Try Football, Hockey Or Biker, A Hypnosis Using Helmet, Compression Shirt, Leggings And Other Gears To

Try football, hockey or biker, a hypnosis using helmet, compression shirt, leggings and other gears to deprive wearer/subjects senses!! Or, knight or samurai armor ?

I’m afraid I need a little more clarification here. Are you referring to using these in stories or as parts of hypnotic scripts you’d like me to try composing in the future?

Military Daze Part 3

Hey, Abe,

Everything’s been going pretty well here. Sorry for scaring you. Lots of exercise, classwork, and fulfilling disciplinary requirements have taken up so much of my time. Please, forgive me for my inconsideration. A close friend shouldn’t have to suffer like that. Your letters have been a great help to me, when dealing with my homesickness, but I still miss hanging out with you and the guys. That’s why I entered your name into this contest at school. See, it gives the winner a chance at a full scholarship. Room, board, the whole thing. The school rakes in enough money from all the other attendees that they can afford to let a few people attend free each year. Anyways, I put your name in, because, well, I miss you, man, and turns out it got chosen. I was totally floored. Please, tell me you’ll come. It’ll be like old times. Military life isn’t so bad, really, once you get used to it. And if you do well here, you get a big boost for college applications. It’s a big step for our futures, ya know? Even if you don’t want to come, I really do want to keep in contact with you. But please, make sure to respond as soon as you can. The school should’ve sent you an email, too, with all the details. If you wait too long, then you’ll lose the opportunity, and I won’t get to see you for at least another half a year. Please, Abe, say you’ll come, at least for one semester. I miss you. Sincerely, Private Kendall Rogers P.S. Sorry if there are any formatting errors in the letter. I’m still learning how to employ proper grammar. My  You blink in utter shock. Some parts of the letter sounded like Kendall, well enough, but others were just so ... formal. Just what were they doing to your friend over there? You furrow your brows in suspicion. Would you even recognize him anymore, at this rate? Or could someone have been ghost writing, pretending to be him? You shake your head. No, that’s not right. That would be nothing more than a conspiracy theory. Something else was going on. You narrow your eyes as you pore over the letter again. Eventually, the rest on the post script. Kendall always hated class of any kind, especially English, so why would he make a specific note to formatting errors? Fortunately for you, his hate of English was your love. It took you forever to even get the guy to concede to listening to recorded books, but you eventually got him at least a little into the spirit. Not enough to put effort into his writing, mind, but enough to make it so he didn’t hate books anymore. As you scanned over the document, you could see no errors in capitalization or punctuation, so it had to be something else in the letter. As you look over each of the paragraphs, you notice the varying lengths, comparing the short first two to the much longer third, fourth, and fifth. ... Length. You tap your chin as you recall the principle hammered into you from your youth. A proper paragraph should be at least three sentences in length, and even then, it’s preferable to keep it closer to five. So, why would he keep everything so short in the beginning? You take a closer look at the paragraphs. The sentences all seemed innocuous enough. Again, there were no errors involved. The letter was set to a formal header, with all the paragraphs lined up to the far left margin and no indentation. It was actually kind of funny. When you lined up the first three paragraphs, including the greeting, the letters formed HEL. You then looked down at the third paragraph. P. H-E-L-P. HELP. Help. Could it be? “An acrostic?” you pondered. It was a simple matter to link the other two letters from the last paragraphs. Help Me. “Shit,” you swore. Your heart rate picked up again. Your breathing became shallow. You wanted to get up and report this to someone, anyone, but you knew better than that. If this academy was doing something to your friend, you’d need real proof of wrongdoing, before you could convince anyone of the fact. This was the kind of thing that would get you laughed out of the station faster than you could present it. After you get yourself under control, you start your reply. Subject: RE: Congratulations! Dear Kendall, I got your message. Still, before I choose to accept, though, I need to ask a few things. 1. Is it all right for me to bring my equipment with me? You know how much I enjoy my film and photography.... You composed your reply very carefully to ensure it would fit the standards and evade possibility of detection. That being said, if there really was something off at this school, it was likely they would be able to see through your coded messages. Acrostics were a fairly simple coding system, after all. You would need to go prepared, if you went at all. Once you sent your reply with your list of “follow-up questions,” you turned to your next order of business. You quickly made your way to your spam folder and authorized the message from the academy. If you were going to do this, you would need all the information you could find on the place. Even then, ... you weren’t sure you would be ready.

