Disclaimer: This material is forbidden to all who are under the legal age for their community, or are disturbed by the concepts of erotic hypnotism or male/male sexual activity. No resemblance to actual people or situations is intended, and none may be inferred. This material may be downloaded or printed for your personal enjoyment, but may not be reposted without my consent.

Making Champions

(a Tom LeBlanc story)

by

Hyptrance

   “Tommy? Tom LeBlanc?”

   The phone call came from out of the blue. For one thing, it was 7:30 in the morning, rather earlier than Tom was accustomed (or even particularly willing) to receive calls (as a matter of fact, it woke him from a sound sleep). For another, the voice was neither completely unfamiliar (a common enough occurrence in Tom’s life, both professionally and, due to the ongoing hypnotic activities his unwitting recruiting agents Johnny Miller and Cooper Thompson, privately as well) nor readily identifiable. It was just naggingly familiar without his being able to place it.

   “This is Tom,” he said cautiously.

   “Tommy!” the voice exclaimed happily, “It’s Joel, Joel Kirkland.”

   “Oh. My. God! Joel?!! I haven’t heard your voice in… what? Seven years? Not since you left college to go play for the Astros. What have you been doing with your bad self?”

   Joel Kirkland was Tom’s old college roommate, and his first hypnotic victim. All during their freshman year Tom had conditioned his unsuspecting roomie to mistake him on cue for his then girlfriend, Liz Peterson. Remembering the hot times in their dorm room, the hypnotist wondered if Joel were still as cute and sexy as he had been then, with his maiden’s-dream face and perfect athletic body. He also wondered whether the trance cues implanted so long ago (but so thoroughly) still worked; not the one that made his ex-roommate think Tom was Liz (Joel had broken up with her towards the end of that first year, claiming she was too demanding and was wearing him out, which had made the fledgling hypnotist feel more than a little guilty since, at least half the time, “Liz” was Tom LeBlanc), but the other cue, the one that simply put Joel instantly back into trance.

   “Well, after I blew out my knee just before playoffs…”

   “Oh, yeah, I read about that. What a rotten break,” Tom interrupted sympathetically.

   “Well, anyway,” Joel started again, “That was the end of my playing career, so I went back to school, finished my degree, got a master’s, and went into collegiate coaching. I’m the second in command for the whole athletics program here at _________.” Tom recognized the name of a small college in a town in a neighboring state. “It’s not a big school, but we have a few really promising kids. That’s the main reason I’m calling. I remember you used to be heavy into psychology and hypnotism. You still do it?”

   Tom knew Joel couldn’t possibly be remembering how heavily he’d been into it. Otherwise he’d be at the door with a baseball bat, not on the phone making small talk! “Yes, I do. It’s how I make my living these days – stage shows and hypnotherapy.”

   “Great, great! I have three kids here I’d like you to work with. They could really put our program on the map. More importantly, they all have the potential to grab that brass ring and get themselves professional careers. But each one of them has a fatal flaw. I’ve tried every motivational technique I know, but it’s just not enough. They need something more, and I’m thinking hypnotism might be it.”

   “That depends a lot on what those ‘flaws’ are. And on whether they’re hypnotizable or not… although college kids usually are. What problems are we talking about?”

   “Like I said, there are three of them. The first one is Scotty Dumont. He’s a diver – won all the meets and all the medals in high school. He’d have been at one of the premiere schools in the country, and probably on his way to the Olympics, but the summer before his freshman year, he slipped going off the ten-meter board, hit the water badly, and tore out his right shoulder. Cornell dropped him like a brick, so he ended up with us. The thing is, the reconstructive surgery was 100% successful. He has all his mobility and strength back. He could take up right where he left off, but he’s scared of it now. Every time he tries to dive, he freezes up and gets too careful. Now not only is he at more risk than ever of re-injuring himself, but his diving sucks!”

   “That’s a straight-forward trauma-induced phobic reaction, and visualization or desensitization under hypnosis is the therapy of choice for that. If I can get him into a trance, I’m sure I can help him. What else?”

