Disclaimer: All the usual caveats apply. This is fiction, not fact; don’t confuse the two. You must be of legal age in order to read this. If you don’t like male/ male sex or the idea of mind control, you won’t enjoy this, so go away. Finally, if this turns your crank, try writing one of your own. I’m always wishing there were more of these to read.

The Hypnotist

by

Hyptrance

“Now you are completely relaxed. Nothing will awaken you until I awaken you. You hear no sound but the sound of my voice.” Chris lay in my reclining make-up chair. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even. He was in a deep trance.

Of course, Chris isn’t his real name. He’s an actor, and you’ve probably seen him in films or on television. He’s incredible looking: lean hard-body, California tan, wavy honey-brown hair, terrific cheekbones, succulent lips, devilishly winged eyebrows, and, when they’re open, absolutely devastating long-lashed blue eyes. Chris is about my age (24), but looks young enough to play teenagers. He isn’t usually the lead. More often he’s the comic villain (the stuck-up rival boyfriend, for example), or the Mercutio-style, too wild best friend who comes to grief so that the hero will have a reason to become involved. This is, to some extent, type-casting. He is wild, has a hot temper, and always shows plenty of attitude.

How did Chris wind up under my spell? Well, thereby hangs the tale. We were both working on a film called “The Hypnotist”, about an evil professor who hypnotizes students and then uses them to commit crimes. (It was pretty hokey, and will probably never leave the shelf on which it is currently gathering dust.) I was Chris’ personal make-up man, and he had been giving me a typically rough time. I’ve never made a secret of my gayness, and Chris was constantly making nasty cracks about “faggots” (not, considering the number of closet types in positions of power in Hollywood, the wisest of career moves, unless you already have Mel Gibson’s clout), casually putting me down at any opportunity, and generally taking out on me, as the safest target for harassment, any frustrations he may have been feeling. Nonetheless, in spite of my irritation, I still found him very attractive, and what was more aggravating still, I was fairly certain that his homophobia was just for show. His polite indifference to the female co-star (a woman so stunning that she had every straight guy on the set quite literally walking into the furniture) plus the fact that I had once caught him, when he thought that no one was watching, checking out the ass of one of the super-macho stuntmen, lead me to believe that he could be had, if only one could get him to drop the act. Hell, he could maybe even be had by me. I’m personable enough, if I do say so, and, even in southern California, home of the tanned and toned, I’ve never had complaints about the way I look.

Still, I never would have done anything about it if it weren’t for what happened on the fifteenth day of the filming schedule. The scene slated for that day was the beginning of the end for the character that Chris was playing. He had been lured to the professor’s house, and was going to be hypnotized. The script called for the hypnotist to use, at first, a silly, theatrical induction, designed to fail, giving Chris’ character a false sense of security regarding his own susceptibility. Then a more sophisticated, disguised technique would be employed to turn Chris into one of the entranced “killer zombies”. That was what was supposed to happen. What actually did happen was that the actor playing the professor finished his first spiel, but Chris, instead of laughing it off in accordance with the script, merely sat staring at him, his face expressionless. At first we all thought that Chris was playing a practical joke, but it turned out that the son-of-a-gun had actually gone into a trance. His unnerved fellow actor had to wake him up formally before they could try it again from the top. And the second time through, the same thing happened! Chris, it seems, is the best hypnotic subject since Trilby. They finally had to film the professor separately and then intercut Chris’ reaction shots later, because if Chris heard any of the hypnotic induction, no matter how brief or sketchy a version, he was out like a light.

That afternoon, Chris was particularly foul to me, no doubt out of embarrassment over the morning’s fiasco, and that was when I decided that retaliation was in order and formulated my plan. You see I happen to be an excellent amateur hypnotist (not the fake Hollywood stuff; the real thing). Before the theater bug struck in college, I was a psych major, and hypnotism was my specialty. Before Chris left for the day, I told I thought his skin was looking dry from the special effects make-up, and that I would be available early the following morning if he wanted to come in for a moisturizer and facial massage. Any actor, let alone one as suggestible as Chris, would of course go straight to a mirror and immediately find dreadful evidence of incipient skin damage, whether it was there or not. I knew that Chris would be in my chair at the crack of dawn (at least and hour before anyone else was on the set) waiting for me to rejuvenate his face.

