Disclaimer: No one under the legal age of their community, no one who objects to erotic hypnosis or male/male sex, and no one who tries to pretend this isn’t total fiction is allowed to read this. If you fall into any of those three categories, GO AWAY! Otherwise, enjoy.
(a Tom LeBlanc story)
By
“Shit!” Tom hung up the phone with a grimace of disgust. He’d been, in the classic Jack Nicholson line, ‘just inches from a clean getaway’. It was the last weekend of this damned tour, and he’d looked forward to breezing through the remaining three shows here in Malibu, and then getting back home. Now this call from his manager: he’d hired (without asking) a photographer to document the show. (Translation: stills and a stupid, cheesy video to sell!) As if it wasn’t hard enough to get these surfer/club-kid burnouts to concentrate, now he had to do it with some paparazzo snapping photos. Tom was steaming. He went into the bathroom of his luxury hotel and stared at himself in the mirror. Gradually he achieved a light trance to calm down. It wasn’t going to improve anything if he lit into the cameraman, and the guy was due in a half an hour. By the time the knock on his door announced his guest, Tom was once again feeling calm and professional…until he opened the door. Standing there, camera hanging around his neck, suitcase of video equipment beside him on the carpet, was a walking wet dream! Short blond hair, sea green eyes, a handsome, clean-cut, strongly masculine yet boyish face (wearing a killer smile), and a lean, athletic body wrapped in tight, faded jeans and an open-neck chambray shirt, this guy had everything he needed to make Tom feel weak in the knees.
“Hi, Mr. LeBlanc. I’m Mitch Gunderson. I’ll be doing the photography for your promo.”
“…Uh…”
The smile faltered a little. “Your manager did call you about me, didn’t he?”
Tom closed his mouth, which had begun to gape a bit, swallowed, and said, “I’m sorry. Of course he called.” He shook the photographer’s proffered hand. “Please, come in. I was expecting you, I just didn’t expect…. Well, you look like you belong on the other side of the lens!”
Mitch’s grin returned full force. “Been there, done that, didn’t think enough of it to buy the t-shirt. I paid my way through college by modeling.” He winked. “But, other than a few memorable after-hours encounters with ladies at the shoots, it wasn’t an experience I’d care to repeat. I’m much happier using my camera than I ever was just standing around like a dummy in front of someone else’s for no other reason than that my body was the right shape to make the clothes look good. It’s just not fit work for a man!”
Tom wished there were enough time for him to get this blond stud under hypnotic control and have some fun, but they were due at the theater in twenty minutes, and he wanted the camera set and out of his way before any audience arrived. Since he doubted that there would be any further non-public interaction between them, the hypnotist had reluctantly abandoned plans to acquire the sexy photographer, trying hard not to feel too deprived, when, suddenly, he had a brainstorm. There just might be a way…
“Mitch,” Tom said, “I want to be clear on one thing, and please don’t take offense. My manager didn’t check with me before arranging to have you come here, and, while I am perfectly willing for you to mount your video-cam, either at the back of the hall or on the side of the stage, in order to make a tape of the performance, I am not willing to have you snapping pictures while I’m working. Even if you can manage without a flash, the entire process is simply too distracting to the subjects, and will spoil the show. However, I know that you have contracted to provide the still photos as well, so this is my compromise: I will get one or two of the best subjects of the evening and try to hire them to remain after for the publicity photos, which will then be posed instead of live, and therefore less vulnerable to disruption since they will use already hypnotized, already tested subjects who understand what is likely to happen. If this is acceptable to you and you have the time to remain after the performance, then we’re set. Otherwise, I’m afraid I can’t accommodate.”
“No problem, Mr. LeBlanc. I expected this to run pretty late anyway, so I didn’t make any other plans for the night. As long as you’re sure you can get people to agree to be photographed.”
Tom tried to keep a triumphant smirk off his face. “I can almost guarantee it. People love to have their picture taken.” To himself, he added silently, “And if they don’t, I’ll just pull their trance triggers and tell them to!”
“Now, remember what I told you. Be as quiet as you can during the induction, until they’re all under. The best way is to aim your camera at a good-looking girl or guy up there (although, come to think of it, maybe look for a guy, since we don’t want the thing to have too sexual a connotation), and then just watch him as he goes under. That way, your movements will be limited enough to keep from drawing attention, and you’ll be ready to adjust the frame and focus if the subject should start to slump.” Tom carefully neglected to mention that the restricted physical movement and focusing of Mitch’s attention on one individual face for the entire induction might also render the photographer susceptible to the process. He left Mitch to finish adjusting his set-up (on-stage, in front of and somewhat to the right of the chairs set up for audience volunteers) and went to his dressing room to get ready for the show.
