Stripping Steven
by mcgarguy
“The boss wants us in his office – Now!” barked Steven, standing straight and tall
above my desk.
Sheesh, it was a Saturday and no one else was working overtime so a little
casualness should be expected, but not with Steven; no, Steve could be a real jerk
sometimes. He was standing in my cube dressed in his finest, formal suit, looking
as businesslike as ever – even when the rest of the office was empty. “Gary wants
us both in his office right away! Now!”
“Ok, ok, give me a second. Hold your horses,” I played for time. I didn’t want to
act too servile. Wasn’t it enough that I had reported to work on a weekend at all?
Steven towered above my desk on the balls of his feet, at attention like a military
man, ready to rush to the boss’s office in a flash, and I was keeping him behind.
Oh, to heck with it; let him wait a second; let him use the time to adjust his tie or
something.
I worked Saturdays because I was aiming for a promotion, and Gary-our-boss was
the key to that promotion but, darn it, I was already doing more than asked, and my
promotion should have been in the bag, but it wasn’t – because Steven was in the
way. He worked every Saturday I worked, damn, and Steve was here today too.
He was real competition and he took his work very seriously, and there was no
room for casualness for him. Even today he was dressed in his best: a gray wool
Italian suit, pressed French-cut, white cotton shirt, red silk tie, and shiny black
wingtips. His wardrobe was impeccable. He dressed to impress. His suit was his
uniform.
He paused a moment to remove a small piece of lint, and then: “The boss sent me
to get you; he wants to see us this instant. Together!” ordered Steve, always acting
in charge. And he tightened the knot of his tie as a mark of his superiority over
me.
Still, he wasn’t a bad looking guy and I had had a few hot fantasies about him.
Something about his take-charge attitude got me excited. It made me want – just
once – to take him down a notch or two. And the way he was always dressed so
perfect (right now he was busy straightening a wrinkle out of his sleeve) made me
wish I could strip him naked. And today I finally had a way of getting my wish.
Antonio had given it to me and shown me how to use it: a simple plastic desk toy.
It was one of those cute little ‘perpetual motion’ gadgets that you find in novelty
shops. A secret battery kept the thing spinning in a continuous circle and it was
really quite clever, but Antonio had explained how the thing made a spiral. No,
not spiral; it made a tunnel and it was fun to watch. In fact, it was almost addictive
to look at and Antonio had suggested just how I might use it to my advantage.
I had placed the novel gadget on my desk this morning and it was spinning away.
Slowly. Steadily. Silently. Seductively. Spinning.
And Steve finally noticed it and commented “Hey, that’s sweet. Look at that little
thing go!” I pretended to be shuffling a folder at the time and didn’t look up. I
didn’t need to; I could feel him standing behind me watching the toy so I said:
“Yeah, I just got it. Nice isn’t it? Look at it. Look deep into it. Isn’t it
interesting?”
Steven paused from his grooming a moment to watch it spin, “Yeah, it’s really
great. It looks like a tunnel or something.” He had stopped sounding quite so
urgent and that was my first clue that it just might work. Actually, I had doubted
Antonio’s plot in the beginning, but I had gone as far as lay the trap just in case,
and now with a new sense of hope, I continued the induction.
“Yes it does, just like a tunnel. It looks like a nice deep comfortable tunnel. Look
deep into the tunnel.” And I could almost feel him relax a little. I heard him
exhale and his voice softened as he repeated: “Yeah, just like a tunnel, like a deep
tunnel.”
“Nice, isn’t it? It looks nice. It feels nice. Can you feel yourself falling into the
tunnel?” “Uh huh. . .” he responded more softly. Oh yes, very nice indeed. I
stopped pretending to shuffle papers.
“Now, you just watch the tunnel a moment. Focus your eyes on the tunnel and
relax.”
“Ok,” agreed Steve passively, without a fight.
Damn, this was great. It was working so fast, this clever little toy, this thing of
Antonio’s, but Steve’s fascination was probably still only a shallow fascination so I
took a little time to deepen it. “It is a tunnel and you’re falling deep into it. You’re
falling down, down, down so deep. And as you fall, you feel yourself relaxing,
relaxing, relaxing still more. It feels nice, doesn’t it?”
“Uh huh,” admitted Steve in a soft, slumber voice.
I finally looked up from my folder to see him and Steve was standing still and his
head was hanging a little, but his eyes were locked on the spinning dial. He was
looking pretty content by now, no more emergency and no more anxious attitude,
and he was starting to forget all about Gary, and he really was quite at peace. He
had always been so tense; I don’t think I had ever seen him like this before.
