Subject: [eroticgayhypnosis] Story: "By the Numbers"

Reply-To: eroticgayhypnosis@yahoogroups.com

Hey!

As if you needed another reason to sit in front of your computer,

here's a new story for you. Enjoy!

Brock/Wrestlr

_____

By the Numbers

by Wrestlr

//Begin Standard Headers//

     Author: Wrestlr

     Title: By the Numbers

     Summary: A college jock notices his teammates are wearing new

numeral pendants

     Keywords: MC, MM, hypno

//End Standard Headers//

Disclaimer: The naked hypnotist strides confidently into your room.

His lips curl in what might be a smile as he dangles his shiny

crystal pendulum before your eyes and announces, "Listen and obey.

If you are not of legal age, or if you offended by sexual situations,

you will leave this place immediately. From here on, no matter how

autobiographical it may seem, everything will seem like fiction to

you, a pleasant dream where scientific possibilities and laws may

change according to my suggestion. Now, if you are willing, sit

back, relax, and enjoy the ride."

Copyright - 2004 by Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and

only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is

charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read

your site, you can't use this without the express permission of (and

payment to) the author. This paragraph must be included as part of

any archive.

Comments to wrestlr@iname.com

Wrestlr's fiction is archived at the following URLs:

   o http://members.tripod.com/~Brock_J

 (MC and general M/M stories,

plus my home page)

   o http://www.asstr.org/~wrestlr (MC and general M/M stories,

mirror site)

   o http://www.asstr.org/~mcstories/Authors/Wrestlr.html (MC stories)

* * *

By the Numbers

by Wrestlr

1.

So we were all changing out of our uniforms after practice, and Tommy

had his shirt off, and some of the guys were ragging him about that

little gold necklace thing he had been wearing for nearly a week, the

one with the little pendant that's the number 9. When somebody first

asked him what the 9 meant, he said, "Inches," and ever since a lot

of the guys have been joking around and saying how sad it must be if

he "only" has nine inches down below, when really I think nearly all

of those dickheads would love it if what they were packing suddenly

grew to nine inches. Hell, I know I would, but it's not like I was

gonna confess in public to having less than ten inches myself, even

though mine is only like seven and a half. Anyway, Tommy just laughs

and blows it off, 'cause he probably knew they were just jealous.

Their teasing was getting a little old, but hey, they'd move on to

something else soon anyway.

I was down to my jockstrap and my socks, and I remembered I needed to

tell Coach I had to skip practice the next day because I had a study

group session for that exam in my ethics class. No big deal--Coach

let Jerry off last week for a psych makeup test. I didn't want to

miss practice, but I needed to make that study session, 'cause my

professor was a real ball-buster and I needed to score well on the

exam.

So I pulled my pants and shoes back on and headed to his office. His

door was shut, so I pushed it open and walked in, same as I always

did. I was saying something lame like, "Hey, Coach--"

And there was Coach, sitting at his desk. He was slumped down a

little with his eyes closed, like he was taking a nap or something.

He had his shirt off--I caught myself thinking, He keeps himself in

good shape for a man his age, even though he's not that old--and he

was wearing one of those numeral pendants too, like Tommy's--only

Coach's looked like a 6 instead.

He looked like he was asleep, which seemed kind of weird right after

practice, so I was thinking, Should I wake him up?

"He's deep in hypnotic sleep," said a man from behind the door. I

turned around, and he pushed this flashing light thing toward my

face. I thought it was a flashlight at first, but it wasn't. It had

all these colors, and it was flashing like a strobe light, really

fast, and the kaleidoscope colors were moving about.

"Whassat ...?" I asked. Damn--could I have sounded any lamer? I

sounded like some spaz who couldn't even talk right. Maybe because

he surprised me with that light-thing. It was kinda distracting--but

it wasn't like it was ... It was just ... What ...? All those

lights ... Damn, why couldn't I seem to think straight?

"I'm a friend of your coach," he was saying. His voice seemed to

come from somewhere far off already. "And soon you and I will be

good friends too."

I couldn't seem to look away from the lights. I couldn't. Maybe I

didn't want to. The lights ... So ... something ...

