UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT By Kattt

This story contains explicit sexual content. It is a fantasy containing
non-consensual sex involving public figures. It is not meant to imply
anything about the sexuality of those mentioned, all of whom I understand to
be straight. Nor does this story in any way express any accurate or factual
information regarding any of the persons mentioned herein or any of their activities. It is merely a fantasy. It is a just a story, and an obviously fictional one.
----------

I received with pleasure and anticipation the news that Derek Jeter was looking for a new agent. Until now, I had largely limited my clientele to professional football players. John Elway, Steve Young, Troy AIkman and many others had joined my stable. Thoroughbreads all. For a while I had been of the mind to expand my practice to include baseball players. They were so iconic, symbolizing the innocence, strength and grace of American man at his best. Thus, Derek's desire to change management came at a most propitious time.

He would truly be a trophy client to obtain. Only 26 years old, yet already a two-time World Series MVP with four championship rings to his credit. Playing for the New York Yankees, he had become the king of Manhattan, dating and dumping a string of actresses and supermodels. Word was Mariah Carey was so heartbroken when he stopped returning her calls that she suffered a breakdown. Derek was a fashion trend-setter, wearing expensive Italian suits and cashmere sweaters to show off his athletic body.

On the field he was poetry: Six foot four and lean and muscular. He showed off his Yankee pinstripes to advantage; a perfect bubble butt sat high and firm over lithe and long thighs. He was -- in fact -- a show horse. His skin was smooth and flawless, the shade of coffee with an an extra cream. His smile would melt many a heart among his legion of female admirers. And he never seemed to set a foot wrong, always being gracious, sportsmanlike and working on all the right philanthropic causes.

Derek had heard that I tended to exercise a tremendous amount of control over all aspects of my clients' affairs and this initially made him less than receptive to my proposals, wishing as he did to maintain a large degree of independence from and say-so over his manager. Indeed, this had led to the departure of his prior manager.

During our first meeting over dinner at Le Cirque, I made him a proposal; let me manage your affairs for one month no charge. If after that period, you are comfortable we will formalize the relationship. If not, then go your way having gotten a free month from one of the top sports agents in the business, but you must do things my way for a month. Derek was skeptical, but several phone calls from my current clients convinced him to give it a try. He was struck by the incredible devotion -- bordering on awe -- that my other athlete-clients had for me. Finally, Derek agreed. He flashed his magazine-cover smile and said, "Well, Kattt, you've got me for a month." And maybe forever, I thought to myself as I smiled back like a crocodile.

Derek had heard that my management style was to employ an entire team of physical therapists, massage specialists, yoga and meditation experts to provide total fitness and mental preparation for my clients, along with my own special financial and management acumen.

On the first day of our new business relationship, I took Derek to the special indoor training facility I had built on the upper East Side. Derek was surprised to find a completely developed indoor batting cage. I explained to him that my sports training team had been analyzing his swing for the last year and -- impressive as it was -- had noticed some areas for possible improvement. Derek scoffed at first, but agreed to try some of their training methods when I reminded him of our deal.

Before Derek stepped into the electronic batting cage, he donned the full-body training suit that wrapped him in lycra from head to toe. I explained to him that the suit was remote-controlled so that it would guide his body toward the stance that would best develop his swing for the most power. I also handed him the special batting helmet fitted with sensors I told him were intended to help improve his visualization of the oncoming pitch and sharpen his senses.

In reality, both the suit and the helmet would serve very different purposes. As Derek assumed his stance in the batting cage, bat resting on his shoulder, electronically generated holographs of baseballs were generated and pitched toward him. When his bat contacted the image of the ball, the speed, distance and direction of the hit would be measured automatically and duely registered as a single, pop-out, home run, etc.

