Disclaimer: This is FICTION! If you can’t distinguish the difference, or if a plot featuring male-to-male sex and mind control upsets you, stop reading now. All characters are over eighteen. If you are not, or if the standards of your community are so repressive that you are denied freedom of speech and thought, regardless of your age, then leave this site without reading. This story may be reposted elsewhere, as long as no fee is charged to view it.

Hypno-Hustler

By Hyptrance

Jimmy Rawlins checked himself out in the mirror. His light-brown hair was carefully combed to seem not too combed, his tight white t-shirt and tight jeans set off his athletic 19-year old body to perfection, and his worn black leather jacket added just the right touch of sexy toughness. Yup, he was ready to go.

To look at Jimmy’s big blue eyes, and his innocent boyish face, with its vulnerable expression, you would think he was an inexperienced kid; a young Chris Isaak, down on his luck, maybe even not yet certain about his sexual orientation, but trying to peddle his ass as a last resort. That’s what you’d think, but you’d be wrong. Jimmy was James Pembroke Rawlins III, and he didn’t need money. He was a spoiled trust-fund baby who never needed to work a day in his life if he didn’t want to. He’d practiced that forlorn waif look because it was a useful tool. And he wasn’t unsure about his sex, either. Jimmy hated gays, and despised them for being attracted to him. He was no prostitute. Jimmy Rawlins was a predator. He would play the whore until he had snared a trick, but after the money changed hands (and he insisted on it up front), he would refuse to follow through. He would tell his johns that he was under eighteen and threaten to call the cops. Sometimes, when he thought he could get away with it, he would even beat them up, just for kicks.

When Jimmy left his college dorm that night, he drove twenty miles to a gay bar that he had worked a couple of times before. Even though he only went out hunting a few times a month, it was hard finding places where he wasn’t remembered. He hadn’t been to this one very recently though, and thought he could get away with it.

Jimmy hadn’t been in the bar more than twenty minutes or so, when the bartender brought him a beer he hadn’t ordered “compliments of the gentleman at the corner table”. He looked over and saw a slim, dark-haired guy, apparently not much older than himself, who nodded to him. Jimmy took the beer over to the man’s table, keeping his expression neutral and a little wary, but inside, rage and disgust boiled even stronger than usual. Christ! The guy was handsome as a movie star! What the fuck was he doin’ bein’ a faggot? He looked so good he could have any chick he wanted! Well, Jimmy Rawlins was going to take special pleasure in rearranging that pretty face for him. Just see if he didn’t!

Jimmy said, “Thanks for the beer,” and sat down at the table. Then, with a calculated hesitancy he added, “You’re not a cop, are you?”

The dark-haired guy smiled. “No, I’m not a police officer. I’m, just looking for some special company tonight, and wondered if you might be available. My name’s Scott, by the way.”

“Tom,” Jimmy lied. He pretended a moment of internal debate, then, as if taking a plunge, blurted, “Twenty to blow me, fifty if I fuck you, two hundred to spend the night.” He artfully turned that last into a question, implying that he wasn’t sure that these were acceptable prices, and that he might not have a place to spend the night unless Scott provided it.

“I’ll want you for the whole night, and there’s an extra 200 in it for you, but you’ll have to agree to let me hypnotize you. That’s my thing.”

Jimmy managed to look a little nervous as he pretended to consider this, but inside he was laughing his ass off. Hypnotize him?! Like some dumb faggot was going to be able to dominate the will of Jimmy Rawlins! Well, let the asshole queer have his little staring contest. It would be even more fun to pretend to go under and then crush his little fantasy before busting his face. “I… I guess that’d be okay,” he stammered hesitantly. And then the masterstroke: “It isn’t… dangerous, is it? I mean… you can’t make a guy do something that would hurt him? I don’t get fucked!” His innocent blue eyes stared straight into Scott’s dark ones.