"That's it," he said. "Look deeply into the light. So fascinating,

isn't it? You can't look away. Your coach looked deeply into the

light, just like you're doing, and now he'd deeply asleep, deeply

hypnotized. Soon, you too will be deep in hypnotic sleep ..."

Behind me, I heard someone--Tommy's voice--saying, "Hey, Coach, I--

I ..." His voice trailed off into a gurgle. Maybe he was looking

into the lights too now.

"That's it," the man was saying. "Look deeply into the light, both

of you. Soon, you will both be deeply, deeply hypnotized, deeply

asleep ..."

Next thing I know, I was waking up in one of the storage rooms where

the wrestling mats and the athletic equipment got kept. I was lying

on my back on a stack of mats. I sat up and looked around. No

telling how long I'd been asleep, but I sure felt good, all rested

and refreshed, content and happy. Whatever had happened, I must have

really liked it.

I sat up and swung my feet over the side of the mats. This thing

moved at my throat. I looked down at it, then turned it so I could

see it. It was a little gold pendant, like the ones Tommy and Coach

had--only mine was the number 7. Which made me grin, because my cock

had to be bigger than that--it was a seven-and-a-half incher, at

least!

2.

The next day, after practice--aren't I supposed to be somewhere else,

doing something important? Nah. After I shower and change back into

my street clothes, I'm walking out of the locker room--only instead

of turning right toward the exit, for some reason I turn left. I'm

not sure why. I just need to go that way. It just feels like I'm

supposed to go that way.

I trot down the hall to one of the storage rooms. The door should

have been locked but it isn't, so I open it and go in.

And there's Tommy. And Coach. And Barry. They're all standing

there in the open area created the middle of the storage room by

shoving all the old equipment back against the walls. They've got

their shirts off, all of them. I can see Tommy's 9 pendant. That

means something, I know, but I can't quite remember what. And

Coach's 6 pendant. That means something too ... but what? Barry

wears a 7, like me.

"Hey, guys," I say as I take off my shirt too. It feels good. I've

worked hard to get a nice chest like this, and I like showing it

off. It's not like we haven't seen each others' chests before.

Tommy's is maybe a little more muscular. Coach's is a lot hairier.

Barry's has darker nipples. Mine's the perfect in-between. Tommy

scratches one pectoral, accidentally knocking his pendant a little

with a finger, which catches my eye for some reason. I keep thinking

I might like to put my tongue where his fingers are.

We're standing around, not talking much because there's nothing much

to say. We're waiting, but I don't remember for what.

But we aren't waiting long. Then Jerry comes in, followed by

Greg. "Hey," Jerry says.

"Hey," I say back.

Jerry takes off his shirt, and so does Greg. Jerry's pendant is an

8. Greg's is a 5.

The door opens again. "Hello, gentlemen," the man says, and I

recognize him--his voice, anyway, since I didn't get a look at his

face--as the man from Coach's office the day before.

"Hi," we all say back. I'm grinning because for some reason I'm

really happy to see him.

"Thank you all for meeting me here today," he says with a confident

smirk. He has a small satchel in his hand, and he pulls out that

flashy light thing, and he says, "Not that you had much choice about

it." And then he shines those flashy-swirly colored lights at us

again, and I can't help but look.

I open my eyes--I guess I fell asleep for a couple of minutes there.

I'm blinking away the sleep--so are Jerry and Greg and Coach and

Tommy. We're all naked, for some reason, but that doesn't seem funny

at all.

Initiative--I've got that in spades, so nobody has to tell me what to

do. I reach out and put my hand on Greg's shoulder. I'm choosing

him. I'm a 7, and he's a 5. We both know what that means. Jerry

and Coach have paired off too. Jerry's an 8 and Coach is a 6, so

they know how it's gonna happen too. Barry chooses Tommy--but since

Barry is a 7 like me and Tommy is a 9, Tommy's gonna be in charge.

I'm sitting on the edge of the pile of mats, and Greg is beside me.