Once Derek got into a rhythm, he began to notice that the holographic baseballs being pitched at him seemed to be shifting in shape and form, getting larger and smaller and almost pulsing. Meanwhile, the sensors in his batting helmet were serving their real and nefarious purpose, using subsonic pulses and signals to lull the thoroughbread athlete into a trance state. The combination of the sub-sonic trance programming of the rigged batting helmet and the beguiling visual spectacle of the hypnosis-inducing holographic baseballs soon had Derek in la la land.

As the bat slid from his hand, Derek began to sway, his face now expressionless and his fixed eyes locked on the spinning baseball that now filled his vision. The electronic beeps and grinding of the machine-code became audible as the batting helmet processed its next program. Derek, as if waking from a dream, found himself in Yankee Stadium, trying to hit a pitch from Pedro Martinez of the Red Sox. To Derek's frustration and humiliation, he could not hit any pitch. His magical powerful swing was lost. The crowd began to jeer. And Derek began to swing with greater and greater desperation.

From above I looked on and smiled as I saw the look of fear and anguish on Derek's face. Physically he was standing locked in the electronic batting cage, but mentally, he was experiencing a moment of profound ego-crushing humiliation. I always found it so pleasurable to see how proud cocky jocks break when they think for even a moment that their physical prowess at their silly game is gone.

Meanwhile, back in Derek's addled mind, he was swinging and missing badly, so badly that he fell to the ground after one swing. The thousands in the Stadium who had once idolized him now mocked and booed him. Derek began to cry. He felt like a small boy playing little league and not good enough to hit the ball. The Red Sox players smirked and laughed at him. After one hapless swing, the bat went all the way around and Derek fell to the ground. As he lay there, wiping dirt from his uniform and weeping like a small boy, he saw a shadow come over him. He squinted into the sun and looked up to see who it was.

Gazing down at Derek was the face of Kattt. The sensors in Derek's full-body workout suit now activated to stimulate his genitals and nipples at the same time the batting helmet projected the image of Kattt into his mind. While Kattt was a much smaller man than Derek in real life, in this electronically generated dream world, he seemed so much stronger and more powerful as Derek gazed up at him. Derek also felt a feeling of inferiority and awe as he gazed at him.

Kattt reached down and lifted the dirty, weeping baseball player to his feet. Kattt adjusted Dereks helmet and brushed off his unform the way a father might for a son. He also took out a handkerchief and held it up to Derek's face, while placing the other hand behind his neck. Derek blew his nose like a small, shy boy. Kattt now spoke in a voice that seemed so much more deeper and commanding than before, "Let me show you how to play, boy."

Derek's work-out suit sent further bursts of stimulation through his crotch and nipples at Kattt's intonation of the word "boy." Kattt then stood behind Derek and placed the bat in his hand, guiding the boy through practice swing after practice swing the way a coach might with the smallest, weakest, bespectacled boy on his team. The stimulation rifling through Derek's body now reached a peak.

Looking from above, I decided this was enough for the first day. The program shut down and Derek awakened from his trance. He remembered nothing of the dream sequence, but his subconscious retained the experience as intended. Derek did not notice that when he saw Mr. Kattt come down from the control room his penis jumped inside the work-out suit. "Well Derek, that was a good workout." Derek felt a slight shiver as I patted him on the back.

Five subsequent days of "batting practice" planted deeper and deeper in Derek's mind his sense of dependance upon, submission to and attraction toward me. At the end of that first week. I decided to accompany Derek to a gallery opening. As we got out of the cab and walked into the gallery, I forcefully put my hand on Derek's back as if to guide him the way a man would guide a woman. He did not object. One of the most rewarding aspects of my work was observing the subtle, almost unnoticeable everyday results of deep brainwashing. Long before Derek fully and consciously accepted our respective role of master and degraded slave, he would begin to exhibit it in small everyday interactions.

This was just the type of flashy, high-profile celebrity-studded event that Derek loved to attend. Despite his humble front, he really got off on being the center of attention and combining his jock charisma and beauty with high-brow cultural pursuits. I figured I would go along this evening. My conditioning program would be best-served by integrating my efforts into all aspects of Derek's day. You never know where an opportunity will present itself.