Sure enough, bright and early Chris walked into the make-up trailer. I casually slipped the catch on the door so that it would lock “accidentally” behind us, just in case anyone else happened to show up early. I did not want to be disturbed. I got Chris into the chair and then tilted it back to a very comfortable angle. As I began to work the moisturizer gently into his skin, I told him to close his eyes and allow his facial muscles to smooth out. Gradually I switched to my hypnotist’s monotone as I kept talking about relaxing the muscles, and my massaging fingers spent more and more time over the so-called hypnogenic points (the temples, the bridge of the nose, the center of the forehead, and the pressure points around the ears and jaw). And of course it was working. I doubt if Chris ever knew what hit him. I could feel his face slackening under my fingertips as I talked, and when I began to chant about relaxing the rest of his body muscle by muscle, about drifting off to sleep, he didn’t even twitch. He just continued to lie there soaking up my instructions, getting looser and limper by the moment. And this, dear reader, is where you joined us.

I looked down at the motionless young stud. “Chris, do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” His voice was soft and slow.

“Chris, you’re in a very deep sleep, but when I touch you, I want you to begin to count out loud, backwards from one hundred. Each number you say will make you go twice as deeply asleep. You will continue counting until I tell you to stop. Now begin.” I lay my hand on his chest, feeling the firm muscle and the tender little nipple though his t-shirt.

“One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety-eight…” With each number Chris visibly relaxed even more, his voice growing softer still. I let him continue until he was so deeply under that he could scarcely articulate.

“You may stop counting now.” Chris fell silent. “Chris, you feel so peaceful and contented, you don’t want to think at all. You just want to drift and listen to what I say. From now on you have no will of your own. Anything I tell you, you will believe and accept without any question or resistance. You will think what I tell you to think, feel what I tell you to feel, and do exactly what I tell you to do. Now I want you to say over and over, ‘I am in your power’, knowing that it is true, believing it more and more strongly with every repetition. You cannot stop saying it.”

Obediently Chris began to repeat, “I am in your power. I am in your power. I am…” As he droned on, parroting the phrase again and again, driving the suggestion deeper and deeper into his mind, I took the opportunity to check out his body (only a little, since the necessity of returning my subject to normal awareness soon enough to get him ready for the day’s shoot precluded the kind of thorough exploration I planned on enjoying later). I ran my fingers down the soft skin of his throat and then slid my hand under his shirt to play with his chest. Very nice! He felt strong and smooth, almost hairless. I wondered if he had removed hair artificially. Many actors do who play scenes bare-chested. Surprisingly, his nipples were hard. Apparently his subconscious found the idea of helpless obedience exciting. I took my hand out of Chris’ shirt and groped his crotch. Even through the denim I could tell that he was well supplied, and, sure enough, he was getting an erection. I slipped my hand along his flat stomach and under his belt and the waistband of his briefs. My fingertips touched the head of his stiffening prick and came away sticky with a drop of his honey. I gently rubbed the pre-cum onto his lips as they pouted open the next time he murmured the word “power”, and Chris reflexively licked it off. My cock was hard now as well, but time was running short.

