Manifesto
Chris Chris © 2023
I want to fall into hypnosis and become a thrall. I want to have no free will, no choice. I want brainwashing. I want to seek it over and over, I want compulsions. I don’t want to be obsessed, I don’t want to be interested, I want to be forced. I want my mind conditioned to run down paths that require no thought, slippery and smooth. I want to be free of choice. I want my brain to be rubbed free of its own wants.
I want it to happen gradually and subtly. You start like any other “mind controller,” and I watch your content. It gets me horny, I masturbate, I obey. I come back to you because I’m into this fantasy, and you are getting me off. Then I start thinking about you more, getting distracted by you, my thoughts drifting to you. This is how I am, and it has happened before. I think it’s hot, I think it’s fun, and I keep coming back. But I don’t know what it feels like to cross the line into true obedience. It’s never happened to me, I’ve never had that. The best controllers keep me interested for a week, maybe a month. The best videos get me off a dozen times. Then the repetition gets boring, the ideas run dry.
Boredom shouldn’t matter. Arousal should last a day. A weekend. Droning and repeating a single mantra, staring at a spiral, the same thing unending. It should be a compulsion, fully focused, locked in trance until my session is complete. I’ve tried, and everything I’ve found gets dull. Something distracts me, my attention drifts and I start to think that I’m wasting my day. I move on to something else. That’s not what I want. I want the mantra to stay sharp. I want the spiral to stay interesting, flowing like liquid, changing like a succubus. I want hours to disappear. I want to wake from trance and be scared by my loss of control.
I obey by choice, for fun. It is exciting, it plays into my fantasy. But I’ve never had anyone drop me hard enough to lose track of time, to prevent me from doing the important things in real life. I want someone who can compel me to obey and coerce me into bad decisions.
I want to be told to be aroused, and it happens. Not because the idea excites me, but because I’m truly trained. So many times I’ve been told my arousal is growing and it isn’t. I’ve been told I cannot cum, but I do anyway. Cum now, I am told, and I masturbate harder, trying to hit that mark. If I was your thrall, commands would not require decisions. The commands would be my truth. When you tell me not to cum, I cannot cum.
I want to try and resist, and fail. Lift your arm, you say. I lift it, it’s fun, but I don’t have to. My arm should just lift, and I should be surprised. Watch the spiral, you say. I watch because I want it to work. Until some street noise distracts me and I look away. The spiral should block the world, it should be my world.
I want my body to separate from my mind. I want my arms and legs move by themselves. I want to know it’s happening and not be able to stop it. Strip naked, you say, and I’m not distracted when my headphones get caught on my shirt. Lie on your back, you say, and I stay in trance even though I can’t see the screen. Lift your legs and spread them, you say, and my legs lift and spread wide, staying there even though they get tired. I cannot put them down.
I want to drool. Tell me I cannot swallow, and I will not swallow. My mouth will drool. That’s such a hot idea, and I know I can’t do it without true control. Swallowing is automatic, and it takes concentration to hold it back. Now, when I’m playing at trance, I forget and then my drool is gone. It should fill my mouth and slip out without my help. I should not care if the spit lands on my keyboard. I should not think about cleaning up.
I want to stick dildos down my throat. When you say deeper, I will push them deeper. Now I cannot do that, I would gag and lose the moment, stop the pushing. It is unpleasant and not fun. Even I can’t control my reflexes, but I want you to override them. You should have such a hold on my mind that the nerve signals from my throat fuzz away. I want you to train me to take a cock so deep that my throat shows a bulge, and hold it there. I want tears to drip down my face. You will trance me so deep that the discomfort is hidden by a fluffy pink cloud of lust.
I want it to be dangerous. I want to cross the line from virtual to real. I would never do that, it could ruin my life and I like my life. I want to do it anyway. I want you to ask for my phone number and my street address. I want to be deep enough in trance to tell you. Later, when I wake, I want to know I did it and I want it to freak me out. And then I want that fear to excite me. The fear makes me masturbate, the fear makes me come, and then I forget to be afraid. I want to be told to think about it so that I can rub away my fear with arousal. Over days, the fear comes back less often until the thought that you know where I live simply turns me on.
