hyphyp

[hyphyp]

[hyphyp]

Practical Joke

“I’ve been hypnotized to say this,” she whispered in his ear, “and saying this makes me go deeper into trance.”

Mark blinked, and started to pull back a little to look into Karen’s face, fighting through the dizzy dreaminess of his own trance.  He was always deeply hypnotized when his cock was inside Karen.  She’d been conditioning him for weeks, ever since her friend Nikki taught her hypnosis and they used him as a practice subject.  And pulling back to look her in the eyes made him very aware of his cock sliding inside her very wet cunt, back out of her a little, and he was always deeply hypnotized when his cock was inside Karen…

“You’re hypnotized to hear this,” Karen whispered, “and saying this makes you go deeper into trance.”

The world went fuzzy again.  Everything was just right.  Mark was always deeply hypnotized when his cock was inside Karen.  Even when her face had that same blank look that he had when he was deeply hypnotized.

“Nikki’s cunt is better than mine,” Karen whispered.  "And saying this makes us go deeper into trance.“  For a moment, at the mention of Nikki’s cunt, a confused look started to swim to the surface of Mark’s and Karen’s eyes.  But then it faded again as they both went deeper into trance.

“Nikki’s cunt is better than mine,” Karen recited, “And thinking about it makes us go deeper into trance.”

Mark slipped into the rhythm he always fell into while fucking Karen, deep in trance.

“Nikki’s cunt is better than mine,” Karen whispered, starting to moan a little.  "You’re thinking about Nikki’s cunt right now.  What it would feel like to be inside Nikki’s cunt.  So deep.  So warm and wet and tight and deep.  Deeper with every thrust, Mark.  Deep inside Nikki’s cunt.  You can’t stop thinking about Nikki’s cunt.  You’re always thinking about Nikki’s cunt, Mark.  Always thinking about Nikki’s cunt, Mark. Nikki’s cunt is even better than mine.  Ohhhhhhhh…”

Karen’s head was thrown back now and her body bucked up into Mark’s, straining to get his cock as far inside her as possible.  She reached a hand around his back to pull his buttocks down into her, yanking hard every time he thrust forward.

Inside Mark’s mind, a picture formed of Karen’s engorged wet labia as they usually looked just before he put his tongue between them.  He tried to imagine them looking even wetter, sexier, prettier, somehow more vivid and compelling, associating that idea with Nikki’s Cunt.  He thought of Nikki’s face, the slightly sly look she often had.  She had always made him a little bit nervous; he felt much more comfortable with Karen.  But now he realized that being inside her cunt would be *incredible*.  Nikki’s Cunt.

“Nikki’s cunt is better than mine.  Ohh good.  Nikki’s cunt is better than mine.  Aahhhhhhh!  Nikki’s cunt is better than mine!  OhgodMarkyessss!  OHHHHHH!”

Karen coming was the best feeling Mark could imagine.  He always waited until she came and that set him off immediately, and he came hard, yelling incoherently.  And thinking about Nikki’s Cunt.

Karen recovered faster, her blissful look turning to confusion, then horrified annoyance, while Mark was still swimming in euphoria and trying to remember where all the parts of his body were.  Steps sounded outside the bedroom door.

“Well, *somebody*’s having a good morning,” came Nikki’s voice from the doorway.

“God DAMN it!  Do you have to steal *all* my toys?” yelled Karen.  She tossed a pillow at the doorway, but Nikki stepped aside.

“Now, now,” purred Nikki.  She pulled her silk bathrobe aside.  There was nothing underneath.  But Nikki’s Cunt.  "See anything you like?“

Karen’s next angry yell died in her throat as she swallowed and licked her lips, gaze locked between her roommate’s legs.  "Nikki’s cunt is better than mine,” she whispered, eyes glazing over again.  Mark, not yet entirely out of trance, turned slowly as if in a dream, his eyes immediately going to the same place Karen’s had, his mind dropping down once more.

“That’s right.  Good girl.  Good boy…”

[hyphyp]

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[hyphyp]

Big boobs, little brain.

It was true that Sarah found herself repeating the words over and over as went about her day. She didn’t really know why she had such a vulgar phrase in her mind but she just couldn’t seem to get the words out of her head.

Big boobs, little brain.

