Erotic Hypnosis Turned Me Into a Living Sex Doll
8th September 2022

Author’s Note: Ethical kink, like all sex, requires informed and ongoing consent. Everything described in this piece happened as a result of years of trust-building and a consensual relationship.

Once, a man told me he was going to turn me into a doll.

I suppose I should back up a little. When I was young, I discovered that I felt tingly and embarrassed any time I saw someone being hypnotized. Movies, books, TV shows—any time I saw someone become swirly-eyed and controlled, obeying a villain’s every whim, I felt desires that I couldn’t explain. The Jungle Book’s Kaa, A Wrinkle In Time’s IT, and later, characters like Loki from the Marvel Universe—the urge to have my mind and body manipulated by someone more powerful than myself consumed my fantasies. I was a weird girl, and to me, that all seemed far more exciting than regular old sex. I had a fetish in the truest sense of the word.

As soon as I became an adult, I began to explore spaces where I discovered that there were others like me—people who got off on the idea of controlling another person or being controlled themselves. I remember my first time going to a “hypnokink” conference when I was 21—I felt so young, and thrilled by the enthusiasm and hypnosis (real hypnosis!) happening all around me.

He and I met at that first conference, ten years ago. He was older and more experienced than I, and I knew immediately that he was a capable hypnotist, armed with cunning words and a mischievous manner. I was attracted to him, and we flirted every time we crossed paths. For years, our seemingly casual conversations were some of my most exciting experiences, feeling a smoldering heat as we teased each other in a lengthy game of mutual temptation.

For a while, we only got around to actually seeing each other and playing once every couple of years. And by “playing” I mean fully clothed, nonsexual hypnosis that somehow still hit me harder than fucking. I reached depths that I didn’t know were possible, a subduing of my mind that made me feel overtaken and under his thumb.

He could make my body freeze or go limp on its own; he could make me anesthetized to pain; he could make me feel waves of pleasure and submission; he could do so much more. He could control me—with only his words, his eyes, and his knowing smile.

My attraction escalated. So did his.

Once, about five years after we met, I was laying with my head in his lap as we just quietly looked at each other, feeling a growing attachment, an emotion, and a power in the silence of each others’ company.

After a few moments, he said to me, “Someday, I’m going to turn you into a doll. Piece by piece, taking a very long time, starting with your eyes…”

At his winding suggestions, I felt my eyes change; they felt like they were made of glass. I stared at him, unblinking. I felt the eroticism of the promise: A doll is an object, solely meant to be possessed and played with. The idea itself began to transform me as the sensations of accepting it sunk into my head and between my legs.

But we had limited time that day, and we stopped there. I was left with a feverish, motivational need to see him again.

Predictably, we started dating. He convinced me that despite the hundred miles between us, we could make it work. I finally broke down and found myself driving to a town I wasn’t familiar with to spend the night in an Airbnb with a man more than twenty years my senior.

It was clear we were going to be explosive. We stayed up till dawn talking, touching, and trancing. Dollifying me fully didn’t happen, but we toyed with it. There was a moment where he grasped my hand and gently pulled it up; when he released it, it hung there stuck, one of the classical signs of hypnosis. He was hypnotizing me using the motion of my own body, and the sexual excitement in his eyes was bright. Suddenly, my entire body was stiff, and he posed me: one hand up, one hand on my hip, and a subtle tilting of my head. Something as simple as that was a wild thrill for us.

Our relationship progressed in an indulgent, exploratory way. Once a month or so we’d hole up in a hotel and basically fry our brains with sex and hypnosis. We did so much hypnotic play, and a lot of it was transformative. Maybe this time he’d make my nipples so sensitive I’d be on the edge of orgasm when he touched them. Or maybe he’d replace the prudish parts of my personality with confident, sex-addled sluttiness. Once, he called back to that magical moment when he first gave me glassy doll eyes. This time they were eyes that could see magical, hidden worlds, and everything seemed to sparkle vividly wherever I looked.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if every time we had a date, you replaced a different part of me?” I remember smiling at him in the afterglow of yet another transformation.

“That was the idea, wasn’t it?” he said, looking at me fondly. “Giving you doll eyes, and changing you.”