   “Taylor Smith, our starting quarter-back. Plays football like Joe Montana’s clone. But off the field he’s a ditz. He’s in danger of losing his eligibility just because he can’t seem to get himself to class reliably, or do his assignments. It’s not that he’s stupid. He just doesn’t think anything matters but football, and so he doesn’t pay attention to it. Now, understand me, I don’t want you to change anything about his on-field performance. We like that just the way it is. I only want you to give him a little ‘encouragement’ to keep his academic standing up to the minimum.”

   “Ok. That problem should also respond fairly well to a little post-hypnotic arm-twisting. The third?”

   “Our problem boy, Chris Stuckey, basketball. Of all of them, he’s the one that really has superstar written all over him: faster than you can imagine, can make the ball do anything, and reads the developing plays so quickly you’d swear he was psychic. But he’s also a spoiled, egotistical, ball-hogging little primadonna prick! And the best player in the world can’t cut it if he won’t acknowledge the concept of team play. He needs a major attitude adjustment!”

   “Now that’s a little tougher. I might be able to help him turn over a new leaf or not. I’d have to work with him to see. Also, it sounds as though he might not be willing to be hypnotized in the first place. The other two probably admit (at least to themselves) that they have problems, but I’m willing to bet he doesn’t.”

   “You got that right! He’s sure he walks on water. But isn’t there some way to hypnotize a guy so that he doesn’t know that’s what you’re doing? I thought I read about it once.”

   Thinking, “You, of all people should know, although of course you don’t”, Tom replied, “yes, it’s possible if he’s susceptible enough. Or you could make it seem it wasn’t directed just at him. Maybe have me do him as part of a group? As I said, I’d have to see. Does your budget have enough to bring me down there for two or three days?”

   It did. After coming to an agreement, and a little more reminiscing about college, the two men hung up, and Tom set about making arrangements for his trip.

   When Tom saw Joel waiting for him outside the baggage claim area at the air terminal, he felt as though time had stood still. The man who was waving to him so cheerfully seemed almost unchanged from the college boy the hypnotist remembered – the same wavy dark hair (worn in the same style), the same model-cute face, with scarcely any evidence of the stress his injury must have put him through, and (obvious even in the conservative suit he was wearing) the same hot-as-a-pistol athlete’s body. Of course, the circumstances were quite different, since the clearest memories Tom had of his old roommate were those of Joel buck-naked and helplessly entranced, waiting to do his bidding. He felt a warning tingle in his crotch, and quickly thought of other things to avoid throwing a woody right on the spot.

   “Tom, buddy, great to see you!” Joel was pumping Tom’s hand, grinning. “I hope the flight was okay.”

   “No problems.”

   “Great. Let’s grab your bags and get you to your hotel.”

   Tom had requested off-campus housing. With his eyes always open to possibility, he didn’t want to be in a room that was too closely under the eyes of the college community, just in case one or more of his subjects should prove attractive (and hypnotizable) enough that he would want to “invite” him up. He hadn’t checked any luggage, so they walked out to Joel’s little Subaru in the parking area.

   As soon as they were seated in the car, Tom could contain his curiosity no longer. Would Joel still respond to the trance cue? He had to find out. Quickly, before his prey could start up the engine, the hypnotist softly said, “You look tired, Joey.” Joel started to turn towards him, his expression suddenly a little abstracted, as though he were trying to remember something, and then he blinked. Slowly. Once. Twice. His eyelids slid shut a third time and stayed that way. Tom had just enough time to reach over and steady Joel’s suddenly limp body before the hypnotized coach could collapse onto the steering wheel and set off the horn. Hot damn! The trigger still worked! “You look tired, Joey. You look tired, Joey,” Tom crooned, reinforcing it. “You need to sleep, deeper and deeper, just like you did back in college… always deeper… listening to my voice… so relaxed and peaceful… easy to follow my suggestions… no cares… no resistance… deeper…. deeper….”

   In a very short time, Joel was as thoroughly in Tom’s power as he had ever been. A quick fondle of his undefended crotch made that clear (as well as eliciting a responsive twitch and contented sigh from the hypnotized stud). Five minutes later, when Joel was awake again and driving them to the hotel, he had no awareness that he’d once again fallen victim to his ex-roommate’s wiles. And Tom had acquired an unwitting ally in his quest to subvert the three young athletes should he choose to do so.

