The Frat Control Experiment

Parts XIV-XVI

by: webb025@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under 18, or are

offended by the idea of male-male sex or mind control, DO NOT read this.

This is the continuation of the story begun in Parts I-XIII in four earlier

files. You'll have much more fun with this if you read those parts first. I

took a few hot plot suggestions from a couple of the e-mails I got about

this story, but since they were quite varied, I couldn't make everybody

happy! I may have played out this story as far as it can go, but then again,

that's what I thought LAST time.

XIV.

The trio walked down the hill to fraternity row. In front was Richie Rocher,

sashaying along the path in his affected manner, painted toenails showing in

his sandals. Behind him at a respectful distance followed his worshipful RTR

house roommates, quarterback Bob Rutland and defensive lineman Quentin

Parks. The two freshmen had had an impact on the team early in the season,

and were recognized around the campus.

When the two football players had first arrived at RTR, they were somewhat

confused by their room assignment, until they went through the initiation

ceremony. After that, they understood completely, and were honored to be

assigned for mentoring to one of the most highly respected members of the

frat. While Richie was none too masculine in appearance or demeanor, he

possessed a 9.5 inch tool that placed him towards the top of RTR's

cock-centric hierarchy.

Richie's job was to imbue his pledges with the house philosophy that respect

and obedience was owed not as a function of race, creed, national origin,

size, strength, intelligence, looks, sexual preference, or wealth. It all

came down to one thing: cock size. While many members of the fraternity were

straight, that didn't mean they wouldn't be honored to provide blow jobs to

the largest-dicked guys, or be used for their amusement on demand. If one

brother's cock was REALLY larger than another's, he could really mess with

the other's mind, effectively reprogramming him. Given enough time and

enough repetition of commands to cause a "burning in" of thoughts and ideas,

those personality changes could become permanent. Richie had first laid

claim to the two football players for his own use. If Richie received a few

personal benefits from their training, it was only his just due.

When the players first moved into his room as newly-pledged and programmed

RTRs, he let them watch him jerk off slowly on the bed. The two football

giants watched, mesmerized by the movement of both of Richie's hands up and

down his giant schlong, feeling they were in the presence of true greatness.

He invited them to feel it, which they did, as if it were a sensory work of

art. Of course, as they were both straight, they felt no desire to do

anything else. Richie realized he would have to work on them to make them

useful playthings.

Over the first few days, he ordered them to study and admire various of his

body parts: his slim waist, his skinny legs, his lithe neck, his

boyishly-cut thick blond hair, his delicate hands, his feet with the painted

toenails. After several study sessions involving his feet, they began to

sleep on their mattresses on either side of his bed with their faces

directly under his feet, which they would admire. With a bit more

programming, they started to idly jerk off looking at, sniffing, and

occasionally licking his feet. When he would step out of bed onto one of the

jocks before stepping down to the floor, that jock would get an instant

hard-on from the feel of Richie's foot on his body. And while he was gone

from the bed, they would sniff the sheets and pillow to enjoy his manly

aroma.

As they progressed through their studies, Richie was also teaching them the

skills they would need to be successful at RTR. They learned how to give a

first-rate blow job. At first the two straight jocks worked on this merely

for interpersonal skill development and as a frat responsibility. However,

with Richie's expert coaching, they soon came to enjoy the act, and soon

they were looking forward to their cum reward at the end. They were

convinced that cum, especially from a big cock, was the most delicious hot

drink there could be. And they were ESPECIALLY hungry for Richie's cum.

Sometimes Richie would have both of them working on him at once, one licking

and sucking on each side. Once Richie had erupted they would sometimes

wrestle each other to get their tongues into spilled puddles of his cum.

Over time, with much practice and many suggestions, they also learned to

love the feel of a cock up their asses, the bigger the better. First they

practiced on each other under Richie's direction; then they worked with

dildoes of increasing size, until finally they were ready for Richie's huge

dick. They grew to love the feel of Richie in them, and felt empty when he

pulled out.

Bob and Quentin knew they were being groomed for the most important RTR

responsibility of all: a trip to the top-floor room of Jason, the RTR

president, for an extended, exhausting multi-hour session that would tax

their physical abilities as well as their new sexual skills. Initially they

viewed this eventuality with dread, but as time went by, the idea of it

became more and more exciting. They were still somewhat afraid of Jason, as

much as they were in awe of him, but they felt that with enough workouts,

practice, and preparation, they would be ready for the Great Day, whenever

it came.

