Disclaimer: Read no further if you are under the legal age for your community! Read no further if you dislike the idea of gay sex or erotic hypnosis! This is fiction and is not intended to represent any actual persons. (And, since it is an old-fashioned western and, even by my standards, pretty weird, I’d be kind of surprised if you found anything in it that could be mistaken for such a representation!) If you enjoy this kind of story, try writing one for yourself. I like to read too.

Medicine Show

by

Hyptrance

Damn! His shoulder hurt like hell’s own fury. Who’d have thought that four-eyed weasel of a bank clerk could shoot that straight with his ladies’ popgun of a pistol? Well, Beau had paid him back in spades. If the little rat survived, he’d remember the Cimarron Kid for the rest of his miserable life. That didn’t change the fact that unless Beau found a place to hole up soon, he’d be in serious trouble. He gritted his teeth and kicked his horse back into motion.

Beauregard Travis McWilliams, alias the Cimarron Kid, was probably twenty-two or thereabouts. (He couldn’t be sure. His momma had died when he was just a baby, and by the time Beau was old enough to ask, his daddy had been on the bottle too long to remember with any certainty. Anyway, he knew he had to be at least twenty.) When he was still in his early teens, the war had finished off his drunken father and destroyed what was left of the family farm, so, with little more than his good horse, his daddy’s six-gun and rifle, and the clothes on his back, he’d headed west to seek his fortune, acquiring the nickname “Cimarron Kid” along the way because of his innocent-looking blue eyes, thick, sandy hair (although he wore it fairly short), and his choir-boy face. (He’d once punched the lights out of another boy who had sneered that he had lips like a girl’s, but, looking in his own shaving mirror, even Beau had to admit to himself that he had a pretty mouth. He grew a moustache to hide it just as soon as his whiskers had come in thick enough to make that work.) The Cimarron Kid became known (and feared) as a fast gun and as a clever, ruthless bandit. He’d been in lots of tight scrapes before, but this was the first time lead had ever touched him.

Just when he was beginning to think that he couldn’t ride any farther, Beau spied the glow of a campfire off to his left, maybe a half-mile across the mesquite chaparral. He reined in and turned his horse toward it. Well before he could be heard or seen in the moonless dark, he dismounted and tethered the roan. He crept toward the light, six-gun drawn in his less capable, but unimpaired left hand.

The camp, as he drew near enough to see, consisted of a brightly painted wooden coach bearing the slogan: “Dr. Mesmer’s Miraculous Magnetic Elixir and Medicine Show”, a pair of picketed horses grazing on the brush (fortunately upwind of Beau, so they hadn’t smelled his blood and gotten spooked), and one dark-haired young man, his back toward Beau, drinking from a steaming mug and staring into the flames. Beau checked carefully for signs that anyone else might be about, but found none. He silently came a few steps closer and then called out softly, “Don’t move a muscle, Doc, and then maybe you won’t have to find a different way to part your hair.”

The man stiffened in reaction, but didn’t turn. “I’m listenin’, son,” he said in a soft drawl.

“Keep your hands where I can see ’em. If you’ve ever heard of the Cimarron Kid, then you know you don’t want to tangle with me. Do just what I tell you, and we’ll get along fine.” Beau moved in swiftly, and, in spite of the pain in his shoulder, managed to use his right hand to relieve the fellow of his sidearm, stuffing it under his belt. Then, quickly so that the shakiness of his legs wouldn’t be apparent, he sat down across the fire from the other, leaning his back against one of the wagon’s wheels. He trained his gun on the dark-haired man, balancing his left hand on his knee for greater steadiness. Taking stock of the man before him, Beau realized that he was maybe a little older than he had first thought. Oh, he was youthful, all right. The tan, clean-shaven face was handsome and unlined, the dark hair untouched by silver, and the posture of the slim, healthy body was straight and easy. But the dark eyes that stared back at Beau were filled with experience and quiet confidence; the look of a man who’d seen the elephant and heard the hoot owl, and returned to tell the tale. Something about that gaze made the young gunman feel uneasy, and he said, “I’ve picked up a bullet, and I need to rest here. Get some of that rope I see hangin’ on the wagon and tie your feet together. And make it tight! Or I’ll hobble you another way,” and he twitched his gun. “I’ll tie your hands, and then I can get some sleep. If you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll let you loose in the morning.”