Swan Dives and Serendipity

   “Scotty, this is Tom LeBlanc, an old friend of mine, and a hypnotherapist. I told him about some of the troubles you’ve been having with concentration and self-confidence since your injury, and he is willing to try to help you. Tom, Scott Dumont.”

   “Pleased to meet you.” Tom shook hands with the diver, thinking, “God I hope he is hypnotizable enough!” Scott was achingly young (surely not long past eighteen), and incredibly beautiful, with short, sable hair, a face of classical symmetry and delectably boyish charm, Elizabeth Taylor violet eyes, and a perfectly sculpted body which, like that of almost every swimmer or diver, was as smooth and sleek as a porpoise (and, since Joel had headed him off on the way from the locker room to the pool, all of his tanned glory, other than that minimum covered by the regulation Speedo, was on display to Tom’s appreciative gaze).

   “Scotty, instead of going to practice today, you’re going to work with Mr. LeBlanc, okay? I’ve already cleared it with your coach. Tom, we can use the trainer’s lounge.”

   “Okay, Coach.” The young man shrugged philosophically and followed Joel and Tom back into the locker room.

   The trainers’ lounge was next to the equipment and uniform storage rooms, off to one side of the locker room itself. It had two desks and a number of comfortable chairs, as well as a short sofa. The hypnotist motioned Scott to sit on the couch, and then drew up a chair to sit at an angle across from him. He nodded Joel into another chair slightly farther off and out of Scott’s immediate sight line. “Scott,” he began, “I’ve talked to Joel, to your doctor, and to your diving coach. They all agree that you are completely recovered from your injury, and that there is nothing physical preventing your return to top form. What you have right now is called a phobic reaction, something like an automatic flinch. You experienced severe pain as well as the very normal fear connected with it, and unconsciously you have associated those feelings with diving in general, rather than just with the specific accident you suffered. Hypnosis can help you break the link of that association. What we will accomplish here today, is to get past your conscious mind to your sub-conscious, which has been traumatized by all of the stress that your injury caused you, and remove that trauma.” Tom continued in this vein for a while, both to establish credibility in the eyes of the young diver, and also, to lay the nlp ground work for effective trance induction. As he spoke, he was carefully mirroring Scott’s posture, breathing rate, and general body language, gradually switching over into manipulating it, until the boy was unconsciously mirroring him instead. Soon the hypnotist had Scott breathing slowly and evenly, and sitting in a much more relaxed fashion, all without the young man being aware that anything had changed.

   “Before we start the induction process, would you like Joel to remain here, or would you prefer your session to be private?”

   “Uh… I guess Coach Kirkland should stay… if he wants to.”

   “Fine. Now I want you to take a deep cleansing breath… hold it just a little… and let it out… and again, in…. and out…” Tom went through the routine of the induction smoothly and efficiently. He noticed that the room gave his voice a slight, odd echo (it appeared to be bleeding out into the equipment storage next door), but he didn’t think it mattered, as Joel had assured him no one would be disturbed by their use of the space. And, in any case, it certainly wasn’t causing any problems with the process. Scott was going under as sweetly, uneventfully, and deeply as ever Tom might wish. He was currently sitting in a classic trance position, head hanging, eyes shut tightly, one arm raised in the air that, in response to Tom’s quiet urgings, he was unsuccessfully struggling to lower. The hypnotist was waging his own battle to keep from tenting his trousers at the sight. He gave the boy permission to lower his arm and it fell limply to his side. Scotty was down for the count.

   Tom began deepening exercises and continued until he was sure he could get all the responses he needed (both for the therapy and for his extra-curricular designs). Then he looked over to check on Joel’s status. His ex-roommate looked fascinated. Then Tom looked more closely. He wasn’t fascinated so much as glazed. Joel had gone along for the ride without meaning to. His eyes were open, but he was out like a light! “Well, so much the better,” thought the hypnotist. He would have had to pull Joel’s trigger in any case, in order to be free to implant the non-therapeutic suggestions he wanted in Scott’s subconscious. This just saved a step. He rose and walked over to whisper onto the entranced coach’s ear. “Joel, just keep relaxing deeper and deeper. I’m going to touch your shoulder, and you won’t hear or see anything or be aware of any time passing until I touch it a second time. Do you understand?” After receiving a sleepy nod of acquiescence, Tom squeezed Joel’s muscular shoulder and effectively removed him as a chaperone.

