OWNING THE CENTER

by webb025@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the

legal age to read this, or are offended by the idea of male-male

sex or mind control, DO NOT read further.

Lonnie Foster lay awkwardly on the psychiatrist's couch. The

awkwardness wasn't really Lonnie's fault; at 6'10" and 220

pounds, the 17-year-old basketball center was just too big for

the couch. His large feet dangled over the end. and he kept

placing one over the other. His baby face looked troubled, and

his right biceps rippled a bit as he absent-mindedly played

with his long dirty-blond hair.

"Let's review where we are, and what progress we've made,"

said Dr. Kenyon. "Six weeks ago, you came to me for a

particular reason. You're a high school junior with solid

prospects of being recruited to a top Division One college.

You almost made several All-American lists even though

you're not yet a senior. You obviously have large reserves of

talent. But you were having real problems with focus. While

you had built up body strength with a lot of hard work, you

were having some trouble with coordination. You were

sometimes ungainly, and got into foul trouble alot. You would

sometimes quit your workouts early and sneak out, and your

teammates wouldn't say anything. And you really skimped

on home workouts, too.

"But look at you now. Since we started our sessions, you've

emerged as one of the best high school centers in the

country. No one seems to impede your play around the

basket, no one can get over or around you, you rarely foul

out, and you run up and down the court without ever

seeming tired. Your coordination has improved, you are

obviously working out like a demon, because of you your

team will probably win the state championship, assuming

you win tomorrow's playoff game first, and you'll almost

definitely be an All-American as a senior. Thanks to the

therapy and the drugs I've been giving you, I'd say we

accomplished exactly what we set out to do. I'm pretty

satisfied. So what seems to be the problem?"

Lonnie continued to twist his hair. "Well, I'd love to credit

these sessions, but something extremely WEIRD is

happening to me. And while it may be helping me win

those games, it's creeping me out and seems to be

taking over my life. And I think it's got something to do

with a dream I keep having over and over.

"This dream, I mean it seems so real but it must be a

dream, happens every time there's a game the next day.

I suddenly find myself in a room I don't recognize. It's

always the same room. I'm completely naked and bound

in some way; sometimes my wrists and ankles are in

leather cuffs chained to the wall, sometimes I'm strapped

to a mattress on the floor.

"And then HE appears."

"He? Who's he?"

"Lance Falconi. He's a power forward on our main

crosstown rival team. I've never met him, since our

schools are in different leagues, but our teams are

likely to meet in the state finals, that's been obvious since

the beginning of the season. He's a senior, shorter than

me, about 6'8", but we're very different physically. He's

somewhat, well, wiry where I'm built bigger, and he's

pretty hairy while I've always been embarrassed by my

almost complete lack of body hair. But he's really strong,

and his team is a definite threat to our run at the

championship.

"In my dream, he's in his basketball uniform, except he's

barefoot. I think he must have the biggest feet of any kid

in town, like a size 17 or 18, while I'm only a size 15.

I'm wondering if the dream means I'm queer for his feet.

I mean, as far as I know I'm totally straight, and I've

always been straight, never a gay thought. And in this

dream I'm not attracted to him, I always know that I'm

really afraid of him, and what he can do to me while I'm

bound.

"Each time, he places his right foot on one of my body

parts, and mumbles some kind of weird phrase I don't

understand. And slowly, my feeling in that body part starts

to fade, as if it's not part of me anymore. And when he's

done, he laughs, takes his foot off me, and says he is now

the owner of that body part. Even though it's still on me, he

now controls it. He can tell it what to do, what actions to

take, what to feel like. And there's nothing I can do about it.

"He then mumbles another phrase. And then I wake up, in

a cold sweat, in my bed at home. What the hell does it

mean?"

Dr. Kenyon thought for awhile. "When you get out of bed

after the dream, are there any other effects? Do you still

have feeling in your body parts? Do you feel weak, or

unable to move?"