I lean back on one elbow and spread my knees. I guide Greg's head to

my erection with my other hand behind his neck. He knows what he has

to do. He's pretty clumsy at it, like maybe he hasn't blown a guy

before, but he's trying his best. He's younger than me, a little

shorter. I like his cute face, the way his torso is starting to put

on some muscle. I run my fingers through his hair, and he moans

appreciatively, and the vibrations feel good against my cock. What

he lacks in technique he makes up for in eagerness, which counts for

something. "Watch the teeth," I purr at him, and then I encourage

him with, "Oh, yeah, buddy--relax your throat and let me in," and

pretty soon he's managing my seven and a half inches pretty well for

a beginner. I've always been good at training the newbies.

I think I glimpse that man with the light-thing moving around us, on

the outskirts, but I can't be sure. I've got better things to pay

attention to. Barry strangles out a groan, and I look over. He's

blowing Tommy's big, big dick the way Greg is blowing mine--kinda

clumsy, but enthusiastically--and he'd jacking off at the same time.

Barry is cumming now. Tommy has him on his back. Barry's lying on

the floor, and Tommy sprawls across his face, fucking his mouth push-

up style while Barry jacks himself off. With Tommy's big ol' prong,

he must be punching a hole through the back of Barry's head and into

the floor, but Barry just makes these muffled gagging noises and

somehow manages to take it, but now Barry is shuddering and jerking,

and his cock is spurting cum like a geyser, over and over. When his

orgasm starts to subside, Barry just sighs one last time and settles

there on the floor as Tommy climbs off him. Barry's eyes are closing

as he probably sinks into contented sleep. Tommy hasn't cum yet.

His stiff cock juts straight out in front of him, and I'm thinking,

like, Wow, that's really big!

Jerry has Coach on all fours with his ass in the air, Jerry's rod up

his butt. Their bodies rock together in a rhythm familiar from

practically every porn movie I've ever seen. Coach knows what he's

doing--that's for sure--and Jerry is gasping and moaning

appreciatively as his hips thrust hard at Coach's ass. Coach has him

hovering on the brink. I'm thinking I wanna try me some of Coach's

ass myself, sometime soon.

Jerry whimpers that he's gonna cum, and Coach growls something

like, "Cum inside me." But Jerry's hard-on accidentally pops out of

Coach's ass, and he thrusts it against Coach's ass crack, and Jerry's

load sprays across Coach's back in hard spurts--spurt, spurt, spurt!

Jerry howls while he cums, like he's in agony, though I can tell it's

the opposite. Jerry sinks back, finally, as his legs give way--I

guess his orgasm screwed up his coordination--and he doesn't seem to

care. As Jerry reclines back on the floor and his eyes close, Tommy

is already moving in and plugs his huge cock into Coach's mouth.

Greg nicks me with a tooth, and I smack him playfully on the

shoulder. "Careful there, buddy," I scowl at him. I'm a take-charge

kind of guy, so I need to remind him again how to keep his teeth out

of the way. During this distraction, Coach has hit the point of no

return, jacking himself off on his knees as he blows Tommy, standing,

towering over him. I hear Coach's muffled cry and look over just in

time to see him unload his sperm on the floor.

As Coach settles back, eyes closing, Tommy comes over to me. All I

can think about is how he's a 9. He holds his cock over me. It

floats over my head like a zeppelin. Greg has the basics down, so I

can turn my attention to that nine inches of hard meat. It's still

wet with spit, Coach's and Barry's.

I open my mouth. I'm expecting Tommy to bring that zeppelin in for a

landing on my tongue, but he moves in too close. His balls slap my

nose. "Suck my sack," he growls. So I let one of his big balls roll

into my mouth and that's exactly what I do. "Aw, yeah! Stick your

finger up my ass," Tommy hisses. So I wet a finger and probe it

between his butt-cheeks. He squats a little to spread them, and I

find his hole and push my finger inside. He really seems to like

that. "Yeah!--Yeah!" he sighs happily. "Oh, fuck, yeah!"

He's towering over me. I shift around, licking at his other ball

just like he told me to. He's jacking himself and swearing. I feel

his balls tighten up, and the next thing I know, he's growling like

an animal, and there's something warm and wet gushing down on me:

his load.

Tommy gives a last growl that trails off as his eyes close and his

head rocks forward. His body hovers over me, swaying slightly, but

otherwise he looks like he may be deeply asleep.