Derek looked his best that evening, wearing an expensive tan Italian suit with a cream-colored Prada t shirt. The suit accenutated his broad shoulders and narrow waist and invitingly hugged his exquisite buttocks, without flaunting them. I accompanied him as he strolled through the gallery pretending to examine and appreciate the paintings, but really checking out all the women from the corner of his eye and paying attention to which other celebs were looking at him and noticing him.

Finally, I maneuvered him to a corner of the gallery where we would be alone. As we each looked at an impressionist painting of a boy playing in a field, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "You see Derek, this is a very interesting painting. Look very closely at this spot here and notice the brush strokes." By this point, he was becoming attuned to my touch and my voice. In no time, he was in a trance. "Look at the boy in the painting, Derek. He is lost and alone in the middle of the field. He does not know where to turn or what to do. He is looking for his daddy. You understand how the boy feels, don't you Derek?"

By now, he was practically slumped in my arm. "Boy, lost" he whispered in a child-like tone. I reached down and began to feel him up through the material of his expensive suit. "Yes, Derek, just like the boy you are lost without a daddy to tell you what to do. You find your daddy exciting and so powerful."

"Exciting, powerful."

I continued to stroke and he was now panting.

"Yes, Derek is nothing, Kattt is his daddy."

"Derek nothing, Kattt, daddy."

"Derek is falling in love with daddy."

Hotly and passionately, but in a little boy voice he repeated, "Derek is falling in love with daddy."

At the same time, I slid a hand down the back of his suit pants and began to probe his tight sphincter with my index finger. As Derek exploded, he slumped into my arms. The front of his slacks were stained. I quickly hustled him out of the corner and from the gallery, a hand resting possessively just above those high, tight buttocks.

The following Monday, Derek was awakened by a knock on the door of his luxurious So-Ho loft. At the door was an utterly formal-looking English butler in full morning coat and black tie. "Hello, Sir, I am Edmonds. I will start to get the house in order," the butler said in an officious, formal British tone. Derek was confused and a bit put-out. I laughed as I followed Edmonds into the loft. "Derek, I think you could use a butler to take care of all the everyday needs, keep your house and clothes in order, you know." After a little back and forth about how he didn't need anybody doing that, I reminded him of our deal whereby he would let me manage things for a month. Combined with the highly-suggestible state he was in from his daily "batting practice" he readily agreed.

Edmonds had become one of my most valuable employees. Placing a loyal personal assitant or butler directly into a client's house was a very efficient way to speed up the brainwashing process. Especially when the butler was -- like Edmonds -- completely trained at hypnosis and a whiz with drugs and sexual submission training. The technique was all the more effective because millionaire athletes are so used to others handling the everyday details of life that they seldom question the steps a seemingly innocuous assistant takes.

That night, Edmonds approached Derek; "Would you like a spot of tea or warm milk before bed, Sir?" Derek chuckled at the formal tendecies of the stuffy Englishman. "That's really not my thing, Edmonds." "You see, Sir, Mr. Kattt has pointed out to me that because you are one of the most stylish celebrities in New York, you need to develop a lifestyle befitting a proper international gentleman. He will be so disappointed in me if I don't achieve his instructions." Derek smiled broadly and said in a laughing English accent, "OK Edmonds, I'll try a spot of warm milk." Edmonds bowed and withdrew to the kitchen.

As he mixed the hallucinogens, muscle relaxants, valium and lithium into the milk, Edmonds reflected on what a nice, firm body the boy had. He would make a fine addition to Mr. Kattt's collection. Edmonds expecially enjoyed helping to bring down cocky arrogant young American celebrities. He found their boasting and preening offensive to his proper British sensibilities and was paid well by Mr. Kattt for his services.