So I checked him up and down, and like I said, he was all dressed up in his formal
gray wool slacks, white cotton shirt, suit coat, and his favorite red silk tie. Yet his
expression had grown casually submissive, slack jawed, and seeing him falling so
easily for this little trick of mine made him look so very hot, it made my cock
begin to rise inside. But I remembered that I still had much work to do.
And I decided to start with his coat.
‘The jacket makes the man,’ Steve always insisted, but I gently intoned: “now
Steve, you just keep your eyes resting on the tunnel, and as you do, you’re noticing
that your jacket is too warm, too heavy; you want me to help you remove your
jacket, don’t you?” And he didn’t say anything; he just nodded his head slowly in
agreement. I stood, and being careful not to block his view of the tunnel, I helped
him slip his jacket off of his shoulders and down his arms and into my hands. He
hadn’t resisted at all. It had been so easy, almost too easy.
He remained standing so still, lost gazing into the tunnel, still unaware of my
clever game. I tossed his jacket to the floor and gave him a quick once-over, and
decided to remove his ring next.
He always wore his big class ring. He had graduated cum laude from some
exclusive college and was quite proud of it and he never stopped boasting about it.
The ring was a symbol of intelligence and achievement, and proof that he would
rise far in life, unlike me, and so it had to go.
“That’s good, Steve, relax. Everything is fine. You’re feeling so fine now.
You’re just feeling a little restricted, that’s all. That ring on your finger, it’s too
tight. You want me to take it off your finger.” Steve began to wiggle his one
finger a little but the rest of his body hung quite motionlessly. “I am going to
remove your ring and as I do, you will become more relaxed than you are right
now.”
“Ok,” he replied happily, and nothing more.
And his ring slipped off into my hand so easily and Steve’s head slid forward just a
little, but his eyes remained focused on the toy.
And as I pocketed the ring I knew his cell phone had to be next. See, no matter
how deep the sub is, no matter how many times he’s been put under, no matter
how conditioned his mind is, if he hears his phone, he’ll reach for it and answer it.
He has to, and it can wake him from even the deepest trance.
“Steve, I am going to remove your phone, and as I do, you will know that no one
can interrupt this pleasant peace that you’re in, no one will come between you and
me. There will be no distractions. Nothing can disturb us. You will be able to
sink deeper without any fear of being awakened from this wonderful, relaxed state
that you’re in.”
And I noted a quick look of concern cross his face; no man wants to be without his
phone because it makes him feel naked. His phone is his connection to the world.
It’s a way to call for help; a means of rescue. A man’s cell phone is his protection.
“Relax, Steve, it will be right here next to you. You’ll still be able to reach for it.”
And as he smiled pleasantly, reassured by my lie, I removed Steve’s only means of
escape, wrapped it deep in a towel, and tucked it safely away in a drawer and I
gloated just a little. And Steve’s pupils began to glaze over, but his eyes remained
focused on the toy. “Ok,” he replied happily, and nothing more.
Now his tie, the bright red silk power tie he wears for image. Steve looks real
good in a tie, but I coaxed him to stare still deeper into the tunnel and forget all
else, and while he was so preoccupied, I gently loosened it, and slid it around his
neck. And without the benefit of its support, his head slipped down more heavily
against his shoulder. Wonderful. I wrapped the tie in a ball and threw it aside.
Next his shirt: it was a starched, pressed cotton, French-cut blouse that no one but
Steve would ever wear on a Saturday. “Now as I unbutton these buttons, I am
going to count (I made a quick, quiet count) up to seven. And as I count, you will
count with me, and with each button, with each number, you will relax just a little
deeper.”
“Ok,” he replied happily. His voice had become a nice, sing song, sweetness.
“One,” the top button. “One,” he agreed, and breathed out slowly.
“Two,” the second. “Two,” he continued, and breathed out more deeply. And
with each count, his head sank a little more against his chest, and his eyes became
still more glassy, but he remained focused on the toy.
Now I had his shirt pulled open wide and he had such firm pecs, deep cleavage,
ripe nipples, and soft chest fur, and I could hardly contain my surprise: “What, no
undershirt?” but I had more work to do. “Steve,” I whispered, “feel your shirt; the
cloth is becoming uncomfortable and rough against your skin. It almost burns,
doesn’t it. You want it off.” Steve began to squirm a little, trying to shrink within
the shirt, away from the itchy cloth. “You want me to remove your shirt, and as I
do you will become even more relaxed. Yes?”
