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.

‘Went to the Dance, Lookin’ for Romance’

(Prom Night II)



   Trey O’Connor was in a piss-poor mood. Here he was, voted both most popular and best-looking in the Mansfield High yearbook, captain of the baseball team, and the most sexually successful stud in his class, without a prom date! And, although he had to admit it was mostly his own fault, it didn’t make him any less angry at Lexie Morgan, the girl who’d dumped him at the last minute. Hell, who knew that the cute babe he’d been trying to pick up at the bowling alley when he was out with the team had been her freakin’ cousin from out of town! Or that the first thing that miserable cunt would do was to make a bee-line to Lexie and tell her exactly what her boyfriend had been up to! Of course Lexie pitched a fit and fell in it, screaming at him in front of the whole school and dumping him cold. Total embarrassment, not to mention that, as a result of the blow-up, all the other girls (even second-raters he normally wouldn’t have ever considered asking out) were looking at him as if he were something slimy that had just crawled out from under a rock, and all this just one fuckin’ week before the biggest night of the year! No girlfriend, no date, no prom-night sex!! Trey ground his teeth in frustration.

   Well, he wasn’t about to take it lying down. He still had his prom tickets, his super-sharp tux (and, having modeled it in the mirror, Trey knew he looked outrageously studly in it – James Bond meets 90210), his red graduation-present sports car (thanks to dad being one of the richest men in town), and more than enough of his own spending money to orchestrate what would truly be a night to remember for any girl. He’d show Lexie and those other bitches what they had missed out on, and make them sorry they weren’t his date! There were other schools in town, filled with other girls, and he had more and slicker moves than any three other guys put together, besides being hotter than most teen idols. Hell, he might even a score a sorority girl from the college. He had a fake ID that had already gotten him into most of the clubs where they hung out. Yeah, he liked that idea. And if he couldn’t come up with real date that was cool enough to fill the bill in the short time he had left to find one, then he’d just hire an escort, one so hot she’d make all his guy classmates self-destruct with envy! Eighteen years old, spoiled, and cocky as hell, Trey O’Connor couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t come out on top of this. Little did he know…

   The club was already busy, even though it was a week night and not quite 9:00. Trey had been here before on occasion, and his fake ID had once again passed the extremely casual examination of the bored bouncer without a hitch. The décor was retro-disco, complete with strobe lights and disco ball. Trey snorted at the tackiness, but even a quick look around showed a number of pretty foxy college coeds in evidence, and at least some of them without obvious male companions, so he was willing to stomach it. He went to the bar, ordered a beer, and claimed a vacant stool while he checked out the options. The three best prospects there at the moment were a couple of hotties sitting together at one the tables, a blond with class-a tits and a sultry, but kind of snooty-looking brunette, and a really sexy red-head sitting by herself at another. The redhead was more his type, but there were two drinks at her table, so he’d have to wait to see the gender of her absent companion before deciding whether to make a move or not. He decided she was worth the wait. Besides, he knew he was the best-looking guy in the club, and so, if she were already taken, he’d still be the front runner to bag the blonde. He took a sip of his lager and settled down to wait.

   However, before the redhead’s friend returned or Trey got tired of waiting, the music suddenly stopped, the lighting changed, and the DJ began to introduce some live entertainment. Trey groaned with exasperation. It was virtually pointless to try to pick somebody up while a floor-show was in progress. And worse yet, the act turned out to be some lame-o hypnotism show. What a crock! Trey was absolutely convinced that hypnotism was all fakery, that hypnotists were con-artists, and that the people who pretended to be hypnotized were pathetic attention-starved losers. He considered just leaving and trying somewhere else, but he really wanted a crack at that redhead; the more he checked her out, the more he was convinced she’d be perfect as his show-off prom-night arm-piece. The handsome boy sulkily got more comfortable on the bar stool, and watched as a surprisingly young guy (he looked as though he could scarcely be older than the club kids he was attempting to entertain) took the stage/dance-floor.