It was true that, even though she was a very intelligent girl, she sometimes wished that she could be a dumb bimbo that has a man to take care of her.

Big boobs, little brain.

It was even true that Sarah went to a hypnotist to see if he could help her with her fantasies. She didn’t really believe in hypnotism, but she really didn’t want to be smart anymore.  

Big boobs, little brain.

It was true that, despite that fact that the hypnotism didn’t work, she found herself thinking less and less about being smart. She was able to just have fun fucking and sucking her Master all the time.

Big boobs, little brain.

It was true. That’s all Sarah was anymore.

[hyphyp]

Sometimes my clients are vague in their requests. That’s ok with me, it usually gives me more room for interpretation, although a few have been surprised and sometimes unhappy with the final result.

For this job here, the client only requested that I make the target “slower.” I assume she’s competition of some sort. It’s amazing what lengths some will go to to win.

I know what you’re thinking. This girl clearly does track. The client meant to slow her speed. Yeah, probably...but the request was vague and I want to go all out on this one.

Some more up top will slow her down for sure. As well as an overall softening and reshaping of that fit young athletic body. I think she may be designed for a different vigorous activity once I’m done with her.

Hmm, and just in case...I think I’ll interpret “slower” a different way as well...

There. All done. As you can see, running will no longer be her strong suit. I hope she’s not on any academic scholarships, now that I think of it.

Oh well. Either way they meant, I think we can all agree the target is “slow” now.

[hyphyp]

Emily's One in a Million

"…I suppose you think this is funny." There's a sullen quality to Emily's stare, but a beautifully defeated one as well. The dusting of freckles underneath her hazel eyes emphasize the smoldering anger in her glare, but she can't bring herself to fully raise her head and meet my gaze--and we both know why that is, of course. She's afraid of what might happen if she looks at me directly again, if she tries to be too challenging and winds up accidentally triggering some wellspring of irritation. Emily already tried to fight me once, and discovered to her shock and dismay that she's ludicrously suggestible on a level she didn't think possible. I know I've broken her, whatever she might pretend.

And there's no more obvious sign of that right now than her chest. "No, I think it's sexy," I say, leaning back and giving her new, gigantic, fully natural tits a good long lascivious look. "Well, maybe it's a little bit funny," I add, my hand drifting down to lightly stroke the bulge in my trousers. "You did say I couldn't make you do anything with hypnosis that you didn't really want to do, and, well… do we still really think that, sweetie?" Emily blushes, her freckles becoming a bit more noticeable as the skin beneath them flushes beet red, but she doesn't cover up. She can't, really--her breasts are probably fifteen pounds each now, a veritable waterfall of flesh flowing down the front of her body, and not only does she not have a bra to accommodate them but her shirts won't fit her anymore either. We'll have to order her a whole new wardrobe.

She looks down shyly, and of course what does she see but a shelf of cleavage that completely fills her field of vision. "I… I still kind of don't believe it," she murmurs, not defiantly anymore but almost with a sense of wonder. There's only maybe one person in a million this receptive to hypnosis, capable of biofeedback on a level that actually affects their physical growth, but Emily's one of that lucky seven thousand and I'm lucky enough to have spotted the signs. It's all mind over matter, as they say, and once I got my hooks in her mind the rest genuinely didn't matter--I told her to grow her titties for me, and her body obeyed. It'd probably keep obeying, if I hadn't finally taken pity on her somewhere around a K cup.

"It's not about whether or not you believe it," I murmur, letting my voice fall into a hypnotic cadence as my fingers begin to rub my stiffening cock through the thin fabric of my trousers. "It's about what your deep self decides, and your deep self already wants to please me, doesn't it?" Emily gives a dazed little nod, her eyes already starting to go a tiny bit glassy from the sight of my growing erection and that very specific tone of soft, soothing enticement. Her hands move down to her massive tits, stroking the smooth pale skin and strumming the nipples in a show she doesn't even realize she's giving. Anyone who obeys the biological compulsions I instilled doesn't stand a chance to resist the behavioral ones and we both know it.