He approached Derek and placed the milk on table before him. Derek was splayed out on the couch watching SportsCenter. He gulped down the milk. Within seconds, he was groggy and dizzy. His head was spinning as he tried to stand. The room seemed to turn upside down and he found himself on the floor, looking up at Edmonds who seemed to be smiling down at him. "Oh dear, Sir, it seems you have had a bit of a fall. May I help you?"

Edmonds bent down and heaved Derek to his feet effortlessly. His formal butler's clothing hid the fact that Edmonds worked out regularly and was in strong shape for a man in his early fifties. "Here, Sir, let me help you prepare to retire for the evening." Edmonds slung an arm around Derek's should while another flagrantly cupped his buttocks. "Yes, Sir, lets get you to bed, shall we?"

In his drug-induced stupor, Derek did not notice that Edmonds undressed him in a most proprietary manner and placed him in bed. Then Edmonds began what would become a nightly ritual. "Sir, Mr. Kattt wants me to make sure I apply this cold cream to your face every night. It will help keep your skin moist and clear, retaining that marvelous complexion of yours. Of course the barbiturates in it will also seep into your pores and help keep your brain nice and foggy. You will like that won't you Sir?" he asked in the mock ironic tone of a deferential servant. Once the cold cream was applied, Edmonds placed the earphones on Derek's head. "Pleasant dreams, sir."

Derek had strange dreams that night. He was chained and on his knees, Kattt stood towering over him. A tight collar was around his lean muscular neck and he desired nothing so much as to please Kattt. As he recalled his many assignations with actresses and models, he wretched in disgust. He woke in a fevered state and at the foot of his bed was Edmonds.

"Good morning, Sir. I trust you slept well?" Derek rolled over and saw he was naked. "How. . . how did I get undressed. Edmonds clicked his tongue. "You really must leave all of these details to me, Sir. I am here to serve you. Now it is time for your bath, Sir." Derek felt groggy and disoriented. Edmonds reached into the bed and in an efficient, deferential, but forceful way, pulled Derek to his feet and practically carried him to the bathroom. Derek attempted to resist but was still too dazed from the drugs and programming fo the night before to prevent what was being done. So he was half-dragged, half-carried like a baby to his own bathroom, where Edmonds already had drawn a steaming bath into the jacuzzi.

"In you go, Sir" he said cheerfully as he practically lifted Derek into the tub. He noticed that Edmonds poured a chemical into the frothing water and then donned a pair of rubber gloves. Derek tried to resist, but the words could not be formed by his thick tongue. Edmonds then began to aggressively scrub and clean around his body. Derek's proud muscular body now riddled with muscle relaxants and mind control drugs could only limply resist as Edmonds washed him the way a mother would a small boy. Soon Derek came to feel stimulated by the strong feel of Edmonds' hands handling him. "That's it, Sir, I know you're going to get to like the feeling of another man handling and controlling you."

At the end of the bath, Edmonds quickly injected a syringe into Derek's arm and he blacked out. When he awoke, Derek remembered nothing about that morning or the night before and he dazedly dressed to go to the daily batting practice and work-out Mr. Kattt had scheduled for him.

The days went by one after the other. Batting practice, home to the loft, a meal prepared by Edmonds, a warm glass of milk, darkness, the dreams, waking up, a morning bath by an increasingly possessive and domineering Edmonds. Derek was in such a constant drugged haze that all he could really put together was an increasing sense of inferiority and attraction to me and a submissive desire to permit Edmonds to handle, groom and tend to him as he saw fit. Derek ate all of his meals at home and only left the loft to go to my training sessions. Edmonds did a superb job of warding off friends and family and screening all calls.

Derek was now a virtual prisoner in his own home, dazedly accepting whatever drug injections, pills, lotions, balms or brainwashing techniques we imposed upon him. His body became our laboratory and I was pleased with the results. Between the powerful subliminals of batting practice and the enforced submission and drug administration by Edmonds, Derek was well on track to becoming a perfect client.