   The young hypnotist presented a very standard sort of show. Trey was bored before the guy even got as far as asking for volunteers. Apparently the rest of the clubbers were more gullible, because, when he did request audience members to participate, a number of them rushed for seats in the stage area. Trey sighed pityingly and looked for something else to pay attention to. Nothing. So, for lack of anything better to divert him, he was left with no recourse but to watch. The spiel was totally predictable: “look at my eyes… don’t look away even for a second… relax your muscles… you’re getting sleepy… yadda, yadda, yadda… ho-hum” Yawning, Trey watched as most of the volunteer subjects gradually appeared to go under (yeah, sure) in response to the hypnotist’s repetitive drone. It was warm in the club, and he began to feel almost as though he could be in danger of falling asleep himself (from sheer boredom, of course, not hypnosis). And then there were the lights. They’d left the disco ball spinning, and the newly brighter stage lighting was bouncing off of it in all directions. The constant flashing was just insistent and regular enough that he found it was making his eyes feel weird. They were watering and blinking, and the longer he sat there, the harder it was to control the urge to shut his eyes. Finally, with an annoyed sigh, the boy gave up and closed them…

   When Trey next consciously opened his eyes, it was almost an hour and a half later and the hypnotism show was over, but he had no awareness of that fact, or that, in spite of his skepticism, he’d been the inadvertent but undisputed star of it. Time spent in deepest trance often seems distorted and shortened to the waking mind, but, in Trey’s case, the effect had been rendered infinitely stronger by deliberate suggestions (including one for total amnesia of the event) during his awakening by the hypnotist, who had definite plans of his own for the handsome, super-susceptible teen. In the interim, the redhead’s date had returned to her table (yeah, it was a date, damn it!), so Trey was just marshaling his forces to approach the blonde (he still wasn’t quite willing to chance the brunette’s apparent snotty mood), when there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find the young hypnotist standing there.

   “Hi. Do you drive the red Porsche out back?”

   “Yeah…” he answered guardedly. The hypnotist looked friendly enough, but Trey felt uneasy. Was this guy going to tell him his precious car had been dinged?

   Reading the boy’s body language correctly, the hypnotist laughed, “No, your car is fine, and a sweet ride it is! But you have my car blocked in. Would you mind letting me out? My name’s Chris, by the way.” He offered his hand.

    Normally, Trey would have given him some attitude for interrupting him in hunting mode (nobody should bother a guy when he has a chick in his sights!), but he found himself uncharacteristically willing to overlook it. “Trey,” he said, shaking hands. “Sure. No problem.” He got up from the barstool and followed the hypnotist out to the dark parking lot.

   They headed towards Trey’s car, but as soon as they were out of earshot of the club entrance, the hypnotist said, “Trance time, Trey.” Trey froze in mid-step, his mind wiped of all thought and volition as neatly and thoroughly as if they had never existed there in the first place. Chris walked around the motionless, deeply hypnotized boy, eyeing his blank handsome face and empty gaze with satisfaction. Then he commanded, “You will come with me. We’ll get your car later.” As obedient and docile as a little child, the no longer cocky teen helplessly followed the hypnotist to his car, got in, and then sat calmly unresisting, staring vacantly at nothing as he was abducted.

   Trey woke up in his own bed early the next morning, with no idea how he’d gotten home the night before. His head was muzzy and dull, his mouth tasted terrible, and his asshole was burning as if he’d been suffering from a bad case of the shits! Christ, he hoped he hadn’t dumped in his pants!! But no, there they were draped over the back of a chair, neither stained nor foul. Apparently his drunken automatic pilot hadn’t failed him completely. “How much fuckin’ beer did I have!?” he muttered miserably to himself. Then suddenly he had a horrifying thought: his car!! Trey jumped out of bed, his physical discomfort temporarily forgotten. He threw on the pants not bothering with a t-shirt, and, heart pounding, rushed to the garage. Thank God! His car was where it belonged and, as he quickly walked around it, revealed no evidence of damage. Man was his ass born lucky! The boy quickly took a silent oath never to let this happen again.

    Trey noticed his cell-phone was on the seat of the car, rather than in his pants pocket where it should have been. He opened the car door and grabbed the phone. Lying underneath it on the seat was a cocktail napkin from the club with a phone number printed on it. Trey didn’t recognize the number, and couldn’t remember getting it. He knew it wasn’t the redhead’s; he remembered giving up on her (one of the last things he did remember). Was it from the blonde? And would she still be willing to talk to him after he’d been stupid enough to get himself blind, legless drunk?? Trey decided to wait a little before trying the number, both to give his fuzzy brain a chance to start working properly again, and because, if it weren’t already a lost cause with the blonde, he didn’t want to ruin it by appearing too desperately eager. He shuffled back to his room to take a lo-o-ong shower and then get dressed properly.