It was never really something we planned out. Because we played on hedonistic whims, spontaneity was important to us. But I was becoming a sort of ship of Theseus—how much of the me-from-before-him was left? That was a question he liked to tease me with; we were both so excited by the ways he could shape and control me. I suppose in some ways, I was being dollified all that time.

We did play openly with dollification every so often. Posing and objectifying me was easy and familiar to us. But it wasn’t until recently, when we’d been dating for a little over four years, that the word “doll” became more explicitly important to us.

I was on the hotel bed, my eyes lidded and blank, and my body heavy.

“So deeply hypnotized,” he murmured.

His voice felt like it was deep in the center of my head. He was running his hand over my collarbone and threading it up through my hair. Soft little noises were escaping me at his touch. His hand gripped—not a painful hair pull but a controlling one; my neck was limp and he was able to easily make my head loll as though I were nodding.

“‘I’m a dolly, play with me,’” he said in a light tone, forming and narrating my thoughts.

When he pulled my hair again, I repeated automatically: “I’m a dolly, play with me!”

My voice was artificially chipper, and there was a smile in it that was absent from my blank expression. It was exactly as though I had a little string being pulled that made me talk. He made an approving, aroused noise, and as stuttering as my mind was in deep trance, I knew that we were hitting on something intense.

His fingers moved down to my breasts, squeezing and playing with my nipples. I was breathing heavily and whimpering, but my body felt different. It felt like I was detached from it somehow, as though it really was just a thing that was being used and experiencing pleasure.

That pleasure was peaking, and it was coupled with an intense feeling of surrender. I was being transformed, and I was thrillingly helpless to stop it. I was wrestling with the idea in my mind. Despite how exciting and hot it was, this was a huge act of submission; of course I was going to be a little hesitant.

“Are you resisting?” He was smiling, and in that moment he reminded me of the fictional villains I fawned over in my youth. “I bet that feels good, doesn’t it?”

Of course, he was right—the most exciting thing for me is when I try to resist, and fail. His tease of my hesitation melted it away. Something inside of me seemed to click into place. A desire buried deep inside of me and the fulfillment of a five-year promise was bubbling up to my lips.

“I’m a dolly!” I said in that high-pitched voice, and it was a fully spontaneous admission. “I’m a dolly! I’m a dolly!”

His hips ground into my side, an obvious thrill for him to see me give in. He snapped his fingers, and I immediately felt my little mantra connect to it. He snapped them again, and I eagerly let the words spill out of my mouth. Every time he did it, I felt myself sink deeper into that luxuriously obedient, objectified space. This time, he was really doing it—he was methodically turning me into a doll. Except he wasn’t replacing parts of my body. He was doing it from the inside out.

He lavished praise and reinforcement onto me as he touched my body all over at his whim. As hypnotized as I was, I was completely receptive and yielding. I felt whole as a doll. I felt right. That was the culmination of this experience—no need for orgasms or physical satisfaction (even as his toying hands brought me immense pleasure). It was intense psychosexual fulfillment.

We went outside to get some fresh air. There was a picnic table behind the hotel that we sat at, and as the moments passed, I felt myself begin to recover from the intensity of the scene and come back to baseline.

He, however, was eyeing me mischievously. He reached out under the guise of comfortingly stroking my hand, but his fingers stumbled up towards my breasts and tweaked a nipple, in broad daylight.

I pulled back, alarmed, and drew my arms over my chest. There was no one around that I could see, but doing that in public was wildly risky.

“You can’t do that!” I whispered with a guilty smile.

He snapped his fingers.

“I’m a dolly!” The words that came out of me were automatic, with perfect intonation.

Instantly, my body went still, my eyes went wide, and my lips parted. I could do nothing but stare as he grinned at me. Calm and casual, he unfolded my arms and then tugged the fabric of my strappy crop top down, fully exposing my breasts to the warm air and sun.

It was only for a few long moments, but I was sinking in the submission of it. I really felt as though I couldn’t control my own body, and I really felt as though I was simply a toy that he was playing with. It was ecstasy, and it was proof of the transformational power of our relationship up until that exact point in time.

When he released me and I caught my breath, I looked around and realized that there had been no one around to see us after all. He had known that, of course, and he had trusted me to trust him. For me, it was the deepest kind of trust: One where I was finally allowed to surrender my choices to someone who would turn me into something amazing.

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