The Tale of the Midsummer Maiden

Gather ‘round, ye children of men, believers, keepers of the faith from the olden days. Whether ye be man, woman, or child, brownie, kelpie, faun, nymph, spirit, or sprite, all are welcome by my fire to listen to my tale. But be forewarned. This is no playful yarn. The story I am about to tell you is a true one. It is a tale of true love, of radiant passion, of heart-wrenching loss, and a truly insidious revenge. If you’ve a pale constitution, it’s best ye turn yer head and close yer ears. For this, most curious patrons, is the tale of the Midsummer Maiden.

Long ago, in the time when the world was still young and the old magics ran above, below, and through every land and creature, two forces made to embody the powers that drove the night and the day in their eternal course finally chose to meet. The power of day took the form of a man, and the night a woman. Not content to merely remain a nameless pair of entities, the pair chose to name one another. The night named the day Oberon, and the day named the night Titania.

Their meetings were brief, for it was the duty of their magic to keep the heavens in motion and maintain the delicate balance that lay between the two. And so it was that twice a day, the two would descend for those few brief moments they could spend together. And as time passed, the two eventually came to call each other by other names: leannán, ceann daor, áilleacht, dathúil, grá amháin, stōr, muirnīn, and finally fear céile and bean chéile, or, being interpreted, husband and wife.

Time passed, and the two rulers gave rise to whole kingdoms of magic, governed by their rule, for their power was mighty, indeed, and few there were, if any, that dared to stand against it, who lived to tell the tale. Devoted followers swarmed in droves to offer food, sweets, incense, sacrifices dedicated to the mighty rulers. For a time, all was peaceful. All was happy.

But, like all married couples, this was not to last forever. They had their arguments, and all of nature heaved in those moments. Of greatest note was the dispute over an Indian child, the son of a most faithful adherent to the Queen of the Night, or perhaps the son of a mighty king stolen in the dead of night. Either side could be true, and there’s naught a mortal who knows the right of it. For who among our kind could have lived through those events and be here today to tell the tale?

In the end, the quarrel was settled, and the child taken from Titania’s grasp. What befell this child, no one can say, but in the tumult that followed, one rogue fae took her chance to lead others down the path of temptation, to join her in her own court, in the realms they claimed as their own. And so came the great division, and the birth of the Seelie and Unseelie. So came the birth of the Summer and Winter courts. And so came a new balance betwixt chaos and order, life and death, morality and lawlessness.

Eventually, Oberon and Titania came to their senses as man slowly began to forget the old magic and the splendors and dangers that lay in the land of the fae, the mythical Sidhe. The Christian God had come to hold sway in the hearts of mortal men. And with his coming came the desire to destroy all magic. For if one were to perform a miracle that was not of the power of the almighty, it was considered sacrilege, and one met a most gruesome end at the hands of voracious hunters. Witch, warlock, demon, familiar spirit. These were but a few of the titles invoked, forced onto others, until the magical races had no choice but to leave and close their borders to all save a few places.

It was during this time that Oberon and Titania brought forth their greatest joy, and here is where the hidden truth lies. For, you see, Titania had been with child, and at last, she delivered a beautiful boy. Oberon was filled with pride, Titania with the depth of love and affection only a mother could understand for the infant that had been born to them.

Ah, but poor, ignorant man would not allow this to pass. No. The Unseelie made sure of that. For they, like all fae, knew how to manipulate the hearts of mortals just as easily as any demon or evil spirit could. It was a simple matter to find a priest devout and zealous enough in his calling and tell him of the birth, of what it would mean for the old ways and the old magic, the threat it stood to make against the spreading of the faith, the chance to lead the precious flock into temptation.

