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.
“Are they all really under?” Coach Johnson stared somewhat dubiously at the four freshman athletes that comprised his first-string 400/800 meter relay team, as they slumped bonelessly and apparently fast asleep in the chairs they’d dragged into the locker room to prepare for this hypnotic training session. He thought that, at least, Mike Loggia and his buddy Travis Wheeler must be hypnotized. They had collapsed onto each other, Mike’s handsome blond head resting cozily on Travis’ muscular, nearly bare (he was wearing a tank-top) shoulder. Both of them were normally so blatantly homophobic that, in Coach’s opinion, nothing short of total unconsciousness could have gotten them into that position. But what did he know? He looked questioningly at Dr. Lanart, the hypnotherapist.
“Oh, yes indeed,” the hypnotist answered. “Your young runners are all in very deep trance now. You’re fortunate that the entire group is made up of such gifted hypnotic subjects. We should have no trouble at all instilling the positive suggestions you requested to improve their mental and emotional response under competitive pressure.”
“I sure hope this works,” whispered the coach. “They’re a good bunch of boys – lots of talent and potential – but they just completely fell apart at the first meet of the season. You probably know about what happened here. After the tragedy, these kids had to fill some pretty big shoes a lot sooner than anyone planned. The stress must be hitting them hard.” (The previous, all-star relay team, golden boys and campus super-stars, as close off the field as they were on it, had all been killed the previous summer when the car in which they’d been traveling to a rock concert together was hit head-on by a drunk driver, decimating the track program, and leaving the entire university community in a state of shock.)
Dr. Lanart said, in a very normal voice, “You don’t need to whisper. They are, as I told you, completely hypnotized, and they won’t notice or respond to anything either of us says unless it’s directed to them specifically. Any other sounds around them just send them deeper into their trance. That was one of the suggestions I gave them during the induction. And you may rest assured that I have every confidence the therapy will be quite effective. These young men really are exceptionally responsive to hypnosis.” He turned back to the row of spellbound athletes. “Boys, sit up straight in your chairs and pay attention. I have important things to tell you. You want to listen closely and take them to heart.” The young men pulled themselves back up into a semblance of normal seated posture, although their closed eyes and blank, sleepy faces didn’t register any change, and Dr. Lanart began the intense therapeutic session.
“… and now just relax completely and let all the important instructions I’ve given you sink deeper and deeper into your mind. You won’t hear anything until I address you by name.”
Like puppets with the strings cut, the hypnotized athletes once again flopped loosely in their seats. This time, Mike went so completely limp that he slid out of his chair, executing a face-plant in Travis’ lap. Coach Johnson sputtered, but managed not to laugh out loud. “Dr. Lanart, you’d better sort those two out before you wake ’em up. If they come to in that position they’ll either kill you or each other!”
The hypnotist smiled a little dryly. “Don’t worry. The boys won’t consciously remember a thing about this; the suggestions work much more strongly in their subconscious conditioning if their conscious minds aren’t able to get into the act and try to apply left-brain logic, to argue, so to speak. When I wake them up, they’ll just feel as though they’ve taken a refreshing little nap. Now, I’ve given them a strong post-hypnotic compulsion to practice going into trance every night before they go to sleep, so that their subconscious minds can review and strengthen the suggestions I planted today, but they will also need regular hypnotic reinforcement from a hypnotist/authority figure. I can return in two weeks for a further session, but in the meantime, you’ll have to take on that role. I’ve printed out a copy of the suggestions for you to read to them (and, please, do just read them – don’t improvise – the wording is highly specific). It should be done every couple of days, if possible. All you need to do is use the trance trigger I’ve given them and they’ll go deep into hypnosis as easily and quickly for you as they do for me.” Seeing the coach’s doubtful expression he added, “I guarantee it. After I wake them, you can test it yourself while I’m still here to handle any questions that may arise.” The doctor then proceeded to return the team to normal consciousness (first reinforcing their trance amnesia, as well as restoring their physical order – Mike and Travis would never know how intimate they had inadvertently become).
“When’s he gonna start?” Fresh-faced, innocent-appearing Jason McBride, at just eighteen, the youngest of the four, looked quizzically at Coach Johnson, voicing the question that was apparent in the eyes of all four boys. Obviously the amnesia was in full force.
“You all met here at 5:00,” said Dr. Lanart. “Look at your watch.”
Jason automatically glanced at his wristwatch and then did a double-take. “6:30!! Holy sh… uh… wow!” he finished lamely, blushing at having almost cursed in front of the two important adults.
“That’s right,” the hypnotist said, “You’ve spent more than an hour deep in hypnosis, and we’ve accomplished a great deal.” As the boys all began to talk at once, excitedly comparing notes on what they thought had happened, Dr. Lanart said, “Coach Johnson, why don’t you test their trance trigger now?”