“Whatever you say, son. But if you don’t mind a bit of advice, you might do better to let me help you. I can see you need to get that bullet out of you. I’d reckon by the size of the bloodstain on your shirt and the color of your face that you have maybe a half hour before you pass out cold. And if I’m hogtied then, we’re both in a fix. You’re double lucky in that I really am a doctor, and that I hold no brief with Johnny Law myself. Even if you are the Cimarron Kid, I’m not about to turn you in. My show’s been run out of so many towns for what them temperance ladies call indecency, that just the sight of a sheriff makes me want to spit.”

Beau ignored the reference to indecency. After all, how indecent could a show get without any girls? And there were certainly none in evidence here. “You’re really a doctor, Doc Mesmer?”

“Name’s Zachary Byers. You can call me Zack. And yes, I am a certified medical doctor.”

“Then who’s Dr. Mesmer?”

“I am.” Zack smiled conspiratorially. “It’s just a fancy moniker to dazzle the hicks. Dr. Anton Mesmer was this dude in Europe sometime about a century ago who thought everything could be cured with magnets. Now, are you goin’ to let me tend to that shoulder, or am I goin’ to have to spend the night roped down?”

The gunman weighed his choices, leaning heavily towards a preference for the rope option. He still felt somehow uneasy about this Zack Byers/Mesmer character. But just as he was going to insist on tying Zack up, a wave of dizziness hit him, almost causing him to tip over onto his side. Zack was right. He wasn’t going to remain conscious much longer. “Okay. You take the bullet out.”

Zack went to the wagon and returned with a leather doctor’s satchel and a bottle with a colorful label announcing it as the miraculous magnetic elixir advertised on the wagon. He set down the satchel, uncorked the bottle, and said, “Here, have a few swigs of this. You’re gonna need something to deaden the pain, and this stuff is mostly brandy with just a few herbs I learned about from the Indians.” He turned back to the wagon to look for bandage material.

“Injuns?! I ain’t puttin’ their stuff into me!”

“Oh, relax. It’s just there for flavor. You could grow most of it in your garden at home. And believe me you will need something to help you while I’m probin’ for that piece of lead.” Zack neglected to mention that the Indians in question were East Indians, and that the herbs had a powerful effect on the human nervous system, causing physical and mental relaxation, as well as a lowering of inhibitions.

Beau sniffed at the bottle cautiously. It smelled like brandy. He tried a tiny sip. It was not bad at all. The herbs just added a faint, pleasant woodiness, and the brandy was, as the saying goes, just what the doctor ordered. While Zack busied himself boiling his instruments over the fire, Beau drank his way well down the bottle. Soon he was, quite literally, feeling no pain. It was as though he were floating somewhere inside his own body, but not quite in touch with it. He could still see and hear clearly enough, but the world around him seemed to drift and eddy like the smoke from the fire, soothing, yet unimportant. His arms and legs were so heavy and relaxed that it was almost as though they no longer belonged to him. Altogether, it was the best drunk he’d ever experienced in his young life. No wonder his daddy had been so fond of the stuff! Zack was coming back over to him. This is great! Had he said that out loud or not? He wasn’t sure.

Zack hunkered down next to the drugged young man. “You’re feelin’ better, aren’t you?”

Beau waggled his head clumsily and grinned. “Oh, yeah.”

“I got something that’s gonna make you feel even better. I learned about it from the Indians too. Take a look at this.” Zack held out his gold pocket watch dangling from its chain, sparkling as it twisted and turned in the firelight. “Isn’t that pretty?” His drawl deepened, becoming as smooth as honey dripping from a hollow log.