They had another benefit as RTR residents. Whenever their masculine,

aggressive side emerged, after a particularly frustrating or maddening

experience, they could always drag Roger the two-inch-dicked former RTR

president into their room, slap and punch him around, force him to degrade

himself, use every one of his orifices, then kick him out the door and onto

the hallway floor when they were done. During high stress periods, such as

exam weeks, there might even be one or more other brothers in the hall

waiting to drag the discarded Roger off to their own rooms to start the

process over again. At the end of days like that, Roger would crawl back to

his room, covered with bruises and dripping other people's cum and piss from

every part of his body, but with the satisfied feeling of having served his

obvious purpose in life. of course, if a particularly sadistic large-dicked

brother had ordered him to, even then he might be forced to finish the day

by torturing himself in the privacy of his own room, which by now was fully

equipped for such activity.

Bob and QUentin's training was coming along nicely by the time of this

breezy early-autumn day as the three proceeded down the hill to RTR house.

As Richie passed two hunky baseball team types on their way up the hill, a

tall crewcut blond Nordic type and a shorter one with long chestnut hair, he

couldn't help turning around as they went by to give them a good once-over.

The tall blond noticed this, and disgusted, muttered, "Faggot."

Unfortunately for him, he happened to say it just as he and his friend

passed the two football players. Bob and Quentin, enraged at the insult to

their godlike mentor, each grabbed one of the jocks, whom they outweighed by

quite a bit.

"That's not a nice thing to say," Quentin told his blond captive baseball

player. The tall jock struggled in his arms, but he was no match for the

300-plus pound lineman. "Just because someone likes guys, that's no reason

not to show him respect. Just because you're bigger and stronger," he said,

ripping the jock's shirt off and tossing it aside, revealing a nicely ripped

physique covered with a light blond fuzz, "doesn't mean you should look down

on another guy. Just because you're an athlete," he continued, lifting the

blond off the ground like a feather and tearing his pants down to his

ankles, "doesn't mean you're better than he is." Quentin tore off the

player's underpants, revealing an average-size dick and balls shrunk

somewhat in fear. "In fact, you're no match for him in any way." Other

students had stopped to watch the situation unfold. One of them gave a

good-natured wolf-whistle when the blond's pants came down. His powerful

legs and size-13 shoes flailed helplessly like a little boy's in QUentin's

grasp.

Richie came over, gazed at the two helpless baseball players, and whispered

something into Quentin's ear, then into Bob's. Bob tore the shirt off the

innocent-looking chestnut-haired jock he was holding, showing a well

worked-out chest and six-pack but no body hair. Then Bob and QUentin dropped

their baseball players to the ground. Quentin reached down and grabbed the

shirt he had torn off the blond. "We're taking your shirts down to RTR

house. When you're thought about what you did wrong, and you're ready to

apologize, come on down and we'll give them back." The humiliated jocks got

up and ran towards their dorm.

Later, when they got their nerve up, they would go down to fraternity row to

retrieve their shirts. But when they got there, the brothers would be ready

for them. At Richie's direction, the two were soon knocked out and dragged

to the initiation room. When they regained consciousness, they discovered

they were now RTRs and would be trained as playtoys for Bob and Quentin, and

for anyone else in the frat that wanted them. And to them, it only seemed

fair, considering their offense against a truly superior being. To help

their new brothers, they were also happy to provide information on their

fellow baseball players. No one from the baseball team had ever pledged RTR

before, so this information, gathered from last season's team showers, would

be invaluable in finding suitable additional RTR candidates, from top-ranked

to bottom.

This would also extend the Grand Master's influence into yet another campus

sports team before its season began. Could he improve their performance even

as he changed their outlook on life?

XV.

The football season was progressing much better than expected. The team was

undefeated, having beaten several teams rated higher than themselves. The

following Saturday, the team would play the team ranked sixth nationally,

and was expected to lose by at least 21 points. For that reason (and of

course for other, more secret ones), the team had been pushing themselves

especially hard this week, and practice ran late.

Last off the field and into the locker room came team cocaptain and center,

Clay Carver. As befit the position he played, Clay was the biggest and most

muscular member of the team. He was also the heart of the team, pushing them

to work hard each day, and working hardest himself, leading by example.