“Yes,” he agreed passively, and his shirt slipped down past his magnificent biceps
and onto the floor and he looked so relieved. And Steve’s lids began to flutter but
his eyes remained focused on the spinning toy.
“And you’re feeling more and more relaxed,” I commanded. “Ok,” he replied
happily, and nothing more.
Then I noticed he was still wearing his old army dog tags. Steve had been in the
army and never stopped talking about it. He always told me that his time in the
military had made him the tough leader that I could never be, but after a few
inductive suggestions, I removed them, and Steve sank a little deeper into
submission, and his breathing slowed – but his eyes remained focused on the toy.
“And you’re feeling more and more relaxed,” I commanded again. “Ok,” he
replied happily, and nothing more.
Now, the difficult part: his shoes. He was wearing freshly buffed, fancy Italian
wingtips but a minute later I had his right foot raised and I was slipping off the
one. Then he raised his left foot and soon he was wearing only his socks.
And, god, how awful they smelled. They were dirty, and oh, it was bad; I cringed
and pulled away. Didn’t Steve ever change his socks? Did he think no one would
notice? Did he honestly believe that he would never, ever find himself in the
predicament of being hypnotized at work, and being stripped naked? Had his
mother taught him nothing? My own mom had been a good mother and had taught
me to always wear clean socks and underwear.
I can still remember as a young adolescent: I’d race into the kitchen in the morning
to grab my books and my cap. And my mom would holler out “Are you wearing
clean socks?!” And I’d shout: “Aw, Ma, no one’s going to notice if I’ve got clean
socks!” And she’d admonish: “Son, you never know when you might be deeply
hypnotized by some strange man and made to strip naked for his pleasure – so
always, always wear clean socks and underwear!” And I’d reply: “Ok, ok!” and
grudgingly return to my room to change.
Now that I think about it, my mom was a whole lot more observant than I ever
gave her credit for at the time. She had me pretty well figured out even then.
But not Steve’s mom; no, she had taught him nothing. Damn, these socks were so
ragged and ugly and I decided to leave them on for now. I’d remove them later, if
I could stomach it.
So now I turned my attention to his pants, his sharp-creased, gray wool slacks.
Like the coat, the slacks make the man, Steven had always bragged, but a few short
suggestions later, and I had loosened his belt, snap, and his zipper, and the whole
assemblage had dropped down to his ankles allowing me to admire his muscular
legs.
He was no longer a man in slacks; he was a mere boy in shorts. Yes, he was my
boy and almost naked by now, and his bulging hairy legs and thick furry chest
were wonderful to behold. And touch. And, boy did I like the touch.
And Steve obediently raised his feet one at a time until I had yanked his pants off
and had tossed them in a heap in the corner. “And you’re becoming more and
more relaxed,” I commanded. “Ok,” he replied happily, and nothing more.
And Steve’s body slumped down a little further, his head cocked to one side and
his face became so peacefully, blissfully vacant, and yet his eyes remained focused
on the toy.
At last: “Your underwear, Steve, they’re too tight, aren’t they, and you want me to
take them off of you, don’t you,” and I reached for the elastic band. No, he hadn’t
put on clean underwear that morning; of course not; we’ve established his hygiene.
They were trim white briefs only now they were yellowed in front and it was a real
turn on for me. Dingy underwear is a favorite fetish of mine. Ok, ok, so I’m a
hypocrite here; I hate dirty socks but I just love dirty underwear.
“And you’re becoming more and more relaxed.” I said as I took hold and pulled
them down and brought them to my nose, and oh, how manly they smelled. I
rubbed them over my face and took the scent in deep and slow. They smelled like
heaven.
And now ‘my competition’ stood before me, here beside my desk, here in my
cubicle, stripped absolutely, deliciously, sumptuously naked (except that I had
decided to leave the socks on him) and he wasn’t even aware of his nakedness, so
enraptured he was by the toy on my desk, his mind having been so emptied by the
induction. He stood motionless, dull faced, head bowed and nude, and yet his eyes
remained locked on the spinning tunnel.
And finally I got a good close look at his big, wonderfully thick cock. What a
sight; it had been worth all the effort just to see Steve’s most redeeming quality.
“You have a great cock, Steve.”
“Thank you Sir,” he muffled as his tongue slid unnoticed out of his half open
mouth.
So I turned my attention to his cock. I put my mouth around his cock and pulled it
in deep and Steve didn’t argue; he didn’t even say a word, though he did emit a
soft moan. See, I know how to suck cock – and I know how to do it well. I can
shape a man’s cock the way a glass blower shapes glass. I used my lips, my
tongue, and my teeth to get the effect I desired, filling it with pleasure, and raising
it up into a high reaching arch, and I finished it off by pulling the head into a tight
round apple shape.