And the priest, in his folly, listened and believed. He gathered his followers and called for the most faithful among them to enter into a perilous quest, the quest to save the soul of this faerie child, to raise him in the true faith, and to prevent the threat that the old magic posed. This also proved the opportune moment to teach the faeries just how painful their actions had been to innocent men and women for so many years, stealing their own babies to replace with one of their changelings.

Of course, to tell this to any of these mortal men would do nothing to inspire them to action. Quite the opposite, in fact. Man had long since left their faith in the old magics behind. And so, the priest conspired to lie, and he succeeded, telling them of the innocent child stolen away from home and family, of the need to save him from a terrible fate, raised by the murderers who had killed his parents and destroyed the home of his birth. Innocent blood cried out for justice, for vengeance, for rescue.

…

How could a man resist such a lie, when told by the very one he had trusted and loved for so many years?

The answer is simple. He couldn’t.

And so it was that the men stole into the faerie court with the aid of their supposed allies, the Unseelie, oblivious to the true import of their actions and the devastating consequences that would follow. They claimed the child, slaying the attendants with weapons of steel and of iron, forged by the will of man, imbued with their righteous indignation. I’ll not tell a lie. It was a slaughter, made all the more gruesome by how silently it was carried out.

And so it was that they absconded with the child, and brought it to the hands of the priest. From there, the boy was spirited away, “for his own protection.”

Oh, the folly of mortal men. What fools they were. What fools they still are. Ay, what fools we still are today. The rage and sorrow of the rulers rent the skies, and the world groaned and shook with the force of the imbalance that had come to pass. Titania was inconsolable, and Oberon, ever proud as the sun which he represented, refused to show any sign of weakness.

The two were never the same, nor was their marriage. Oberon lost his mirth. Titania lost her joy. And the Seelie Court lost its dawning light with the theft of the child. Titania would never concede to have another. To her, it would be the gravest of betrayals to her lost son, to simply replace him, like a discarded rag.

Knowing his love could not be whole, until the boy was found, Oberon spent more time away from his wife, searching high and low across the lands. But the mortals were clever, and they knew of ways to safeguard from a fearie’s prying eyes, even those of the great king and queen.

Years passed, and Titania wept, until tears of scarlet replaced the long-dried wells in her eyes. They watered the ground, and all the sacred forest trembled at the drops, for now the queen gave vent, not only to her sorrow, but the towering rage that had built within her. The moon hid its light, eclipsed in a mighty shadow, and the stars trembled and flickered in the heavens. It is said that the celestial dance halted as, for the first time in many a year, the deep magic stirred, and its stirring was as the East Wind, fueled by the raw emotion of a mother who had lost nearly all she held dear.

It is not entirely certain what happened, whether the blood merged with a spirit waiting to be given form, or simply gave life to a seed hidden among the many blades of grass, or perhaps something entirely different and unique. After all, the old magic is just that, very old, very ancient, and few, if any, remain that know its ways. All that is known for certain is that one moment, the moon failed to show its light. The next, it did, and a new maiden stood before the queen.

Her hair was a beautiful coppery gold that rippled and flowed down to her waist. A garland of flowers hung around her neck, a mixture of roses, acacia, amaranth, jasmine, lilac, and aster, magnolia and mallow, balsam, and Narcissus, and so many more. Those that couldn’t fit round her neck lined the cuffs of her sleeves, the collar of her dress, the hemming at the bottom of her flowing gown, while a circlet of the more delicate flowers wove together around her head.

The moon’s rays reflected off the maiden’s dress and into her skin, leaving it fair and flawless, radiating the beauty of that precious light. And when she opened her eyes, the deepest blue radiated outward, almost hypnotically, with flecks of gray that allowed them to shift and change naturally to silver and purple, to green and to brown. Indeed, the maiden seemed to change in the eye of every member of the queen’s court to behold her, and her beauty was unearthly.