   He then went to work in earnest on young Scotty Dumont. In a very short time, the boy was implanted with a trance trigger (“swan dive”) and an irresistible compulsion to come to Tom’s hotel that night. He had also unresistingly allowed the hypnotist’s hands and mouth to explore his smoothly muscled young body, even to the extent of pulling down his Speedos to present for inspection the substantial equipment within. Tom then erased his tracks from the diver’s pliable memory, reawakened Joel, none the wiser, and launched into the therapy session he’d been hired for. It didn’t take very long, since Scott was both an excellent subject and (after all the clandestine trance-work) in an exceptionally deep state. Scarcely an hour after having started the induction, he was waking the boy back up.

   Scott blinked, yawned and then stretched luxuriously. “Wow! I never felt anything like that before. I think it’s the first time I’ve really relaxed since I hurt myself. It’s like I was always protecting that shoulder, even in my sleep! Now, it finally feels right again! Thanks, Mr. LeBlanc!” His adorable young face was beaming.

   Tom knew they would need more sessions (and was looking forward to them), but he didn’t rain on the parade just then. “I’m glad you’re feeling so much better, Scott.” Then he turned to Joel. “Well, Tonto, our work here is done. Let’s ride.” The three walked out of the lounge, Scott turning immediately off into the locker area to change back into his street clothes, the other two proceeding past the storage section towards the exit.

   Suddenly Joel stopped in his tracks. “Well, will you look at that!” Tom turned his head in the direction indicated, and there, standing just inside the door of the uniform storage room, was another young man, motionless and palpably in hypnotic trance. He was dressed in normal teenager mufti, had a baseball cap on his head, and was, to the hypnotist’s discerning eye, damned cute, with shortish, light brown hair, and a sweet, elfin face, but he seemed too short and slight to be one of the athletes (even though his body appeared to be in excellent trim). His chin rested on his chest, his eyes were closed, and a ripped football jersey, apparently fallen from his limp hand, lay on the floor beside him.

   “My goodness, I seem to have nailed an innocent bystander”, Tom chuckled. “Would you happen to know who this extremely susceptible young fellow is?”

   “It’s Kenny Clarksen, the equipment manager.”

   Tom’s eyebrows rose. “He looks a little young for a staff position.”

   Joel snorted. “Get real. It’s a work/study job. He’s a freshman… a baseball wannabe.”

   “Well, I shouldn’t just leave him standing here like some bizarre piece of statuary. Kenny, do you hear me?”

   “I hear you…” Tom’s dick gave an involuntary twitch. The kid sounded so much like the b-movie fantasy of a hypnotized victim.

   “Were you listening all the time I was hypnotizing Scott?”

   “Yes…”

   Tom did some very quick thinking. “You look tired, Joey,” he said, and almost in the same breath added, “Remain standing. Joel, you won’t be aware of anything until I touch you on the shoulder.” The coach was instantly a motionless hypno-zombie. “Kenny,” Tom continued, “What happens if I say ‘swan dive’?”

   “I go into trance immediately, just like the one I’m under now, or deeper.”

   Okay, the kid really had heard it all. Tom wondered how he’d dealt with the commands he’d given Scott when he was feeling him up. It conjured up a delicious image of Kenny pulling down the baggy shorts he was wearing and cupping his own crotch to display it to the hypnotist he imagined looking on. Tom went to work, as quickly as possible, since he was mindful that they could be interrupted. First, a new trance trigger (“jock-strap inventory”), then a double-check to be sure that Kenny would still be programmed by the intercepted deepening exercises and command to present himself at Tom’s hotel that night, and finally the standard erasure of the dangerous material from his memory. With all this accomplished to Tom’s satisfaction, he woke Joel back up. The coach, once again, was oblivious to the fact that he’d been MIA for a few moments.

