of the first law firm they saw and was insistent that the first lawyer available help them probably needed the help.

Matthew thought that perhaps Mr. O'Shannon was barely holding on. He looked like a dockworker, nearing retirement age.  Big, broad shouldered, ruddy cheeks, a shock of red hair with streaks of grey, hands the size of Thanksgiving turkeys. He probably didn't have much in assets besides the house and an union pension, Matthew figured.  Then he actually sat down and reviewed everything that Mr. O'Shannon had.  He was no barely literate dockworker in desperate need of an attorney, Mr. O'Shannon was a corporate titan and had net worth nearing 9 digits.  And a prenup with Mrs. O'Shannon.  A prenup that had clauses about infidelity.  Apparently, Mrs. O'Shannon was aware of how she became the third Mrs. O'Shannon.  This was way too big of a case to give to a greenhorn lawyer fresh out of law school, he argued to Mr. O'Shannon.

No, Mr. O'Shannon countered, they had a contract, and if Matthew didn't serve as his lawyer, then Mr. O'Shannon would get his actual personal attorney and make his life hell.  It was a pretty standard lawyer-client contract, and Matthew was pretty sure he'd win in the end, but he also knew that the Harvard-educated shark that O'Shannon had on retainer could bury his firm in paper and leave them penniless. So, even after consulting with Mr. O'Shannon's personal attorney who was collegial enough to give him some pointers, it was up to him to escort his client to the  19th floor and sit down with Mrs. O'Shannon and her attorney to divide assets.

He felt like he was going to faint.

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Ms. Rebecca Hashimoto was in fact a divorce attorney, and she was very good at it. She specialized in high-asset and high stakes. There were only a few attorney who operated on her level in this state, and she knew them by name.  She was surprised that someone like O'Shannon wasn't being represented by someone she knew. She expected the opposing counsel to be someone he flew in from New York or California, some Yalie grad who clerked for Rehnquist and charged a small country's GDP for their hourly rate.

In this line of work, she couldn't exactly be super-selective in her clients. A defense attorney's client was always innocent in the courtroom, but no defense attorney could make a living defending only innocent people. Likewise, she couldn't only represent wronged women. She had done her fair share of representing assholes who were serial philanderers and monomaniacs who only cared about making sure their ex-wife was left penniless. But, at the same time, it felt good to be on this side of this case rather than the other.  The fact that O'Shannon had been stupid enough to cheat when there was a infidelity clause in his prenup meant that Rebecca didn't envy her opposing counsel.

She was shocked when she learned that his lawyer was some 26 year old guy she had never heard of.  But if he wanted to bomb his own divorce proceedings, she had no compunction about taking him to the cleaners. Even his private personal cleaner of an attorney would be better suited that this Obermeyer kid was.  But, hey, it was his money, and soon it would be Michelle's money. Minus her fee of course.

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Michelle O'Shannon, soon to be Michelle Richardson yet again, didn't like the smell of this.  Paul was a lot of things, an inconsiderate dickhead, a cheating asshole, but a fool? No, he was never that. He wouldn't pull something like this unless he had a plan.  Why didn't her dickhead soon-to-be-ex use his normal lawyer?  Or the lawyer he used when he divorced Karen to marry her? He had to be up to something.  She briefly thought that maybe he had tracked down the kid she gave up in high school - maybe he thought she'd be so overcome with emotion she'd forget that she was divorcing him - but no, the ages didn't line up. Paul had to have a plan, otherwise she was liable to walk away with 40, maybe 50 million dollars. 

It was starting to be very clear after the mediation began that Rebecca was just heads and shoulders above this kid.  The uneasy pit in Michelle's stomach still wouldn't close.  She had Paul by the balls because he still couldn't stop cheating even into his 60s, and she had a lawyer who was winning cases like this when his lawyer was born.  Why was Paul still smiling, even if his own lawyer looked like he was going to puke?

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Matthew was practically turning green; this was way too much for him. He didn't know the statues that well, he didn't know case law. There was something to the notion of throwing yourself into the deep end of the pool and figuring out to swim, but a centimillionaire's divorce case as his first go-around? He WAS. NOT. A. FAMILY. LAWYER. He didn't practice this kind of law. He had told Mr. O'Shannon that there were a thousand lawyers in the bar better suited to this case than he was. Why was Mr. O'Shannon forcing him to do this? Had Matthew accidentally cut him off in traffic and he just wanted to torture Matthew? It made no sense. And why did it seem like the more Matthew was panicking, the more than Mr. O'Shannon smiled?

Matthew's heart was racing. He was sweating. He was either going to puke or faint or possibly both. He took out his pocket square and feebly touched it to his brow. His blood froze, when he realized that not only was Mr. O'Shannon smirking, but he was opening his mouth to say something.

"Quite frankly, I don't see why I should be punished when it was Michelle who got old and fat. And its not like I ventured very far; it was only her younger sister that I slept with. I kept it in the family!"

Matthew couldn't resist. His head slammed into the desk in front of him. "Why would you say that?!" He seethed. His heart wasn't just racing at this point, it was more like it was trying to drill itself out of his chest. His hands were at his hair, ready to tear chunks of it out. He wanted to scream.

Then his jaw unhinged and his eyes turned a glowing purple. He started levitating 18 inches above his chair. The lights around them on the 19th floor flickered and shut off. Both Rebecca and Michelle screamed and huddled behind their chair away from the unnatural phenomenon happening before them.