“’S pretty,” Beau slurred drunkenly. He stared owlishly at the glittering watch.

“It’s so pretty that you just naturally want to look at it; to look at it and keep looking at it. You don’t want to look at anything else. Why, even if your eyes were to drift away from my pretty watch, they’d come right back to it, just like they’re doing now, until they don’t look away any more. There’s nothing to look at but the pretty, pretty watch. You don’t want to take your eyes off of it. You can’t take your eyes off it. Even if you were to try, you couldn’t look away. Go ahead and try, but you can’t look away.” Beau’s eyes remained fixed on the watch. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“No.” The gunman sounded remarkably young and defenseless.

“Looking at a pretty thing like this makes you relax. You can feel it happening to you. Your feet and your legs are getting heavy and loose …so heavy… so relaxed. Your arms and hands …so relaxed …so heavy… so limp. It’s too hard to hold that thing in your hand. Let it go.” The gun slipped from Beau’s suddenly strengthless fingers, and Zack quietly picked it up. “So relaxed… so relaxed… And now you feel it moving into your body… your hips, your belly, your back, your shoulders… heavy, limp relaxed… heavy, limp, relaxed. Your shoulder is so relaxed that it can’t hold on to pain any more. The pain is floating right out of it… floating away… floating away… gone.” Beau let out a quiet sigh of relief as his body sagged. His eyes were still locked on the dangling gold watch. “Now feel the relaxation moving up your neck and into your head. Your neck is relaxing… your face is relaxing… your mouth… and now your thoughts are relaxing too. You are too relaxed to think. You can only listen to my voice and look at the pretty watch. Your mind is empty… empty… empty… You have no thoughts. Feel the relaxation reach your eyes. Your eyelids are getting heavy… so heavy… so very heavy… Listen only to my voice. You can’t hold your eyes open. They are beginning to close… beginning to close… all by themselves. You can’t fight it. They are closing… closing… You are going into a deep sleep… a deep, deep sleep… You can’t resist my voice. Close your eyes and sleep.” At this, Beau’s eyelids, which had been fluttering helplessly, slid all the way shut and stayed there. His head sank forward until his chin was resting on his chest. Zack spoke a little more briskly, “You’ll stay this way, relaxed, deep asleep, until I wake you up. Nothing can disturb you. Every breath you take, every word I say, just makes you go deeper and deeper to sleep… deeper and deeper… more and more relaxed. You don’t feel anything, notice anything, do anything, or think anything except what I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Beau’s voice was so soft Zack had to strain his ears to catch it.

“Good. Now I want you to count backwards from ten to one, slowly. Each number you count is going to make you ten times more relaxed and sleepy. By the time you count down to one, you won’t even feel your body any more. I’ll do what needs to be done, and you won’t know a thing about it. Each number is going to make you feel ten times as obedient to anything I tell you. By the time you reach one, you won’t be able even to think of resisting any instruction I give. Start counting.”

“Ten… nine… eight…” Beau softly counted off the numbers and Zack continued to whisper hypnotic phrases to deepen the boy’s trance. As the count wound down, the young man’s voice became slower and more and more distant. “Three…. two……” The word “one” was little more than a sigh, and the Cimarron Kid slumped, helpless and limp, against the medicine wagon, so deeply under the spell that he scarcely seemed to breathe.