   “Uh… hello?” Trey had finally tried the number, uncomfortable though he was at not knowing whose number it was. It was his lunch hour at school and, in order to avoid too many potential eavesdroppers (and because, oddly enough, it happened to be one of the areas in school with somewhat less compromised cell-phone reception), he was calling from the boys’ restroom.


   Holy shit, it was guy! What the hell was going on? And yet there was something familiar about the man’s voice, and Trey couldn’t quite bring himself to terminate the call. “Uh… I found this phone number in my car… from the club last night?... I think I had too much to drink, and I don’t remember why I have it. Could you tell me who I’m talking to? Oh… I’m Trey O’Connor.”

   “Oh yes, Trey.” Again the voice was maddeningly familiar. “This is Chris. I gave you the number myself. Trance time! Keep your eyes open and look normal.” Once again the boy was instantly, helplessly hypnotized, although no one (had there been anyone there to observe in the first place) would have been able to tell. “Tell me where you are.”

   With robotic literalness Trey answered, “I’m in the boys’ room at Mansfield High.”

   “Mansfield High? How old are you, Trey?”


   The hypnotist heaved a mental sigh of relief. Having first encountered him in the club, he’d assumed the kid was drinking-age legal, and he certainly wasn’t interested in messing around with underage chicken. However, Mansfield High presented an interesting twist. As it happened, he was engaged to entertain at Mansfield High’s after prom party! “Trey, are you attending your senior prom this weekend?”

    “I don’t know…”

    “Please explain that.” The mesmerized teen unhesitatingly launched into a description of his disrupted love-life. When he finished, the hypnotist said, “You’ll no longer try to find a prom date, but you will go to the prom. You’ll go stag, and, no matter what, you will go the hypnotism show that will be part of the evening’s entertainment. Understand?”

   “Yes, sir...”

   “And you will be hypnotized at that show, whether you decide to volunteer as a subject or not. It will be impossible for you to keep from going into trance at that time. You’ll go into deep, deep trance and do everything you’re told, won’t you?”

   “Do everything I’m told… yes, sir…”

   “Good boy. I’m going to hang up the phone now. When I do, you’ll close your cell-phone and put it away, and only then will you come out of your trance into full normal awareness. You’ll have no conscious memory of making this call or of anything that was said, although you will obey the instructions I’ve given you without fail. You’ll think you came into the restroom because you were so horny you just had to jack off. You’ll go into one of the stalls, take out your cock, and stroke yourself to orgasm. Each stroke will be a cue to your subconscious mind to find new, even deeper levels of hypnotic susceptibility, so that the next time you go into trance it will be enormously more profound than ever before.”

   The call ended and Trey obediently shut his cell and returned it to his pocket. Then he blinked back into a waking state. Christ, he was so fuckin’ horny! If he didn’t take care of this, he’d have a hard-on all afternoon! The programmed teen went straight into one of the boys’ room stalls and latched the door. He hauled out his cock, spat on his palm, and went to work. When Trey finished a short time later, he absent-mindedly licked his fingers to get the dribbles of cum that hadn’t made their way into the toilet bowl. It never occurred to him that he’d never done that before, or that, only a day before, he would have considered it a disgustingly queer thing to do.



   It felt like a penance for his sins. Trey, gorgeous and devastatingly sexy in his tux, was at the prom, but he was getting nowhere with the ladies. Why the hell had he decided to come stag?? Some few of his baseball teammates’ dates had condescended to dance with him a time or two, although, to a woman, they made it abundantly clear that it was strictly as a favor to their boyfriends, and not out of any forgiveness or tolerance of him and his past misdeeds! The only girl who wasn’t being measurably cold to him was Jack Wilcox’s date Karen. She didn’t go to Mansfield, and so she wasn’t in their high school gossip loop. But since Jack was his best friend on the team, she was off limits for date-poaching. And yet, bored though he was, Trey somehow couldn’t bring himself to leave. He continued to hang out, talking to anyone who was willing to talk to him and feeling more and more like a fifth wheel, but refusing to cave in and be driven from the scene by the peer pressure ostracism. It came as a real relief to the unhappy teen when Vice-Principal Taylor announced the entertainment and he could slip into a seat at the back of the auditorium (and out of the social spotlight). Finally his classmates would have something else to stare at for a while!