   “He won’t have problems from hearing all that therapy trance-work, will he?” Joel asked anxiously.

   “Not at all. It doesn’t apply to any of his experiences, so it will be easy to remove. Kenny, you are going to forget all about the things you heard me telling Scott. They have nothing to do with you. You were accidentally hypnotized, and you have just enjoyed a refreshing sleep. That’s all you need to know about it.” (Tom could afford to say it this way, since he had re-entered all of the private post-hypnotic suggestions in Kenny’s personalized marching orders.) “I’m going to snap my fingers and you’ll wake up, feeling fine.” Snap!

   Kenny shook himself and blinked, revealing dreamy hazel eyes. “Whoa, dude, that was weird! What the heck just happened?” he asked in a charming teenage tenor.

   “Hello, Kenny. I’m Tom LeBlanc. I’m a hypnotherapist, and I’m afraid you inadvertently got hypnotized. I was working with one of the other students next door, and apparently you overheard enough of the induction that you went under without meaning to. I apologize for the inconvenience to you, but you may rest assured that the experience has done you no harm.”

   “I was hypnotized? No shi… uh, no kidding! I always wondered what that was like.” Kenny looked enormously intrigued at the idea.

   Tom smiled. “Well, you have to be a great hypnotic subject to do what you just did, so if you really are that interested in the process, I’m sure the psychology department here would love to have your services as an experimental volunteer.”

   “Cool. I may just look into that.” Kenny picked up the dropped jersey and headed off towards wherever he’d been taking it in the first place. As he walked away, Tom could hear him still talking to himself, “Hypnotized! I was fuckin’ hypnotized!! Awesome!!!”

   Tom turned to Joel. “Well, that takes care of that. Now, dinner?”

   After they had eaten, Joel had dropped Tom back at the hotel and left, having agreed to pick him up the following morning for his next session. So Tom was showered and ready when, at ten o’clock (as ordered) the two programmed boys showed up.

   Kenny arrived first. As Tom opened the door to his knock, he could see the confused, almost alarmed look on the kid’s face. However, as soon as Kenny registered who had answered the door, his expression cleared with relief. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. LeBlanc! This was a post-hypnotic suggestion, right? You told me to come here while I was under, didn’t you? Man, I was freakin’ out, ’cause I couldn’t stop myself from comin’ here, but I couldn’t think of any reason why!” The unsuspecting boy looked absolutely delighted.

   “That’s right, Kenny. And the reason you’re here is to do the jock-strap inventory.” Kenny’s eyes closed instantly and he was gone. The hypnotist softly gave him a few more deepening suggestions, as well as a quick instruction to ensure that he wouldn’t be startled out of trance by the arrival of his fellow victim. And just in time, as another knock heralded the second arrival.

   Tom opened the door and Scott Dumont walked in, looking even younger (and more boy-next-door wholesome) in jeans and t-shirt, than he had in the bright, revealing swimwear. The hypnotist started to say “swan dive”, but before the sound reached his lips he registered the total frozen blankness of the young diver’s stare. Evidently Scott had resolved his conflict over obeying a compulsion he didn’t understand by retreating back into the trance state. Tom hoped it hadn’t caused any problems with his driving! Just for security, the hypnotist went ahead and pronounced the trigger phrase, but it was obvious from the boy’s complete lack of reaction that it hadn’t really been necessary. He was already deep in trance.

   Tom gazed at the two lovely sleeping boys for a moment, and then said, “Scotty, Kenny, practice is over. It’s time to hit the showers. Once you’ve undressed, I have the towels.” Just as if they were in the locker rooms of the gym, both young men quickly began to remove their clothing. They pretty much ignored each other, and showed no signs whatsoever of embarrassment. Scott was the first to be totally naked, but he paused for a moment to fiddle with his hair, apparently looking into a mirror he was imagining there. As a result, both Scott and Kenny approached Tom at about the same time, and the hypnotist was able to compare their hot young bodies as he pantomimed handing out towels. Both boys were tanned to a buttery glow, and Kenny’s lean, toned torso was almost as smooth naturally as Scott’s was from his customary divers’ regimen of shaving and depilatories. Neither had any appreciable body hair except around their crotches. Scotty had broader shoulders than Kenny, from all of the swimming activity, but the equipment manager, though slighter, was still beautifully proportioned and absolutely fit. In addition, he was hung like a bear, with a cock that was easily a full inch longer and substantially thicker than that of the taller, more muscular boy.