“Okay. Boys, listen up.” The young athletes quieted down. “Track-star trance time.” As if mown down by machine gun fire, the four boys collapsed instantly into limp, immobile sleep. Coach Johnson stared at them bemusedly. Then he said softly to Dr. Lanart, “Well, I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it – four words and they’re out like lights! But one thing has me a little concerned. Isn’t it kind of reckless to have them go to sleep any time they hear that phrase? What if they hear it somewhere else by accident?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dr. Lanart reassured him. “I understand your reservations, but, unfortunately, I can’t make that particular suggestion voice-specific if we’re both going to have to able to use it. However, you must realize how extraordinarily unlikely it is that the trigger words would occur in any sort of conversation accidentally. Can you even imagine what sort of conversational context would do that?” The Coach shook his head. “Of course not! Because there is no such context. It could only happen deliberately. And since you and I are the only two people who know what the trigger phrase is, your athletes are perfectly safe from either inadvertent or malicious hypnosis. Now, since you caused them to go into trance this time, you’ll have to be the one to bring them out of it. As you do so, I recommend focusing the suggestions on how good having been hypnotized makes them feel. They’ll be even more cooperative about going back into trance later on when you need them to.”
The Coach nodded and began (with a little prompting now and again from the hypnotist) to re-awaken his sleeping relay team.
The coach, the hypnotherapist, and all four of the young athletes had exited the locker room, the boys still chattering animatedly about what they thought had happened (or more accurately, about the mysterious gap in their memories) , and a further five minutes ticked slowly by. Then, in the alcove next to the one in which the therapy session had taken place, a slim, serious-looking young man cautiously eased himself out from a narrow space between two banks of lockers, checking furtively to make sure he was indeed unobserved. Dr. Lanart had been inaccurate and overly optimistic in his assumption that only he and Coach Johnson would have knowledge of the hypnotic trigger phrase that was key to controlling the relay team, for Todd Bricker, freshman psychology student working his way through college by way of half-time janitorial employment, had overheard nearly every word of the hypnosis session. Initially, he’d simply been going about his job, checking the locker area for recyclable trash such as empty plastic water bottles (a constant nuisance in the sporting areas), before sweeping and then mopping, but as soon as he was close enough to realize what was going on, he’d hidden himself silently, scarcely daring to breathe, and eaves-dropped shamelessly. A budding hypno-fetishist as well as a psych major, Todd’s total attention would have been guaranteed simply by the fact that the session involved hypnosis in any fashion. But in this case, he also had a major lust/hate issue with the handsome, sexy, homophobic boys on the track team. As a sensitive and intellectual gay teen, his own high school years had been made one long, wretched penance of desperately suppressed unrequited sexual longing for, and casually sadistic bullying by boys exactly like these (indeed, Travis and Mike had actually gone to the same high school as he, and were members of that very jock clique that had so marred his school career).
“So… ‘track-star trance time’… ‘track-star trance time’,” he muttered under his breath, making sure he wouldn’t forget the exact phrase, thinking, “Okay, you jock assholes, time for a little payback… and you won’t even see it coming. I’ll give you a few days to practice your new regimen so that when I strike, you’ll go really deep!” Reaching down to adjust the erection he’d been sporting for what seemed to him like about an hour, so that it was less uncomfortable in his janitor’s uniform, Todd went back to work, whistling.
“Hey, Jason, wait up.”
Jason paused, turning to see who’d just called to him. Walking towards him across the quad was a young dark haired guy dressed in the dark-blue jump-suit that was the cleaning staff uniform. He didn’t recognize him as far as he could remember (which was why Todd had chosen to approach him first; Mike and Travis might remember him as the nerd they’d enjoyed baiting in high school, while the fourth member of the team, Craig Hansen, was in Todd’s Spanish 101 class this semester). Curious as to how this guy knew his name, he said, “Yeah?” when he was within normal speaking range of him.
“You are Jason MacBride, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. So who are you, and what’s up?”
“Me? Oh, my name’s Todd. I take care of the janitorial services for the men’s areas of the gym building. I’d just finished sweeping up and was about to head off to class, when I ran into Coach Johnson and he asked if I’d deliver a message to you guys on the relay team. You’re the first I’ve run into so far.
“Okay. What does Coach want?”
Todd smiled happily. “Track-star trance time! Stay standing,” and instantly Jason was rooted to the spot, transformed into a blank-eyed, deeply hypnotized statue of a college boy, totally at the mercy of the young hypnotist (although, to anyone passing them, it would simply have looked as though the two were having a conversation). “You’re deeply hypnotized now, and you’ll do anything I tell you. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes… hypnotized… do anything you tell me…” repeated the dutiful zombie in a soft monotone.