“What is the wish of my mistress?” she asked, and her voice was light, musical, and strong, one that pulled and teased at the ears, leaving one begging to hear more. Verily, the voice was enough even to draw the legendary puck, Sir Robin Goodfellow out from his place of hiding. For, in his absence, Oberon had requested his faithful servant watch over his beloved, and out of love for his master and friend, the Goodfellow agreed. He, too, mourned the child’s loss, for he wished to teach it all the ways of mischief and delightful merriment, how to bedazzle the eyes of mortals and snare them in harmless pranks. Well, mostly harmless. And yet, this new creature was enough to pull him from his sorrow for a time as his heart quickened and his bosom burned.

This was not lost to the eyes of the queen of the night. Nor was the effect the maid had on the other men of her court. The order flowed easily from her lips.

“Find my son, and let those mortals know what it is to have their own wrested from them. I will be avenged.”

“As my lady commands,” the maid replied. “But I fear I will only have the strength to venture into the world of men at midsummer. To remain there at any other time would kill me.” For, you see, midsummer was the time of her birth, and midsummer is a time when the old magic flows stronger in the world and passion runs wild in the hearts of men. To remain even a day after would surely destroy her, for she must have a steady supply of that ancient magic to sustain the spell that made her what she is.

“Then so be it,” Titania said. “Go forth and avenge me.”

The maiden obeyed. And so came the time that she ventured to the land of mortal men, guided by the queen’s love for her son and the hatred of her enemies. For you see, blood spilled in any way has power, especially so, if it is innocent or shed out of love as a willing sacrifice. And so it was that, like a dog, the maiden went forth to follow the path of the kidnappers with her magic. And so it was that she ventured into the county, where the parish lay and all the land was hushed and beautiful.

She went with her charms, and she claimed many a prize during her stay. The men were aflame with desire. Not even the priest was to be spared, and she toyed with them all most cruelly. She stole the priest’s virtue. She stole the women’s trust. She broke the men’s honor, all with an angel’s smile. Ah, and perhaps she was an angel, of a sort, an avenging angel bent on her task to right a terrible wrong and ensure that mortal men knew the pain of her mistress.

Ay, she led the young ones away next, the village boys aflame with passion and lust and the foibles of youth. It was a simple matter to stoke their pride and draw them to her. And each time, the maiden would test them. Each time, she would probe for that which she had been brought into being to find. And each time, she would fail to locate her true objective. So it was that the boys, especially the ones who lacked in faithfulness to their betrothed, met a gruesome end at the hands of the maiden, and mothers were left to weep their loss as the message written in their child’s blood spoke the demand of the faerie queen.

Return what you stole.

The men that knew the message’s true meaning turned to their priest for guidance and protection. They met in secret, as they had that night so many years ago, under the guise of a great visit from a higher dignitary of the church. After all, the priest that had incited their venture into the Sidhe was rewarded most handsomely for his dark deed, and now stood well above his peers in favor and stature, though not in true grace. They chose the crypt beneath the old church, a place where their discussions could go on unheard.

The men begged him to return the boy, lest all come to ruin and their loved ones be forever stricken. Naturally, the man refused.

“Have you forgotten what is at stake?” he demanded as he drew his formal robes and finery around him. “Have you forgotten your resolve to protect your home and kin from evil?”

“Evil has come, regardless!” one man cried. “Our children mourn, and our grandsires lay in their gore for the sake of the child you had us steal.”

The men murmured their agreement, but still, the former priest would not yield. “He is to be raised in the true faith and live as an honest man.”

And that was their greatest mistake.

“Honest. Honest?” The laughter that followed was cold, bitter, and cruel. “You men know nothing of honesty, nor of honor.” And there she stood in the midst of them, in all her unearthly beauty.

“Who are you, witch?” the priest spat.

“I am no witch, archbishop. Look upon me well. You know what I am. Indeed, you know better than any other here.” A silver dagger glinted in her hand as she stood proudly in her dress and gazed upon them with a cold indifference. “I smell the stink of Unseelie magics about you, archbishop. I hear the blood of the men who served so faithfully before you crying out for justice.” She leveled her blade. “It is on your hands, and your god will not save you from the wrath of justice, nor these mortals who aided you.”