Scott smiled again. “Don’t worry, Tom. You won’t do anything you don’t agree to,” he said, while thinking, “And by the time I’m finished with you, Mr. Rawlins, you’ll agree to anything.” For Scott knew who this hustler was. This was no random pick-up. Scott’s best friend had been one of Jimmy’s previous victims, beaten and robbed, so for months Scott had been keeping an eye out for the young hood’s return, and plotting revenge. And there was no doubt in his mind that he would get it. He’d been a successful stage hypnotist for almost five years, and Jimmy wouldn’t be the first homophobic little shit to suffer a sea change after a quiet chat with Scott!

When they reached the hypnotist’s apartment, Jimmy went to use the bathroom (on the way, checking the place out for any items that it might be worthwhile to rip off after he doused Scott’s lights). Scott, meanwhile, went to the kitchen. “Hey, Tom,” he called out, “You want another beer? You didn’t get to finish the one at the bar.”

Jimmy thought, “Christ! Just like a fuckin’ faggot… has to talk to a guy while he’s in the john!” but he hollered back, “Yeah, sure,” and when he returned to the living room a frosted mug was waiting. Jimmy took a sip, and then a couple more, and then still more. This was great beer! In spite of himself he had to ask, “This is really good; what kind is it?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Scott replied. “I make it myself.” He neglected to mention that, in addition to beer, the glass contained a very stiff dose of a psychoactive hypnotic drug. After a few swallows of this particular brew, a guy could be put into a trance state by a blinking turn signal, let alone a professional hypnotist!

“Have a seat and we’ll finish our business dealings,” said Scott. As Jimmy relaxed on the couch, continuing to sip his loaded beer, Scott brought out his wallet and extracted four one-hundred-dollar bills. “It was $400, wasn’t it?” he asked, “$200 for the night and $200 more to let me hypnotize you?” He handed Jimmy the money.

“That’s what we agreed,” Jimmy answered, pocketing the bills. He realized that he could punch the faggot out and leave now, but he was feeling mellow, and besides, he couldn’t wait to see the asshole’s face when Jimmy Rawlins, instead of going to sleep, opened his eyes, told him to fuck off, and kicked his ass. So he decided to play along, and relaxed back into the couch, enjoying the buzz he was getting from this great beer. He took another sip and discovered, to his mild surprise, that his glass was empty. He didn’t remember having finished it.

Jimmy realized, fuzzily, that Scott had gone on talking while he daydreamed, something about ‘relax… breath deeply… getting sleepy’. He supposed he should be pretending to pay attention, but he was feeling so relaxed and peaceful that it was just so much easier to lie back and let the silky voice wash over him. Jimmy found himself staring fixedly into the hypnotist’s eyes. Vaguely he remembered Scott saying something about ‘look into my eyes, deeper and deeper…’. Christ, he was so sleepy he could hardly form thoughts. And those eyes… They seemed enormous. It was as though he were floating right into them. The boy tried to drag his gaze away, but he couldn’t even blink. So-o-o sleepy… Funny, it was almost as if he were really being… hypnotized…

being…

hypnotized…

…..

The next thing Jimmy knew, Scott was telling him to open his eyes. He felt very strange. Had he passed out? The young hustler was almost certain that there was a little gap in his memory, like a dropped stitch in a piece of knitting. Weird. Well, it was definitely high time to get the fuck out of there! Jimmy gathered himself to launch his attack. That is, he tried to. Something odd was going on. He couldn’t seem to get his muscles to work. Nothing hurt, nothing was numb, but his body just wasn’t responding to his intentions.

Scott watched as the boy’s ineffectual struggles became more and more panicky. Then he said, “Stand up, Jimmy.”

Jimmy was so shocked to hear the hypnotist use that name that he didn’t even register that he was now standing obediently at attention. “Wh-why did you call me Jimmy? My … my name’s Tom.” Jesus, what the hell was going on!? You never tell ‘em your real name!

“You can cut the act, you little shit.” Scott’s voice was like a whip. “You don’t remember, of course, but you’ve been a hypnotized zombie for the past hour or so, and you’ve spilled all you dirty little secrets. As a matter of fact, although you probably don’t realize it, you’re still deep in trance. I just wanted your conscious mind along for the ride to appreciate what’s going to happen to you next. Now, take off your clothes, punk!”