   Trey already knew that the show was to be another stupid hypnotism demo, and as soon as Chris came on stage, he recognized him as the same boring doofus from the club. Two strikes! There was no way he was going to be any part of that! Rather to his surprise though, Jack was one of the kids who hopped up on stage to be hypnotized. Trey shook his head. He’d thought his pal was cooler than that, and he made a mental note to have a little talk with Jack later on about the importance of maintaining one’s image and dignity. It did, however, give him a little more interest in the show itself. Trey was curious to see whether or not his teammate’s hitherto-unsuspected dweeb quotient was high enough that he would play along with the sham and pretend to go into a trance.

   Apparently, it was. Trey watched with mingled fascination and pity as Jack’s posture became less and less controlled, as his expression grew vapidly blank, as his eyelids blinked, struggled, and then finally closed, as his head fell limply forward onto his chest. Trey didn’t realize that his concentration on his friend had become so intense that his own eyes were locked in a vacant stare on Jack’s sleeping face, or that his own awareness had narrowed until it included nothing else but Jack (and the hypnotist’s smoothly flowing induction monolog penetrating directly into his subconscious).

   “And now, as you drift deeper and deeper… deeper and deeper… one of your hands begins to feel very light… as light as a feather… as light as a helium-filled balloon… so very, very light… so light that it begins to float up into the air all by itself… lighter and lighter… higher and higher… and as it floats you drift deeper and deeper… higher and higher… lighter and lighter… deeper and deeper under my control…” As Chris wove his spell, Trey, spellbound, watched Jack’s hand obey the hypnotist’s suggestions exactly. His friend’s hand slowly lifted from his lap, pulling his arm into the air until it was raised over his head as though he wanted to ask a question in class, and at the same time, the visible evidences of his entrancement grew even stronger. Trey’s own hand and arm were also hovering in the air (their upward tug seemingly about the only thing that was keeping his relaxed body from collapsing as completely as Jack’s), but his helpless mind was so hypnotically focused on the stage proceedings that he remained unaware of that. Trey still believed he was only watching.

   Chris was continuing, “Now you can’t lower your hand… no matter how hard you try… can’t lower it… can’t stop going deeper and deeper… can’t resist my commands… deeper and deeper… Nothing can awaken you until I awaken you, and you hear nothing but the sound of my voice… you will obey my voice without question…” Then the hypnotist signaled to bring the lights back up revealing Trey and a handful of other prom-goers sitting in the audience with their hands raised and their eyes either blankly staring or closed fast asleep. Quickly dismissing from the stage the couple of teens who hadn’t gone deep enough into trance, Chris then commanded, “Those of you remaining here on stage, you will continue to sleep deeply; those of you in the audience who are in my hypnotic control, remain asleep but open your eyes if necessary, and come up onto the stage. It’s trance time!” At the sound of his programmed cue phrase, Trey’s last self-delusion of merely watching the show (as well as all other self-awareness) was gone in an instant. His mind went utterly blank, he rose to his feet as smartly as a military school cadet, and, neither hurrying nor balking, made his way up the steps and onto the stage, his arm still in the air.

   From that point on, the show proceeded much as it had at the club a few nights before (other than that Chris was omitting his more risqué bits in deference to the age of the audience and the presence of the chaperones). Trey was, by the hypnotist’s design and his own extreme trance sensitivity, once again the star of the show. He would have been enormously embarrassed, had he had any idea of what he was doing, but, as he didn’t, he obeyed every suggestion, no matter how silly, with absolute belief and commitment, and no signs of reluctance. Jack, it turned out, was also quite a deep trance subject, and, since Jack was a very handsome young man as well, although perhaps not so handsome as his teammate Trey, Chris began to make some new plans for the rest of the evening.

   The climax of the show treated the hooting teen audience to the spectacle of Trey and Jack, the last two subjects left on the stage, locked in each other’s arms, dead to the world, slow-dancing as if each were with the girl of his dreams. Had it been at the club, they both would have been in their underwear as well, since Chris usually put this bit (when there were guys worth doing it to) after subjecting the men to a Chippendale dancer suggestion. But the sight of these two BMOCs in such a ridiculous situation, even though they were still in their tuxes, was enough to reduce their classmates nearly to hysteria.

   Chris whispered a few additional suggestions to the boys as they danced, his voice too low for the audience to hear. It appeared that he was merely reinforcing and directing what was happening on the stage, although there was a good deal more to it than that. Then he said, a bit more loudly, “When I clap my hands you’ll awaken, knowing exactly where you are and what you’re doing.” The hypnotist clapped smartly.