She plucked a single rose from her bosom and threw it at the priest’s garb. With the sound of shattering glass, the spell that had given him the vision of grandeur and the magic that had laced his tongue with such eloquence and authority were broken. Blood pooled around the archbishop’s feet, staining the hems of his robes a deep crimson.

Then she threw more flowers, raining down upon the gathering, spattering tunics and vests with blood, as she had the archbishop.

“For the innocent lives taken to steal a child that was the future of the fae. For the rage of my mistress, the Queen of the Night.” Her eyes glowed in the still night air. “All of you shall pay the price for your wrongdoing. The geas that beguiled you is broken, but that is no excuse, for it was but a light cantrip, a whispering to make you more susceptible to his desires.” Her eyes narrowed as they began to glow crimson. “You had a choice.” Blood dripped from the dagger’s tip as the first of the men gasped and gurgled, looking down in utter shock at the metal jutting from his chest. “And you chose poorly. Let your god judge you for your actions. I am but the arbiter of my queen’s wrath.” She pulled the blade from the man and let him fall.

The events that followed are too gruesome to describe as the maiden wreaked her terrible vengeance upon the men, leaving the priest to the very last, so he could behold the blood that stood upon his conscience. She demanded the truth of him one last time, but the fearful man knew not the fate of the child, only that he had been spirited away, hidden beyond the maiden’s reach. And though he was afraid, hatred allowed one last, cruel smile. “You and all your damned kind will never find him,” he said.

“Never say never,” the maiden replied, then took his life.

It is said that as she left that place, her gown glowed the deepest crimson, and the children playing among the gravestones watched her passing. She looked to one of them, pointed and spoke in a terrible voice. “Mark ye this day, children of man. Know that my wrath is unending as my mission. Until the day that I find what was taken, and the lost is returned, I will not rest. You will tell the tale of what happened here this night. In prose, in lore, by word of mouth and song. Tell the tale, and let it spread as the fires in the fields. I am the Midsummer Maiden, and I will claim what is mine.

With that terrible geas pronounced upon the children, she left, trailing the blood of the dishonorable men in her wake. The mournful wails of the villagers soon followed behind.

To this day, the tale of her comings and goings echoes through time as a warning to young men. Therefore, be warned, if ere the wanderlust takes ye, and ye travel the roads alone in midsummer. For to this day, the Midsummer Maiden still hunts, and she will seek to test you, ere you reach journey’s end. Be watchful, therefore, and live honestly. For if’n ye mistreat her in any way, she will wreak her terrible vengeance, and the fate of the men of Midsummer County shall be your own.

So shall it ever be, till the day the lost child returns to the Sidhe.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 44 (End/Epilogue)

You smile goodnaturedly at the blushing young man fidgeting in front of you as you run your sharpie over the photo from your greatest triumph, the day you broke the world record for strongest man. A hint of silver has come into your bristles along the side of your head, but you didn’t mind. It was a sign of character, after all. You still felt young and strong, even after all these years in the spotlight. For the briefest moment, as you look up from the photo at that beaming face, you see the shadow of your former self staring back up at you with adoring eyes. It flickered away as quickly as it came, but you took an interest as you stared at the man’s figure. He was slim, yes, but there was definitely tone there. He wasn’t a slouch. It was quite possible he had potential, just that he couldn’t reach it on his own. You sure didn’t, till you met Hank. You can feel your twin bodyguards chafing as they fold their vascular arms impatiently. Harry said he’d found them on a website. You figured that was probably true, but you had your suspicions about what kind of website that may have been. Of course, you were careful to avoid going too far down that road. Last time you tried, you dropped into trance again. Besides, it wasn’t for a muscleman like you to think about such things. Your purpose was to Lift things up and put them down. You hand the signed photo back to the man and chuckle. “Hey, kid, how’d you like to join me for lunch? I’ve got a few friends I’d like to introduce you to.” The kid blushed. “I ... I don’t know....” “Aw, come on, Draco. It’ll be fun!” “Um, it’s ... Drake, Sir,” the man muttered. “That fire in your eyes when you stood up to my guards says otherwise, kid. I’m calling you Draco, no ifs, ands, or buts. Think of it as a nickname,” you suggest. “Duff and I had plenty of our own, when we first started in the field.” You chuckle then. Ah, good times. Good times.” You wrap your massive arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on. It’ll be my treat.”