“The coach wants you and your three team-mates to come in for an in-depth hypnosis refresher session tonight from 8:00 until late, no excuses accepted; if any of you needs to cancel something in order to make the session, you will cancel it. And it has to be just the four of you – no curious friends tagging along. You clearly remember him telling you this and asking you to tell the rest of the guys, don’t you?”
“Yeah… coach said… session… 8:00 tonight… no excuses, no friends… tell the guys…” the mind-blown jock droned obediently.
“But the session won’t be in the gym tonight. It will be at Dr. Lanart’s place, 27 Mason Street, #3B.” This was Todd’s apartment, just across from the north side of the campus. “Repeat that address.”
“27 Mason Street… Apartment 3B…”
“Good. I’m going to snap my fingers and you’ll wake up. You won’t remember having talked to me, or having just been in hypnosis. As far as you’re concerned, we just passed each other walking in opposite directions. You didn’t take any special notice of me at all. But you will remember that the coach wants you and the rest of your relay team at that address tonight, and you will call the other guys to make sure they’ll be there too – remember, no excuses!” Todd stepped to the side of his hypnotized victim and snapped his fingers sharply, at the same time resuming his interrupted progress across the quad towards class.
Without so much as even registering Todd’s presence, Jason blinked once, normal animation returning to his expression, and then he too set off in the direction he’d been proceeding before the young hypnotist had waylaid him. As he walked, he took out his iPhone and began texting the first of his team-mates.
“I thought doctors were all supposed to have money,” Travis snorted. He was in the lead as the four athletes approached the door of Todd’s apartment building that evening for their, as they thought, therapy session. “This place looks just as low-rent as my student digs!”
“It is low-rent,” Mike answered him. “Dr. Lanart probably just uses it as an over-nighter when he’s working around campus. I bet his real house is a mansion somewhere expensive in the ’burbs, just like any other doctor.” He stepped forward past Travis and rang the buzzer for 3B (next to which Todd had craftily covered his own name with a neat piece of tape on which he’d computer-printed “Lanart”). They were buzzed in and went up to the third floor.
“Please come in,” Todd said as he opened the door. “Dr. Lanart and Coach Johnson aren’t here yet, but they’ll be here very soon. In the meantime, have a seat.” He motioned the four boys towards the couch and chairs in the non-descript (he’d hidden any items that would clearly have belonged to himself rather than to the supposed doctor at the same time he’d masked the address label on the building door) living area. Jason and Craig went to the chairs and sat down without comment, although Craig gave Todd a curious glance as though trying to remember why he looked familiar. “Typical,” Todd thought sourly, “Mr. Big-man-on-campus-track-star is too high and mighty to pay any attention to his academic classmates. I didn’t need to worry about it at all.”
Mike Loggia, however, wore a nasty smile. “Hey, Travis, look who’s here. It’s Todd Pricker!”
Travis’ expression was even uglier. “What the fuck are you doing here, faggot?”
Todd blushed angrily but kept his voice even. “I work for Dr. Lanart,” he lied boldly. “He knew he was running late, so he sent me over here to let you guys in. I should have just left you standing on the doorstep!” He drew himself up. “Dr. Lanart has given me some hypnotherapy too, and I’m not intimidated by thugs like you any more. So just sit down, wait for the doctor, and don’t give me any more crap. Your coach won’t be impressed if he comes in to find you slugging it out with me, even if you’re winning.”
Something in Todd’s demeanor (maybe it his genuine air of confidence, bolstered as it was by his knowledge that four words would send Mike and Travis to the floor anyway if they attempted to call his bluff), or else the very real threat of the coach’s displeasure if they were caught fighting, seemed to convince the two athletes to back off. With one final muttered “faggot” from Travis, they sat down on the couch, pointedly ignoring him.
Suppressing a grin of triumph, the young hypnotist said loud and clear, “Track-star trance time!” Several days of compulsive (if unconscious) trance practice had done their job, and without being able to marshal the least resistance, the track team was instantly and helplessly in his power. Setting them an extensive deepening exercise, both to make sure they would be as far under as they could possibly go and to keep them from spontaneously leaving the trance state while he was otherwise occupied, Todd fetched a digital camcorder from his bedroom. He’d basically stolen it from the gym (thanks to his janitor’s passkey), although he had every intention of returning it by the same method before anyone missed it. He set it up and then slipped in a massive multi-gig card. All set. The results of this evening would (at least in part) go out to a web escort/porn-site. “And,” he smirked to himself, “They’ll be posted there from their own cell-phones!”
“Jason, Craig, Travis, Mike stand up.” As one boy, the four rose to their feet. But for their sleeping faces, they might have been soldiers at attention. “Open your eyes but remain in trance. From now on, nothing can disturb you; nothing can release you from this hypnotic state, until I awaken you.” The boys obeyed, but their blank, empty gazes emphasized their helplessness, rather than disguising it. “Take out your cell-phones, turn them off, put them on the table over there, and then return to your places.” Like zombies or robots, in synchronization worthy of a drill team, the four spellbound athletes dug their phones from their pockets and performed as instructed.