   Trey’s eyes flew open to stare horrified into Jack’s equally disconcerted gaze. How the hell had he wound up on stage?? He couldn’t have been hypnotized!! Hypnotism isn’t real!!! For a second it was as though both he and Jack were frozen by the shock. Then the two friends sprang apart as though they’d been clutching hot metal instead of each other. Trey felt as though his entire face was on fire, and (although he could scarcely bear to look at him directly) he could see from the corner of his eye that Jack was blushing beet red. The crowd was roaring now at the boys’ mortified reactions.

   As Chris restored order and closed the show, Jack and Trey stood on the stage, staring at the floor (and both of them wishing they could sink through it). Somehow, though, it occurred to neither boy to make a break for it, or to complain to the hypnotist. “And finally, one more big round of applause for these talented young gentlemen!” Chris was saying. Trey and Jack looked up reflexively and the hypnotist caught their eyes. With that one glance everything changed. Gone was the embarrassment, but gone, also, was all free will. Trey and his friend were instantly back in deepest trance (although no one seeing them would have realized it), just as the hypnotist had softly instructed them to be while he had murmured suggestions during their dance. Under the masking sound of the clapping he said, “You’ll meet me outside in a half an hour. Each of you must come alone, and in the meantime act very normal and make sure no one, including yourselves, realizes you’re still hypnotized.” Chris waved them off the stage, took his own final bow and exited.


   In precisely a half hour, Trey suddenly realized that the gym was feeling unbearably stuffy. He’d lost track of Jack, who’d gone back to dancing with Karen as soon as they’d all returned from the auditorium after the disastrous hypnotism show, so there was no need to excuse himself to anyone. He made a beeline for the closest exit in search of fresh air. As soon as the night air hit his face, Trey’s legs took him directly to a shadowy corner of the parking lot, where he froze in place, a mindless statue.


   Jack had begun feeling very odd almost as soon as he started dancing again. (His hypnotized mind was compulsively trying to manufacture an excuse for freeing himself from his date so that he could obey the hypnotist’s orders.). He wondered if he were getting sick. Then he was sure he was getting sick! Sweating and dizzy, he apologized to Karen, pressed some money into her hands, and called her a taxi. He was certain that he wasn’t going to be safe to drive for a while yet. Karen, for her part, was sweet and understanding because, quite frankly, he looked pasty and awful. She had asked, with some concern, whether he needed her to stay with him, but he’d waved her off, making a shaky exit for the men’s room, so she went out to wait for the cab. But no sooner had the men’s room door closed behind Jack, than he ceased to feel ill (or much of anything else!). His mind went blank, his body came to attention, and, like a dutiful soldier he marched right back out to leave the school by a different exit than the one where Karen would be waiting for her ride.


   “No thoughts, no will, Trey… No thoughts, no will, Jack… Nothing but deeper and deeper trance… helpless… obedient… nothing can stop you from going deeper and deeper…” Collecting the two had been simple; a muttered “Come with me” as he passed each motionless teenager and the hypnotized boys had fallen in behind him as smoothly and as automatically as members of a well-rehearsed drill team. Now, while he drove them all to his house, Chris kept up a non-stop litany of hypnotic reinforcement, glancing periodically into his rearview mirror to enjoy the sight of the two entranced young men leaning against each other, limp, cozy, and utterly enslaved. The hypnotist pulled into his garage and, at his command, the zombie prom-boys got out of the car and followed him into the house.

   Once inside, at the hypnotist’s command, they all proceeded to his large master bedroom. In the soft lamplight, Chris thought that Trey and Jack looked almost magically beautiful in their impeccable tuxedos, their handsome faces peaceful and blank, like ensorcelled princes in a fairy tale. And, he chuckled to himself, a fairy tale indeed it would be! He began to pull off his clothes, at the same time commanding, “Jack, Trey, strip to your underwear.”

   The waxwork boys came to life, undressing as calmly and unconcernedly as if they were in the gym locker rooms. As the sophistication of the prom finery was stripped away, the young men looked younger and more vulnerable. Trey was wearing grey designer shorts and t-shirt, while Jack, less wealthy and less vain, was more simply covered in white boxer briefs and wore no undershirt. His chest was unusually smooth for such a dark-haired boy, and Chris caressed it appreciatively. “While I finish undressing, why don’t you boys make out? Kiss each other, now. You’re getting very turned on!”