“Let’s get that shirt off,” said Zack, and with Beau’s mechanical cooperation he pulled the torn garment free, to uncover the wounded shoulder. At the same time the handsome outlaw’s well-muscled chest and flat hard stomach were also bared. As the doctor gently wiped the drying the blood away, he thought to himself, “I bet you clean up real pretty, boy, and I mean to find out when you’re well enough. You got yourself a few pieces of hard luck along with the good here. First of ’em is: I like the way you look. A lot. And what I like, I take. Those temperance ladies didn’t set the sheriff on me because they were afraid for their daughters. It was their sons they were worried about, and I’ve got to admit it wasn’t for no reason. Second: I may not be any too fond of the law, but I also don’t cotton to havin’ a gun waved in my face. I figure you owe me somethin’ for my trouble, and I intend to collect with or without your say so. And third: I’m in the market for a new assistant, and you’re gonna take the job whether you want it or not. I haven’t had one for weeks now, ever since the last one ran away with the blacksmith’s apprentice (as well as a good piece of my money, and if I ever see them again, I’ll give ’em good cause to be sorry, ’cause they’re both real easy to put to sleep). I left that boy a little too much free will, but that was a mistake I don’t plan on repeating with you Mr. Cimarron Kid!”

The wound was clean enough to examine, and the doctor’s experienced eye told him it wasn’t serious – just a flesh wound. If the kid hadn’t been forced to flee from the law on horseback, the bleeding would have been much less. He probed for, and found, the bullet, extracted it, poured some of the elixir into the hole to sterilize it, and then stitched and bandaged the shoulder. During all of this (and much of it should have been excruciating), Beau never even twitched. Zack might have been working on one of the anatomy specimens back at medical school. When everything was arranged to the doctor’s satisfaction, he fetched a spare shirt from the wagon and helped the oblivious young man into it. It wouldn’t do to have him catch a chill on top of the inevitable fever from the wound. Zack unrolled the extra bedroll that had belonged to Ethan (the ex-assistant). Then he said, “You can talk normally now, son. Tell me your name.”

“Beau McWilliams.”

“Good boy. I’m gonna say your name back to you, and when I do, you’ll open your eyes, but you won’t wake up. This nice relaxed, sleepy, obedient, pain-free state you’re in is called a trance, and you’ll stay in your trance even with your eyes open. I’ll help you over to a bedroll to lie on. Open your eyes, Beau McWilliams.” Beau’s eyes eased open, staring vacantly straight ahead. His face held no expression. Zack half-helped, half-pulled him to his feet, and then, with Beau’s good arm draped across his shoulders and his own arms firmly around Beau’s narrow waist, he helped the dazed young man stagger over to the bedroll and lie down. The doctor covered him with the warmest blanket he had, and then said, “Look into my eyes.” As soon as Beau obeyed, Zack continued, “These are the rules. You’re gonna stay right here and rest. You’ll only get out of bed if you need to go relieve yourself, and as soon as you’re finished you’ll get right back in again. The whole time you’ll be either fast asleep or else deep in trance. You won’t be completely awake until I decide you’re well enough and tell you to be. And even after that, if I say the word ‘desperado’ to you, no matter what you’re doing, you’ll close your eyes and instantly be back in your trance, always much deeper than before. Repeat that word that makes you go into trance.”

“Desperado.”

“Good boy. Close your eyes and rest. Dream about how quickly your shoulder’s healin’.” Beau’s eyelids drooped shut again, and his breathing deepened and slowed until it showed that he was finally really asleep. Zack lit a lantern and went to look for Beau’s horse.

During the next several days, Zack tended Beau’s shoulder as it healed uneventfully, and constantly, relentlessly pursued his program of mind control over the helpless young man. Zack (having learned from the flight of his previous assistant) instilled an unbreakable compulsion for the outlaw to stay with him at the wagon, even when he wasn’t under, as well as a total inability to harm or disobey Zack. He virtually rewrote the gunslinger’s character traits, replacing the brash, dangerous young man with a shy, polite, diffident boy who hero-worshipped him. And he also mounted a concerted assault on Beau’s sexual orientation. When he finally allowed his victim to awaken for more than a minute or two at a time, Beau would find that, instead of his previous marked preference for flashy dancehall girls with large chests, he now would only be excited by other trim young men, and, in particular, would be almost obsessively drawn to Zack. He would long to be used and controlled by the doctor. Over and over Zack hammered these instructions home, administering dose after dose of the drugged elixir. Over and over he deepened, re-deepened, and still further deepened Beau’s trance, until the boy was almost never fully conscious, almost totally without will, completely unable to resist doing or believing everything the hypnotist commanded him to.