"I… yes," she sighs out, her petulance fading into a sweet submission that's all the more beautiful when contrasted against her earlier, futile defiance. "My deep self wants to please you," she continues, repeating my words back to me as if they've only just now occurred to her, and I can tell this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship as her hands move to cup and jiggle her ginormous tits in the hope of getting them splattered with my jizz.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

[hyphyp]

Check and Mate

Annie carefully assessed her next move. Chess was all about being careful, after all. It wouldn't do to leave her queen...naked. Not again. She scanned every square, each gleaming ivory piece on her opponent's side of the board powerful and worthy of respect, each flimsy ebony piece on her side of the board barely able to act. Where had that thought come from? She was at a disadvantage, inferior to her opponent--rather, playing second. Annie's brow furrowed and she focused even harder on her move. It wouldn't do for her to lose another game to her strange challenger. He was an unknown handsome man with a habit for humming, and she was a weak expert with an inaccurate reputation for flawless play.

The whole world faded into the game as Annie played. Masterful white pieces marched down the board towards her helpless queen. Weak black pieces attempted to resist, but were happily conquered. The loving way he picked up each piece as he mastered them, as they became his, made Annie oddly jealous. Unlike her previous loses of the day, too many to count to him, jealousy focused not on his mounting score, but instead on the submissive pieces that used to be hers. The gentle way he ran his fingers over them as they became his, as her defeated pieces seemed happy to defect to his ownership. The powerful way they were pressed into the case, immobile and firmly grasped where he wanted them. Increasingly her mind filled with fantasies of her obedient queen joining them. Shivers went up her spine at the mental image handing him her his queen to put away as he wanted. When she feebly moved her weak, obedient, submissive, desperate queen next to the true king, a flush crept up her skin in anticipation of the capture.

He smirked as he picked up his king and conquered her queen. Annie gasped with the surge of arousal. He placed his Annie's queen in her place and the chess girl prodigy slipped from her seat to her knees. The crowd that had gathered as the local phenom blankly stripped pieces of clothing after successive losses, hooted and hollered as the defeated queen Annie crawled over to her king and prostrated herself at his feet. The queen mewled with need as he placed a hand on her bowed head, and with a single word, a queen became a pawn....

[hyphyp]

Year of smut 338/365

Elena looked back, hoping her mistress would rescind her order. It was just so humiliating to be dismissed from her own party, sent upstairs like a child at bedtime! She wanted to tell to scream, to argue, to beg, anything to stay at her first big swinger party. But her mistress had ensured that she wouldn't be able to do that, had repeatedly drawn Elena down into the depths of trance and erased every last ability to disobey. It was hard to be mad though, since she'd used the same trances to teach Elena to embrace exhibitionism, polyamory, and even lesbianism. And those things she loved. It was just...the way mistress also insisted on being in charge of poor Elena. Didn't she deserve to stay at her own party, after the actress agreed to use her budding fame to do as Mistress said and publicly come out as a slut? Wasn't completely ruining her reputation worth attending her own party? But, Mistress said nothing, so Elena did as she knew she would, as she always did: as she was told.

A text from Mistress told her to do something productive, so pouting like a teenager, Elena started to post her social media updates, send some networking texts, and run lines for her next audition. The sounds of partying, and eventually sex, only deepened Elena's dissappointment.

When Mistress, alongside a handful of party guests, finally came upstairs to "tuck Elena into bed" she whined so badly that Mistress reluctantly agreed to give her a bedtime story. Mistress's lilting voice quickly had Elena staring into the distance, thoughtless. She even ignored as Mistress solicited suggestions from the guests for the depths of the actress's young mind. One by one the guests whispered in Elena's ear as Mistress kept her entranced. The guests cackled as Elena repeated back her new kinks, triggers, and suggestions in a dull monotone, including her new obsession with acting as a dog, which she began eagerly to show...

[hyphyp]

Code of Conduct

Kayla Taronick opened her mouth to object. This was a closed set! She'd spent these last two years building a company with a strong code of ethics, the best, most respectful porn in the industry. Part of that was no gawkers, no extra lookyloos. Everyone on set has a reason to be there, had been consented to by the talent, which today was her.

Her complaint died on her lips as she recognized Melanie Massacre, her long time rival. It was her male gaze obsessed, objectifying, gonzo porn company she'd quit to start Her Star Adult Features and there was no chance she'd listen to anything Kayla had to say. Still, storming onto her set, with some random tech guy? Totally unprofessional.