You sighed in contentment as you laid back in your chair and smiled up at the ceiling. In all the years you’d been trekking around the globe, this place still had some of the best damned teriyaki you’d ever tasted. You couldn’t help but smirk at all the gym goers chowing down. Each of them wore a familiar bicep logo somewhere on their person. One endorsement from a pro bodybuilder, and the whole place had practically exploded. The influx had been so great that they had to relocate and renovate to accommodate all the extra business. “Everything sitting with you well, Sir?” Shirley, a cute little lady with curly blond hair asked as she returned to refill your glasses. “Just fine, Shirl. Thanks for asking.” You smile kindly at her and she giggles and blushes. You then turn your attention back to the table, where Duff and Charlie both sit mashed next to each other. Two young men sit to either side of them, glaring at one another, and you can’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You know, Chuck, I never thought I’d see you out of those fatigues again.” Charlie let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I would either. The army was everything to me. It feels so strange being retired now.” “Benefits are good, though,” you point out. “The country takes care of her veterans,” he agreed as he adjusted the camouflage pattern ARMY cap on his head. “Been getting back into the ROTC scene again. Feels more like home, you know?” You laugh. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m gonna miss the circuit.” “You can’t be planning to retire just yet,” Duff scoffed. “You’re too dedicated for that.” “Muscle is my life,” you agree, “but even I can’t fight aging.” You shrug. “I figure I’ve got a few more years left in me, but I’m gonna have to pass the torch, eventually.” Duff eyed Drake speculatively. “And do you have any candidates in mind?” You shrug easily. “One or two. I’ll need to test them, though, see if they have what it takes.” “And what about you, Draco?” Duff asked. “What do you do?” Drake blushed, doing his best to avoid Duff’s gaze. “I’m an accounting student, Sir. I’ve always had a good head for numbers.” “That so?” He smiled. “Maybe you can tutor Lance here,” he said as he thumped the young teen hard on his back. “Math and he don’t exactly get along.” “Dad!” the boy cried exasperatedly. “I-I’m not sure if I’m that qualified, Sir. I focus on finances specifically. Algebra and geometry don’t exactly fall into that scale.” “Oh, I’m sure you can do just fine. I can pay you well, you know. And besides, if you were invited here by the big honcho himself, then you can bet you’ll be seeing a lot more of us in the coming weeks,” Duff added with a smirk. “Wait, what?” Drake asked. “Duff, stop confusing him,” you growl. “What, can’t a big bro have a little fun with his little bro’s protege?” “He’s a guest, Duff,” you stress. “Sure he is,” Duff said as he rolled his eyes. “Say, where’s Hank, anyways? I thought he was supposed to be meeting us today.” “He told us to start without him, said something about a last minute appointment. You know how busy he can be.” “Huh. And I was hoping to introduce Draco here.” You shrug. “Guess we’ll just need to make a stop there, then.” Drake gaped at you. “Hank? As in Hank Harrison? The Hank Harrison?” You chuckle. “The one and only. You didn’t think I’d stop at just introducing Duff and Chuck here, did you? We can leave as soon as you finish your meal.” You looked on in satisfaction at how quickly he devoured the other two bowls you’d ordered. As you had suspected, the kid had a fast metabolism. You allow a knowing wink to pass between yourself and your two friends. Their smiles widened in response.

