#4: “The Letter I Never Sent”
Dear Mistress,
I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. Maybe it’s just for me, to finally put into words what I’ve been too afraid to say. But tonight feels like the night I have to try.
I never believed hypnosis could touch me. I thought it was just a game, something for other people who were more suggestible or weaker in will. But curiosity dragged me in. I wanted to see if the whispers I read on forums were true, that a voice alone could melt someone into a softer, prettier version of themselves.
It started quietly. I listened once, then again. The tracks always felt like they were circling something inside me, loosening knots I didn’t even know I carried. The voice was never cruel, it was patient, teasing, warm. She spoke like she had been watching me all my life, waiting for me to finally drop the mask.
The turning point came last weekend. I remember it clearly. I laid down, closed my eyes, and let the headphones press in like a secret. She guided me through breathing, then deeper, deeper still. My body obeyed even when my mind said not to. It wasn’t that I was powerless, it was that I wanted to obey.
When she told me to picture my reflection, I thought I’d see the same tired man’s face I look at every day. But instead, I saw softness. My cheeks were flushed, my lips glossed, my lashes long. The reflection smiled, and it wasn’t mocking, it was inviting. It was me, but finally free.
That’s when the words started to sink: good girl, sweet doll, pretty sissy. Each one made me squirm, not in shame but in recognition. I whispered them back, my voice trembling. For the first time in my life, those words didn’t feel humiliating. They felt like home.
I cried when the track ended. Not out of fear, but relief. All those years of fighting, hiding, pretending, I realized I wasn’t being brainwashed. I was being unchained.
Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Every morning when I brush my teeth, I catch myself practicing a softer smile. Every night when I crawl under the sheets, I feel the phantom weight of her words, like a ribbon tied around my wrist, tugging me back to that place of surrender.
I don’t know where this journey will take me. I don’t know if I’ll ever step fully into the reflection I saw that night. But I know one thing for certain: I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to keep pretending this part of me doesn’t exist.
So maybe this letter isn’t for you after all, Mistress. Maybe it’s for me, to mark the moment I finally stopped denying who I am. The night I surrendered wasn’t the night I lost control. It was the night I found myself.
Yours, always learning,
,A very grateful sissy