Disclaimer: All the usual rules apply: If you are under the legal age, offended by the concepts of either erotic hypnotism or male/male sexual activity, unable to distinguish between fiction (which this is) and reality (which this may never be construed to portray), or resident in some wretched community where such materials are forbidden to you regardless of your own preferences, then you do not have permission to read this; please go away. If, on the other hand, you have no legal or philosophical restraints, please enjoy. You have permission to read and/or download this story at any time you wish, provided you do not allow it to be seen by minors, nor re-post it anywhere without the author’s express consent. Also, though I like playing with soldiers, I don’t know much about the military’s procedures. Please forgive any unintended ineptitude in my fictional portrayal.




   It was amazingly hot for September. “Hotter than the hinges of Hell” as his grandpa back in Iowa used to say. Private Jimmy Pierson turned to face away from the dry, dusty wind that never seemed to stop blowing here in the nowhere lands of California’s central valley. His new line of sight now showed the rest of the detail of his fellow boot camp trainees where they huddled miserably in the scrappy shade provided by a couple of dejected-looking cottonwood trees, waiting, as was he, for the transport that was supposed to be bringing them the construction materials for their field exercise. As a group, they were probably typical of most new army recruits; a mixed bag of guys who, without the serendipity of military posting, would likely never have met nor had any interest in meeting, having nothing much in common other than their 18-21 age group. There were Chuck Goodwinter, a handsome, laid-back Arizona cowboy with sun-bleached light brown hair and dreamy, smoke-colored eyes, Bobby DiCecco, black-eyed, black-haired Italian-American lady-killer from Brooklyn, sexy as hell, but possessed of a firecracker temper, Luther Jones from St. Louis, a former high-school basketball player, so tall and thin that, with his long face, coffee-and-cream skin, and gangling movements, he brought to mind an amiable giraffe, Porter Long (who insisted on being called “Ace”), the only actual Californian in the bunch (from one of those posh suburbs south of San Francisco), patrician good looks, brown hair and eyes, tennis-and-track body, and a rich-boy attitude that boot camp was rapidly sweating out of him, and Nick Delacroix from a parish just outside of New Orleans, easily the best-looking of the good-looking bunch, dark like Bobby, but with paler skin, and beautiful, extra-red lips. And of course, Jimmy himself, the Iowa farm-boy, dark-blond, blue-eyed, and still, at the age of twenty, projecting an air of innocent boyish wholesomeness.

    Jimmy thought wryly how inaccurate that was! No one had asked, and he sure as hell hadn’t told, but good ol’ corn-fed Jimmy Pierson was 100% red-blooded American faggot. Queer. Cocksucker. Fudge-packer. All those hard names his high-school buddies threw around so casually. And Jimmy threw them around too. Better that than exposing his secret and becoming everybody’s favorite punching bag. And besides, flying under the radar as he did, gave him the opportunity to employ his favorite hobby, hypnotism, in the furtherance of his sex-life. Jimmy had always been fascinated by hypnotism. By the time he was in high school, he was good enough to put on shows for his friends at parties, and he quickly realized the inherent potential. If any of his hunky classmates had realized he wanted to get into their pants, they never would have let him even begin to try to cast his spell on them. But once he had one or another of them in his power… No doubt about it, there was many a straight boy back home who’d given up his gay cherry, under the impression he was with his girlfriend (or, if he didn’t have one, that he was enjoying a really vivid sex dream about his favorite fantasy lady).

   And so Jimmy had gotten into the habit of looking for any excuse to suggest impromptu hypnotic demonstrations to men that interested him. And, he thought, it looked as though this might be one such opportunity right now. The guys were all bored, all too hot, and therefore, ripe for the mischief he had in mind. He walked over to them.

   “I suppose Dumbfucker has his thumb up his butt again,” Bobby was bitching, just as Jimmy got into hearing range. (Corporal Dunfokker, the head supply clerk, was notorious for holding things up over minutia in the paperwork.) “Jeez, if that little prick worked half as hard at doing his job as he does at not doing it, he’d be a fuckin’ five-star general by now! And meanwhile, we get to roast out here in the ass end of nowhere!”

   Jimmy made his move. “Oh come on DiCecco, it’s not that bad. Besides, it’s all just mind over matter anyway. If you could convince yourself you weren’t too hot, you wouldn’t be.”

   Bobby shot him a sour look. “You talkin’ about that hypno shit again?” (Jimmy’s hobby was already pretty widely known among the barracks crowd, as he took every chance that offered to bring it up.) “You know we all think you’re just blowin’ smoke. That carny crap doesn’t really work.”