Wait, why was she paying Kayla's photographer? What were they setting up on the camera? What did Melanie mean, "welcome back to the fold"? The last question disappeared into the swirling light...

Kiki Massacre stuck out her chest, putting the most vapid expression she could summon her face. It was easy to smolder with all the heat pulsing through her pussy. Her new implants drew so many hungry glances as she posed in front of the changing room at the public beach, that she couldn't help but quiver. Judging from the expression on Miss Melanie, the camera guy, and the talent's face, they were enjoying her too. In a moment she'd discard this flimsy swimsuit and walk the beach, assuming she didn't get arrested for indecent exposure, to the semi-secluded place she was planned to let the handful of random guys her boss had recruited for the shoot to mount her.

It sounded perfect, just like Miss Melanie's guy with the strobe light spiral had explained to her, back before the surgery, the bleachjob, back when she'd cared about ethics, back before consent had just meant "buzzkill"...

[hyphyp]

40 - Love

They didn't even get to the game this time. The second Mila walked out onto the court, Addison dropped to her knees, legs wide, eyes adoring for her "rival". Mila couldn't help but smile, everything had gone perfectly.

"Present," the aspiring polish tennis star said, with a barely hidden cruelty, and Addison obeyed. In a single deft motion, the brainwashed American girl used the handle of her racket to pop up her top, both revealing her breasts and miming th sex act that had become her all consuming sexual fantasy of late. Mila could hardly believe it had all worked so well. No part of her driven, preppy rival from the local tennis club was visible in the pigtailed alt slut currently drooling over the idea of giving a titfuck. To think that the woman who'd beaten her to every trophy for two years hadn't even worn a bra to a match! Not that it would have been much of a match anyway, with all the practices Addison had been skipping lately to go to tattoo parlours, nail appointments, or club bathrooms to give those titjobs she couldn't stop fantasizing about.

"Would you like to play tennis?" Mila asked a woman who had dedicated all of her adult free time to the sport. Addison just shrugged, pressing her bare breasts together around the shaft of the racket. "Or would you like to go give the pro a titjob while I win this tournament?" Addison eagerly nodded, taking off for the clubhouse, racket left behind, tits bouncing in the breeze.

[hyphyp]

Seeing the displeasure on his face, Madison began to panic. She babbled out apologies, promised never to overcook dinner again, begged him not to punish her again. The man, who preferred she call him Master, was unmoved. Madison wanted to cry; she'd spent so much time and effort trying to make date night perfect, and she couldn't take another punishment, not when she'd already had so many. People already judged her for the neck tattoo, judged her for the tons of metal in her face, even judged her for the buzzed haircut. Her parents publicly lamented the loss of their 'good little girl' and she couldn't bear to make it even worse. But it wasn't up to her. As it had been since that first night when Madison let her blind date guide her down into a peaceful, but vulnerable, meditation. At the time, she hadn't believed in hypnotism, conditioning, or programming. It had seemed like an easy way out of a weird date: let the clean cut, boring guy who'd taken her to a generic italian restaurant whisper some mumbo jumbo while they waited for dessert to arrive. Him snapping his fingers to wake her from complete focus on the flickering table candle had been the first surprise, she hadn't even realized she'd slipping trance, nor that she'd eaten her dessert and drank her glass of wine with her mind lost in that flame. The second surprise came when he told her "you want me to come home with you," and she suddenly knew that she did, desperately. That first night, with him telling her how sexy she found making him a drink, how much pleasure she took from sucking his cock, and needy her pussy was for him and only him, had been the most vibrant sexual experience of her life. Madison could have forgiven his self-serving love making and boring appeal for that night, if that had been the end of it. When he called her the next weekend and instructed her where to meet him, how to dress, and how to behave; and she found herself helpless to not agree when he told her about herself, that's when she knew she was in trouble. That was a year ago.