“Chris,” I said, “You may stop repeating that phrase. It has now become as much a part of you as the beating of your own heart. Tonight, after work, you will have an irresistible compulsion to come to my house. “ (I gave him the address.) “ You won’t know why you have to go there, nor will you remember that I told you to do so, but you will not be able to stop yourself. You will tell no one where you are going, and you will come alone. Wear the sexiest pair of blue jeans you own, and bring the letter-jacket form wardrobe that you’ve been wearing for the shoot.” (What the hell, my fantasy, my rules! I might as well get all the details right.) “I will ask you in, and when you hear me say the words ‘Chris, you’re hypnotized’, you will instantly return to this deep trance and obey me totally. Repeat those instructions.” Chris did. “Now, in a moment I’m going to touch you on the shoulder. When I do, you’ll awaken to full normal consciousness. You will have no memory whatsoever of this trance. You will be certain that you merely fell asleep in the chair while I was giving you your facial. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Oh, and Chris? Since we have to go on working together, try to be a little nicer to me.” Gently I shook his shoulder, and Chris sleepily opened his eyes. “Sorry to disturb you, Chris,” I said, “but I’ve got to start making you up for the first scene this morning.”

“God, I must have been tired. I fell asleep right in the chair.” Then Chris became aware of his erection. He grinned. “I must have been having a pretty good dream. Wish I remembered it.”

Chris’ trance amnesia had remained intact, and all day he had refrained from hassling me, as per instruction, so I was not surprised that evening when my doorbell rang, right on schedule. I opened the door, and Chris stood there in tight, sexy jeans, white t-shirt, and, as requested, the high-school letterman’s jacket. There was an extremely confused expression on his handsome face.

“Hey there, Chris,” I said. “What brings you into the neighborhood?”

“I… I don’t know.” He gave me a troubled stare. “It’s weird. Somehow, I just had to drive over here, but I don’t understand why.”

“Well, come on in and we’ll see if we can’t figure it out.” I took Chris into the living room and sat him down on the sofa. I pulled up a chair opposite. “I think I may know what’s going on,” I said, looking straight into his eyes. “You see, Chris, you’re hypnotized.”

Chris’ eyes instantly glazed over. He blinked once or twice slowly, and then his eyelids shut, and he collapsed helplessly back onto the couch.

“That’s very good, Chris. You’re going deeper and deeper with every breath you take. Now stand up. I want you to imagine you’re standing at the top of a very long escalator going down. Can you see it?”

“Yeah.” Chris stood, swaying slightly, his arms limp at his sides, his head tilted forward onto his chest, his eyes still closed.

“Step onto the escalator, Chris. Step onto it now, and begin to go down.” Chris took one step forward and then stood quietly. “As you drift down the long, long escalator, Chris, you are going even deeper into hypnosis. As you go deeper, you are beginning to forget yourself. Everything you know about Chris, what he likes, what he thinks, even who he is, is dwindling to a tiny point deep in your mind and lost to you. By the time you reach the bottom, you will not even know your name. You will depend on me for your identity. You will belong to me.” I waited a few moments, and then said, “You are ten steps from the bottom… nine… eight, forgetting… forgetting… seven… six, get ready to step off, everything forgotten… five… four… three… two… and one. Get off the escalator.” Chris took another shuffling step forward.

“Open your eyes, but do not awaken.” Chris gazed helplessly into my eyes. I tested him: “What is your name, boy?”

Chris appeared to consider a moment and then stammered, “I uh… I don’t know, sir.”

Sir? Now that was promising. I looked him over. In his jacket and jeans, with the trance-induced innocent blankness of his expression, he really looked like a shy high-school kid, not a cocky young actor. I decided that it would be fun to develop this further. “When I snap my fingers, you’ll know that your name is… um… Marty.” (That was his character in the movie.) “You’re a high-school senior, and you were driving home from baseball practice when your car broke down. You’ve come to my house to call a friend to give you a lift, but you’ll never make that call, because I’m going to hypnotize you, and because you are extremely suggestible, you will be completely unable to resist falling under my spell.” I ushered him back to the front door, and positioned him as though he had just finished ringing the doorbell. Then I snapped my fingers.

“Excuse me for bothering you, sir, but my car broke down, and I was wondering if I could use your phone.” His voice sounded a little lighter and younger than before, and he stood with a teenager’s relaxed slouch. I was reminded that Chris is, after all, an actor.