   “You’re in the shower now. Feel the soothing water wash over your tired body. It feels great, doesn’t it? So relaxing?”

   “So relaxing…” echoed Kenny in a drowsy voice, while Scott just let out a soft groan of satisfaction.

   “Soap up now. I want you to be very thorough, especially around your crotch area and the crack of your ass. You know how important it is to be clean down there, don’t you?”

   “Uh-huh.” Kenny sounded like a little kid being extra-serious. Both of the hypnotized boys began to run their hands smoothly over their bodies as though working up lather. Obedient to Tom’s instructions they lavished particular attention on their cocks, balls, and asses, and, being normally horny teenage males, they both started to show wood from the stimulation. The hypnotist began to encourage both their erections and their pleasure in them, until both Kenny and Scott were rock hard and jacking off with abandon, moaning and panting in delight. “Every touch just feels better and better, but you can’t cum until I give you permission. Repeat that.”

   “Can’t… uh… cum until you give me… ooh… p-permission. Uhhh…” The twin answers, interrupted by groans of lust, came almost simultaneously, and the boys just stroked harder. Scott had filled out to nearly seven blue-steel inches, while Kenny’s cock was now so enormous it scarcely seemed possible that it could belong to him.

   Tom couldn’t resist any longer. “Kenny, no matter where or how you are touched, you will be certain it is your own doing. Every sensation you feel on your body is from your own touch, your own hand… your own touch, your own hand… your own touch, your own hand…”

   “My own touch… my own hand…” Kenny was repeating the suggestion over and over now, in that same droning b-movie hypnotized thrall manner that had turned Tom on so much earlier in the day. The hypnotist tore off his own clothes in a flash and went wild with tongue and hands on the young equipment manager’s unresisting body. He was, of course, particularly drawn to the giant cock (God, it was huge, and looked even bigger for being attached to such a compact boy), but he found the pretty, hypnotically vacant face almost equally captivating.

   Squirting lube onto his hands, Tom anointed Kenny’s crack liberally, and then began to fuck his tight hole, slowly at first, in consideration of the kid’s stature and almost certainly virginal status, but then, as Kenny practically purred with pleasure and bucked to get still more of the hypnotist’s hard cock stuffed into his ass, he fell into a more vigorous rhythm. Both for better leverage, and to increase the boy’s stimulation, Tom reached around in front to grasp Kenny’s giant cock, adding his own (still greasy) hands to the jacking-off action. At the same time he ordered Scott to kneel down and begin licking and sucking the head (as that was the most anyone might reasonably be able to do with such a log). The young diver obliged without missing a stroke on his own cock, and Kenny gasped and then howled, releasing such a flood of pre-cum that Scott’s entire chin glistened from the overflow. The hypnotist fucked harder still, feeling his orgasm approach. Just before Tom shot his load he gasped, “You have to cum, Kenny. Cum now!” The tight buttocks clenched around his cock, giving it the final excruciatingly sexy squeeze to send him over the edge. At the same instant the young equipment manager began to unload a fountain of jizz that came near to drowning the boy crouched in front of him. Deeply entranced Scotty Dumont, helpless to do otherwise, continued to lick at Kenny’s exploding cock-head and stroke his own dick, just as he’d been instructed to do, even though he now had boy cream stuck in his hair, in his eyebrows, dripping down his forehead, cheeks, and chin, and of course all over his mouth, both inside and out.

   Eventually, as Tom regained his own composure, he realized that Kenny was showing signs of real distress as Scott’s tongue and his own hypnotically compelled hands continued to work on his now unbearably sensitive post-orgasmic cock. Quickly the hypnotist froze both boys in place. Then he commanded, “Stand up, Scott. You can start playing with yourself again. You mustn’t lose your erection yet.” The young diver obeyed instantly. As he stood there masturbating, the blank, innocent look on his spellbound boyish face was a fascinating contrast to the cum all over it, and to his actions. Tom turned to the other boy. He was sure Kenny was so far under he no longer needed to justify his orders to him. “Lick the cum off of Scott, and then suck his dick. You owe him an orgasm.”