   “It works just fine,” Jimmy countered, “And it isn’t ‘carny crap’. It’s perfectly sound psychology. I tell you what, Bobby. Let’s have a little bet. If I can’t get you guys to feel better before the supplies get here, then I’ll stop talking about it, and I’ll cover latrine duty for all of you for a week. But if I can, then you have to admit that hypnotism isn’t fake, and that I am a master hypnotist! How about it? Money where your mouth is?”

   Bobby looked at the other four men, his dark eyebrows a question mark. Apparently he got the consensus he was looking for from their answering glances, because he said, “Okay, Iowa, you’re on.” He snickered. “And make sure those toilets fuckin’ sparkle!”

   “You can count on it… if I lose the bet. But remember, you guys have to cooperate. No trying to sabotage the experiment. You have to do your best to follow my instructions, okay?”

   All five guys nodded. “What do we need to do first?” Nick Delacroix asked in his honeyed Cajun accent. He actually looked intrigued.

   “I want you to pair up. Nick, you and Chuck sit facing each other. Luther and Ace, same thing. DiCecco, you’re with me.” Jimmy’s voice had already begun to soften and take on the intimate, focused intonation of the hypnotist, although the change was so subtle that none of the boys picked up on it. They were already listening a little more intently, without even realizing it. “I want you to look straight into each other’s eyes. Bobby, you look into mine. Don’t strain, but try not to look away even for a moment. Now, take a nice slow, deep breath. Hold it… hold it… and then let it all out. And again… in…. and then out. Keep it up, in the same rhythm, and feel how easy it becomes, just looking into those eyes and breathing so evenly.” Jimmy began to add suggestions of relaxation into his repeated breathing instructions. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Bobby’s yet, but he was gratified to see that the young Italian was playing fair and following along. Even more gratifying, was the tell-tale slackening of the handsome boy’s facial muscles.

   “Now, I’m going to begin to count. Without changing your focus at all, on each odd number I want you to close your eyes. On each even number you’ll open them again. One…” Bobby obediently shut his eyes. “Two…” open. “Three…” closed again. Jimmy began, almost imperceptibly, to spend a little longer on the odd numbers. In addition, he began to add sleep suggestions to his spiel, describing how tired and relaxed their eyelids were becoming, how it was getting harder and harder to open them on the even numbers, how, very soon perhaps, they would no longer be able to lift those heavy eyelids, no matter how hard they tried.

   And, of course, it was working, just as it usually did. Once Bobby was closing his eyes regularly, Jimmy was able to take the opportunity to see how the others were responding. Ace and Luther were visibly relaxing, their eyes looking as heavy as Tony’s. Chuck and Nick, however, seemed to be much further along. Both of them were slumped bonelessly, their heads scarcely able to remain upright. Their eyes looked exhausted and swollen, and, on the even numbers, the lids barely cracked open before shutting again. Jimmy wasn’t too surprised. From observation and his knowledge of the personality traits involved, he’d already pegged Chuck as a good potential subject. And as for Nick, it wasn’t uncommon for a guy who could see the reactions of a really gifted trancer during the induction, to unconsciously imitate what he saw and go under deeper and more easily than he might have otherwise. (It was the main reason he’d paired them in the first place; he really hoped he could get Nick!) Jimmy returned the bulk of his attention to Bobby, and continued his spiel. Scarcely five minutes later, he had all five guys in reasonable trance states and was putting them through a series of deepeners. It was all over but the shouting.

    “Okay, guys, stand up, open your eyes, but don’t wake up. You still hear only my voice, and the only thoughts you are able to form are in obedience to my instructions.” Jimmy walked, as if on inspection, back and forth in front of the row of five now deeply-hypnotized young soldiers, standing at attention, their faces blank and calm. During the deepeners, he’d been able to ascertain that he could indeed produce amnesia in each one of them. This made things a lot easier. Jimmy wasn’t particularly interested in either Luther or Ace, and, in any case, he had no intention of trying to get any action from anybody out here in the dust. But it made it a lot easier that he didn’t have to worry about somebody consciously remembering the programming he was about to install. “Any time I (and only I) say ‘taps, soldier-boy’ you will instantly be back in this deep, deep trance state, even deeper than you are now, and each time deeper than the time before. This will happen no matter where you are, or what you are doing at the time, which could be in five minutes, or hours, or weeks from now. Any time, any place, that phrase will control you. Now, what’s the phrase that I’ll say?”