As Beau’s convalescence progressed to the point that he no longer needed constant bed rest, Zack decided that it was time for the Cimarron Kid to go away, so that they could resume a normally active routine. He began systematically to erase Beau’s memories and replace them with new ones of his own construction. Soon, Beau no longer recalled having ever been the Cimarron Kid. He didn’t remember having robbed banks or stages; he had no recollection of ever fighting with a gun (although he still knew how to use one). Instead, his past now contained only memories of joining up with the medicine show right after leaving his farm, and, over time, coming first to admire and then to love Zack. He had a new name as well. Having revealed under questioning that there were a few people who knew that Beau McWilliams and the Cimarron Kid were one and the same, Beau now answered only to his middle name, Travis, and firmly believed his surname to be Jones. Zack also made some changes in the boy’s appearance. He’d seen some of the wanted posters, and, poorly drawn though they were, Zack was taking no chances. First, the moustache had to go. It was on all the illustrations, and, besides, he preferred his toys clean-shaven anyway. With his whiskers removed, the ex-bandit immediately looked younger and less threatening. The sexiness of the mouth thus revealed was just an unexpected added bonus. Next, using lye soap, Zack bleached some of the color from the boy’s sandy hair, leaving it pale blond, almost ashen. Finally, he gave him some wire-rimmed glasses, saying, “From now on you wear these; you need ’em to see.” Although they were only stage props, having clear glass rather than corrective lenses, Beau/Travis slavishly accepted the suggestion, even to the point of squinting near-sightedly whenever he removed them. They completed his image change from fearsome outlaw to bookish, yet appealing, introvert. Even those who had actually seen the Cimarron Kid would be unlikely to recognize the newly minted Travis as the same man.

After about a week of this indoctrination and remodeling, during which Travis’ wounded shoulder (which he now believed to have been caused by a four-point buck he’d shot, that had accidentally gored him when it tossed its head in its death throes) finished mending, Zack judged that they were ready to move on. He would soon need to lay in more supplies, and the kid (whose own meager selection of clothing was, for the most part, a little too rough-and-ready to suit his new image) couldn’t go on wearing Zack’s gear indefinitely; it didn’t fit him all that well, and, in any case, Zack needed it for himself. It was time to go earn some money.

“Travis, come here and look into my eyes,” Zack ordered. When the mesmerized young man complied, he continued, “Let my eyes become your world. Look at nothing else. Think of nothing else. Listen to my voice and obey. When I count to three, you’re gonna wake up. Everything will be as I’ve told you it will be. You have no other memories; you have no other plans or desires. You won’t remember that you’ve been in trance. However, you will know that you go into trance easily, and that I have put you in trance often before, because it’s part of your duties. You are always my star subject in the demonstrations I give for the show, and you enjoy that. You are always happy to have me put you under, just as you’re always happy to pleasure me.” Zack began to stroke the younger man’s hair and the soft skin at the back of his neck. “One… two… three…”

This was the acid test. If the suggestions didn’t hold, now was the time Zack would be fighting for his life. But the boy’s eyes, after regaining their animation, immediately went dreamy again in a stare of absolute adoration. Travis’ body melted against Zack’s as he returned the embrace, and in the next instant the two men were locked in a passionate kiss, tongues dueling for dominance, hands exploring everywhere in a transport of lust. Zack finally broke away, gasping for air. His hands began to exert a steady, gentle pressure downward on Travis’ shoulders. “Kneel down and suck my tallywhacker, boy,” he commanded. Travis dropped obediently to his knees. He unbuttoned Zack’s trousers and freed his member. Then, with a grin, he wrapped his lips around it and began to suck like he’d been doing it for years, at the same time exposing his own cock and stroking it in a purposeful rhythm. Zack moaned with pleasure as he slowly fucked the boy’s mouth, his fingers, still running through the soft, blond hair, controlling the motion of Travis’ head. After what seemed to him all too short a time, Zack couldn’t hold back any longer. His load blasted into Travis’ welcoming mouth, and the boy came at the same time, unloading onto the dirt.