Master began to speak, and Madison felt a familiar foggyness settle over her mind, found a mental image of a flickering candle flame replacing everything else. She whimpered. This was how every punishment went, how she found herself wanting to do things to herself she'd never wanted before. Buzzing off her flowing back length tresses after dropping a mug of his. Getting the first of her now many tattoos after a friend of hers called Master creepy. Posting nudes of herself online under her own name after 'backtalk'. He could make her do, make her *want* to do, anything. It always made so much sense when he explained it, was impossible to argue with. Even after she came too, deeply ashamed of whatever new change had been made, she couldn't shrug off his logic, couldn't make herself reverse it. Master seemed to take special pride on the piercings. Sooo many piercings. Each piece of metal in her face marked some household duty she'd failed to execute to his standards, none of them significant enough to deserve a permanent marring of her once cute image. But that didn't matter. It didn't matter that it would be so easy to take them out and let them heal over, didn't matter that they isolated her from friends and family, made her nigh unemployable in her chosen field, and earned endless dissapproving stares on the street. None of that mattered, because he convinced something inside of her, and that part of her kept the concious Madison from changing a single piece.

As he explained, Madison found herself nodding along. Her cheeks *were* kind of bare considering the rest of her look, weren't they? Yes, dimple piercings would help fill the space. Monroe piercings above the corners of her lips? Yes, she did see how that would look good. He took out his phone, dialed, and held it up to her ear. In perfect monotone, Madison repeated everything he said, making an appointment for the next afternooon. He snapped his fingers and Madison blinked away the confusion, and set about cleaning up his meal. She kept toying with the corners of her lips and cheeks. Did it seem bare? It just needed something, didn't it?

The man working s the tattoo shop didn't ask any questions about the glassy eyed woman mumbling through the request for yet more piercings. He knew from experience that she, and other similarly glassy eyed girls with the same billing address, tended to tip with sex if no one questioned why they seemed so unhappy upon leaving the store...

[hyphyp]

Context is for Her King

Once upon a time, before him, her look had been a source of strength, of confidence, of power. Being a goth had made her feel unique, countercultural, like she could stand up to the world and do anything. The way she broke cultural mores of fashion, and the way so many stared, made her feel invincible. She wore her moody gloom like armor.

That changed when yet another "golden retriever dude" approached her online. She clocked him immediately: yet another normie just fetishizing her exotic look. What she didn't clock, what went completely beneath her notice, was the way he staggered his words, the way he pulled her focus in, swirled it, and wrapped it around him. He lured her over and over into more and more awkward defenses of her chosen style. As the cumulative effect of his conversational mesmerism built, he tricked her increasingly dazed mind into more and more awkward explanations of why she dressed the way she did. Her thoughts were like treacle as she blushed with embarrassment at how stupid she sounded, even to herself. Thankfully, he offered her a lifeline, an explanation to grasp onto, something that sounded smart when he said it...she was a goth because she fetishized it. The irony of coming 180 in her views escaped her, her swaddled mind was too happy to have an answer to be able to evaluate it critically. So she didn't. She simply listened as he explained, as he described how hot it got her to look exotic, how she loved being obvious alt eye candy, how she got to break all the rules of fashion for the boys' approval. By the time she agreed to meet with him it was done, her gothic aesthetic had been converted from a personal expression to a submissive fetish.

Once, her black, white, and electric blues had made her feel independent. Now it was simply frills she wore to please Him. Layers upon layers of obedience to show him how much she worshipped him. Her entire wardrobe has been reassassed, pruned entirely in the light of his tastes. Her careful gloom long abandoned for the lightly manic, lusty sex kitten attitude he preferred. She looked the same walking down the street, but with context...

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I have a book out! Exposè is the story of a investigative reporter who finds her, more submissive than she expected, place in the world during a steamy investigation for her new article...

Thanks to everyone who checks it out (free on Kindle unlimited!)

[hyphyp]

Clipped Wings

Sarah tried to muster a smile for her daily selfie, but it was hard after another exhausting day of work as a stewardess. Stuck in a cheap hotel, far from home, ogled, flirted with, and "bumped into" all day by angry travellers. She snapped the pic, and let the smile drop. Without a conscious thought, her fingers were a blur, texting the selfie, her room number, and a proposition to the pilot who'd captained the flight that brought her to this third rate city.