    “Taps, soldier-boy,” droned five mesmerized young male voices, almost in unison.

    “That’s right, ‘taps, soldier-boy’. And what happens when you hear me say those words?” The spellbound quintet dutifully repeated the instructions. By this time Jimmy was fully hard in his fatigues. However, he schooled himself to hang on. Even ignoring the less-than-prepossessing setting, attempting any fun and games at this time just wouldn’t be very smart. The arrival time of the supply truck was too unpredictable. No, now that he had these guys under his spell, enslaved to the trigger phrase, the sex could happen any time he could get one (or more) of them alone. “When you are in trance, you will always obey me instantly and without question. Got that? Good.” Then the young hypnotist proceeded to do what he’d promised, to give the boys the necessary suggestions to ignore the heat and their physical discomfort. When he had finished, all five had observably increased in their physical relaxation, and their expressions were even blanker than before.

    “Okay, close your eyes again and go even deeper. I’m going to count from ten down to one. As I count, you’re going to forget everything that has happened while you were hypnotized. Your subconscious will remember my instructions and will obey them, but you won’t have any conscious awareness of any of it. The only thing you’ll know is that you were hypnotized. You’ll be convinced that I’m a terrific hypnotist, and any time I want to hypnotize you again, you’ll be happy to let me.” (Of course Jimmy didn’t need this last instruction to get them back into trance, since the trigger would take any one of the group down without that young man’s conscious cooperation. This was more in the nature of advertising. If these guys talked him up, or were willing to be models in new induction groups, the hypnotist could gradually increase his stable of sex toys.) “Oh, and Bobby, for five minutes after you’re back in your normal consciousness, you’re going to find that you can only speak like Marilyn Monroe. No matter what you say, it’ll come out in her voice. Won’t it?”

    Bobby mumbled, “For five minutes I talk like Marilyn Monroe…” His voice trailed away vaguely.

    “That’s right. And after five minutes your speech goes back to normal. Okay guys, ten… nine… eight…” Jimmy continued the count, interspersing wakening suggestions as well as reinforcing suggestions for the amnesia. “…and one. Wide awake and feeling fine.”

    The five young men had all opened their eyes. Chuck and Nick were still blinking a little sleepily, but the rest appeared to be back to normal. Jimmy snapped his fingers in front of Chuck’s face and then Nick’s to speed them back to full consciousness.

    “Well, guys? Feeling cooler? Think you were hypnotized?” Jimmy addressed this question mostly towards Bobby.

    The young Italian stretched lazily. “I feel great! And I don’t remember anything since I started to look at you.” His voice was a breathy falsetto parody of the late sex goddess, although he didn’t appear to notice it. The other guys broke up. Jimmy thought Ace might have a stroke he was laughing so hard. Bobby looked at them all with a mystified expression. “What’s so damn funny?” he asked, still in the feminine purr. Then, suddenly, it seemed as though the macho kid from Brooklyn finally registered how he sounded. His eyebrows shot up, and his face twisted into a comical expression of confusion. “What the fuck’s happened to my voice!?” he husked. “What the hell did you do to me, Jimmy!?”

    The hypnotist smiled blandly. “I just wanted to make sure there was no question you’d lost your bet. Don’t worry. It’ll be back to normal in five, no, four minutes now.”

    Bobby lost his look of alarm. He gave Jimmy the finger and lisped, “Fuck you, Iowa,” which brought a renewed burst of hilarity from his mates, ridiculous as those words with their tough Brooklyn accent sounded in Marilyn’s little-girl gasps.

    For the rest of their wait (45 minutes more), the guys were comfortable, and conversation was extremely animated. Bobby’s voice returned to normal as promised, but the guys’ fascinated questions and comments continued. Whether it was part of the post-hypnotic compulsion to think of Jimmy as a terrific hypnotist or not, the young soldiers couldn’t find enough to say about the whole thing. They were particularly impressed, it seemed, by their inability to recall what had gone on, so most of the time Jimmy was engaged in making up plausible-sounding events to account for the time spent. He did, at one point, test the trigger phrase. “Taps, soldier-boy”, and they were instantly back under, but he brought them right back out again, and this time not one of them even realized he’d been back in trance. Everything was in perfect readiness for the young hypnotist’s further plans.