Since it was my game, I was ready with my lines. “Sure, kid, come on in. You’ll have to wait a couple of minutes, though. I’m getting a fax over the line right now, but it should be through soon. Have a seat while you wait.” I indicated the couch, and Chris/Marty plopped down onto it. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Marty, sir.”

I sat next to him on the sofa and he turned politely to face me. “Well, Marty, I want you to look into my eyes.” With one quick motion I captured his chin with my right hand so that he couldn’t turn away. “Look into my eyes, deeper and deeper. Listen to my voice and look into my eyes, and now you can’t look away.” Of course, if I were really hypnotizing someone, this B-movie routine would never work, but it appealed to me as a fantasy, and Chris was already thoroughly hypnotized and under orders to respond. Actually, considering how hypnotizable he is, the induction, hokey or not, might have sufficed, even without the prep-work, but in either case, Chris was staring at me like a deer caught in headlights. “As you look deep into my eyes, you feel yourself relaxing more and more, more and more. All your muscles are relaxing. Your feet, your ankles, your legs are limp and heavy. Your torso is losing all tension. Your arms are limp and heavy.” Chris’ hands, which had risen reflexively to mine when I grasped his chin, and then remained frozen in place through the induction, now loosened and dropped into his lap. “Your neck is relaxed, your head is heavy.” I could feel the weight begin to settle into my supporting hand. “And now your eyelids are feeling heavy. You are feeling so tired, so very tired, so sleepy you can hardly keep your eyes open. Try to hold them open. Try hard, but you cannot. They are closing and you are going into a deep, deep sleep.” As I droned on, Chris really did struggle to keep his eyes open. It was like watching a little kid trying to stay awake when he’s afraid he’s going to miss something. However, the pauses between the blinks gradually became longer and longer until his eyes stayed shut. Chris was now under what amounted to three layers of the deepest hypnosis I could produce. He was ready for everything I had in mind.

“Marty, your body and your mind exist for one purpose only, and that is to do my bidding. You are my trance-slave, and find yourself overwhelmingly compelled to obey me. Now open your eyes and come with me.” I took his relaxed, unresisting hand and led the helpless young man into my bedroom.

Chris stood motionless by my bed waiting for orders. I found the dazed, blank innocence of his handsome face intensely arousing.

“Now, Marty, what is it you have to do?”

“I must obey you, sir,” he answered dreamily.

“Very good. I want you to take off all your clothes. Slowly.”

Chris slipped off his shoes and then lazily shrugged out of his jacket. I took it from him, enjoying the trace of his masculine scent that lingered in the warm cloth. Next came the t-shirt. Chris’ golden-tan torso was flawless: broad, well-muscled shoulders, a narrow waist, a flat stomach, a perfectly sculpted, nearly hairless (just as I had surmised) chest with dark, quarter-sized nipples. He looked so good I couldn’t resist. As he dropped the t-shirt, I commanded him, “Freeze, Marty.” Chris stood as still as a statue, while I ran my hands all over his satiny skin, caressing and squeezing the firm pecs. I nuzzled and chewed at his armpits like a hog hunting truffles, and then sucked on his nipples until they had contracted into hard little nubs.

“Okay, Marty, you can continue undressing.” Off came the socks, and then he was unbuttoning his fly and sliding off his tight blue jeans. Chris has great legs, and his ass in white bikini underwear was the stuff of legend: small, high, tight, begging for my touch. I again froze Chris in place while I squeezed and fondled his buttocks through the thin material of the briefs. Then I pulled his shorts down, letting his ample cock and balls flop free. Of course, Chris wasn’t hard yet. He was far too deeply hypnotized to manage any such thing without my specific instruction. But, even soft, he was beautiful. He was circumcised, but the resulting scar was very neat, and the proportion of the head to the thickness of his cock was perfect. His soft brown bush formed a lovely natural pattern on his crotch, with a faint trail leading down from his navel. I went around for the rear view, and found that, naked, it fulfilled every promise it had made clothed. The ass-cheeks, creamy inside the tan-lines, were smooth and perfectly shaped. When I spread them apart, his tight little asshole looked pink and clean. He must have showered just before he came over, because, in addition to his natural male musk, there was a faint odor of soap.