And Steve’s chin became wet with drool, but he didn’t know. His expression was
so blank and his eyes were so distant, and a whimsical half smile became fixed
permanently on his face.
Then I judged my artwork; it was almost perfect. “Here, Steve,” I said, “give me a
hand with this. I want you to keep your cock hard so start stroking. Yeah, Steve,
just like that. You’re doing fine.” “Ok,” he replied happily, and nothing more.
But now, over the partitions, on the distant side of the office area, I could see the
top of our boss’s head approaching. Gary was on his way and I didn’t have much
time left.
Though the rest of Steve’s slumped body didn’t move a bit, he had taken his shaft
in his hand and had begun to run it up and down, and Steve continued to smile
absently but his eyes remained ever so focused on the toy.
Perfect. But Gary was getting still closer.
I continued to ply Steve’s mind with last-minute commands as I continued to work
the tip of his shaft, and I rubbed a rich deep purple color into the head. Almost
ready. And while Steve contentedly applied a polish to the hilt, I buffed the head
into a nice professional spit shine, and I was just finishing the final touches when
Gary came around the doorframe and discovered us.
Our boss found us there in those positions, my hypnotized boy all naked and
mindlessly stroking his cock, with the most beautifully glazed eyes and sappy
smile – and me on my knees, my face just inches from his hard, glowing head.
I looked up at Gary sheepishly, pretending for fun that I’d been caught, surprised
in the act. And Gary grinned from ear to ear, and looked Steve up and down and
exclaimed: “Excellent! Is he ready for me?”
“He’s as ready as he’ll ever be!” I answered. See, I had actually let the boss in on
my plan from the very start and Gary had been most enthusiastic, so I gave my boy
one last order: “Steve, follow your boss and do whatever he says. You are going to
be his sex slave this afternoon – and nothing but his sex slave, ok?”
“Ok,” replied Steven happily, and nothing more.
Gary looked at the naked, mindfucked sex stud and nodded at me approvingly, a
grateful smile. Then “Steve, follow me to my office,” ordered Gary. I watched
Gary lead his new, bare assed slave toy away, Steven following so obediently,
submissively behind, both of his smiling heads bobbing from side to side in eager
anticipation. They went out of my cubicle, across the office, and over to Gary’s
door. And as I watched them go, I folded up Steven’s slacks and shirt, and stuffed
his soiled undies in my desk for later, and I knew the promotion was at last as good
as mine. And I admit I laughed out loud.
But I still wasn’t completely sure, and I had to be absolutely sure the promotion
was mine, and I was willing to go one more step to make it happen. I thought
about it for barely a second then decided to go with it. “Antonio!” I called, and he
came quickly around my corner and asked: “So, you still want to go through with
it?”
“Yes,” I said. “Being given two hypnotized sex slaves will please the boss even
more than one. Let’s do it now before I change my mind. Do your stuff. Just
promise to deliver me to Gary’s office once I’m under.” And I stood myself in
front of the toy, and took a deep breath, and then, finally, looked down at the
spinning tunnel. A clever creation it was, it pulled me right down in.
And Antonio consented. “Ok, if you’re sure it’s what you want, then gaze into the
tunnel and relax,” he began.
“Yes,” I answered and felt my strength already slipping away. I could see so deep
into the tunnel and could feel myself falling in. Funny how pleasant this felt, and
Antonio’s silky smooth voice entered my mind: “Very good, now I want you to
focus deeper into the tunnel and relax.”
This ultimate act of submission was sure to get me the promotion, no question, and
that being my last conscious thought, my eyes became heavy and still more locked
on the toy, and I felt myself slide comfortably deep down inside.
But in the end it was Antonio who got the promotion of course; Gary was just so
grateful to Antonio for arranging to get him two mindless sex slaves. Yes, Antonio
had set me up from the start, and sometimes I can’t believe I was so stupid to fall
for his plan. He tricked me good and I was pissed at him and Steve was even more
pissed at me. However, on the brighter side, Steve and I have been getting along
pretty well since then, and we have both often enjoyed using the little toy on each
other.
Anyway, at that moment, on that Saturday, in my own cube, standing beside my
own desk, and staring into the tool of my own demise, I didn’t care about a thing; I
was feeling so very good. And I was becoming steadily more and more relaxed.
“Your shirt is so uncomfortable now, you want me to remove your shirt,” said
Antonio. “Ok,” I replied happily, and nothing more.