That's why the team looked up to him so much. He ran a large hand through

his sweaty, longish thick black hair, wondering if the team had what it took

to survive the upcoming game.

As the team began to undress, they heard the now-dreaded sound of the locker

room door slamming against the doorjamb. As the team looked on fearfully,

the entire high school chess club strode arrogantly into the room, kicking

objects on the floor out of their way as they walked by. One of the younger

club members positioned himself by the door, another at the entrance to the

shower room, to stop the players from escaping. One bulky lineman who tried

to slip out to the showers was grabbed by his jockstrap by a skinny high

school sophomore, and forcibly dragged back into the room, struggling and

straining his muscles helplessly all the way. The sophomore dumped him on

the floor and smirked at him contemptuosly, his braces glinting in his

mouth. The lineman cowered at his feet, afraid of a casual steel-like kick

that might cause him agonizing pain.

Clancy, the chess club president and a short pudgy senior, standing in the

center of the room, pushed his glasses up his nose. "Okay, sissies, listen

up. First order of business, this weekend's game. Our club has a lot of

money riding on that game. We've bet on you guys to win, at 20 to 1 odds.

I'm here to offer you an incentive. If you win, we WON'T line you up on your

backs on the quad and sit on your faces while you squirm under us, in front

of the whole school. We will refrain from climbing onto your shoulders and

riding you around the campus, steering you by gripping your necks tightly

with our powerful legs. We will NOT force you to clean off the soles of our

shoes with your tongues at the student center. We may even not strip you to

your jockstraps, tie you to the fence around the campus, and paint 'LOSERS'

on your chests. So there are all KINDS of reasons for you to win!"

The team pictured each of these possibilities, and they knew the chess geeks

could easily do all that to them, and more. Each resolved internally to work

out and practice every spare moment until Saturday. No other activity or

social event was even close in priority.

"Next item. You guys haven't met Robbie yet," Clancy said, indicating a

slightly built boy with a mop of straight blond hair and a naughty grin,

wearing a tank top despite the brisk weather. He was 14 but looked younger,

with smooth pale skin all over, and just a few wisps of blond hair visible

in his armpit. "Robbie's new to the club, he's a freshman, and he's gay.

When he first came to us, he was really shy, didn't start conversations, and

was embarrassed about his sexuality. Since he joined the club, he's gained a

lot of self confidence. He's decided to make one of you guys his sex slave,

so he can show who's boss, and get off whenever he wants. He's here to pick

the guy. Let's start with the captains. Sullivan and Carver, front and

center!"

Jim Sullivan, the tall red-haired starting quarterback, had been edging

towards the locker room door, hoping to make a break for it and run for

help. When he heard Clancy call for him, he had just reached the door and

yanked it open. Immediately, the sophomore guarding the door kneed him in

the groin, and he collapsed to the floor. The sophomore then dragged him,

groaning in pain, to the center of the room, depositing him in front of

Clancy, who completely immobilized him with one well-worn sneaker on his

neck.

"Now, now, Sullivan, that's no way to behave before your betters. You need

to learn your place." Clancy lifted the dazed Sullivan off the ground with

one hand, and tore off his practice uniform with the other. He then sat on

the bench and placed Sullivan across his knees. "Misbehaving boys need to be

spanked." He raised his arm and swatted Sullivan over and over, with

Sullivan screaming in pain as his ass turned red, his long muscled legs

twisting and writhing in his agony.

The team watched all this in horror, humiliated at the power this pudgy kid

had over their team captain. One team member, however, had another kind of

problem, a much bigger one. Clay Carver, the other captain, having already

removed his uniform at the time of the geeks' invasion, stood by his locker

wearing nothing but his jockstrap. As he watched Sullivan being spanked, a

side of him he had tried to keep hidden began to emerge. For while Clay, in

his sizable glory, was the team's inspiration, mentor to younger players,

and a figure all admired, he had a secret submissive side. He had always

secretly dreamed of being physically dominated by an even bigger man, forced

to serve at the sexual pleasure of a muscle giant. He watched all the WWF

competitions on television, and fantasized himself as the well-trained and

often punished housebitch of some of the biggest wrestlers he saw. He jerked

off regularly to pictures in wrestling magazines, imagining himself being

spanked across the laps of the dominating figures he saw in the photos.