At my command, Chris stepped out of the underpants bunched at his ankles. (I put them in a drawer to be enjoyed later.) By this time I was so aroused that my own jeans were uncomfortable, so I quickly stripped as well.

“How old are you, Marty?” I asked him.

“Eighteen, sir.” The same dreamy, entranced voice. I suppose Chris must have been that age when he really was a high-school senior.

“Then, like all teenage boys, you must be very horny all the time. As a matter of fact, you can feel it now, can’t you? How sexy it is to be naked, how good your body feels, how much you want sex, how much you need it.” As I talked, Chris began to breath a little more quickly, and his cock filled out and rose until it stood stiffly straight at its full seven and a half inches. A tiny tear of pre-cum glistened at the tip. “Well, Marty, horny though you may be, I’ve made you my boy-toy, and so you can’t even touch yourself unless I command it. Now come here. I’m going to kiss you, and if that kiss is hot enough to suit me, then maybe I’ll give you permission to jerk off.”

Chris moved slowly into my arms, his manner a combination of eagerness and uncertainty, just as if he really were an inexperienced teen, his lovely eyes still locked in the glazed dreaminess of the deeply hypnotized. Our bodies pressed together, hard cocks trapped between bellies, and then our lips met in what quickly became the most intense kiss I have ever enjoyed. Chris’ lips were soft and mobile under mine, and when his mouth opened to admit my tongue, his own tongue was hot, wet, wickedness pure. Our hands rubbed and fondled every bit of each other’s anatomy that they could reach. We kissed until I was dizzy from lack of breath, and both our cocks were dripping like leaky faucets.

“That was one hell of a kiss, kid. You’ve earned your jerk-off session,” I told him. Then, as Chris reached for his twitching dick, I quickly added, “Freeze! You can’t move a muscle!” He was immobile again, although he was almost vibrating with the intensity of his need. “You’ve got to wait until I give the order, Marty. I’m your master. I’ll count to three, and then you will play with yourself. You want it so badly, you want it more than anything; and it’s going to feel great, better than ever before. You’ll just keep getting more and more turned on. But no matter how hot and bothered you get, you won’t be able to cum until I cum in your ass. However, even though you know this, you’ll still try everything you can think of to get yourself off, because, once I’ve completed the count, you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself. Now, one… two… three. Jack off, love-puppet!”

Chris fell onto the bed, writhing and moaning with lust. As I watched, stroking myself, his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, rubbing his chest and thighs, tweaking and teasing his nipples until they were hard and swollen, stretching his ball-sac and fondling his balls, and always feverishly stroking, stroking, stroking his pulsing, dripping cock. The hypnotic commands had forced him into a kind of sexual overdrive, and he was helpless to stop himself. Chris was obviously wildly aroused (as, watching his passion, I was also becoming). He spat on two of his fingers and began to frig his asshole. Soon he was vigorously finger-fucking himself in time with his strokes. And then, to my astonished delight, the young stud flexed his body and began to suck the tip of his own cock. It was obviously a well-rehearsed move. How about that! Old “cock-suckers-are-scum” Chris was in the habit of sucking himself! I immediately stopped stroking myself. The sight of the handsome young actor, crazed with lust yet still somehow continuing to convey the impression of an innocent teenage boy, with his cock pumping in and out between his own sexy lips, had almost taken me over the edge. And after going to all this trouble, I wasn’t about to settle for just whacking off.

Chris suddenly uncurled with a jerk and began to moan, “Oh God, I’ve got to cum! Please let me cum! Sir… Master, fuck me! Fuck my butt, please fuck my butt, oh God, you’ve got to let me cum!!” All the while his hypnotically controlled hands continued to work their sweet torture on him.