   Over the ensuing week, Jimmy had stolen opportunities whenever possible to put Bobby, Chuck or Nick briefly back into trance and reinforce their conditioning. These little hypno-breaks were always short, serendipitous, and unnoticed by the victims, but they served to make sure that none of the three young men accidentally worked his way out from under Jimmy’s control. His first chance to reap the rewards of his efforts didn’t come until the following weekend. Both he and Bobby had received coveted weekend passes. It was the first time since they’d arrived that they were actually getting some time off. Bobby, of course, was full of big plans about the drinking he planned to do, and the women he planned to pick up. Jimmy just smiled.

   On the evening before they were to leave base, as they walked from the mess hall after dinner, Jimmy said, “Hey, DiCecco, come with me for a sec. I want to show you something I found earlier.”

   “Okay, Iowa.” Bobby waved the other guys he was with to go on without him. “What’s up?”

    Jimmy led him around behind one of the storage buildings where they were out of sight. He stepped in close to Bobby and quickly spoke the trigger phrase. The hot little Italian collapsed into his arms, limp as a dishrag. Jimmy stood him back up on his feet, with a suggestion to remain standing, then commanded, “Bobby, tomorrow night in town, you’re going to keep your drinking light, and you’ll be sure to pay for every drink you buy as you buy it. Understand?” Bobby nodded with helpless obedience. “Snacks, too. The reason you’re going to do this is that, at eleven o’clock tomorrow night, no matter where you are, you’re going to go instantly into the deepest hypnosis you’ve ever achieved. You’ll try not to look or act differently, but you will be under an irresistible compulsion to stop whatever you’re doing immediately and to come to me at ________ Motel on _______ Street. You’ll have no other thoughts but to go there. I’ll be in room __ waiting for you.” Jimmy used a couple more precious minutes to make sure that all his orders were indelibly recorded in Bobby’s mind, and then woke him up with the usual memory constraints in place.



   Jenny Kravitz had never seen the like. This cute, cute guy had been hitting on her all evening. Okay, so that wasn’t the odd part. Guys hit on her all the time. Jenny knew she was a fox, and she played it for all it was worth in the Saturday night meat market. Hell, she probably hadn’t bought one of her own drinks since she’d turned eighteen. But this Bobby character, now that was a new wrinkle. She’d been sure he was well and truly hooked, and she had just been on the point of agreeing to go have sex with him (well, he really was hot!), when his whole personality just changed. His face had suddenly gone blank, he stopped talking right in the middle of a sentence, and his eyes got all cloudy and vague. He stood up from the table without another word or a glance at her and just walked out of the bar. Jenny’d called after him, but he didn’t even seem to hear her. It was like he was under a spell or something! Geez!



   “Time for your physical, Private. Strip.” Bobby was in Jimmy’s rented motel room, once again a mindless trance-zombie. He quickly took off his boots and socks, and then pulled the olive green army t off over his head. However, as his hands undid his belt and began to lower his pants, Bobby appeared to be fighting it. The pants stopped halfway down, his hands trembled with conflicting responses, and his expression grew distressed.

   Jimmy quickly stepped in for damage control. “Taps, soldier-boy. Your mind is completely blank. You can’t form thoughts at all. You have no awareness of yourself or anything you’re doing, no more than if you were a statue or a robot. Repeat that.”

   At the repetition of the trigger phrase, Bobby had frozen, his pants still at half-mast. Now, under the barrage of new suggestion his handsome young face went slack as an idiot’s. He mindlessly repeated the instructions. Jimmy then pulled Bobby’s pants out of his now-unresisting hands and ordered him to step out of them. The helpless soldier obeyed, and then stood staring blankly straight ahead, naked except for his dog tags.

   “Now, Bobby,” the young hypnotist instructed his utterly subdued victim, “When I say ‘show time’, you’re going to be watching the hottest porno film ever made. It’s going get you very turned on. It’s about a young soldier from Brooklyn named Bobby DiCecco who gets hypnotized. He has black hair, dark eyes…” Jimmy went on to describe Bobby, just as he looked at that moment, as completely and precisely as he could; the identification with the fantasy character (and the resulting dissociation with himself) would lead his mind-fucked victim to accept everything done to him as part of a film he was watching. “This soldier is so hypnotized and helpless. He can’t think or move. He just has to stand there while the most beautiful woman he’s ever imagined has her way with his body. She sucks his cock and plays with his balls and his asshole, until he cums as hard as he’s ever cum in his life. As a matter of fact, he shoots so hard that his will drains right out of him along with the jism, and from then on he can’t resist any order the hypnotist gives him.” Jimmy paused for a moment to let the instructions sink in, and then quietly said, “Show time.”