The gym ran in full swing as you made your way past the reception desk and strode confidently out onto the floor. As you had suspected, there was no sign of your coach, though business was clearly booming. Youths and adults alike grunted and sweated together as they performed their various exercises. You quickly guide Drake through the STAFF ONLY door and pass down the hall towards the great door at the end. You were taken by surprise, when one of the side doors creaked open and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, looking dejected. He was soon followed by the titanic frame of your coach, Hank Harrison. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that kind of habit in my gym, Albert. If you can stay clean for a year, come back then and try again. That’s my final ruling on the matter,” Hank rumbled as he looked down almost pityingly at the muscle man. Albert nodded, then lumbered sadly away towards the entrance. “Another steroid user?” you ask. Hank sighed and shook his head. His whiskers had taken on a steel-gray, and just a hint of a pudge had started to form on his belly. “They all think I care about how big and muscular they are. What I want is someone who can teach and work safely with my clients.” He smiled sadly. “Hey, Kid. Good to see you again.” You smile and give the man a quick bro hug with a thump on the back. “Good to see you, too. I see the gym is doing well.” “I can’t get them to stop coming. Something about wanting to be like the world’s strongest man,” he teased. “And who is this?” “Draco,” you say, quickly cutting off any chance for Drake to get the first word. “I met him earlier today, after a gig at a local showing. Thought he might like to meet you.” Hank raised his brow in surprise. “Is that so?” “He’s a good kid. Smart, clean, brave, and one hell of a metabolism.” “And you wanted to introduce us.” You shrug causally. “Already did for Duff and Chuck. Figured I’d round it out.” “Is that so?” This time, he gave Drake a much more scrutinous examination. “And it couldn’t wait?” “No, it couldn’t,” you say pointedly. “I wanted him to have the chance of a proper one-on-one.” “I see.” He tapped a few buttons on his watch, then strode over to the big door. he’d just emerged from. “Why don’t we step inside, then? I’m sure my other clients won’t mind waiting a little longer, and besides, I’d like to hear a little more about you, Draco.” “Um, ... it’s Drake, ... Sir,” the kid said somewhat hesitantly as they passed through the door and into the room. You smile as you note the gentle buzzing filtering out from the speakers. Then you enter, too, pulling the door shut behind you. Coach could see it, too. You knew. Now it was just a matter of convincing the kid. That wouldn’t be much of a problem. The muscleman in Drake was just waiting to bust out. And no one could do busting better than Hank. Time to pass the torch.

I Don’t Know

I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing. I don’t know if I’ve misspoken. I don’t know if I’ve hurt or annoyed you. All I do know is I am anxious and worried to have done these things, despite our no longer being involved. I think I still have feelings. I don’t know if they’ll ever truly fade away. I don’t know.... Do you feel the same?

This deserves a reblog. It’s hypnotists like that that give the practice a bad name.

Also, please note, another name for this evil hypnotist is hypno-obey. The account has been deactivated, but beware all the same and avoid the content on that page, lest you possibly fall into that man’s clutches. Make sure you know your hypnotist well and that they are trustworthy, before you begin sessions. And spread the word about this (pardon the term, but I feel it’s appropriate here) dirtbag. He or she crossed the line from hypnosis into outright brainwashing. This is a thing that ruins peoples’ lives. You’re messing with a person’s psyche, when you put them under. Don’t try playing god and making them want to do things that they don’t really want. That’s just sick.

Please reblog this, so it gets as much exposure as possible and as many people in the hypnosis community as possible are warned.

Watch out for dangeous tists

Everyone please stay away from Hypno-Obey, MasterAlpha, Trey (they are all the same person), a friend of mine who has been working with him, recently told him that he didn’t want to continue, and Trey’s responce was to trigger him and make it hurt him to even think of leaving. Now this kid (who for his personal privacy will remain nameless if he chooses to reply to this message that is his choice) He is currently balling because he doesn’t understand what happened, he doesn’t understand why thinking about leaving is hurting, he has expressed that this is what he wants, and what is healthy for him but now the very idea is hurting him. Trey is not a good person and has been told many times privatly and publicly. Now many people will chastise me for speaking publicly but I have tried in private as have others and he has not changed, and this sweet kid is crying because of Trey basically raping him. So I am not going to stay quiet any longer.

@gayhypno10101 Can confirm he has not been an ethical and honest person