Greg does this little thing on my dick--he's really getting the hang

of sucking it--and suddenly I'm there--I'm right there--I'm cumming--

cumming in his mouth and then, when my hips buck too far and my cock

pops out, cumming across his cheek--cumming--and cumming. Greg is

cumming too--I can tell from the way his body tenses between my legs,

his eyes clamped shut, the little gurgle choking out of his throat.

And when I sink back on the mats we're lying on, I feel so peaceful.

It seems so obvious and inevitable--hard day at practice, plus

orgasm, equals deep sleep. I grin at Greg. He is trying to pull

himself up toward my head, maybe wanting a kiss? Yeah. But his eyes

are already closing. His head settles on my chest. My arm settles

across his shoulders. Yeah. It's so easy to just close my eyes too

and let myself submerge into the peace.

3.

The next day at practice, a few more of my teammates were sporting

those number pendants. Then a few more, and then a few more. Mostly

6's and 7's, but also an 8 or two. There is something very sexy

about seeing those pendants against the guys' bare chests when they

take their shirts off. By the end of the week, everyone is wearing

one.

The system is simple. Higher numbers rule over lower numbers. If

you are a 7, like me, and you choose a 6, the 6 has to do whatever

you want. Or if an 8 chooses you, you have to do whatever he wants.

If you choose someone with the same number, it's a flip-flop thing.

You'd think that Tommy might get this huge ego, since he is the only

9, and lord it over the rest of us, but there is something built into

the system to protect against that. The lowest numbers rule the

highest. Tommy is the highest with his 9, and he'll move through the

guys, taking what he wanted--fucking a hole here, a mouth there. But

then he'll come across Greg or Jim, who have the lowest numbers--

they're both 5's--and this really peaceful expression will come over

Tommy's face, and he'll fold himself over one of the locker room

benches with his ass in the air or go down on his knees to give up

his mouth to them, looking like he really loves it. He probably does.

And that guy with the light thing? He moves among us and nobody

seems to notice him. Sure, they definitely see him at the beginning--

we'll pile into the locker room after practice and start stripping

off our uniforms, and he'll move push that swirly-flashy light thing

in our faces and we'll go to sleep for a little while, but when we

open our eyes, it's like he is invisible to the rest of the guys.

Like it's just us there. He'll walk among us, whispering in an ear

here, feeling an ass there, and everybody seems to ignore him like he

isn't there. So I never let on either. And sometimes he'll whisper

something in my ear, and--man!--my cock will get even harder, and

I'll do whatever he said, and it feels damn good!

Afterward, we'll all shower. And when we'll come out, the man will

be gone, but we'll still be feeling great!

4.

When a lot of the guys start getting erections as we're stripping

down after practice, you can kinda tell. They're ready for it

already, needing only the flashing, swirly lights to make it happen.

Maybe I'm the only one who is aware of it. I don't know. No one

ever talks about it--or him--so maybe they don't remember, at least

not consciously, but I can tell part of them remembers. The hard-on

part. Mine sure does. When Coach blows the final whistle and

hollers at us to hit the showers, I'll be hard in my jockstrap almost

instantly. A lot of the other guys are hard too, looking flushed and

horny, maybe not even realizing the reason. You can kinda tell.

Doesn't mean they are comfortable with it, I guess. This one day,

after maybe a week or so, we're all in the locker room. We pile in

and start peeling off our sweaty practice uniforms. The man has hit

us with the flashy-swirly lights, and we have all closed our eyes and

gone to sleep for just a little while. Then we've opened them

again. We're all naked, hard, and happily matched off and getting

off together.

I'm paired off with Jim--he's a 5--and Coach, so I'm getting my cock

licked by Jim while he jacks off and Coach fucks his ass with his six-

incher. Jim is in heaven. That boy can never hold out very long, so

we both know he was gonna cum in seconds. Not a problem for me.

After Jim comes, after he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep,

I'll move on and join another guy. Sure enough, Jim groans and his

eyes screw shut as he orgasms, and then the tightness relaxes in his

face, and his eyes do not open again.