   “Owe him… orgasm…” Again, there was that sexy hypno-victim echo.

   “Scott, the sexiest girl you’ve ever imagined is going to give you a tongue-bath and a blowjob. Won’t that be hot?” To Tom’s surprise, Scott began to lose his erection. “Oho,” thought the hypnotist, “So that’s the way the wind is blowing.” He immediately retracted that suggestion and said, “The sexiest guy you’ve ever imagined is going to go down on you. Enjoy.”

   Scott’s cock surged back to full hardness in seconds, by which time Kenny was tonguing his face diligently in accordance with his instructions. Scott kept trying to catch the other boy’s mouth for a kiss, as it roamed across his own, but soon the equipment manager had moved down the young diver’s neck and chest (following the trickles of cum), and was well out of range. A breath longer, and he was swinging on Scott’s tool like a pro, while the diver ran his hands through Kenny’s soft, short brown hair, as he controlled the motion of his bobbing head.

    Tom watched the action as he cleaned himself up and put his clothes back on. Then he said, “Scott, when I touch your ass, you’re going to orgasm. Kenny, you will swallow every drop of Scott’s load. Do you understand?”

    “Yes, sir.” That was Scott. “Umph…humph.” Kenny’s mouth was full.

    Tom took one more little dollop of lube on his index finger, and then slid it deftly into Scott’s asshole. The diver moaned and jerked, and then his entire body tensed as he pumped and pumped. Kenny swallowed and swallowed, a boy on a mission, his cute face filled with all the mesmerized seriousness of a little kid in a pie-eating contest. Not one drop was going to escape him! He had his orders!

   As the action gradually subsided, Tom performed the necessary housekeeping duties, both physical and mental, on the two boys. Before he woke them up, however, he stopped and thought a moment. If the hypnotist had one weakness, it was engineering happy endings for unsatisfied, closeted gay guys. “Scott, do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

   “No,” Scott answered as matter-of-factly as if the question had been whether he had change for a dollar.

   “Kenny, are you straight or gay?”

   “I’m straight.”

   “Do you have a girlfriend?”

   “No… not really…” Okay, no one specific was going to be able to cry ‘foul’.

   “Kenny, you are not straight. You are gay. You like other guys. Handsome boys turn you on… handsome boys turn you on… handsome…”

   “B-boys turn me on… hand… handsome boys turn me on…” Despite a feeble attempt at resistance, the deep hypnosis conditioning took over, and Kenny was once again helplessly repeating the suggestion that was forcing its way into his defenseless mind.

   “You are gay, Kenny… you are gay… you are…”

   “Gay… I am gay… I am gay…”

   “Scott, Kenny, you won’t have any memory of being here at my hotel, or of what went on, just as I instructed you a few moments ago, but from now on, you are lovers. Scott you are in love with Kenny. Kenny, you love Scott. You will realize this, like lightening striking, the very next time you see each other. Kenny, as soon as you see Scott again, you will instantly realize that he’s the handsomest, nicest, most absolutely desirable human being who has ever existed. You will know that you must become his lover or die trying. Scott, as soon as you see Kenny again, you will feel the exact same way about him. The compulsion will be irresistible!” The mind-fucked equipment manager had been muttering his ritual repetition of his instructions, but Tom went on right over him. “You will both leave here now, and go your separate ways taking no notice of each other until the next time you meet. You won’t come out of trance until you’re back on campus, remembering to forget everything about having been here. Drive carefully.” The hypnotist kissed both young men thoroughly and then sent them out the door, obedient, programmed little robots carrying out their orders.