Tom walked out onto the stage to the solid applause of a nearly full house. He was already checking the audience for potentials. “Looks like a good crowd,” he thought to himself, and launched into the introductory spiel that was, although it didn’t appear to be, actually already the start of the induction, thanks to subtle neuro-linguistic techniques. Soon he was ready for volunteers, and up they came, a dozen or so men and women, mostly young and (it was Southern California, after all) mostly attractive. In particular, Tom noticed a dark-haired boy, perhaps a little over-dressed for this venue (he was wearing a leather sport coat over his fashion t-shirt). He reminded the hypnotist of Drew Fuller, a young actor he’d seen on a new show Black Sash a week or so before, playing a trouble-making student at a martial arts school. The kid had the same cocky pretty-boy face, and the same kind of hot body. Better still, he didn’t appear to be with anybody, so he could be coerced into the post-show photo session if he proved a good enough subject. As the boy took a seat on stage, Tom signaled surreptitiously to Mitch that this was the one he should film and saw the photographer’s acknowledging nod.
Tom requested the volunteer subjects to focus on his eyes, but added, “If any of you in the audience who didn’t wish to come on stage would still like to experience trance, simply pick any focal point and follow along. You’ll find that works just as well as it does for our volunteers” He used the tone of voice he had already neuro-linguistically anchored to a positive response, and hoped that Mitch would be among those who took the sub-conscious bait. Then he launched into the induction proper. Soon the majority of his subjects were relaxing and yielding to Tom’s seductive, musical voice, following his gentle, insidious prompting into deep trance. The young man on stage who had become the hypnotist’s particular prey seemed (to Tom’s appreciation) to be responding especially strongly. His arms and legs sprawled uncontrolled, and he stared at the hypnotist, wide-eyed and helpless, his face wiped clean of its cocky attitude. By the time Tom commanded, “Close your eyes now, and go deep into hypnotic sleep,” all but two of the stage volunteers were under his control (as were, he suspected, a number of audience members), the young man in the leather jacket was so utterly lost in trance that he had slid from his chair and was now sitting on the floor with his head in the lap of the bleached club-kid next to him, and Mitch had stopped working the camera. He stood swaying gently behind it, fast asleep, his eyes, still at the viewer, now closed.
Tom felt like doing a victory dance, but instead ordered the hypnotized people to continue going deeper, and then made a hushing gesture to the audience as he pointed out the entranced cameraman. The hypnotist turned off his microphone and walked over to Mitch. To the audience, it looked as though Tom took the photographer aside and woke him up. What Tom actually said was, “Mitch, you’re deeply hypnotized, and you’ll keep going deeper. Everything you see, hear, or do will send you further into trance. Nothing can awaken you until I awaken you. Understand?” He barely waited for Mitch’s sleepy agreement before continuing, “I’m going to count to three and you will open your eyes and act as though you are awake and in your normal consciousness, even as you fall deeper and deeper asleep. You’ll film the show just as you would normally do, and you won’t respond to any suggestions I give unless I direct them at you specifically.” Then he flipped the mike back on and counted, “One, two, three.” Mitch opened his eyes and looked around groggily. Then he grinned sheepishly at the hypnotist and returned to his camera position. The audience burst into applause. They couldn’t see, as Tom could, the subtle difference in Mitch’s expression and behavior, the difference the hypnotist so loved, that marked him as still helplessly spellbound.
Tom dismissed the two volunteers who weren’t in trance, and then turned to face the audience. “All of you, other than those on the stage, who are asleep, stand up,” he commanded. The rest of the audience whispered and giggled as, all over the room various people suddenly rose to their feet. The hypnotist guessed he’d captured maybe a dozen more, which was too many, really. He signaled to the stage manager to bring on three more chairs, and then jumped lightly down from the stage to select his five new victims.
Because he was in the audience, Tom couldn’t help being overheard, whether he turned off the microphone or not, so he was very circumspect. Rather then ordering the people he wanted to go on stage (as he could have), he asked if they were willing, losing one hot guy in the process. Then, he made sure to divide his choices among the men and women. This left him, eventually, with two ladies and three guys. Of the three men, two were very sexy, handsome guys, but one had come with a date, so was useless for Tom’s ulterior motives. The other, however, was perfect. He was a college type, extremely cute and boyish (if a little buttoned down – maybe he was pre-law), with brown hair and eyes, and had come with three other guys, very likely his fraternity brothers. (“And what,” thought the hypnotist, “Would I do without frat boys?”) Tom knew that he could make this boy stay for the filming without his friends kicking up a fuss.