   Even before Jimmy could drop to his knees, Bobby’s cock had already surged to full erection, although the spellbound GI presented no other visible reaction to the scenario now playing in his head. He continued to stand rigidly immobile, staring straight ahead, as the hypnotist licked and then engulfed his rigid rod.

   Jimmy was really enjoying himself. He hadn’t been getting anything except his own hand for quite some time now, and the hot young Italian’s sausage was delicious. As he sucked, he began to stroke his own erection, but carefully, since he had no intention of getting himself off with yet another hand job, when there was the possibility that (after orgasm his victim was about to experience and the hypnotic commands attached to it) Bobby might be left suggestible enough for something better. The hypnotist used every oral skill he knew to make the blowjob memorable, and all the while with his free hand he fingered Bobby’s ass or dandled his balls, so it wasn’t very long at all before it became obvious that the climax was near. Jimmy stopped sucking and began to masturbate the pulsing cock purposefully. “Hypnotized Bobby DiCecco is going to cum at the count of three,” he said, “And when he does, his ability to will is gone completely. One… two… three.” He replaced his mouth on Bobby’s cock just in time to catch the first jet of sperm, and didn’t remove it again until he’d sucked the boy dry.

   Licking his lips, Jimmy got back up off his knees. Bobby was still standing as motionless and expressionless as though he were at attention (or at least parade rest). It was time to go for it, “The hypnotist is talking to Bobby DiCecco now. You want to listen very carefully to the movie to hear what he’s saying. Can you hear him well?”

   In a soft, toneless voice, Bobby answered, “Yeah…”

   Excellent! It was working. Jimmy continued, “The hypnotist is commanding Bobby to kneel down, and Bobby’s knees grow weak and yield so that he is kneeling in spite of himself.” Almost before Jimmy finished the sentence, Bobby’s knees began to bend. He sank down until he was kneeling helplessly before his hypnotic master. “Now, as you watch, Bobby’s mouth begins to open. You can see that he’s trying to keep it closed, but that doesn’t matter, because the hypnotist is ordering him to become a cocksucking robot and he no longer has any willpower remaining to try to fight that order. His mouth is opening wider… and wider… no control over his jaw muscles… tongue beginning to flex and lick… moistening his slack lips…” As Jimmy continued the spiel, the real Bobby DiCecco was helplessly following suit, although it was quite clear that he didn’t realize it. The young hypnotist took the handsome, mesmerized young soldier’s face in his hands, gently drew the boy’s unresisting mouth to his dick, and was soon fucking Bobby’s face with abandon.

   As it almost always seems to be, the rapture, though exquisitely satisfying, was over all too soon. However, once he’d recovered his wits after a mind-blowing orgasm, Jimmy, taking stock of his blank-eyed, cum-spattered hypno-slave, still waiting patiently on his knees for the next command, was comforted with the realization that his control was now so complete that he’d be able to use Bobby again and again at will.

   The young hypnotist began the painstaking process of reworking his victim’s memory template. By the time Bobby, now cleaned up and back in his clothing, marched obediently out of the motel room, he was unshakably convinced that the beautiful woman he’d imagined in the illusion fuck film was an actual person, and that he’d spent the night with her, trading oral sex. He also accepted the premise that she was married, and so would not be seeing him again. Jimmy, temporarily invisible to the entranced young stud, watched, with mingled satisfaction and regret, the motion of Bobby’s tight little butt in his camo fatigues as he walked away through the parking lot. One down, two to go.





   Jimmy’s next opportunity came, not as a result of his own machinations, but at the actual request of his victim. Chuck Goodwinter, so expert on horseback, turned out to have a real deficiency when it came to the measured on-foot insanity of parade drill, and his inability to master that skill was earning him a lot of heat from the sergeant. Chuck approached Jimmy and asked, a little diffidently, whether hypnosis could help him conquer his ineptitude in marching to order. The young hypnotist quickly seized the chance. After all, what was close-order drill but following instructions without taking time to question or analyze them? And that’s what he told the young cowboy.

   “Sure, Chuck. The reason you can’t do drill is that you think too much about what you’re doing and start second-guessing. With a little practice I can help you learn to turn off your mind and just follow instructions like a robot when you’re marching.” Of course, what Jimmy didn’t add was that he planned to turn Chuck’s mind off with regard to a lot of other things too.