When they were once again motionless in their previous places, Todd went to work in earnest. He’d been thinking, researching, and planning ever since this opportunity had so serendipitously come his way, and realized there was quite a laundry list of trance-work he needed to accomplish. First, he needed his own password to the guys’ psyches. He installed new trance trigger (jock-trance pussy-boy) making sure that, unlike Dr. Lanart’s ill-advised suggestion, this trigger would work only for him. In addition he piled suggestion on suggestion, with the persistence of hammer-blows until he was certain that anything and everything that happened while the boys were in trance for him would be completely inaccessible not only to their conscious memories, but also even to any other hypnotist or hypnotized state. Then he had to get their wide-open minds to accept the idea that they must do whatever he told them to do. This was particularly hard work, because, Mike, at least, seemed to have some deep-down comprehension of his peril, and was fighting the suggestions. However, Todd slammed away at his mind until, at last, he too was mindlessly, complacently agreeing to be Todd’s ‘jock-trance pussy-boy’, do whatever he was told without question, and never remember a thing about it. Feeling almost as though the effort had been physical, Todd wiped the light sheen of sweat from his forehead and pulled off his pitted-out t-shirt. Now they were ready for some fun! He turned on the video cam.
Todd beckoned to Craig. “Come over here, look straight at the camera and state your full name and private telephone number.”
Craig marched forward obediently and reeled off the requested information, “Craig Thomas Hansen, Jr.” and his cell number. Then he continued to stand there, still staring vacantly into the lens.
“Very good. Now take off all of your clothes.”
As if that were the most normal request imaginable, the hypnotized boy calmly slipped off his shoes and pulled off each of his socks. He skinned his polo and t-shirt off over his head (causing his shortish light-brown hair to ruffle up into a kind of casual faux-hawk), undid his belt and fly-buttons, and then tugged his (rather tight and apparently new) jeans down and worked his feet out of them. Last, and still with no hesitation, he pulled down the light-blue boxer shorts he was wearing and kicked them aside. Then he returned to his blank-faced pose of attention, indifferent to the camera filming his totally naked body.
Todd paused a moment in appreciation of what he was seeing. Craig had a smoking-hot body, and a generous, if not extreme, uncut cock. He was hairier than Todd would have guessed from his light beard stubble and smooth neck, but the over-all effect was sexy as hell. And the glazed helplessness of his entranced expression made his cute face (in the young hypnotist’s opinion) even handsomer. Then he ordered, “Play with yourself until your dick is hard, then wink at the camera and say, ‘I’m waiting for your call’.”
Craig’s eyes never left their mesmerized focus on the camera, while, as if they were not even connected to him, like robot servos, Craig’s hands moved to his cock and began to fondle it. As soon as he was fully erect (and for a healthy nineteen-year-old stud that wasn’t a long wait), he winked mechanically and dutifully repeated, “I’m waiting for your call.”
“Go back to your place and become a mannequin. You won’t think, move, or notice anything until I call you by name again. And you’ll continue to go deeper and deeper into trance.” And in no time, helpless Craig was back at his previous post, zoned out in classic, head hanging trance posture.
“Jason, front and center.” The pretty young man stepped up to the place his teammate had just vacated, his blue eyes as glassy as pebbles in a pond, and Todd gave him the same instructions.
“Jason Christopher MacBride” and another cell-phone number. Then he too went into a mindless, hypnotized strip routine. His body was just as hard and toned as Craig’s, but his cock was slightly thicker (and perhaps a tiny bit shorter), and he was so lightly blond that, if he had any chest hair, it was nearly invisible. Todd looked closer and then snickered to himself. Young Jason had manscaped his chest! So much for the macho athlete image! The hypnotist wondered whether Mike and Travis gave him shit about it. Jason finished by jacking himself to full hardness, and then winked (his innocently blank face made this even funnier, like a little boy doing something he didn’t realize was naughty at the instigation of a mischievous older brother) and repeated the stock hustler’s invitation, after which he too returned to his place and became a naked statue.
Todd, who, by this point, was feeling distinctly hot and bothered from the floor show he’d engineered, took the opportunity to ditch the rest of clothes and free his throbbing hard-on, before attending to his remaining two victims. He looked at Travis and Mike, glassy-eyed and helpless. Both honor and revenge, he thought, demanded something a bit special for them! He called them forward together and demanded they state names and phone info.
“Michael Anthony Loggia”, followed by the number, and then, “Travis Cadwallader Wheeler” and his phone.
Todd almost choked. “Cadwallader!” he thought joyfully. “Damn! Why couldn’t I have known that when we were in high school? I could’ve blackmailed him into backing off just by threatening to say it out loud. Hell, I bet he’d sooner have given me a blow-job than let me spill that secret! Of course,” he added to himself, “Now I’ll be able to have that blow-job any time I want it, just for the asking.”