   Trey, already hypnotically accustomed by his previous night with Chris to accept male-on-male sexual play, immediately closed his eyes and puckered up, reaching for his Jack as easily and naturally as he would have put a move on a girl if he were in his normal conscious state. Jack’s reaction was a little more tentative, but, in the end, just as inevitable. The dark-haired boy was completely helpless under the hypnotist’s sway and soon was kissing his pal’s mouth with open lips and exploring tongue, just as instructed.

   Chris watched them with delight. God, but they were so pretty together! Now naked, he gave his hard cock an encouraging stroke. Then he pulled first Trey’s shorts down around the boy’s ankles and then Jack’s, ordering both young men to free their feet and kick the garments aside. Trey was thoroughly erect (and just as impressive as the hypnotist remembered from their earlier encounter), but Jack, who wasn’t far behind in stiffness, was, even in second place to him size-wise, still very respectably equipped. Chris ordered Jack to remove Trey’s t-shirt so that they would all be equally naked, and when the dark-haired boy had accomplished that small task, he once again froze them both into motionless sleep while he conducted his own explorations. First, to re-familiarize himself and give a basis for comparison, Chris kissed Trey on his soft, unresisting lips, and allowed his hands to roam all over the hard, smoothly muscled body. And it was, as before, delicious and arousing… but already somewhat familiar. After all, what was the point of being an irresistible hypnotist if you settled for the same guy again and again? Hell, simple seduction could bag you one lover!

   Then he turned his attention to Jack. The dark-haired boy was not really Trey’s equal in terms of looks, but he was still extremely handsome in his own way, and, perhaps specifically because he was a more typical, ordinary teen, his hypnotized helplessness seemed all the more perversely titillating. As Chris crushed Jack’s lips against his own and caressed the motionless flesh, he came to the decision he’d already more than half suspected. Jack would be the center of the night’s activities.

   “Trey, open your eyes, go over to that daybed and lie down. Your dick will remain hard, but otherwise, you will be in deep, deep sleep and have no awareness of anything until I touch your shoulder.” Blank-eyed, and moving like an automaton, Trey walked over to the couch and lay down as ordered. His eyes fluttered closed and he slept.

   “Jack, open your eyes but remain asleep,” the hypnotist commanded. “You will answer all my questions truthfully, you will believe absolutely anything I tell you, you will obey all my instructions instantly and without resistance. Do you understand?”


   “Very good, Jack. Tell me about your sex-life.”

   The boy unhesitatingly launched into his personal history. He’d lost his virginity the year before, to a cheer-leader he was no longer dating. He and Karen hadn’t had sex yet. He masturbated every couple of days, mostly fantasizing about Karen (at least recently), but also other girls occasionally. It was a typical set of experiences for a high-school jock. Chris, in the course of his private hypno-games, had heard many such from entranced college playmates.

   “Have you ever done anything sexual with another guy? Or fantasized about one?”

   “I undressed Trey and we made out just now… I had to… I’m hypnotized…”

   “Yes that’s right. Has that been the only time?”

   “No… When I was thirteen my cousin Bobby slept over at our house… We stole some of my dad’s bourbon… We were passing the bottle and talking about girls, and we were both getting drunken horny… Bobby was talking about blow-jobs and how cool they must feel… and I was so drunk I dared him to trade off with me… we tried sucking each other off that night… But it was gross, so we ended up just jerking off, and we never did it again… and Dad paddled us both ’til we could hardly sit down for a whole day because of the whiskey…” It was obviously not a favorite memory, but the boy was so helplessly entranced that he shared it without a qualm.

   “Oh, Jack,” said the hypnotist in a mock-disappointed tone, “You were going to tell me the truth! But that’s not what happened at all that night.”

   “It’s not?...” Jack’s blank face took on a helplessly confused expression.

   “No, it’s not. You stole the bottle of whiskey purposely to get Bobby drunk, just so that you could suck his cock. You’d been thinking about it for a long time. You’d always liked boys… you’d always wanted to try sucking cock… And sucking off your cute cousin was the hottest sexual experience you’d ever had up to that point! You discovered that night that you love the taste and feel of a hard cock… you love the taste of cum… you love its smell… you love the feeling of it on your face and your lips… And ever since then, you’ve only been able to masturbate by thinking about handsome guys and about their cocks and about their cum. And you always taste your own cum when you shoot your load. Now say, ‘Handsome boys turn me on’.”

   “Handsome boys turn me on…” The mindless capitulation in Jack’s voice coaxed an involuntary twitch and a squirt of pre-cum from Chris’s cock.

   “Good. Again.”

   “Handsome boys turn me on …”

   “Say ‘I love to suck cock’.”