Travis nursed on his master’s deflating cock until Zack gently removed it from his mouth. He looked up at the hypnotist, his handsome young face radiant. “Oh, I love you, Zack,” he sighed contentedly.

Zack found himself unexpectedly moved. He smiled and, raising Travis tenderly back to his feet, took him in his arms again. “You too, son. But now you’ve got to get your clothes back in order; it’s time we broke camp. You stow the gear, and I’ll hitch up the team.”

The weeks passed. Zack and his handsome new assistant/slave traveled from one-horse town to one-horse town peddling their medicine by day and sporting with each other at night. At each stop Zack would demonstrate mesmeric effects on Travis as part of his sales pitch. Sometimes he would also ask the curious onlookers to try it for themselves. In this manner, occasionally some suggestible young man who had dared his luck at resisting the hypnotic influence would (if he were good-looking enough) be compelled to join the two in their sexual games for a night. In Sweetwater it had been the boy who swept up at the mercantile; another time, in Dry Wells, a young cowboy returning from a cattle drive, on his way to Wichita to get married. The most interesting had been the banker’s son, Joel, in Cotton Creek. He was an eighteen-year-old beauty with raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes, just returned from a year at college back east and very full of himself. His ill-advised baiting of the hypnotist had sealed his fate. Zack invited him to prove that mesmerism was, as he was claiming, a fraud, by submitting himself to the experiment. He also offered him a drink to seal the bet. It was, of course, the potent elixir, which, after just a few minutes, rendered the boy’s attempts at resistance futile. At Zack’s quiet persuasion, he plummeted into deep trance in spite of himself. The hypnotist publicly humiliated the lad in a number of ways during his show, and then, while pretending to release him from the spell, instead, under his breath, commanded him to return to them that evening, where, in the privacy of their rented room, the beautiful young man was forced to submit helplessly to every erotic use Zack could think of. Joel left them late that night, with no memory of what he’d been up to, but with a strange taste in his mouth, an extremely sore ass, a wallet lighter by several dollars from the purchase of a number of bottles of elixir, and a deep respect for the science of mesmerism. Travis, of course, objected to none of these escapades. Thanks to Zack’s constant reinforcement, his conditioning was becoming a permanent part of his personality, and he now found it just as acceptable (and just as enjoyable) to take advantage of these other spellbound youths as to be taken advantage of himself.

Their travels continued in this manner, more or less uneventfully (since Zack avoided towns where the Cimarron Kid had been too active), until they reached a dusty little hole in the Arizona Territory called Apache Bluffs. They had ridden into town to post bills for the medicine show before bringing in the wagon. Zack had just finished nailing one to a hitching post outside the saloon when he saw, over the top of the swinging saloon doors, a muscular young man who looked familiar, standing inside at the bar. Zack narrowed his eyes against the late afternoon sunlight, trying to see better into the dim interior. By damn, he was right! The nondescript brown hair was a little shorter than it had been when he’d seen it last, but the open, engagingly boyish face and the broad shoulders were the same as ever. It was Nate, the blacksmith’s apprentice, the one who had run off with his assistant and his money! The hypnotist grinned wolfishly. Payback time!

Zack sent Travis back to their camp, but he himself remained in town, keeping an eye on the saloon door. After about a half an hour, Nate emerged and started off down the street. The hypnotist followed him swiftly and quickly caught up. “Remember me, Sleepy Nate?” he inquired innocently. The young man’s steps faltered, then stopped, and he stood motionless, the trigger phrase reclaiming control of him as quickly and efficiently as it had done months ago when Zack first planted it. “Sleepy Nate…” Zack repeated, “Sleepy Nate… sleepy Nate…” The boy’s eyes had slid shut, and he swayed gently as he stood. “You’re gonna hear and obey… hear and obey… Just like old times, isn’t it, boy? So relaxed… so peaceful… always going deeper and deeper. You don’t want to do anything but what I tell you, do you, boy?”