Aloud, he continued, “Okay, Mike, Travis, undress each other. You can’t help yourselves, and you will cooperate with each other.” He’d scarcely finished the command when Travis’ fingers were undoing the buttons of Mike’s shirt. Travis was wearing a sweatshirt, so Mike couldn’t start to remove it while Travis’ hands were busy. Instead, he reached down to unbuckle the dark-haired boy’s belt and then began to unfasten and unzip his jeans. The jeans fell to Travis’ knees just as he finished with the last of Mike’s buttons and pulled his friend’s shirt off. After that, the boys made quick work of each other’s remaining top-wear (Travis’ hoody and Mike’s undershirt), leaving their well-muscled, nearly hairless torsos bare.
Since Travis’ jeans were already at half-mast, by unspoken consent, the two mesmerized studs seemed to agree that this was next on the agenda. Mike fell to his knees and, as Travis balanced himself with one hand on his friend’s shoulder, slipped his shoes off one at a time, and then freed his legs from the entrapping denim. Mike removed the socks and then the white jockey shorts, leaving his buddy totally naked. Before he could stand up again, Todd commanded, “Mike, suck his cock ’til it’s hard.” A spasm of distress passed over the hypnotized boy’s face, but as Todd repeated the order, his mouth fell open, and, unable to stop himself he sucked in Travis’ cock and began to work it. Travis simply stood like a statue and allowed it, and, in very short order, he was stiff and drooling pre-cum.
Todd then ordered Travis to stay hard, and Mike to stand up, after which Travis knelt and quickly removed Mike’s shoes, socks and chinos (which revealed, to Todd’s surprise and delight, that Mike wasn’t wearing underwear). He too was then commanded to become his pal’s cocksucker. Mike again looked vaguely discomfited, but he didn’t break away or struggle, and as the pleasure of the blow-job began to distract him, Todd took the opportunity to give him a few more deepening orders. By the time Mike was fully erect, he had lost whatever remaining vestiges of free will he’d been trying to marshal.
“Travis, stand up; Mike, your dick will stay hard until I say otherwise. I want you two to french each other. Make it as long and deep as any kiss you’ve ever had. And then, with your arms still around each other, look at the camera and say ‘We’re waiting for your call’. After that, Travis, you’ll kiss Mike on the neck, and Mike, you’ll giggle like a school-girl!”
There was no longer any residual resistance from either boy. The kiss was cinematically hot, in Todd’s opinion, and even the hypnotized guys appeared to be getting into a little, as they went out of their way to rub their still-erects cocks against each other. Apparently, a stiff prick truly did have no conscience. Then, like well-rehearsed actors, they said their lines and finished their performance as coyly camp as the most blatant porn-stars. Todd turned off the video camera. With a little editing, revenge would be on the way. But now he wanted to have some action for himself. He ordered all of his victim slaves to sit down on the couch (it was a tight fit for four well-built muscular boys, so they were pressed together closely) and began to program them for the next events.
“Travis, Mike, Jason, Craig, in a moment I’m going to count to three. At the sound of the word three, you’ll wake up. You won’t have any memory of anything that has happened since I put you under hypnosis, or of having been in trance for me. You will not be able to get up from this couch unless I tell you to. You will not be able to harm me or each other. You will not be able to call for help, or make any loud noises. You will be absolutely obedient to any order I give you whether you want to or not, but you will be completely aware of what you are doing, even though you cannot stop yourself from doing it. Repeat those instructions and know they are irresistible and compulsive.” The helpless young jocks dutifully repeated the words, not once but, at Todd’s insistence, over and over until he was satisfied they couldn’t possibly escape their doom. Then he counted them up.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!!!” It came out as barely a murmur, but the inflection, as well as Travis’ expression, made it clear that he’d been expecting it to be a bellow of outrage. The four athletes, after only a second, during which time they registered Todd’s and then their own nakedness (not to mention their erections which, since Todd hadn’t removed that suggestion, were still blue-steel hard), began to struggle to get away from each other and their hip-to-shoulder skin-on-skin contact, all cursing softly in their embarrassed consternation. However, the couch left almost no room for them to maneuver, and, since their butts remained firmly glued to their seats, all they succeeded in accomplishing was to squirm semi-erotically against each other. Finally they subsided, glaring balefully at Todd. Mike muttered furiously, “What have you done to us, Pricker, you sick fuck?”
“I’ve hypnotized you four sorry excuses and now I own your dim little minds. And, by the way, I think you all should call me master, not Pricker.”
“Fuck you, master,” Travis shot back, and then almost choked to hear himself comply with the command he’d expected to be able to ignore.