   “I love to suck cock…”


   “I love to suck cock…”


   “I love to suck cock…” As Jack droned his repetitive responses, his hypnotized voice gradually acquired a somewhat greater degree of conviction (although its primary characteristic continued to be its entranced dullness); the suggestions were lodging and taking over.

   Chris continued, “Say ‘I love the taste, smell and feel of cum’… ‘I can only jerk off by thinking about handsome guys’… ‘I always eat my own cum’…” making the helpless boy repeat and reinforce each phrase multiple times until they all flowed smoothly from his slack lips and conquered mind.

   “Look over at your friend Trey, Jack.” The boy’s eyes slavishly turned as directed. “He’s a very handsome boy, isn’t he?”


   “And he has a nice, hard cock, doesn’t he?”


   “You want to suck that cock. Say it.”

   “I want to suck Trey’s cock…”

   “Jack, go over to Trey and suck him until he cums all over your face. He’s straight, but he’s so hypnotized he won’t be able to prevent it. You’re going to be incredibly turned on and satisfied by that, but you won’t cum yourself just yet. You can’t cum until I tell you you can.” Not only, Chris thought, would this be enormous fun to watch, but the hypnotist himself wouldn’t be subjected to any uncomfortable lapses of technique in Jack’s novice cock-sucking.

   At that, the dark-haired boy, whose gaze had become more and more obsessively locked on his handsome sleeping buddy, began to move slowly towards the day-bed. It was almost as though he were afraid of startling away some shy animal he was stalking. Or perhaps, the hypnotist considered, there might be yet a tiny bit of ambivalence left in him, and he was still weekly attempting to resist the overwhelming hypnotic sexual compulsion. Just in case, Chris continued to whisper hypnotic encouragement until Jack reached Trey, knelt, and took his hard-on into his mouth. Trey’s face showed no evidence of being aware that he was being fellated, but his dick grew even larger with excitement. Jack went at his job with a will, moaning in pleasure.

   Chris was enjoying the show immensely. He stroked himself (but not hard enough to trigger orgasm), and also freely caressed Jack’s smooth back and hard little butt (for which he was forming very definite plans). He also, from time to time, gave the hypnotized cocksucker advice and directions to improve his performance as he serviced his buddy. Trey, for his part, continued just to lie there, firmly trapped in his spellbound slumber, his face still peacefully blank and sleeping, his hands and arms limp at his sides. However, as Jack’s suctioning mouth became more and more insistent, his hips began to thrash helplessly, as though he were in the grips of a massive wet dream. Reading the signs correctly, the hypnotist said, “Trey is about to cum, Jack. You want him to cum on your face, so be ready to catch it all.” The dark-haired jock gave Trey’s cock two more deep-throated swallows and then pulled away. Only seconds later his buddy erupted, covering his face with splooge. Jack’s eyes closed in hypnotized bliss.

   “That was very nice,” said Chris, “And you enjoyed it very much, didn’t you, Jack?”


   “And now you want more, don’t you?”


   “Stand up, Jack.” The hypnotist took Jack’s limp, unresisting hand and led the dazed, cum-drenched boy over to his king-size bed. “Now you will suck my cock.” He leaned back against the headboard and motioned the hypnotized thrall towards his rigid dick. The mesmerized jock immediately obeyed, not even bothering to wipe at his own dripping face before engulfing the new erection presented to him. Chris was delighted to find that young jack had apparently learned and retained very well indeed all of the coached instructions he’d received while sucking on Trey. His mouth and tongue were in perfect synch, his throat relaxed and accommodating - pure sensual pleasure for the lucky hypnotist.

   However, as in the case of many things that are that good, the pleasure couldn’t continue for very long. Chris felt himself coming much too close to orgasm. The hypnotist still had an agenda, and it involved both boys’ neat, tight little straight-boy asses, so he immediately froze Jack and removed his too-excited cock from the motionless boy’s mouth. After giving himself a moment to calm down, the hypnotist put on a condom and lubed it. When he was ready to go, he commanded Jack to assume a position on hands and knees on the bed. He climbed up behind the boy, greased his hole, and slowly, sensuously, eased his erection in. Jack was so deeply hypnotized by this point that neither tension nor resistance could mar the moment. Chris’ cock slid home in the boy’s hot little hole as easily as if Jack were a totally experienced bottom. The hypnotist thought that he had probably never had better (although, as an immensely powerful and completely unscrupulous hypnotist, he’d had so many excellent fucks from unwittingly cooperative straight boys it was hard to be definitive about that). He continued to pump happily away, changing positions as the whim moved him (Jack, of course never complained) until finally the sensation built and built to a crashing climax. Chris collapsed onto Jack, breathing in great gasps and licking and nibbling the boy’s soft skin, as the orgasm spent itself. If he were any judge, going by Jack’s involuntary groans and the flexing of his internal musculature, the boy had experienced orgasm two, maybe even three times while Chris was fucking him. But the hypnotic suggestion had held, and Jack still hadn’t actually released his load. Time to fix that!