As he watched Sullivan's spanking, and knowing he was next for humiliation,

Clay helplessly began to throw a substantial rod. He tried his best to cover

himself with his big hands, but his huge cock refused to remain confined in

his jockstrap, popped out and stood prominently against his stomach. As

Clancy rolled Sullivan, whimpering and rubbing his sore ass, off his lap and

onto the floor, he looked over to Clay and was astonished by what he saw.

"Hey guys, look at Carver! He's really getting off on this! He's really a

fag!" Everyone in the room stared at Clay in amazement. Clay was racked with

shame, but the humiliation only served to increase his helpless excitement,

and he became even harder.

Robbie, the delicate gay freshman, strode cockily over to Clay and shouted

"Attention!" Clay stood as stiffly as he could, looking straight ahead,

hands by his side, huge biceps bulging in both his arms and legs, cock

straining against his stomach. As Robbie walked around and behind his new

potential acquisition, he swatted him on the buns with his relative

super-strength. Clay winced in pain but did not cry out. Delighted, Robbie

announced, "This one is mine." Jim Sullivan, helplessly pinned to the floor

under Clancy's sneakered foot, could not help a sigh of relief. But Clay's

excitement only increased, because he realized his impossible fantasy was

about to come true. It was not exactly as he imagined it; instead of

submitting to a huge, muscled wrestler, he was about to become the bitch of

a 5'3" innocent blond high school freshman. The pale hand that would spank

him and throw him around was only half the length of Clay's erect dick. The

pink teen asshole his long tongue would get to know well would require work

to penetrate. The feet under which he would occasionally lie as a footstool

were smaller than his own hands. The dark afternoon stubble on Clay's face

was almost more hair than Robbie had on his entire body below the top of his

head. Yet the domination would be complete, and voluntary.

Seeing their captain and most admired team member voluntarily becoming the

sex slave of one of their pipsqueak tormentors had a devastating

psychological effect on the team. Although they were under no direct

hypnotic compulsion to feel this way, each of them became slightly more

resigned to submitting to the high school geeks, and more desirous of

impressing and pleasing them as a way to avoid further punishment. For the

coming weekend, they knew that the chess club had a lot at stake in the

game, and it was far more important for the team to win in order not to harm

the interests of the club members than it was to win for any of their own

personal reasons. Instead of a horrible aberration, the situation now seemed

much more like the natural order of things: might made right...

XVI.

Gabe, the smooth compact swimmer from GK, walked towards Sig Lam house. He

had been summoned by Dom to once again serve as substitute master to Dom's

slave twin Tom while Dom went away. Gabe fondly remembered the weekend he

had commanding Tom. The much bigger, well-muscled Tom had responded to his

every wish, sometimes even before he had expressed it. Gabe had never

ordered around or physically abused anyone before, but under Dom's guiding

influence he had grown to enjoy his absolute power over Tom, creatively

finding new ways to pick on him. And the meaner he got with Tom, the more

Tom became devoted to him and filled with lust for him.

Gabe was a friendly, easygoing guy, well-liked by his frat brothers. He had

participated in many house activities in the days before the Grand Master

arrived and permanently changed the nature of being a Gamma Kappa. Since the

change was hypnotically designed not to be noticed, it had only seemed

natural to Gabe when JJ, a well-toned but rather plain-faced Sig Lam, walked

into his room, took over the bed, and moved him to a bare old mattress on

the floor. JJ also ordered Gabe to take his own clothes out of the closet

and dresser and pile them on the floor, then go over to Sig Lam, get JJ's

stuff, bring it over and hang it neatly in the closet and fold it into the

dresser drawers. Gabe didn't mind any of this, or think it unusual: he

simply owed this to his new roommate because he was a Sig Lam.

JJ turned out to be rather slovenly, and given to farting quite loudly and

frequently. Once during a particularly extended session of flatulence, JJ

nastily cracked that Gabe should learn to like the smell of his farts. of

course, Gabe helplessly mistook this remark for an order. Over time, through

sheer force of will, he actually began to look forward to his roommate's

farts, savoring the odor and trying to guess from it what JJ had eaten at

his previous meal. After a good fart, JJ would look over at Gabe's sniffing,

appreciative face and snigger, thinking, what a dweeb.

As an active, dynamic personality, Gabe had tended to dominate friendships

as well as relationships with women. However, as time went by, and JJ's

low-key but steady assault on his original personality took its toll, Gabe's

forceful will faded, along with his masculinity, and he became quieter, more

deferential to others and less and less interested in sex.