“Tut-tut! Such language!” Todd smirked. “For that, Travis, I think you should pay a forfeit. Come here, kneel down and suck my cock!” Like a robot, Travis rose from the couch and walked towards Todd, his face a mask of shock.
Craig murmured, “Fuck!”, and Jason looked as though he were about to cry.
“What the hell are you doin’, Travis?” came Mike’s horrified whisper. “For Christ’s sake, get back here and sit down!”
Through clenched teeth, Travis grated, “I’m trying!” He knelt helplessly before the young hypnotist, his muscular chest heaving in distress, and began to give him head, his lips and tongue working with the enthusiastic efficiency of an expensive rent-boy.
Todd only allowed himself a few moments in the hot mouth. He didn’t want to go over the edge before he’d had a chance to sample everybody. He pulled out from between Travis’ suctioning lips and said, “That’s enough for now, Trav. You know, you’re pretty good at that for a straight boy… good enough that I think you should show your teammates how good you are. Give your buds head for a minute or so apiece, but be careful no to let them cum yet.” With a glare that promised Todd terminal violence if he ever regained control of himself, Travis walked over to kneel between the knees of a helplessly squirming Jason, and, in spite of his teammate’s whispered pleas to leave him alone, wrapped his lips around the boy’s cock and began to suck.
“Mike,” Todd continued, “While he’s busy with Jason and Craig, you come over here and service me. Don’t worry. I’ll let you sit back down in time to get your turn in your buddy’s mouth.”
“Aw, shit!” Mike whimpered, but his body was already automatically levering itself off the couch. He walked stiff-legged, fighting it every step, and then almost collapsed in front of his tormentor as his knees bent of their own accord. “I won’t suck your-oof!” As soon as the blond jock’s lips had parted to complain, his mouth had darted forward as if on its own and engulfed Todd’s hard-on, effectively silencing the protest. Mike, too, gave head as effectively as any professional, although tears of frustration and rage coursed down his cheeks. Todd, however, remained unmoved by his victim’s distress. He remembered all too well how often he’d had to swallow his own tears (not to mention nurse cuts and bruises) because of the hateful homophobic bullying of Mike and Travis and all the other jocks. Again, it wasn’t at all long before Todd was approaching dangerously close to the orgasm he was still determined to delay, so, true to his promise, he stopped Mike and sent him back to his place on the couch, just in time for Travis to leave off slurping on Craig’s tool and fasten his hypnotically compelled mouth on Mike.
“Jason, Craig, it’s your turn. Come here, kneel down, and take turns sucking my cock.”
With the precision of a drill team, both young athletes got up from their places and shuffled slowly and reluctantly forward. “Please don’t make me do this,” Jason begged softly, while Craig muttered, “Why the hell are you doin’ this to us? What’d we ever do to you?”
“You two didn’t do anything specifically to me. But I can almost guarantee you’ve done the same kind of crap to other gay guys that good ole Mike and Trav here have done to me. You straight jocks are all the same, like some freakin’ tribe trained from childhood to rain abuse on anybody different. But if I’m wrong and you’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time, then sorry, but it’s too late to help that now. Besides, what are you complaining about? You both want to suck me off!”
“I want to suck you?!!” Jason’s outrage, though sotto voce, was palpable. But then, as Todd’s words sunk in (hypnotic command that they actually were), a very surprised expression settled onto his handsome features. Like a man experiencing an unfamiliar flavor, one that he’d expected to hate, and discovering that he finds it to his liking after all, Jason repeated that statement again, but this time his line delivery was quite different, filled with wonder, relief, and a burgeoning delight.
Both boys fell to with a will, actually even engaging in a little good-natured one-upmanship as they each tried to get the lion’s share of the access to Todd’s dick. This time the young hypnotist allowed himself to go with the flow, feeling the long-denied pleasure climb and then peak. Just before he lost the ability to speak coherently, Todd gasped, “Let me cum in your face!” Obediently Craig and Jason relinquished his dick and positioned themselves to accommodate the order. To the hypnotist, his orgasm felt nearly seismic in intensity, and he unloaded what looked to be about a cup of splooge all over their expectantly upturned faces. Todd sank into a chair panting. Noticing Craig reaching up to dab at the cum splatters on his cheeks, he quickly ordered, “Leave the jizz on your faces. You like the way it feels and smells.” Craig’s hands fell back to his sides and then, at the hypnotist’s further command, he and Jason returned to their seats on the couch. Mike and Travis (who, having finished his mandated minute of fellating his remaining teammate had, for lack of the ability to break free of his conditioning and pound Todd to a pulp, subsided fuming back to his own seat) both cringed fastidiously way from them.
Todd laughed at their distasteful expressions. “Oh you puppies are going to get more than that! Jock-trance pussy-boy!” Instantly all the boys were back under deepest hypnosis, eyes closed, heads lolling. “Craig and Jason, my cum on your face is magical. It’s turning you gay. You can feel it seeping into your skin, bonding with your DNA, changing you. You inhale the smell and feel it clouding your thoughts, altering your perceptions and desires. From this moment on you only attracted sexually to other men. You are a gay boy… you are a gay boy… you are a gay boy! Say it!”