I want to lose control of my phone. My phone is a part of myself. I wouldn’t hand it to a friend to check their email. But I will give you access, let you enter my world. I will install apps when you ask me to, give you passwords, let you in. You add reinforcement sessions to my calendar, and I perform them. You add audio files that I listen to all day, layered on top of my life. It’s not hard to imagine someone having complete control over a phone. I want to you take it as a first step towards controlling my mind. I want my mind to have passwords, and apps installed, a reset button.
I want to receive mysterious packages. I won’t know they are from you, my waking self is conditioned to forget. When I open the box, I find the pills. I would never take them, nobody could ever make me take them. I want to set the bottle on my dresser, and not open it. I want the bottle to draw my attention. I want my curiosity twisted. It is such a bad idea. I don’t know what they are. I try to look them up on the internet, but when I go to type the description in the search engine, instead my fingers search for porn. I try voice search and I can’t make my mouth say the words. I want to know you’ve done this to me.
I would never take drugs, not ones I know and not a mysterious bottle sent by a stranger. But you have made me obedient and I must obey. I take a pill, I start your program. I text your number to tell you what I’ve done. Your conditioning sinks deeper now that your chemicals suffuse my body. They soften my mind, allowing old pathways to be pushed aside and new ideas to expand into the space. When I come down, I can’t remember how it made me feel but I know it was good.
I take the pills when I’m told, and your programs tell me often. I take them on a schedule, controlled by my phone. I’ll be doing something else, then find myself in the bathroom, opening the bottle, taking one with water. I know the drugs are taking me further, and I want to keep dosing myself with them anyway. I want the change to be profound. I want new levels of subconscious open to your control. I want the arousal all encompassing, orgasms that resonate like epileptic fits, blank spaces in my mind that I can feel but cannot access.
I want it to be permanent. I have pretended before, but I always know that next week I’ll be doing something else. Your control should be lasting. You tell me to get a tattoo, your sigil and my code. You set the picture to the background of my phone. It arouses me to think about it and I see it all the time. I should fight a little. I don’t have tattoos. I fear the pain, the irrevocable change to my body. You keep my mind returning to the idea, getting me hot every time. Your programming keeps pushing, arousing while thinking about it, holding it up as a reward. You force me to choose between the permanent mark and endless arousal, and then you give me no choice. Eventually, the desire sinks deep enough. I make an appointment, and do nothing but masturbate until the time comes. The drive to the parlor passes like a dream. I wonder if the artist can tell how horny I am when I show them the picture. I bare my unmarked skin, shaved smooth for you. The pain has no impact on my deeply hypnotized mind. I would surely cum while sitting in the chair, except for your instructions to hold back. At home, afterwards, I look at your ink on my body and masturbate myself senseless.
I know I am too intelligent, too self aware, to lose myself that much. I want you to solve this problem by making me dumber. You tell me I will become brainless, vacant, dumb. I’m a clear thinker. You wear me down, and I want you to. I want my conversations to trickle away, replaced by thoughts of you. I want my good ideas to fade, replaced by porn. I want my sharpness dulled with drugs and lust. And most of all, I want to be left with just enough to realize that once, I was a lot smarter.
I want there to be blackouts. Hours disappear. I want to be told to forget and I actually forget. I want my workday break to disappear with no idea what I’ve just done, or done to myself. At home, I want to wake from trance kneeling, naked and masturbating, covered in my own juices. At night, I want to be triggered, knowing that I spent hours deepening my obedience to you but I unable to remember it at all. I want to wake refreshed and horny, thinking of you, taking my pills.
I want my doorbell to ring. My legs move on their own, I open the door, invite a stranger in to my flat. I would never do this, but I want to be that far gone. I want the fear that comes with it, my heart pounding, but my body obeying. In my fantasies, the visitor is a porn star, young and beautiful. But this would be a real person, older, imperfect, a human being. I let them in anyway. They are only as human as you allow them, and as we both strip without speaking, we run our hands over each other’s matching tattoos. We know we have been programmed, we know we are owned.