Having accomplished most of his personal agenda, all that remained was for Tom to learn names (Mr. leather jacket was Justin Spencer and frat-boy was Brendan Cavanaugh), and then on with the show. Mitch filmed, quietly falling deeper under the hypnotic spell, the subjects acted according to suggestion, visibly ditto (especially Justin and Brendan, as, true to his usual approach when trying to collect personal playthings from his show group, Tom featured them often in order to make sure their trances would grow as deep as possible by the end of the evening), and the audience loved it, having no idea of the machiavellian sub-plots. After the applause and final curtain, the hypnotist deprogrammed his volunteer subjects one at a time in the usual manner (that is, he released everyone except those to whom he wanted to give additional instructions, whom he saved for last). Justin and Brendan were quickly given the command to agree to remain for the photo session, as was a pretty blond girl named Susie (just for appearances – she’d be gone once the publicity shots were finished), along with a strong reinforcement of their hypnotic conditioning and trance trigger phrases. Then Tom released them to return to their seats as well. It only took a few minutes more for Brendan and Susie to make their explanations to their respective friends (Justin had indeed come to the show by himself on a whim, being in town for only two days to take a job interview), and for the theatre to empty; then it was time to get down to business.
Getting the publicity stills was a (pardon the pun) snap. Tom invoked the trigger phrases, and instantly his three subjects were once more deep in trance. The hypnotist then merely posed them in a variety of ways by freezing them in place as they responded to particular suggestions. Mitch, who had never come out of hypnosis since first going under, dutifully captured each set-up without question or argument. The entire process took no more than a half an hour. Tom then dismissed Susie with a strong suggestion to forget that the two boys had not been released when she was.
The door had barely closed behind her when Tom ordered Mitch to pack up his gear, and then commanded the two sleeping boys, “Justin, Brendan open your eyes but don’t wake up.” They obeyed without otherwise altering their slumped positions in their chairs or showing any other signs of awareness. “Boys, we are all going to my hotel room. Who has a car?” Mitch and Brendan both responded. “Excellent. Brendan, you will drive yourself and Justin to the ________ Hotel, and proceed to room #__. You’ll both remain completely hypnotized, although you will drive carefully and well. As you drive, the two of you will count backwards from 1,000, just to ensure that you are still going deeper into trance. Understand?” Brendan and Justin both sleepily assented. “Fine. Then be on your way. I will meet you there. Mitch, you’ll drive me, noticing how very deeply hypnotized every single motion is making you.” The handsome blond cameraman nodded, looking suddenly as blank and sleepy as he actually was.
When Tom led a totally zombified Mitch to the door of his hotel room, Brendan and Justin were already there waiting, still softly counting their deepening numbers. They stood as motionless (aside from their moving lips) as mannequins, their expressions empty of all animation, and Tom wondered if they had been observed by anyone else as they waited. He hoped not, but since there was no evidence of anyone having tried to rouse them, he suspected he’s gotten away with it. The hypnotist unlocked the door, and at his command the three hypnotized young men filed into his room.
“Brendan, Justin, become statues. You won’t move or pay attention to anything until I touch you.” The two dark-haired boys froze in place. “Mitch, I want you to start a new roll of film in your camera, and a new tape in your video-cam.” Moving sleepily, yet with automatically professional efficiency, the photographer did as he was told. “Set up the video over here,” Tom ordered, pointing to a site that would allow filming most of the room, without being in the way, and was again granted instant obedience from Mitch. When the video-cam was in place, the hypnotist told Mitch to turn it on, and then walked over to the other two motionless young men and caressed their faces (enjoying the roughness of the stubble, more pronounced on Justin’s face than Brendan’s). Then he commanded all three guys to undress in front of the camera.
Tom stripped off his own clothes as he watched the show. None of his subjects showed any arousal, nor were they doing anything that might be considered sexual. They were simply three boys taking off their clothes because they were too hypnotized to stop themselves; and that, to Tom, was the sexiest thing of all! His cock was plenty hard as he stroked it. When all three were naked, they just stood, lacking further instructions.
“Justin, close your eyes and go deeper to sleep,” the hypnotist instructed. Obedience was instant, and the sexy young man slept helplessly. Tom then ordered him to get a hard-on. Justin’s dick twitched and then began to grow and rise until it stood stiff and throbbing.