Jimmy had already shucked his jacket and kicked off his sneakers before it even occurred to him that he was obeying the hypnotist. Then he furiously tried to control his unruly hands, but to no avail. Cursing, he pulled off his socks, and then dragged his t-shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.

“Stop right there for a moment,” Scott instructed. “You are a statue… stiff… rigid.”

Suddenly Jimmy was unable to move a muscle. He stood motionless, his hands frozen in the act of unbuttoning the top button of his jeans, and heaved a mental sigh of relief. Thank God the guy had stopped him. He sure hadn’t been able to stop himself. His relief quickly turned to horror, though, when Scott stepped in close to him and began to stroke his chest. The hypnotist teased and tweaked his nipples, then bent down and began to suck one, flicking it with his tongue, then nipping it. Jimmy was revolted. At least, he thought he was, but somehow his body didn’t seem to agree. It was telling him that this felt pretty good. His chest tingled in what seemed to be a direct line to his balls, his cock began to swell, and his own lips and tongue registered a curious phantom sensation of emptiness, as if they too wanted a nipple to chew. And the rougher Scott’s tit-play became, the harder Jimmy’s erection grew.

Finally the hypnotist stepped back and said, “Very good. Now, finish undressing.”

In spite of his frantic efforts to resist, the young hustler could only watch helplessly as his hands obligingly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, then pulled them and his briefs down to his ankles. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and straightened up, feeling ready to die of rage and shame. Here he was, stark naked in front of his conqueror, and he had a hard-on like a fuckin’ railroad spike!

Scott reached out and began to tickle the boy’s rigid cock; light, feathery strokes that almost didn’t touch. Jimmy again felt ready to expire, but this time from pleasure. Christ, that was the sexiest thing he’d ever felt! He was on the verge of cumming, but the hypnotist never quite let him cross that line. And deep inside him, inside his ass, there was a physical longing he was afraid even to think about. How the hell could another guy make him feel this way?

As if reading his thoughts, Scott said, “In case you’re wondering why this is getting you so hot, I redid some of your mental wiring so that you’re turned on by men. It’ll be useful in your new line of work. Yeah, that’s right, no more of your little bait and snatch scam. You’re going to be a real whore, now. You have the face and body for it, and you owe the world a shitload of karmic payback, so I’ve arranged for you to be real accommodating, hypnotically accommodating, to any guy who wants you. Now, let’s work on a few of the skills you’re going to need.”

Jimmy listened to this explanation with steadily mounting fear. He didn’t doubt for a moment that it was the truth, since he still couldn’t stir, and his cock was going crazy with desire even though he didn’t, didn’t, didn’t want it to. He began to plead with Scott to let him go, promising no reprisals, promising to be good, promising money, promising anything he could think of to get the hypnotist to relent.

Scott just growled, “Shut up,” and suddenly Jimmy was unable to utter a sound. “My friend Mark begged too, just before you broke his ribs. It didn’t do him any good, so it’s not going to save you either. On your knees, cocksucker!”

Jimmy tried his best to remain standing, but after only the briefest of struggles his traitorous legs had bent to his master’s request. Scott unzipped his pants and pulled out a dick that seemed, from the boy’s vantage point, to be enormous, and pressed it against the young hustler’s lips. Although he would have given anything to be able to lock his mouth shut, Jimmy found instead that his jaw obediently dropped, and his unresisting lips allowed the massive cock to enter easily. He wanted to puke, to scream, to bite down savagely, but could do none of these things. His lips tightened around the shaft, his tongue licked and swirled around the glans, and his head dutifully rocked forward and back as the hypnotist face-fucked him. Apparently his gag reflex had been hypnotically desensitized, for he was able to take the full length of Scott’s cock down his throat. Jimmy began to cry with shame and frustration, but he couldn’t stop performing his expert blowjob.

After what seemed forever, the cock was finally removed from Jimmy’s mouth. Scott looked at him appraisingly. “I guess that will do well enough for street trade. Of course, if your john wants to suck you, all you have to be able to do is get hard and cum. And I’ve made sure that you’ll do that, even if he’s as ugly as a troll! What would you have done if I’d cummed in your mouth?” As the boy’s lips worked helplessly, he added, “Oh, you may speak.”