On the Friday of the second week, Edmonds removed the dinner plates and I slid across to Derek some formal legal papers. Derek attempted to read them and figure out what they were, but he was too far gone by that point and numbly signed the papers which liquidated the Derek Jeter Charitable Foundation and transferred the assets to me. The next morning, Derek sat in his usual stupor as Edmonds handled and bathed him. Today, however, a new phase would begin. Edmonds removed a straight razor and hoisted Derek to the side of the tub. "Now, Sir, its time for us to remove this unsightly hair." Edmonds began to swipe away the hair surrounding Derek's genital area. Derek's still-powerful manhood flaired up and he attempted to resist. Edmonds plowed a shoulder into Derek's chest and the drugged athlete fell backwards against the side of the tub. "There, there, Sir, we can;t have you with all this manly hair if you're going to be Mr. Kattt's bitch, can we?" Edmonds asked in an utterly formal tone. Derek wept as he saw his manhood swept away.

Next, Edmonds hoisted Derek around so that his buttocks protruded over the side of the tub. "Now, Sir, lets get your cunt up here where it can be of some use, shall we, Sir?" His words were spoken in a polite, formal servant's tone, but he handled Derek in a rough, domineering way. "Yes, Sir, lets make sure you put your useless cunt to some good shall we Sir?" Edmonds then began to lube and finger the conquered jock's glorious anal ring. "Yes, you like that don't you you stupid cunt" Edmonds asked in a sing-songy voice. Derek merely gasped like a bitch in heat.

When the anal probing was completed, Edmonds flipped him back over and began to sponge Dereks smooth hard chest. Edmonds lifted the sodden sponge, filled with water spiked with drugs and hallucinogens. Edmonds placed one hand behind Derek's neck and lifted his head up toward the sponge. Edmonds squeexed the sponge and the drugged water cascaded into Derek's eager mouth. Derek then sucked on the sponge like a newborn at his mother's breast. As I watched on closed circuit television, I was thrilled. The training was progressing perfectly. A few more days should do it.

The following Thursday, Derek was in for his normal batting practice. The usual humiliation, followed by being saved and stimulated by my holographic image followed. Soon I stepped down from the control booth. Derek gazed at me like a hero. "Would you like to learn how to play baseball?" I asked. "Oh please yes daddy" the All-Star begged. I took up position behind him, placing the bat in his hand and wrapping my hands around his, sidling my crotch against his backside and placing my mouth just next to his ear.

"Daddy will show you how to play," I said. Then I began to simulate a baseball swing, with Derek in my arms, We went back and forth, back and forth. Soon, I began to grind my hips more provocatively into his ass and he began to sigh. Soon all pretense of baseball swings was lost and he swooned backward into my arms. I licked at his ear.

"Now do you finally understand you are nothing Derek? Are you ready to be my cunt?"

The thoroughly drugged and brainwashed superstar merely mouthed "nothing. . . cunt."

I slipped a specially-designed collar around his perfect neck and lowered him to his knees. His coral-colored lips became slick as I brushed my leaking cock back and forth over them. As I suspected, his long lean neck provided excellent muscles to clasp and massage my manhood. As I exploded down his throat I though with glee of the many times I watched him smirk in triumph after a victory. Later that night, I wondered what his female fans would think as I looked down, his young colt's legs hiked over my shoulders as he screamed "Fuck me pregnant, please daddy!"

The next day, the month was up and we signed papers formalizing our relationship. Derek gave me power of attorney over all of his affairs and as a reward, Edmonds was given title to the loft and all of Derek's clothes and cars. I looked forward to the start of the new season, when Derek could introduce me to his teammates. Jason Giambi, Jorge Posada and Mike Mussina would also make excellent clients.

GO HOME

or

Comment on this story in the eroticgayhypnosis yahoo group.