“Mitch, I want you to take some pictures, the most artistic you can, to show off both Justin’s deeply hypnotized state and his arousal.” Mechanically the spellbound photographer began to click away, as though he were doing a fashion shoot. Tom, meanwhile, gave the same suggestions to Brendan he had given to Justin, and when that boy was also rock-hard and fast asleep, he too became a photo op. Continuing in this fashion, much as he had for the legitimate show pictures, Tom posed his two unresisting boys in a variety of erotic ways, always showing off their sexiness and the depth of their entrancement, while zombie Mitch documented it all with hypnotized professionalism, shot after shot, replacing film as necessary: the two boys, lips locked in a passionate kiss, but fast asleep; Brendan, on his knees, eyes closed, arms limp at his sides, his mouth around Justin’s rigid tool; Justin, fingering his cock and Brendan’s ass, but his head tilted limply forward and his eyelids tight shut; Justin, face dreamily blank, rimming Brendan, standing fast asleep and oblivious. The hypnotist thought that the resulting photo sets would probably be worth their weight in gold on a porno site, except, of course, he couldn’t admit to having them in the first place, much less post them for sale.
When Tom was satisfied that all of the posed shots he wanted were covered, he sent Mitch back into a deep slumber and stood him in one corner like a clothes dummy. Then he said, “Brendan, Justin, you have done a lot of sexy things together this evening. Do you know why?”
Brendan looked very confused (in a totally tranced out way), and Justin mumbled hesitantly, “We… we’re hypnotized?”
“Yes, you have been very deeply hypnotized, but also, you are gay! You are gay boys who are very turned on by each other. That’s the reason your cocks are hard, the reason you have been touching each other, the reason you are going to have sex together right now on this bed in front of the video camera. Brendan, you need to have Justin fuck you. Justin, you need to have your dick up Brendan’s ass. You have to make love. You can’t resist… can’t resist… can’t resist!”
Before Tom finished the last repetition of his command, the boys had already fallen onto the bed together, clinched in a passionate, writhing tangle of arms and legs. Their bodies had already been teased so much by the photo shoot (even though their minds hadn’t been very aware of it), that they wasted little time on further foreplay before both were so ready that they couldn’t hold back. Justin flipped Brendan’s legs onto his shoulders and ploughed into his more-than-eager asshole with an abandon that Brendan returned in full. They banged like animals on a farm, the room filling with the slap of balls against buttocks, grunts and moans, and the slick, squishy sounds of their rutting. And all the while, the video camera was recording. After barely five minutes (although the action was so riveting that the hypnotist could have sworn it was more), Brendan’s handsome boyish face contorted with strain and he shot his sperm all over his stomach and chest. That was enough for Justin as well, who fell forward onto Brendan with a groan, his buttocks spasming as he pumped his load into the well-fucked ass.
The two spent young men lay in each other’s arms kissing and nibbling gently. Tom allowed them just a moment for afterglow (since, after all, he was getting too ready for some action of his own). Then he commanded, “Justin, Brendan, you are now lovers for as long as Justin is in town. All the time you spend with each other will be completely thrilling to you both. But as soon as Justin leaves, both of you will absolutely forget everything about it. You will have no memory of anything concerning each other, your sexual relationship, or any of the hypnotic events subsequent to taking the original still photos at the theater. You will be utterly convinced that, once the show photos were complete, I brought you out of your trances, and you went about your business. You understand and agree.”
Like robots, the boys said in unison, “I understand and agree.”
“Very good. Now clean yourselves up, put your clothes back on, and go to Justin’s hotel together. You’ll spend the night fucking and sucking, and love every minute of it. As soon as you leave this building, it, and everything that happened in it will vanish from your minds, and you will wake up from your trances, ready to obey all the suggestions I’ve given you.”
Brendan and Justin mechanically followed their instructions. The camera, still taping, recorded the boys’ every blank, mesmerized motion until, staring mindlessly at nothing in particular, they drifted out the door together and were gone.