“I’m a gay boy… I’m a gay boy… I’m a gay boy…” Without even token resistance, the two young athletes droned sleepily in unison. After having already given one blow-job that they’d been hypnotically convinced they actually wanted to give, there was virtually nothing left in their mental armor to be overcome.
As they repeated their new mantra, Todd continued, “Mike, Craig owns you. If he tells you to do something, no matter what it is, and no matter what you think of it, you will do exactly what he orders. You won’t be able to resist, avoid, or complain. Craig owns your ass. Repeat that.”
“Craig owns my ass.”
“Craig owns my ass.”
“Keep repeating it.”
“Craig owns my ass… Craig owns…” Mike helplessly recited.
“Travis, from now on Jason owns you.”
Todd gave him the same instructions he’d given Mike, and in no time the dark-haired athlete was also chanting, “Jason own my ass… Jason owns my ass… Jason owns my ass…”
The hypnotist then returned his attention the two newly-minted homosexual guys, amping up their taste for dominance, and quickly fixating their desires on their respective programmed slave-boys (and particularly on their actual asses; Todd was almost orgasmic with glee at the thought of his two homophobic nemeses acting as the helpless the butt-boys of their teammates in spite of themselves). He finished up by telling Craig and Jason that, upon awakening, they’d have a compulsion to exercise their new control over Travis and Mike. “And you won’t care that I’m here with you, or that you’re all together. You’ll be fine with fucking your boy in front of me and each other.” Then he woke them all up again (after reinforcing the command that no one could leave, or try to harm him).
The chanting boys fell silent and their eyelids flickered open. This time, as Jason and Craig once again took in their state and surroundings, instead of showing outrage or fear, their expressions grew predatory. Both boys’ erections (which, thanks to the hypnotic suggestion, had never gone down even during their most extreme distress) grew even harder and began to ooze droplets of pre-cum. They both stared with a certain amount of lustful interest at Todd, who was standing naked in their original sightline, but as they continued to look around and caught sight of Travis and Mike, their eyes practically glowed. Mike and Travis, on the other hand, were virtually cowering at their end of the couch. Since Todd hadn’t created any new amnesia, they knew exactly what they were in for if their teammates acted on the suggestions they’d received – and it certainly didn’t appear that they were throwing them off!
Craig stretched lazily and then got from his seat, giving Jason an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he did so, and walked to the middle of the room. Then, without saying a word, he looked straight at Mike, smiled evilly, and crooked his finger. Like a fish on a line, or a cartoon rabbit fascinated by a snake, Mike was helplessly drawn from his place by that beckoning digit. “Craig,” he begged softly, “Snap out of it! Fight him. Oh God, please don’t do this to me!!” completely oblivious of the fact that he himself was just as compulsively obeying his own hypnotic conditioning, and that he could have resisted just as well as Craig, were resistance possible for either of them. He continued his panicky babble until he was standing toe-to-toe with his teammate, at which point Craig stopped his mouth by grabbing him and kissing him thoroughly. Mike froze, but it was clear that, however much he might want to, he was utterly powerless to dodge Craig’s still cum-damp face or to push him away. His mouth reluctantly, but inexorably slackened to admit the other’s probing tongue and then the two young men were frenching each other as deeply as though both of them were into the kiss instead of only one.
While this was going on, Travis sat like a statue, his eyes fixed in horror on what was unfolding, until Jason, who had never taken his own eyes off of Travis since they had first come to rest there, commanded brusquely, “Travis, come here and suck my cock, boy!” Todd stifled a giggle because it sounded so funny in Jason’s light, friendly tenor voice. But apparently those suggestions for greater personal dominance had really found a home in the innocent-looking young runner. He watched with amusement as Travis once again found himself in the position of unwilling cocksucker.
However, neither Craig nor Jason was willing to settle for mere foreplay very long. Thanks to Todd’s hypnotic manipulations, their cocks had been painfully hard and ready for quite some time already. Craig released his lip-lock on Mike and said, “Mikey, I wanta fuck. Bend over and grab your ankles.”
Jason, who had closed his eyes in pleasure, opened them at the sound of Craig’s voice and, seeing Mike helplessly assume the position, grinned. “That looks hot! Trav, stop sucking me and bend over like Mike.” As Travis moved to obey, Jason added, “No, not here… over there right beside him. I want you two to look at each other’s faces while we fuck you.”