    So now they were off in a deserted, out-of-the-way part of the base, behind an unused (and nearly derelict) supply shed. It was after the evening mess, but there was still quite a bit of time before they needed to be in the barracks for sleep. And, miracle of miracles, neither had drawn duty!

   “So, since there’s no one else for me to stare in the eyes, should I look at you like Tony did?” Chuck asked.

   “Oh, that won’t be necessary. Taps, soldier-boy.” Jimmy grinned as, with a startled little gasp, Chuck collapsed against the side of the shed and was out like a light. “Chuck,” the hypnotist continued, “I want you to empty your mind of all thought. The only thing you can do is follow orders. If you hear me say it, you will do it… instantly… without thinking, questioning or analyzing. I want you to give up your ability to refuse. Let all your responses be as automatic and inevitable as a reflex… a knee-jerk… a sneeze. Can you feel it happening? Your consciousness, your self, your will vanishing? Feel yourself becoming the perfect robot soldier?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   Jimmy thought he’d seen fish on ice in the market that looked more animated and aware than Chuck did at this moment. “Ten-HUT!” The hypnotized cowboy’s body jerked to attention perfectly. “Forward… MARCH! Right face, march… left face, march… about face… halt, one, two!” The young hypnotist put the boy through his paces, shouting the commands like their drill-sergeant, making them faster and more complicated as he went along. Chuck (or rather, Chuck’s body, since his frozen, empty stare gave no evidence that his mind was engaged in the slightest) performed every step and maneuver perfectly, the ideal military automaton. Jimmy gave his subject the necessary post-hypnotic conditioning so that he would be able return to this state of instant, unthinking reaction whenever he was in drill training, and then said, “All right, a little more practice.”

   At first, Jimmy’s commands were all legitimate drill, just as they had been before, but gradually, with no change to his delivery he began to insert other kinds of commands. “Right face, march… take off your shirt… about face… undo your belt…”

   With the first of these unconventional orders, Chuck’s hitherto totally fluent execution faltered. But the conditioning of absolute, unquestioning obedience that they had been practicing for the past fifteen or twenty minutes quickly won out, and he did as he was told, quickly recapturing the mindless smoothness of before. It wasn’t long until the hypnotized soldier was buck-naked except for his boots, and Jimmy was giving him commands such as, “Pinch your nipples… lick your lips… spread your ass cheeks… stroke your cock…” From drilling GI, handsome, muscular Chuck was transformed into a lap-dancing solo porn star but always with the same unemotional precision. Finally the hypnotist pushed him, erect and sweating, up against the weathered wood of the shed wall and said, “Freeze and sleep! Deep, deep sleep. You can’t move a muscle.”

   With Chuck immobilized and at his mercy, Jimmy quickly undressed and began to rub himself against the hot, motionless body, humping the ridged, nearly hairless stomach. Chuck’s head had fallen back against the wall, exposing the strong column of his muscular throat, and the young hypnotist licked it all over, mouthing Chuck’s prominent adam’s-apple, and enjoying the roughness of his stubble. Soon his own dick was rock-hard and dripping. “Ten-Hut… about face… present ASS!” Chuck Goodwinter did as he was told, far too deeply in trance to even consider what that was. The hypnotist rolled on a condom and then plowed into the bubble-butt, so temptingly offered. As soon as he was in and beginning to fuck, he commanded, “Beat your meat, soldier. You cum when I do.” Chuck shifted his weight against the wall to free one arm, and he began to masturbate with practiced efficiency.

   God, the ass was so hot and tight! Jimmy was in heaven. He fucked harder and harder, incredibly turned on by the thought of how he’d made this muscled cowboy stud into a helpless hypnotized little toy soldier. The sense of power he had over Chuck made him dizzy. And then he was cumming, and his thoughts scattered under the onslaught of that intense pleasure.



   The following week Chuck showed marked improvement in his close-order drill, and he was full of praise both for Jimmy and for hypnotism. When he thanked the young hypnotist effusively, Jimmy managed not to smirk as he answered, “Don’t mention it. The pleasure was all mine.”





   It was proving curiously difficult for Jimmy to find a time and place when he could have his way with Nick Delacroix, the last of his hypnotized stud targets. He’d found any number of opportunities to keep the handsome Cajun’s trance-conditioning up-to-date and steadily strengthening, but all the encounters had been short, snatched in between other duties at the spur of the moment. Since the day when he’d first hypnotized Nick and the rest of his buddies, the two of them never seemed to be in the same place at the same time long enough for anything more than a quick “taps, soldier-boy” and an equally quick deepening exercise or two.