Now it was Tom’s turn, and, of course, Mitch’s. “Mitch Gunderson, open your eyes, but don’t wake up,” he ordered. The statue in the corner came back to a semblance of life, although the young photographer didn’t change his position. Tom commanded him to get an erection, and it developed very quickly – so quickly that the hypnotist wondered if Mitch perhaps was not as straight as he appeared to be, and had been stimulated, in spite of his trance, by the previous goings on. He continued, “Mitch, you’re a very good-looking man, with a very good-looking, very hard cock. I want you to use the full-length mirror in the bath to take pictures of yourself. Shoot pictures that show off how handsome you are, how horny you are, and how hypnotized you are; finish the rest of the roll.” Mitch’s handsome face remained stonily blank, but he shuffled obediently to the bathroom and began to take pictures. When the roll was finished, the young photographer stood motionless in front of the mirror, waiting for the next suggestion.
“Mitch, you will develop all the pictures you’ve taken tonight by yourself. It is extremely important that no one but us sees them. The photos you took of the performance, you will send to my manager as agreed; the photos you have taken here tonight, you will send to me, along with the negatives, and as soon as you have sent them, you will forget they ever existed. You will not, under any circumstances, keep copies or records of them. Repeat those instructions.” As Mitch repeated his orders in a monotone, Tom listened very carefully. It would be disastrous for him if this were ever to become evidence, so he wanted to be sure there were no gaps or misunderstandings in Mitch’s indoctrination. He needn’t have worried: the young man was letter-perfect, and showed no signs of resistance.
Heaving a sigh of relief, the hypnotist moved on to that portion of the evening’s program he’d been most eager to reach. “Mitch, we’re going to go back in time now. You are no longer a young professional photographer. You’re a college boy and fashion model…a college boy and fashion model. How old are you Mitch?”
“I’m twenty, sir.” Mitch’s voice sounded lighter and younger, and his posture had changed slightly to a straighter, somewhat respectful stance. Tom wondered to whom the photographer was imagining he was talking.
“But,” the hypnotist continued, “You’re not a very smart young man, are you?”
“Huh?”
“No, you’re not very smart at all, and you haven’t been getting a lot of modeling work, so the only way you’ve managed to make ends meet is to become a hustler. You have sex for money.” Mitch looked a little shocked (or, at least, as shocked as an expression that trance-bound can manage), but his stance was already shifting again, this time from respectful to blatantly sexual, with his hips canted to thrust out his hard cock. “However, you’re a very good hustler, because you find that all of your clients really turn you on. As soon as a guy has given you money, he becomes the hottest guy on the planet, as far as you’re concerned, and you can’t wait to satisfy him in any way he wants. I have just paid you a very nice sum to have sex with me. Do you understa…”
Tom got no further, as Mitch was suddenly in his arms, stopping his words with passionate kisses, which was okay with the hypnotist! Still groping and frenching, they staggered back out of the bathroom and fell together onto the bed. Later Tom tried to remember when he had ever before been a party to sex that intense, but couldn’t come up with an instance. His hypnotized partners were always willing and committed (or, more accurately, unable to be unwilling or uncommitted), but they were virtually always straight, and thus inexperienced in sex with other men; and, while much of what they knew about sex with women transferred perfectly well, the hypnotist still was usually in the position of monitoring and instructing throughout. Not that he objected; their helplessness was one of his biggest turn-ons. But it was nice for a change (hell, it was fabulous) to have sex this heavy and just let himself be blown away by it. As a matter of fact, the sex was so good, that Tom wondered even more (with the small amount of rational thought left to him in the face of such raw pleasure) if those ”ladies” Mitch had mentioned enjoying during his modeling days had come equipped with pussies or with dicks! After all, you never know with male models…
Sometime later, after two world-shaking orgasms apiece, they lay in a welter of sweat and cum. “Sleep, Mitch,” and the young photographer’s eyes once again drifted shut. Tom carefully removed the “dumb hustler” personality overlay and returned Mitch to his current age and status. He then repeated his instructions about handling the film, took the incriminating videotapes from the camcorder and hid them in a drawer, and got the young photographer cleaned up and back into his clothes. Another brief order, and Mitch was obediently packing up his equipment. Only one thing remained. Much as he had with Brendan and Justin, Tom set up a trigger to erase from Mitch’s memory, once he left the room, everything (but the post-hypnotic commands) that had taken place since completing the professional portion of the evening. Then, at the hypnotist’s bidding, the young cameraman shouldered his gear and staggered (his body knew he’d been undergoing major sexual exertion, even if his mind didn’t) out the door.
Tom was already regretting that his three playmates of the evening weren’t available for his permanent collection. “That’s the biggest trouble with traveling,” he thought. “The scenery stays where it is when you move on.” Oh well, at least he had pictures!
Be sure to read the contest entries for the summer story contest at:
http://www.eroticgayhypnosis.com/eroticgayhypnosis_014.htm