“No, sir,” droned the mind blown Nate.

“Tell me where Ethan is.”

“’S got a job at th’ livery stable.”

That implied the possibility of too many observers to suit Zack. “Where does he sleep?”

“We share… room at th’ boardin’ house… We’re… in love…”

Much better. “When I touch your arm, you can open your eyes, but don’t wake up. I want you to take me to your room. We’ll wait for Ethan together.” Zack tapped the brawny forearm, and Nate wandered dreamily down the street towards the rooming house, as blank-faced as a sleepwalker. The hypnotist, walking beside him, thought, “If anyone notices us, I surely hope they just think he’s had a few too many.” He took Nate’s arm to further the appearance that a tipsy youth was being helped home by a friend. Either the ruse worked, or they passed unobserved, because they reached the room the young blacksmith and the hypnotist’s runaway assistant shared, without raising any apparent interest. To pass the time until Ethan came home, Zack spent the next couple of hours deepening Nate’s trance. He made him strip and masturbate shamelessly. By the time he heard Ethan’s footsteps on the stairs outside the door, the hypnotist had taken the blacksmith to a whole new level of subservience.

Ethan opened the door and walked unsuspectingly into the trap. Even dusty and smelling of horse from his day’s work, he was every bit as sexy as Zack remembered – the rich, wavy chestnut hair, the romantic, long-lashed green eyes, the almost theatrically beautiful face that managed to combine a smoldering sensuality that was all man with a mischievous charm that was totally boyish, and the slim, perfectly proportioned body that had caused the hypnotist to collect him in the first place. Ethan didn’t even have time to register naked Nate’s unnatural stillness before Zack had bushwhacked him from his position behind the door. The ex-apprentice had been trance-trained for much longer than his lover, so the outcome was inevitable. Zack said, “Hello, Ethan. Dreamworld!” and the stable hand was instantly a spellbound statue. It took only a few more suggestions and the hapless young man unresistingly accompanied the hypnotist back down the stairs, his lover Nate looking on with complete unconcern. Zack marched Ethan over to the stables. They saddled up and rode out of town to the camp where Travis was waiting with the medicine wagon.

Back at camp, the hypnotist had returned some measure of awareness to his former assistant (although not any freedom from hypnotic compulsion). Ethan was unable to move from where he now stood. His eyes slid from Zack to the bespectacled blond boy standing beside him, but saw no help there. The attractive face and the pretty blue eyes behind the glasses were devoid of animation. Obviously, this young man was also under the hypnotist’s control. “What are you going to do to me?” Ethan tried to keep his voice level, but it quavered with fear.

“Why, I mean to get even with you; to get a little justice. You hurt my feelin’s, boy. Here I gave you a place in life, food to eat, place to sleep, a job to do. And I gave you somethin’ else, too. And you liked it; you know you did.” Zack’s voice turned steely, “I treated you well after my fashion, and you repaid me with thievery. You oughtn’t to have stolen from me! I would have expected more from a dog, so a dog’s what you’re gonna be until you learn better manners.”

Ethan began to plead. He promised to pay back the money. He begged for mercy, for forgiveness. Zack cut him off brusquely, “You’re gettin’ what you earned. Show some sand, boy. It won’t be forever… probably. Just long enough for you to learn a lesson. Hell, I may even send you back to your boyfriend someday. Now, dogs can’t talk, so I’m gonna count to five, and you’ll forget how to speak. Oh, you’ll understand what I say, all right, but you’ll only know how to communicate the way a dog does, with whines and barks and growling. One… two…”

“No! You’re not going to make me bark like a dog! I won’t do it! I wo-o-o-oooo!” Zack had reached the count of five, and Ethan’s shouting turned into a mournful, wolf-like howl. He broke off, a shocked look on his handsome face, and then opened his mouth to try again. This time all that came out was a frightened whine.