   Finally, in something like desperation, Jimmy decided he’d just have to force the issue. The next time he found himself in Nick’s company for one of those brief serendipitous encounters (they happened to be taking a piss at the same time, with no one else in the latrines at that precise moment), he waited until the Cajun was drying his hands after washing up, and then quickly whispered the cue phrase, turning the boy instantly into a motionless mannequin.

   “Take your comb out and pretend to be combing your hair,” he commanded. The mesmerized mannequin dutifully complied. “Tonight,” Jimmy continued, “After lights out, instead of going to sleep, you’re going to go into the deepest trance yet. You’ll wait, apparently asleep, until 02:00 hours. Then you’ll get up, still deeply hypnotized. You’ll move as quietly as you can to avoid waking anybody or calling attention to yourself, and you’ll come back to the showers, where you’ll wait for me to arrive and give you further orders. It’ll be like you’re sleepwalking… no thoughts, no questions. If anyone besides myself confronts you, you’ll forget all about these orders and just wake up, with no idea at all of what you were doing; you’ll be convinced that you really were sleepwalking. Repeat that.”

    Jimmy was sweating bullets as the spellbound soldier slowly recited his orders in soft, dreamy voice. Whereas he would normally have been enthralled and turned on to the max by the obvious helplessness of his entranced victim, he was too aware that someone could come in at any moment, to be able to really enjoy the show. At last after what seemed an eternity (although it really took only about a minute) Nick ground to a halt and stood placidly waiting for more instructions. Jimmy performed the necessary memory adjustments on him, and then woke him up, setting what he would have bet was a land speed record for hypnotic suggestion. He watched Nick a little warily, to see whether, in his haste he’d left any cracks in his carefully constructed memory block. But the handsome Cajun, after checking his dark hair in the mirror, just pocketed his comb again and walked out of the latrine without a backward glance, obviously untroubled by anything and unaware that he’d been, just moments ago, deep in hypnotic trance.



   At 02:00 hours precisely, Jimmy watched through cracked eyelids as Nick, with trance-compulsive punctuality, slipped from his bed. His movements were careful, yet slow and dreamy, and his eyes, though open, were empty and unfocused. He looked every inch the mindless sleepwalker. The entranced young soldier pulled on a pair of pants, but didn’t bother to cover his bare chest. He also picked up a towel and his dob kit. Apparently his subconscious was using the idea of actually taking a shower as a rationalization for following the implanted suggestions. Staring blankly straight ahead, Nick padded barefoot through the barracks full of sleeping men, threading his way slowly and in absolute silence between the rows of cots. As soon as the spellbound soldier had reached the door, and disappeared into the facilities, Jimmy, moving with equal quiet, crept after him.

   In the shower area, Jimmy found Nick waiting as directed. The handsome Cajun resembled nothing so much as a robot whose power source has been cut off. He stood, looking at nothing, waiting with infinite, mindless patience to be told what to do next. The young hypnotist almost came on the spot.

   Just to re-establish rapport, Jimmy whispered, “Taps, soldier-boy.” Nick’s eyes closed and his head fell forward as he slumped into even deeper hypnosis. “We’re going to be very quiet now,” the hypnotist commanded, still in a whisper. “You’re very deeply hypnotized and you will obey me; you can’t resist. You want to obey me, don’t you.”

   “I… wan’… obey….” Nick murmured thickly.

   “You like being under hypnosis… it’s sexy… following my orders turns you on… hypnotized… sexy… obedient… deeper asleep… sexy… obedient… so hot… so sleepy… so obedient…” Jimmy droned on and on, his voice never rising above a whisper, as the helpless young soldier was drawn further and further under his control.

   Eventually Nick’s slurred whisper was echoing right along with Jimmy’s, “Deeper… sexy… obedient…” His pants were tented from his throbbing erection, although his handsome face remained as blankly innocent as a sleeping choirboy’s.

   “Take off your clothes, Nick,” the horny hypnotist ordered, pulling off his own shorts as he spoke. “You now see me as the hottest woman you’ve ever imagined, and you’re going to have sex with me.” However, to Jimmy’s astonishment, not only did Nick not comply with the suggestion, but the tent in his trousers began to wilt. The guy had already (and quite visibly) accepted the suggested connection between arousal and obedience even while it was still tied to Jimmy instead of the fantasy chick. What the heck was going on?!