When Dom first brought swim-teammate Gabe over to Sig Lam to serve as Tom's

temporary master, it marked a turnaround in Gabe's personality trends. Dom

had reawakened Gabe's active nature, and with his instructions had

hypnotically laced it with a small but growing element of sadism to

perfectly complement Tom's artificially-induced masochism. Gabe grew to

enjoy barking impossible orders at Tom, as much as Tom enjoyed obeying them,

and being severely punished when he failed. Tom secretly thrilled to the

occasional surprise boot to the groin, to having his hair grabbed and face

forced into Gabe's sweaty armpit or crotch for tongue-cleaning duty, to

being forced to stand at attention for hours while Gabe studied or watched

television, and being beaten when he faltered for a moment. He especially

liked Gabe's trick, learned from Dom, of riding Tom's naked muscular body on

all fours around the room with liberal use of a riding crop. It put his back

in constant contact with Gabe's small but (to Tom) perfectly-formed cock.

For his part, Gabe, although straight by his original nature, loved to watch

Tom's considerable muscles flex and ripple under his direct command, as if

they were extensions of his own body.

While he had been dubious when originally assigned his mastering task by

Dom, Gabe actually suffered quite a letdown when Dom returned from his

weekend out of town. When Gabe got back to GK, his roommate JJ noticed the

change immediately. While Gabe continued to follow JJ's orders, there was no

longer deference and admiration in his bearing. It was more like he was just

doing his job for someone who was only technically superior. But JJ, being

both straight and not particularly sadistic, let it slide. As long as Gabe

obeyed his instructions, he was still getting what he wanted out of being

boss of the room.

Now it was a month later, and Dom had phoned Gabe and told him to come to

Sig Lam for more "riding duty". As he neared the house, he absent-mindedly

rubbed his crotch as he remembered the thrill of his last "duty" weekend.

Would this become a regular occurrence? He could only hope so.

As he walked in the twins' room, he noticed Tom hooded and chained, as

usual, to Dom's bed, but also hogtied on the floor. When Tom saw Gabe, he

got noticeably excited. His two most revered people in the world were in the

room with him, and even in his awkward position it was impossible to contain

his happiness.

"Look at that piece of shit. He actually loves all this. Pain is now

pleasure to him," said Dom, with a powerful pointed-boot-tip kick to Tom's

side. "I really got off on training him, wearing him down, destroying and

rebuilding his personality, but it's done now. He's completely broken.

Where's the fun in that?"

Gabe was at a loss for words. He looked down at Tom. After months of serving

Dom and working out as his two exclusive activities, Tom was in hugely

better shape than his twin. As Tom gazed up at Gabe with love in his eyes,

visible even through the hood eyeholes, Gabe couldn't understand what Dom's

problem was. What could be better than to have a handsome, worked-out guy

that lived only to serve your every wish?

"Next week is spring break. I'm tired of being stuck with this piece of

shit. For me it's become like a job, it's like I can never leave. I want to

head out and train someone new, break his spirit and destroy his will. I'm

going to use the rest of this week and spring break week to try it. There's

a guy back home I went to high school with who used to look at Tom and me

when he thought we weren't looking. Of course, at the time I didn't know the

full extent of my powers, so I didn't even give him a second thought. This

guy is nearly a foot taller than me, and stronger, and I've imagined working

on him until he submits. I think I know enough about his weaknesses to get

him completely under my thumb.

"I'm going to leave you here the whole time with Tom. If my deal doesn't

work out, I'll be back after spring break. If it does, well, you might not

see me for awhile. That tall friend back home is from a really rich family,

and he just got his trust fund when he turned 21. Once he's my property,

I'll make him sign everything he has over to me, and he'll be glad to do it

just so I'll keep on kicking him in the balls the way he needs it." Dom

paused, excitedly imagining his 6'7" friend standing at attention as best he

could, a sheen of fear-produced sweat covering his torso, 12-inch vibrating

dildo up his ass and ball spreader in front, cock ring keeping him painfully

erect, waiting for further abuse. Standing naked and helpless in the dark

basement of what was formerly his own expensive home, now Dom's, where he

was the full-time slave while Dom and his fellow master guests partied and

lived upstairs.