“Dogs don’t wear clothes. Get rid of yours.” Ethan barked agitatedly in protest, but couldn’t stop himself from removing every stitch. Zack’s pecker instantly got hard at the sight, for the first time after many months, of that beautiful body bared. “Dogs don’t stand on their hind legs. Down on all fours, boy.” Suddenly Ethan couldn’t find his balance. With a startled woof he fell forward onto his hands and knees. It felt more natural. “Even a smart dog ain’t all that smart. From now on, until I tell you otherwise, you can’t think very well. It’ll be a lot easier just to let me do the thinkin’ for you.” The boy tried to resist, but his mind clouded and stalled. In a way, he felt better, because he could no longer really grasp the situation. “Now, I’m gonna tell you a last few important things about being a proper dog, and you’ll accept all of ’em as applying to you, because you are a dog.” Ethan’s tongue slipped easily out of his open mouth and he began to pant. “Dogs are loyal: you’ll never run away from your master; you’ll never harm your master or any of his friends. Good dogs are obedient: you’ll do as your master tells you; but since you’re a dog by mesmerism, that almost goes without sayin’. Dogs are horny, always ready to hump on a moment’s notice: you’ll be in heat any time I give you the word. And finally, dogs are real affectionate: they like to be petted and played with, and they like to lick. So come here and lick your master, you randy little pup!”

With a happy yip, Dog Ethan capered forward on all fours, his sexy little butt wiggling as he tried to wag a tail he didn’t possess, his erection bobbing. Zack freed his own cock from his trouser fly. He fondled Ethan’s head and ears as the boy enthusiastically licked and slobbered over his crotch. The mindlessly eager expression on his victim’s face quickly brought Zack to orgasm. And when he shot off his load, the hypnotist laughed so hard he feared he’d injure himself at the surprise on the boy/dog’s cute face, and at the hilarious contortions he went through, trying to lick the spend off of his nose.

When Zack had composed himself, he called out, “Desperado. Come here, Travis.” Travis left the place where he had been standing, and came to stand before the hypnotist, the sound of his trigger phrase having once again put him into the deepest of trances. “Travis, do you like dogs?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Good. Because we’ve got us a handsome little puppy here that needs a home. His name’s Ethan. He’s not too smart, but he’s pretty well trained, and he does a couple of tricks most dogs don’t. If you tell him he’s horny, he will be. He’ll suck you off or let you plow his backside any time you feel like it.”

“He looks like a young man,” Travis said with dull bewilderment.

“That’s what makes him fun to play with. But you know he’s a dog; you’re convinced of it. Aren’t you?”

“Yes. He’s a dog.”

“Every boy should have a dog, and you’ve been a good boy, Travis. You can wake back up again. Ethan, this is Travis. He’s your master, too. You obey him just like you obey me. Now, go make friends with him.”

Ethan dog-walked over to Travis and sniffed at his crotch. Then he rolled onto his back, looking up at the tamed ex-gunman with a goofy, canine grin of adoration. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Travis knelt down to rub the exposed belly. Then he got back up, and, trotting away called, “C’mon Ethan, c’mon boy. Let’s go for a walk.” Barking excitedly, hypnotized Ethan scampered after him as fast as he could on hands and knees. Zack realized he was going to need to come up with some kind of padding for the lad’s knees pretty soon, or they would become too sore to use. But it should be all right for the time being, since, judging by the bulge that had been apparent in Travis’ pants, Ethan wasn’t going to be required to go very far (probably just out of sight) before Travis would have other activities in mind for him. Next time, Zack promised himself, he’d arrange it so that he got to watch. But for now, he just went to the wagon to get some scrap cloth to make into kneepads. He smiled sardonically. The three of them were going to be a warped version of a very cozy family unit: just Daddy, his boy, and the family dog.

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