"No, doc. Everything seems normal. But I do seem to

spend time obsessing over the body part that Lance

'claims', working it out extra hard, making sure it will

be in even better shape for the game the next day, and

all the games after that. And when I'm playing in a game,

I imagine I can see Lance in the stands. When he makes

a gesture, suddenly I elevate my game, and all of 'his'

body parts seem to move together really well, and with

that and my size, I really dominate the floor.

"But why do I imagine it's him? I mean, I know it can't be

him at my games, because his team usually plays its

games at around the same time as mine, often in other

cities. What's behind this scary dream? And is it you, or

is it the dream that's helping me win this year?"

Dr. Kenyon cleared his throat. "I don't know, Lonnie, but

I know how we might be able to find out. Remember the

mind exercises I taught you when you first came to me?

Relax and picture yourself in that peaceful place. Now

start walking down the ramp, down, down, deeper..."

Lonnie's attention became focused at more and more

of a distance, and he began to drift off. Then Dr. Kenyon

said a phrase Lonnie only barely heard...

Lonnie opened his eyes. He was in the dream room

again, naked as always, lying on the mattress on the

floor. But something was different. The binding straps

were not around his wrists and ankles as usual. But

no matter how hard he tried, he could not move his

arms or legs, or any other muscle, except those on

his face. His newly-impressive six-pack rippled with

effort, but could not even provide enough energy for

him to sit upright. He tried to scream, but as usual,

no sound came out.

Then Lance strutted out of nowhere to Lonnie's side,

dressed as always in his basketball uniform but with

bare feet. He ran a hand through his Superman-shiny

black-blue hair. "Well hello again, Foster. Having

trouble moving, are you? Well, that's not surprising.

Cause now I own just about ALL your muscles. And

I've ordered them to stay still on this mattress. But

don't worry, you're in great shape. Flex your right arm."

Lonnie tried not to do it. But without any thought from

him, his right arm came off the mattress and began

an impressive flex. "Not bad," said Lance. "See how

I've improved you since I started taking you over? Look

at your upper body development since I placed my

power-draining foot on your chest and claimed it for

myself. You're in MUCH better shape. Your legs have

much better muscle since I took them over. and you

run faster and further than ever. And I'm sure you're

going to be a big star and win a state championship.

Just not THIS year. Right arm down." And as quickly

as it had risen to flex, Lonnie's right arm relaxed and

flopped powerlessly to his side.

"Well today, I'm going to claim your masculinity."

Lance raised his huge right foot and placed it along

the length of Lonnie's limp but still impressively long

teen schlong, and on top of his balls. Lonnie lay there

totally helpless to offer any resistance.

"Wow," mused Lance. "Even scared and soft, your

tube steak is pretty amazing. Well, it's going to be

mine now. You won't be able to cum, you won't even

be able to get it up without my say-so. Your hormones,

your sperm production, everything will now be under

my control." And with that he mumbled a few words,

and Lonnie realized the feeling was slowly draining

out of his cock. As with his other body parts previously,

he could actually feel the control going over to Lance.

"When the last of the feeling was gone, Lonnie felt

totally weak and helpless. But Lance just smiled. "Don't

worry, I'll make sure you do real well in your game

tomorrow. I need you to knock Westside High out of the

tournament, and you'll be extra motivated and powerful

tomorrow. In addition to your strength and coordination,

I can now also use your sex drive to help you perform.

And I've thought of a few ways how to do that.

"Meanwhile, of course you can't tell your folks, friends,

or teammates about this. And after next week, the day

before the championship game, you won't want to

anyway. Because you know what I'm going to take

next? I'm going to put my power-sapping foot across

your face and head, and lay claim to your mind, your

soul, your very essence. Your thoughts, feelings,

desires will all be under my control. As usual, I'll let you

function normally in your home and school life. But

when the championship game arrives, and it's you

versus me under the basket, you are going to know

that I OWN you. Literally!" Lance laughed.

"I haven't decided how to handle it. At the beginning

of the game I could have you crawl over to me on the

bench and start cleaning my sneakers with your tongue.