"If that happens, this room and my brother are both yours. I won't need this

damn school anymore, I'll be set. You might have to dress him up to take a

picture of the two of you and e-mail it to our folks so they won't think

something's wrong. I'll cover you with them when I get back home, let them

know you're Tom's new best friend. That way you can make it look like he's

keeping in touch even though he can hardly talk anymore." Tom gazed

uncomprehendingly but lovingly up at his twin. The gods in his life were

communing, there was no need for his worthless self to listen to their

important masterful talk. He probably wouldn't understand it anyway.

Gabe couldn't believe his luck. His life had changed in the space of a few

minutes. He would be a man again, a dominating, loved and respected,

masculine man. He would be away from the demanding JJ for awhile, maybe even

forever, which would be a good thing since he no longer thought of JJ with

the complete respect he used to have for him. He couldn't even remember why

he had held that respect. Gabe held one booted foot up near tied-up Tom's

mouth, and Tom began eagerly licking it.

"OK, I'm taking off now." Dom grabbed his bag. "I'm sure you two will be

happy together. See ya." As Dom opened the door and stepped into the hall,

he nearly tripped over the Grand Master, who had been listening at the door.

A few control words and Dom's conscious mind went blank. Within thirty

seconds, all three frat boys were in the same state.

When they woke up, ALL their worlds had changed. As he had hoped, Gabe was

now permanently installed in what had been the twins' room. He was now no

longer a Gamma Kappa, but a Sig Lam. In fact, he had ALWAYS been a Sig Lam,

as far as he or anyone else could remember. That put him on an equal status

with the others living in the Sig Lam house, and made him the superior of

any GK. After a hypnozonked JJ brought Gabe's stuff over from the GK house

without really knowing why, Gabe settled into his new room and began his

life with Tom. He removed Tom's chain, but ordered him to behave as if it

was still in place. When Tom moved beyond the zone, Gabe would kick and

punch him while he stood with his arms helplessly by his side. On the odd

occasion, Tom would intentionally step past the line just to receive the

punishment he so craved. After several months, Tom's memory of Dom faded,

and all he could think about was Gabe. For him, all was right with the

world.

Meanwhile, over at the GK house, a new living arrangement suddenly

materialized in a room on the second floor. Two of the mildest-mannered GK

roommates found themselves with a new guest in their room. Cute, blond,

about 5'8", he was naked except for a leather hood, chained to one of their

two bed frames, and he was clearly a mute, unable to talk, write, or even

form words with his mouth, although great fear and anger could be seen to

alternate in his eyes. For reasons they couldn't understand, the GK

roommates found increasingly great excitement in taking out their day-to-day

frustrations on the senses and private parts of their new friend. While they

were clearly new at it, the sophistication of their methods of torment grew

each day, and more and more often these otherwise straight GKs would sport

hard-ons during their activities. Soon, they were spending less and less

time away from their room in the evening, and finding more ways to make the

torture more sadistically interesting. As their lives changed, the

companionship of Women became a distant memory, seemingly irrelevant to

their pleasure.

Dom could not believe the situation. Here he was, imprisoned in a room with

two sissy GKs, who were torturing him in ways he had never even thought of

in his days with Tom. And for some reason he was totally unable to talk, and

pathologically afraid to make any noise that might draw attention to

himself. He knew that if he could speak, he could control the roommates,

since he was a Sig Lam and they were GKs. If he could just talk to them, he

could get them to free him. He would then have them go downtown to a leather

store and buy the largest, most painful-looking whips they could find, come

back to the room, strip naked, and use them on each other. One would be

commanded to bend over and expose his ass and lower back, then CRACK! the

other would be compelled to deliver a full-force blow. Then the first would

bend over, and CRACK! Dom would greatly enjoy watching each one in turn

sorrowfully inflict as much pain as he could on his roommate, while Dom sat

on the couch jerking off and giving them their orders. But it was not to be.

Dom's speech center was simply not functioning.

You see, the Grand Master kept watch over his experiments, particularly his

early, favored ones. And one element of the GM's philosophy was, you're

responsible for taking care of your human property. You can belittle your

brother, then beat him, torture him, and ultimately enslave him, but once

you've done that, you can't simply walk away. Therefore, the GM terminated

his twins experiment and began a new one: can two natural bottoms

successfully enslave a top who has lost his power to command? Will the

former top grow to accept his situation after awhile, say a few months, or

will he fight it every inch of the way? Only time would tell.

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