Sighing and rubbing at her forehead, Sarah lamented, yet again, all the years of pilot training she'd had, to still end up here. Top marks, glowing practical experience, a real gift for flying, and yet, somehow, she was just a stewardess. She still remembered that wild day, almost a year ago, even if it didn't make any more sense now than it did then. She remembered arriving at the interview, a half dozen or so would-be pilots filing in and out of different interview rooms during a long day of formal hiring. She remembered one of the older applicants approaching her during the lunch break and asking if she was applying to be a stewardess, and laughing off her angry denial. His mumbled apology had been so quiet and strange that she'd had to focus so hard that the rest of the lunch break was a blur. She didn't think she'd even managed to eat anything! The strangest memory of all came at the end of that day however: hearing her voice turning down the job she'd been dreaming about since she was ten, and instead asking, no begging, for a job as a flight attendant. The memory of shock and confusion as her voice spoke on its own, begging herself to stop as she declared, in no uncertain terms, that she would only be accepting a job as a flight attendant, and nothing else. Even now, almost a year later, she shivered at the memory. She didn't know why she did it, didn't know why she kept the job, didn't know why every morning she woke, dressed in corporate "pretty" and spent another day plastering on a smile in the face of all the petty abuse one suffered from the public. No matter how she focused on her years of pilot training, the years of yearning to fly, the deep pride she had in her own abilities, she just couldn't make herself change her routine. Couldn't even make herself tell anyone what was happening.

There was always a single echoing thought at her core when she pushed, when she tried to change her life: I'm a stewardess at heart. Sarah didn't believe that, or at least, she didn't think she did. But no matter how many times she told herself she didn't think that, insisted she was a pilot, that thought would rebuff her, would ring in her mind, and Sarah would hear herself saying aloud, "I'm a stewardess at heart", and find herself nodding along, agreeing with herself for a while. Each time left her just as trapped, just as much a piece of eye candy distributing peanuts and soda. Sarah was starting to lose hope that she'd ever understood what had changed that day at the interview, why she did what she did lately. She was starting to wonder if maybe she was right, maybe she was a stewardess at heart.

A knock on her hotel room door interrupted yet another round of pondering. Sighing, she labored to her feet and stomped over to the door, rubbing her neck. She swung the door open, expecting some hotel worker with sheets or towels, and was shocked to see the pilot who'd flown her here with an awkward smile on his face. They exchanged greetings, him blushing and struggling to make eye contact. It was almost cute. Every stewardess finds pilots irresistibly sexy, the thought popped into Sarah's head from somewhere. It didn't feel like her thought, but Sarah liked the way it sounded on her lips as she automatically repeated it aloud. He liked the way it sounded too, judging from the look of giddy shock on his face.

Sarah prepared to apologize for saying something so crass and forward, but another thought bubbled up from a sealed part of herself. A stewardess exists to serve the needs of passengers and crew, that wasn't true, was crazy, but a warm surge of satisfaction settled over Sarah as she repeated the alien thought aloud, lavishing the word "serve" with innuendo. His eyes went wide with lust, checking up and down the hallway for onlookers. The obvious way his eyes played over her, appreciating her uniform, the long exposed leg, made her increasingly glad about her job change. If she was a pilot, no one would look at her this way. She went to say goodbye, to disappear from such a lewd act, but-- A good stewardess lives to fulfill every last need of her pilot, Sarah put so much lavish seduction into the line as spoke it, her fingers toying with her ascot, that both of their faces were beet red, heat pulsing in them both. She was far too heated to worry, to argue with herself, to resist what she wanted more than anything, which right now was to be a good stewardess. Taking a few steps back, she wordlessly invited him into her hotel room. Her meaning so obvious that started loosening his tie as he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

Kneel, said Sarah's programming, and she did. Her fingers began to unbutton her uniform jacket as the mantras implanted in her subconscious in that cafeteria echoed through her mind. Reasserting themselves, deepening her programming, further suppressing her ability to ever escape her hypnotically changed fate. Sarah repeated the deepest, most fundamental of all her programming aloud, "I'm a stewardess at heart", the implication obvious, and the pilot pounced on the woman who'd never be a pilot now, and got every last one of his needs served...

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I have a book out! Exposè is the story of a reporter who finds that she isn't the woman she thought she was as she investigates a secret fetish society. Available as a kindle ebook, and free on kindle unlimited!

#hypnokink #brainwashing #mindcontrol

[hyphyp]

i really think that anyone shoving their fingers in my mouth in the middle of my sentence would not only make me shut up but also turn off my brain and turn me depraved so matter where we were or who was around

[hyphyp]

[hyphyp]

[hyphyp]