I could have you strip naked on the floor in the middle

of the game. I could make you suddenly fall in

uncontrollable lust with one of your teammates. I could

have you trip over your own feet on almost every play."

Lance seemed to be savoring his thoughts while

Lonnie, sensing all of this was true, vividly imagined

himself performing as ordered in each of the degrading

scenes Lance described. It seemed so real that his

mouth filled with the taste of the dirt on the soles of

Lance's sneakers. Lonnie's terror increased.

And with that, Lance mumbled a few words --

And Lonnie woke up in a cold sweat. He was in his

bed at home!

********************

As Dr. Kenyon finished his last appointment of the day

and saw the patient out, a flashy BMW pulled into the

parking lot. And in the door walked a tall, dark-haired,

totally confident high school student. He walked past the

receptionist, straight into the doctor's office and shut the

door. Dr. Kenyon looked up from his notes.

"It's really good that his room is near the back door of

his house, so I can always get him in and out of there

without anyone seeing," said Lance.

"Right, and so far I haven't let his mind put two and two

together. He still sees no connection between our

sessions and his 'dream'. And he doesn't even remember

he was at the session before the dream. He tells me

about it every week."

"Great work, doc. My brother already has his ticket to the

Westside game, so he'll use the control gestures to make

sure that Foster does REAL well tomorrow. The newspapers

will be impressed. And I think I'm ready for the total takeover

next session. That'll be a real trip."

"OK, just make sure you don't have TOO much fun with him

at that session. We need him undamaged, and appearing

at least credible in the championship game. I know you were

thinking about using your power over him to humiliate him

then, but it doesn't fit in with our long-range plans. I think your

Uncle Vinnie will be happier if Foster SEEMS to be trying his

best, and just falls short in that game."

"Yeah, you're right, I was just playing with his head. By the

way, Uncle Vinnie will have the money wired to your Cayman

account right after the game. It's going even better than he

thought; ALL the money out there is on Foster's team to win

tt all next week.

"By the way, when the season is over, can I have him as a

pet? I mean, he's not gay, but that won't matter anymore,

since he will consider himself my property, body and mind.

And I AM gay. "

"Well, he can't be gone indefinitely, it would look too weird

to his family. But he's obviously going to attend some top-flight

basketball camp over the summer. He needs to show himself

off if he's going to get recruited by the best college programs.

But I think it would be OK if he told his folks was taking some

'extra' camp time, and if he spent that time in our special room

downstairs. I have the full complement of sex toys for him to

practice with, and we could make learning to use those as

high a priority to him as working out. He could learn to enjoy

his nights chained to the wall, even come to love and need

rough treatment. And if you run out of ideas, I could even bring

in my sadistic 5'5" nephew for some sex fun with the 6'10" lout.

We just can't do anything that would hurt Mr. Foster's basketball

abilities, or leave visible marks anywhere on him. Other than

that, we can change him into anything we like.

"Next year, of course, he'll lead his team to a win in the state

championship game. With his new capabilities, there isn't

another team that can stop him. And the following year I think

I could easily follow him by moving my practice to some nice

place in North Carolina, say Durham or Chapel Hill, or maybe

elsewhere like Lexington or Stanford. He could brag to his

new teammates about how much I improved his focus, and I

could offer all of them heavily discounted services. Don't you

think your Uncle Vinnie would be grateful if we could affect

the scores of college games?

"And even that's not the limit. If Lonnie or some of his college

teammates make it to the pros, can't you imagine us organizing

a secret club of NBA cock slaves? They put on a rough and

arrogant outward appearance, but they are secretly ashamed

to know they are compelled to come to the club's worship

meetings. Imagine the possibilities. You're in the clubhouse's

main obedience room, with rows of kneeling positions and an

altar up front..."

********************

Comments welcome at webb025@hotmail.com Should each

of the Final Four teams be required to send an enslaved

representative to an orgy / game planning meeting?

http://www.eroticgayhypnosis.com