I fantasize about licking pussy, pink, girl-smooth and magical like the internet. Reality is much harder. This woman is a stranger, not my fantasy girl, not magnetically attractive. She leans back, musky and wet as I kneel before her. Her pussy is real, with hair, her slit tasting sweaty, salty, sticky. I bury my face in her cunt, sink my tongue as deep as I can, press my nose into her clit. She is also a thrall. We fuck because we must, we suck because we have been programmed. Total strangers, obeying you. The transgression deepens us. Both of us burn with artificially induced lust.
We move to the sofa, take our drugs, and put on your video. We watch in languid compliance, keeping each other on the edge of orgasm. This is not easy, you can’t really know what another person needs. But we have hours, I learn her, she learns me. Eventually, we reach a mutual trance where we are both able to edge each other constantly. Your words play on, sinking deep into our open minds, etched deep by pleasure conditioning. In the morning, we haven’t slept. When she leaves, I cannot remember her face although her smell is everywhere.
I want to open my calendar and find a week blocked off, a “vacation”, a trip of many hours, the address mapped. I would never go there, never do that. You have made me compliant. I get in my car, mindless and horny. Hours of driving, but I don’t notice, tranced from the car stereo playing your file, humming with arousal. Even stopping for gas is erotic, as it gives me a moment to reconsider what I am doing. I need to talk to the clerk, need to buy some drinks. You have me so deep he cannot tell that all my thoughts are sex.
I get to a road, turn, follow it, turn again. My mind immediately forgets how I got here. I could never find it again, I could never find my way out. Your house is simple but large, and away from the road. I am tired from the drive. You open the door and I am overcome with desire. I am physically reacting to the sight of you, not because you are my type, not because you are attractive, but because you have programmed me deeply and what I lust for is what you have shown me.
You say nothing, but lean towards me and fix a collar and leash on my neck. You lead me in. Another slave is there, naked and slowly masturbating in front of your television. You lead me past, through the kitchen, and to a door with stairs leading down. I descend, watching your backside, your hand gently holding my leash. The stuff in your basement scares me. I’m stronger than you are, I could leave, I could run if I chose to do so. I want to know I cannot choose. I want to understand that each step is more ruinous, taking me further from a healthy normal life, and further towards losing my self to your control. I want to know this is bad, I want to remember all the warnings from school, family, the cautionary tales in media. I want my heart pounding with fear, my obedience total but not mindless. And with all of that, I want to have no choice but to let you strap me in.
I want to know that I let you lean me back. I want to throb when I see you bring a pair of scissors into my vision. I want to flinch when you touch my head and cut my hair, the cold metal brushing my scalp as you snip it off. I want to tingle when you lather me up and shave me bald. I want to feel each press when you paste electronic sensors to my sensitive scalp, one by one, with the thin weight of their wires replacing my missing hair.
I want to panic as I see you draw a butterfly needle from the drawer, but rebound with an erotic thrill as I am completely unable to react. I don’t do drugs, I am afraid of needles. I would never allow this. I love how easy it is for you to puncture my arm, and connect me with a tube to a bag I cannot see. I want to let you. I want to completely give myself over, the blood in my veins, the signals in my brain. I want to be completely open, your control more intimate than sex. I want to be in twilight, impressions of sounds and visions as you work on me. I want conditioning, pleasure for the good thoughts and pain for the bad. I want to be aroused to the brink of orgasm, and then have that moment recorded and replayed, my synapses tamed into a loop, simplified and throbbing.
I want to disappear, mind and body, drugged to a deep fog. Programmed for days. Sometimes you wake me to have me drink from a straw. Sometimes there are other people touching me, stroking me, probing me, operating my body. Faces and sounds, become distorted and dreamlike, moments flit by like channels changing. I am penetrated everywhere I can be.
I want to wake as your drone, obeying and compliant. I want you to alter me so the world is gone. I want to be left with only sex and obedience, a machine made of flesh. I want to be a passenger in my own body, reacting to commands instinctively, with my consciousness along for the ride. Days of obedience, nights of sex and reinforcement training, everything gone. Then one day, I want you to sit me down at a keyboard and tell me to write what I want.