Jimmy gasped as the power of speech returned to him, but then listened in frozen horror to his own voice answering in mechanical response, “Swallow it all, sir.”

“That’s right, you little slut. You’re programmed to be the biggest cock-hound this town has ever seen. Now, turn around and bend over the couch.”

Jimmy knew what was coming next, and as his body helplessly assumed the required position, he moaned, “Oh God, please don’t do this! You’ll tear me apart!”

Scott handed him a tube of lubricant. “Well, then I guess you’d better get yourself opened up for me, hadn’t you?” he sneered. “Work your way up to three fingers, and that should do it. After all, it’s not as if I’m going to fist you.”

Then, to his intense embarrassment, Jimmy found himself compelled to squeeze the grease into his ass and begin to finger himself as the hypnotist watched critically. He started with one finger only; in and out, in and out, probing deeper and deeper until he struck that magic bump that made his rigid cock twitch and flex. But soon, the strange feeling became more and more irresistible, building to an active hunger in his ass. He added another finger, and then another, still not enough to satisfy this unfamiliar need. “Please fuck me, sir. Fill me up with that hot, hard cock, and make me your toy.” Again, Jimmy listened to that unsettling hypnotized monotone that came from his own mouth, but was not under his control. And it went on, despite his efforts to be quiet. Christ, he sounded like a bad actor in a porn flick!

He felt his hands pushed away from his ass, felt Scott grab his hips, and then his asshole was stretched to its limits as the hypnotist entered him. Jimmy’s first complete thought after his initial animal panic was, “This isn’t as bad as I thought.” Then, “As a matter of fact it feels good, damn good!” The rational, conscious Jimmy was totally at war with the hypnotized slave-Jimmy. He didn’t want it to feel good, didn’t want it at all. He just wanted to get out of there. But the hypnotized boy could feel already how the fucking he was receiving was satisfying that undeniable itch in his libido. His cock was drooling pre-cum, and was so hard it was almost painful. He could recognize that this had become a compulsive desire from which he would never again be free. Scott began to fuck harder and faster, and then, with a shout, he came in Jimmy’s ass. At the same time, Jimmy helplessly spewed his load all over the couch.

After the hypnotist had recovered somewhat from his orgasm, he noticed the mess and said, “You’re going to have to learn to control yourself. A top won’t be hiring you to cum. Now, clean up the couch. Use your tongue.”

Jimmy humbly began to lick at the wet spots. He knew he couldn’t refuse, and had stopped trying to fight. Next, at the hypnotist’s command, he put his clothes back on and resumed his seat.

“Look deeply into my eyes.” Instantly Jimmy’s world ceased to exist except for those fathomless eyes, that compelling voice. “These are your final instructions. When you leave this house, you will immediately forget where it is, and what it looks like. You will never be able to find it again. You will remember what I have done to you, but you will not be able to speak of it to anyone, and you’ll forget my name and my face. You won’t recognize me even if we meet again. You are no longer able to harm anyone. If you try, your limbs will simply cramp up and refuse to move. From now on, you will be in reality the hustler you were pretending to be. You will go to the bars and clubs just as you did before, but now, when a guy approaches you, you will do what he asks. And you won’t take any money for it, until you’ve been with as many men as you’ve robbed and cheated. Call it community service. After you’ve paid your debt, you can star charging like the other hustlers, neither more nor less. Oh, and do use condoms. I wouldn’t want your penance cut short. Now, deep asleep!”

When Jimmy came to himself again, he was sitting at the counter of an all-night diner, sipping a cup of coffee. He couldn’t remember how he got there. He just knew it had something to do with that hypnotist-dude, uh… uh… what the hell was his name? He was still trying to call up the vanished face and name, when he noticed that a guy at the other end of the counter was checking him out. He was an average-looking man: forties, a little overweight, hair thinning. “Another fuckin’ faggot,” Jimmy thought, but at the same time he automatically returned the man’s eye contact, a sensual smile on his face, his legs spread apart invitingly to show off his basket to best advantage. The hypno-hustler was in business.

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