Paul only smirked as his young lawyer soundlessly screamed. One of Matthew's hand slowly pointed at Michelle.

"What is happening? Please, I didn't do anything! Stop, please!" she cried.

"See, I was turned on to this by one of his law school professors. Apparently, if you put this young man in an acutely stressful situation, he starts gaining the ability to reshape reality. Apparently, his mock trial wasn't going so well, but, well, his opponent decided she wanted to try to be a stripper instead of a lawyer instead. Apparently wiped the minds of everyone who saw, but the professor was taping the trials so he could review them. Wrote him one hell of recommendation after that. Poor kid could be raking it in, but he just wanted to work for his daddy's firm."

"Myyyy client... wants... you to beeeee hooooot," the still-levitating lawyer moaned. A zap of purple electricity shot from Matthew's finger directly between her eyes. She stepped backwards, and reality swirled around her.

Suddenly, Mrs. O'Shannon looked better than the day Mr. O'Shannon hired her to be his assistant. "Oh, baby, have I been neglecting you? How about I bend over and you ream me right here and now?" She asked huskily.

"Please, I didn't do anything wrong. I won't say anything. I'm a lawyer and I zealously advocated for my client. Just let me leave, and I'll go!" Rebecca pleaded, realizing that she was in a terrible situation.

"I mean, its really up to young Matthew here, I think," Paul chuckled as he got closer to his wife, and put a big meaty hand on her ass.

"Youuuuu embarrassed me. Iiiii'm a goooood lawyer..." Matthew rasped as he pointed his finger at the senior lawyer.

"No! Nonono! NooooOOOO!" she screamed as he shot another bolt of electricity at her.

"TeeHee!" She giggled and spun in front of the men, "I'm sure you're a good lawyer, Mr. Matthew, sir. I wouldn't know, I'm just a pretty doll for you to play with!" She turned around and bent over, presenting her newly well-toned ass to him, "Would you like to play with me?"

"See? Its thanks to lawyers like you and young Mr. Obermeyer here that we can come to this positive win-win negotiations like this," Mr. O'Shannon chuckled, as he let his wife slowly zip his pants down.

"Yooooou," Matthew moaned still levitating in the air, "youuuu tortured me! Worst of them alllllll...."

"What? No! I didn't torture you! I may have put you through your paces, but you did the job that I expected you to, and you did it excellent. I'll pay you your fee that we agreed to. Hell, I double it, triple it, I'll quintuple it!"

A bolt of electricity shot from Matthew's outstretched hand. Mr. O'Shannon let out a rather girlish shriek.

Matthew collapsed back to the ground, utterly spent and exhausted. The former Mr. O'Shannon tore herself away from Mrs. O'Shannon and rushed to Matthew's side. She didn't know her name. Shannon, maybe? But she knew she had to be nice to this young hunk of a man. She would do anything for this man. He was obviously her master. She cooed over him, and urged her fellow hotties to get him some water. Slowly, the man regained consciousness, with three sets of very pretty eyes looking over him.

He found a stack of papers on the conference room table. Where exactly they came from, he wasn't sure. Did he draft them? They were awfully favorable to his side of the case. He took a second glance at the young Asian ballerina. For a moment, Matthew thought he should ask her her opinion, but, no, she was very clear that she was only a pretty doll.

He found the redhead's car keys, and they all looked up at him hopefully. He decided that he was the only one fit to drive. He'd make arrangements to get his car and Becky and Mitzi's respective cars later. He'd have the three hotties pile into Shannon's Lamborghini, and take them back to Shannon's mansion.

They wanted him to stay and play, but he had to get back to the office. It would be nearly 5:30 when he got back, nearly quitting time.

"Heya, Mr. Obermeyer!" Mrs. Brabec chirped happily from her office. The receptionist had left at 5, so she kept one eye on the front from her desk.

"Hey, I know its too late to get sent down to the Register of Deeds today, but you can make sure someone e-files this first thing tomorrow morning? I got a quitclaim deed from the O'Shannon case."

Mrs. Brabec took the signed and notarized form from his hands, "This is a deed from both the O'Shannon's... to you." She wasn't an expert in the manner any more than he was, but Franz occasionally took on a divorce case.

"Yeah, the O'Shannons wanted me to... hold it for them while they reconciled," He said slowly. That didn't sound quite right. Why would they deed him his house? They were quite adamant that they wanted to reconcile though. They wanted to reconcile on him all night. He'd have to review his notes on the case. There was a big hole in his memories about their mediation today, but it went well. Paperwork proved that.

Mrs. Brabec stared at him skeptically. She had been his father's firm's office manager for decades. He had known her since he was six or seven years old. He had met her grandchildren; she considered herself his second mother, practically. Hell, she was the one who found him when he got so nervous on his first day that he fainted in his office. She shrugged and assured him that it would get filed tomorrow.

"Any plans for the night, Leslie?" He said, feeling a bit uncomfortable, remembering how concerned she was when he had fainted.

"Oh, I'm probably going go down to the club and shake my ass on the pole again. Money's too good to pass up. I make so much there, that I thought about quitting here. But I just love you guys so much."

He did have to admit, with her long blonde hair and F-cup titties, and the fact she didn't look a day over 25, his 60-something office manager probably could make a living just at the strip club. But it was nice to have an experienced set of hands around, especially as a new lawyer.