Like the acolyte in a ritual, Todd offered condoms and lube: condoms because, although he didn’t particularly care whether Mike and Travis might suffer from the encounter, he didn’t want their teammates to be put at risk (and Mike and Travis, already legends, even in high school, for their hetero cocksmanship, weren’t guaranteed safe by any means); and lube, again, not out of concern for his two nemeses physical comfort (about which he didn’t give a rat’s ass), but simply to ease the action so that Craig and Jason wouldn’t get discouraged and give up. In short order all four boys were adequately prepped for their respective roles, Craig and Jason, suited up and slick, and, side-by-side with their butts in the air, greased inside and out, Travis and Mike, staring sideways into each other’s despairing faces.
With a greasy high five to each other, Jason and Craig each latched on to a waiting ass and began to fuck. Jason just drove right on in, making Travis gasp in shock, and forcing tears of pain from his eyes. Todd guessed that Jason must be pretty inexperienced with sex of any kind, if not an outright virgin, since a girl would have been no happier with that approach than the boy was. Craig, on the other hand, did take a little time to try to work Mike’s tight hole into easier acceptance of his cock. But his size and hardness still caused his blond teammate to groan with discomfort when he finally shoved himself in. Soon enough though, both Jason and Craig were pistoning squelchily away, their eyes half-closed in bliss, and Mike and Travis, still staring hopelessly at each other as commanded, had lapsed into glazed, numb acceptance.
Todd leaned down close to their hanging heads and whispered, “Mike, Travis, you’re going to cum when they do. You won’t be able to stop it. And it will be your strongest orgasm ever! You’re going to hate that, but you’re going to have to live with the knowledge that the best fuckin’ sex you’ve ever had was being fucked up the ass by another guy!”
The denouement followed pretty quickly. Neither Craig nor Jason was making any attempt to prolong things. In typical jock selfish-fuck mode, they were concerned for their own pleasure only, and they’d both been ready to go for the orgasm even before they’d started. They fucked harder and faster, and in no time first Jason and then Craig reached critical and shot their loads gasping with satisfaction. And at the same time, as instructed, Mike and Travis came violently, their faces contorted in complicated grimaces of extreme physical pleasure mixed with pain and loathing. Todd was ready with the trance cue, and as soon as Jason and Craig pulled out, he sent all four boys back under total hypnotic control.
The physical clean-up didn’t take long. The mental one took rather longer. But by the time the young hypnotist was satisfied, none of the four hapless athletes would remember having been to his apartment, or that they’d ever been hypnotized by anyone other than Dr. Lanart, and they were expressly prevented from associating any changes they might notice in their own or their teammates’ behavior with the idea of hypnosis (not that, for the most part, they were going to be aware that there had been changes). However, Craig and Jason would continue to be exclusively gay, and both would still have a thing for their straight teammates. And Travis and Mike, though still exclusively straight, would continue to be unable to fight the control over their will that Todd had given Jason and Craig. Booty calls would be impossible for them to decline. And, of course, Todd left his own control phrase in place. He’d be able to have any or all of the boys, any time he wanted.
Todd had considered keeping the cell phones until he finished editing his tapes into porn ads, but finally decided to reel the boys back in for that later on. It would have been too complicated for the guys to deal with the absence of their phones, and that might have tipped them off that something was going on. Also, he was having second thoughts about posting ads for Jason and Craig anyway. Making those two gay had been a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, but since he’d done so, porn ads would no longer constitute the kind of prank nuisance for them he’d first planned. And Todd didn’t really want to take the chance that they might actually become hustlers. That could get the law involved and buy him a world of trouble. (Travis and Mike, on the other hand, gave him no qualms. They’d be harassed to distraction, but there was no chance they’d ever respond to callers, not even with violence, since the young hypnotist had permanently removed their ability to act or even speak aggressively against gays. They’d be horrified and angry, but they’d also be as polite as pie!)
After running through his mental check-list one last time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any safeguards or left any of his tracks uncovered, Todd said, “Stand up. Open your eyes but stay deep in trance. You’ll leave this place, still completely hypnotized, but as soon as you’re out the door, you’ll act as normal as you can. You will come out of your trances only when you reach your homes, and everything will be exactly as I have said: you will remember nothing about having been here or what went on.” He went to the door and opened it. As each blank-faced zombie-jock drifted by him, he fondled the helpless boy’s crotch in farewell.
Coach Johnson was not happy with the way things were going. His star relay team was falling apart in spite of the hypnotherapy. Jason MacBride and Craig Hansen seemed to have lost a lot of their competitive edge. He’d seen similar cases before, and figured that they must have new girlfriends that were keeping them too satisfied for their own good, although he couldn’t figure out who the girls were, since they didn’t seem to be hanging out with anyone in particular except their teammates and each other. And Mike Loggia and Travis Wheeler were downright haggard! Heck, at half of the track practices they looked like they could hardly walk with comfort, let alone run! What the hell was going on!? He never found out, because it would never in a million years have occurred to him to connect it with the new spring in the step of the young janitor Todd Bricker.