This was the revenge I had been waiting for: the man who had been treating me like shit, now groveling, calling me “master”, and begging me to fuck him. A word or two of suggestion had Chris’ heels over his head and his cock once again in his mouth. His pretty pink rosebud was exposed and defenseless. I buried my face between his resilient buns and tongued his asshole until it was sloppy and relaxed. Then I positioned my aching prick at the entrance and drove it home. Chris gasped, and then began to hump against me like a wild thing, matching my thrusts with his own savage thrusts. All too soon our abandoned rutting brought me to a climax of pleasure so intense that, for a moment, I feared I might black out.

As soon as he felt the spasms of my orgasm in his ass, Chris exploded. I’ve never seen anyone cum like that. His body went rigid, and he shot into his mouth, all over his face and chest, six spurts, seven, eight. The air was filled with the heady scent of sperm. And finally, Chris fainted.

After a minute or two, Chris began to stir. I was curious. Had he come out of trance? If he had, there could be trouble.

“Marty,” I called softly, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Good. Chris was still under my spell, still believing himself to be a hypnotized teenager. “ Marty, you’ve made a bit of a mess here. Clean up as much of it as you can using your fingers and your tongue, and then go take a shower.” I watched with appreciation as he rubbed the drying cum into his chest, his face, his nostrils, and then licked his lips and fingers. Then he delicately lapped up the drops that had spattered onto me. Bliss! The play of his ass as he walked into the bathroom was sheer poetry.

By the time Chris returned, glowing and clean, I was dressed again. I ordered him to put his clothes back on, but made him forget the underpants that were now hidden in my dresser. Then I led him back to the living room.

“Sit down, Marty.” He sat on the couch. “What are you?” I asked.

He looked a little confused but answered after a moment of thought, “I’m a hypnotized boy-toy.”

“That’s right, Marty. But in a moment I’m going to touch you on the forehead, and you will instantly forget all about that. You will not remember what happened in the bedroom; you will not even remember Marty. You will remember that you are Chris. ‘Marty’ will mean nothing to you out of the ordinary unless I call you ‘Marty’. If I use that name to you, you will immediately again be my teenaged hypno-slave, Marty. Repeat those instructions.” Chris (as Marty) repeated them. Then I touched his forehead. “Now tell me your name,” I tested.

“Chris.” He was still in trance, of course. I had removed only Marty, not the hypnosis.

“Chris, sleep deeply. You will hear and you will obey. In the future, any time I want to exercise my power over you, all I will need to do is to snap my fingers and say ‘deep sleep’. As soon as you hear me do this, you will instantly be deeply hypnotized, and totally, helplessly obedient, just as you are now. It may be tomorrow, next week, or next year, but no matter when, nothing will ever change your response to this trigger. You will always be my toy. Now, I want you to stand up.” Chris stood. “I will give you one more kiss, and then you will leave here and drive home. You will drive carefully, and when you reach your home you will awaken to normal consciousness. When you do, you’ll forget everything that happened while you were in trance. You will not even remember that you were hypnotized. As a matter of fact, at the first green traffic light you see on your way home, you will forget this house, you will forget this address, you will completely forget that you were ever here. Do you understand?”

Chris nodded sleepily and, after one last lingering kiss, he drifted dreamily out the door. I heard him start his car and drive away.

Later that night I began to feel horny again. I took Chris’ bikinis from my dresser drawer and then went to the phone and dialed his number. When Chris answered, I said, “Hi, Chris. This is Greg.” Then I snapped my fingers and added, “Deep sleep.” After the pregnant silence on the line assured me that he was back under my control, I asked, “Chris, are you alone there?”

“Yeah,” he answered blankly.

“Well, this is what you’re going to do…”

As I sniffed Chris’ underpants and masturbated while I listened to him bringing himself to a panting, moaning orgasm, I thought to myself that revenge can certainly be sweet.

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