Beside me is Corey. He's a 6. He's on his knees blowing Barry,

who's a 7 like me. I'd never have expected Corey to be giving a blow-

job, because he was raised all strict and religious and stuff.

Anyway. I can tell something's wrong. He keeps making these moaning

noises, like something is happening that he doesn't like. After a

few minutes, he blinks and shudders and nearly chokes. He

practically spits out Barry's cock and looks around. Corey's eyes

are wide and frantic, like he can't believe what he sees.

"Dude!" he swears at no one in particular. "What the fuck!"

The man is heading our way. "Hold him," he says. Since Jim has cum,

I can turn away from him, and I grab hold of Corey's arm. Barry has

his other arm.

Corey tries to pull away. "What the fuck!" he repeats, but we hold

him fast.

The man holds the swirling, flashing lights up into Corey's face.

But before he can say anything, I put my mouth close to Corey's ear

and say, "Try to relax. Look into the light. Focus on my voice.

Don't worry. So sleepy. Everything's all right. Look into the

light. If you try to fight it, if you feel your muscles tensing,

you'll find you can't keep them tense for long before they have to

relax. Relax. So hard to stay tense. So hard to fight it. Have to

relax. Letting yourself relax. Tension disappearing. So easy to

relax. So sleepy. Slipping away. Returning to safe, deep sleep.

Let it all go. Sleep."

The man raises an eyebrow at me, like he maybe doesn't believe what

he is seeing. I just keep talking soft and low in Corey's ear, soft

and low, as his eyelids start to droop and slowly, slowly close,

trusting me because I'm a teammate, trusting, listening, leaning his

shoulder against me as he feels himself falling back to sleep,

relaxing, so irresistibly, leaning his head softly against my chest

as he goes deeply to sleep again. Man, that gives me such as rush!

My fucking dick is harder than ever!

The man tells Barry, "Take him to Coach's office. I'll be there in a

moment to deal with him," and Barry picks Corey up in a fireman's

carry and carries him off.

The man holds the light in my face, and I let myself get lost in it,

basking in the strobing, kaleidoscope colors. His voice comes to me

from far, far away. "Looks like someone has been remembering more

than he's supposed to," he says. He says how comfortable I must be

feeling, so very relaxed, very cooperative, looking so deeply into

the light, and I feel exactly that. He asks me some questions.

Where did I learn to do that? How much do I remember? Why did I

help relax Corey? I hear myself answering his questions.

Yes, I'm deeply hypnotized.

Yes, I remember most of what happens.

I did it for the team.

I like what we do because it feels good.

I did it willingly, for the team and for me. I wanted to do more.

The man scratches his neck and says, "That gives me an idea."

5.

So that's how I came to be heading to the swim coach's office. The

man put one of those flashy-swirly light things in my hand and a tape

measure in my pocket. He told me what to say. I was deeply

hypnotized when he told me, so my subconscious remembers everything

perfectly. I'll be able to say and do everything perfectly, just the

way he told me.

The swim team has just finished practice for the day. I can hear

them in the locker room down the hall. In front of me is their

coach's office. Through the door I can hear the swim coach talking

to Ike, one of the star divers. In another moment, I'll open that

door. They'll look up and find themselves looking into the lights,

the colorful, flashing, swirling lights, and they won't be able to

look away, and I'll talk to them, and I'll watch them watch the

lights, watch the tension drain from their bodies as they become so

relaxed, watch their eyes close, talk to them, encourage them to take

out their cocks, so hard as they relax more and more, so hard,

measure their erections, help them start understanding their places

in the number hierarchy, maybe encourage them to strip if they feel

comfortable doing that already, talk them through the process of

stroking themselves, relaxing more and more, so horny, needing to get

off, needing to listen to my instructions, needing to accept my

instruction and my control, needing to get off so badly, so happy and

so horny and so accepting and ready to cum, cum now, cum hard.

My instructions are to establish the beachhead. The swim coach and

Ike will be the first step toward introducing the lights, then the

man, to the rest of the swim team. They'll never know what hit them.

http://www.eroticgayhypnosis.com

To visit your group on the web, go to:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/eroticgayhypnosis/