   Suddenly, in a flash of insight, the hypnotist thought he knew exactly what the problem must be. “Nick,” he asked softly, “Do you like to have sex with beautiful women?”

   As simply and directly as a little child, the mesmerized Cajun said, “No…”

   “Do you like to have sex with men?”

   “Uh huh…” Bingo!

   “Who among all of them would you most want to have sex with you?”

   “Jimmy… Pierson…”

   With a heroic effort, Jimmy managed to keep from uttering a startled exclamation or giving in to the near-orgasmic surge those words set off. Of all the guys Jimmy had seduced hypnotically, Nick was far and away the one he’d wanted the most. And now, at last, it looked as though he’d finally found someone for himself for real! Someone who’d make love to Jimmy Pierson as Jimmy Pierson, and of his own free will!!!

   The young hypnotist was so mind-blown by the revelation, that for moments he could scarcely speak. Finally he gathered his wits. “Nick…” His first word came out in an unsteady, husky quaver that he scarcely recognized as his own. Jimmy cleared his throat and tried again. “Nick…” Better. “Nick, In a moment I’m gonna count to three, and you’ll wake up. You won’t remember a thing about being hypnotized tonight, or anything that was said or done. You came here, because we’d made a date. You’ve wanted to have sex with me, I’ve wanted to have it with you, and as soon as you’re back in your normal consciousness, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do. It was your idea, and it won’t occur to you now or later ever to think anything else about it. Understand?”


   Jimmy noted, with no surprise whatsoever, that the hypnotized Cajun’s tent was back to full pitch. “One… two… three.”

   Nick’s eyes regained focus, boring into the young hypnotist’s. then, with almost no transition, they were kissing passionately. At this hour of the early morning both of them were rough with stubble, and yet, to Jimmy, it seemed the most wonderful kiss he’d ever felt. His lips and cheeks burned, but he couldn’t have forced himself to stop, even if the scraping had been drawing blood. The ingrained need for absolute secrecy kept both of them very quiet, but inside himself, Jimmy was moaning like a hustler in a fuck flick. Working together, without breaking their lip-lock, they managed to get rid of Nick’s remaining clothes, and then, by mutual unspoken consent, they subsided onto the cool concrete floor, where they began to explore each other with mouths and hands, eventually winding up in a sixty-nine position.

   They were really getting into it, a wonderfully satisfying mutual rhythm of face-fucking, when from the doorway came a muted gasp, “What the fuck!?” Staring at them in stunned disbelief was Ace. He must have needed to take a piss, and, although they hadn’t been in direct view from the latrines, he’d heard their noises. Now they were caught and the jig was up.

   Without pausing to consider, Jimmy did the only thing he could. “Taps, soldier-boy.” Since the hypnotist hadn’t had any designs on Ace, he hadn’t been bothering to reinforce Ace’s response to the trigger phrase, but his luck held. The California boy’s eyes snapped shut, and he toppled against the wall. Ace slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Of course, the cue words had also put Nick back into deep trance, but Jimmy could deal with that later. He left his lover zoned out peacefully on the floor and walked over to the other now-helpless boy.

   Two deepening exercises, and a lot of suggestions later, Jimmy was assured that Porter “Ace” Long would no longer be a problem. His memory carefully blanked, that young man was beating off in a blissful dream of sex with a screen star, taking no further notice of either the hypnotist or Nick. After he reached his orgasm, he was programmed to return to his bed none the wiser. Smiling, Jimmy briefly adjusted Nick’s perceptions as well, and then woke him back up to resume where they had left off. The hypnotist, heading like a freight-train for what was sure to be the best orgasm of his young life so far, hardly noticed when Ace finally came with a muffled moan, then, like a mechanical man, cleaned himself up and, ignoring them completely, marched obediently away.



   Many weeks later, when Jimmy and Nick had finally succeeded in getting leave the same weekend, they were checked into an anonymous motel far from the base. In the warmth of one of their post-orgasmic cuddles, Nick gathered his nerve. He shyly asked, in his sexy Cajun accent, “Jimmy, cher, you know when you hypnotized us all that one time? That was really the first time I started to think about you, you know. There was something very hot for me about the whole thing. Do you think… I mean, would you be willing…” he was having trouble saying it, and his light complexion was growing pink. “Uh… could you, maybe, uh… hypnotize me again? And then make love to me?” he was blushing furiously now.

   It was every one of his dreams come true. For the first time ever, Jimmy thought he could imagine how a guy might actually cry from joy.