   As soon as Chris was sure that his legs would support him, he rose from the bed and went over to Trey, still silent and motionless on the daybed. The hypnotist softly brushed the boy’s shoulder and said, “Trey, deeply asleep, but hearing my voice again. You must obey.’”

   “Mus… must obey…” came the drowsy slur.

   “Your pal Jack just gave you a wonderful blow-job… and you loved it, didn’t you?”

   “You feel a great sense of obligation, Trey. You have to give him as much pleasure as he gave you…. you want to give him pleasure… you need to give him pleasure… giving Jack pleasure gives you pleasure… every bit as much pleasure as you give him… you can deny him nothing… When Jack comes over here, you will want with all your heart, to do anything he asks of you, won’t you, Trey?”

   “A… anything…” Trey stammered a bit, but, to the hypnotist’s trained ear, it was clear that this was the result of his extraordinary trance depth making speech difficult, and not out of any attempt to resist the suggestion.

   “Good.” Chris then returned to the bed where Jack waited helplessly. The hypnotist dressed the boy’s hard-on in a new condom and lubed it (the touch of his hand causing the over-stimulated member to jump, and the hypnotized boy to gasp ecstatically). As sexually hyped as Jack was, it took very little additional suggestion from Chris to implant in him compulsion to fuck Trey’s ass. The hypnotist stepped back to watch the fireworks.

   However, rather to his surprise, fireworks were not exactly what ensued. Jack went over to Trey, but, although it was obvious that the poor Jack was ready to burst with sexual need, instead of topping his helpless friend in a trice, he was amazingly tender and patient. Trey, of course, obliged willingly (will-lessly?) anything Jack got up to, but there was a great deal more kissing, caressing, murmuring of endearments and, not to put too fine a point on it love-making between to two young men, than Chris would ever have expected. It gave him one final idea. So, as the boys were finally locked together, Jack pounding away in Trey’s flexing butt, the hypnotist was whispering to them a-mile-a-minute, suggestion after suggestion, locking them together emotionally as surely as their bodies were joined. By the time Chris finally gave Jack permission to cum, Trey had already had two more orgasm (the last one almost dry), and the boys were absolutely, irrevocably, passionately in love with each other.


   The hypnotist’s physical and mental clean-up of his hypno-toys took quite a bit longer than usual - not that there was any difficulty about controlling their minds, instilling the usual amnesia and false memories (they were still going to be madly in love with each other – Chris giggled wickedly, imagining the shock at Mansfield High), or anything else, really. But getting them cleaned off and dressed again was another matter. The boys kept interrupting the process. They buttoned (and then unbuttoned) each other’s dress shirts, tied each other’s bow ties (and then disarranged them). By the time all of their clothing was back in place (at least to the extent that they would be legal), their lips looked so bee-stung, their cheeks so pink from stubble-burn, and their tuxedos so rumpled, that it would be obvious to anyone that they had been, if not having sex, at least making out with the desperation and abandon only horny teenagers ever achieve. And, in the back seat of Chris’ car as he drove them back to the school lot to get their own cars, they were all over each other. The hypnotist had hypnotically forbidden them to do anything more than kiss until they were out of his car (and out of trance), but they were kissing so obsessively that they scarcely came up for air. Chris was giggling so hard he almost had trouble driving.


   As the hypnotist pulled out of the lot, Trey and Jack, whom he’d left standing like dummies beside Trey’s sporty car, were suddenly wide awake. They had no idea of where they had been, or of what they’d been doing, of course, but they also had no awareness of that. As far as they were concerned, they remembered everything about their night to remember, and they were in the parking lot together because… well, because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for another second!

   By the time Trey finally delivered Jack to his house (Jack’s car was still at school and they’d have to get it later), the boys had had as much prom-night sex as they could have wished for. But Trey… who couldn’t have imagined that he wouldn’t come out on top… ended up on the bottom!