You’ve got to be a Football Hero…

   When Joel picked up Tom the next morning, the hypnotist immediately said, “Where else could we have the sessions today? I don’t want a repeat of yesterday’s little accident if we can help it. That kid in the equipment room didn’t suffer any damage, but if I’d given Scott any physical suggestions that he’d intercepted, even something as simple and apparently harmless as ‘take two steps forward’, it could have been quite a different story. He could have broken bones tripping over a bench his trance kept him from registering. And if I hadn’t found him before he came out of it on his own (as he would have eventually), and removed the post-hypnotics he’d absorbed, he be walking around now convinced that he was able to dive! It doesn’t bear thinking of! Besides, even someone who wasn’t susceptible enough to be hypnotized on the ricochet could have gotten curious and just walked in, ruining the session. So, for the boys you want me to work on today, I really want a place where we can’t possibly be disturbed or overheard. I hope there is such a place?” He turned to look at Joel questioningly.

   Joel smiled. “Way ahead of you. I knew we couldn’t risk another tag-along trance casualty. I called Barry Tengler, our head basketball coach, and he’s not coming in today, so we can use his office. It’s also right off the locker room area and has a couch for your subjects, but it’s soundproofed - too many strategy discussions (and chewing out players) not to be. Once we hang out a do-not-disturb sign and lock the door, nobody will bother us or overhear. That satisfy your concerns?”

    “Perfectly. Now refresh my memory. Who’s up first today – football or basketball?”

   “Taylor Smith, the quarterback. Needs a little hypnotic kick in the pants about keeping up his eligibility.”

   “Taylor, nothing can wake you until I wake you. You can only pay attention to the sound of my voice. Any other sound is unimportant and just makes you relax more and more, sleep deeper and deeper… deeper and deeper… deeper and deeper…” The sexy young stud lay on the couch, limp and totally under Tom’s spell. As soon as he had seen him, the hypnotist knew that this boy would also become one of his playthings if he only could get him deep enough. Taylor’s tall, magnificently muscled frame and wholesome good looks, not pretty in the classic sense, but enormously appealing nonetheless, just begged to be debauched, as far as Tom was concerned! So he had continued for a good while with more deepening exercises to ensure the boy’s enslavement. There were no worries about Joel, since he didn’t know enough of about the process to understand that this much extra induction really wasn’t necessary for what he thought was the purpose of the session. Finally Tom felt that the young football player was ready to accept all the suggestions he planned, and he went to work.

   Therapy came first. “Taylor, what do you want to do after you finish college?”

   “I want to play football professionally.” Most subjects tend to slur or mumble when they are deep in trance, but Taylor had become extra-precise in his speech. Nonetheless, his voice still had the soft dreamy inflection that Tom expected of well-hypnotized boys.

   “If that’s your ambition, then you do understand how important it is that you be able to play college ball all the time you’re here, don’t you?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Then you must also understand that it is important to maintain your eligibility, correct?”

   “Yes, sir.” This sounded, within the parameters of hypnotized speech quality, just a little sullen.

   “Then, tell me why you don’t do what’s necessary in your classes to keep your grades at a minimum acceptable level.”

   Tom, from Joel’s exposition, was expecting the answer to be that the classes were boring, that they didn’t have anything to do with what he wanted, that they were too hard, or, worst of all, that they shouldn’t be required of him in recognition of his star athlete status. But when the answer came, he was pleasantly surprised. “They’re too easy to bother with,” the boy replied with hypnotized honesty. “I came here to play ball and to get an education, but my advisors have put me into all of these bonehead-jock courses to make sure that studying doesn’t get in the way of sports. How excited am I supposed to get about staying on top of ‘Counting on Fingers and Toes 101’ or ‘Remedial Basket-Weaving’?” Even in trance the sarcasm and depression were obvious.

   “Sleep, Taylor. You won’t hear anything until I touch your shoulder,” the hypnotist instructed. The quarterback appeared to sag even deeper into the couch. Then Tom asked Joel, “Do they really do that here?”

   “Well,” Joel responded dryly, “I don’t believe those particular courses he mentioned are in the catalog, but yes, we do tend to put the athletes in a minimum requirement curriculum, because of time constraints as well as intellectual ones. Usually it’s a good idea. But there’s no reason he couldn’t be doing more challenging stuff if he can manage it without messing up his game. Find out what he wants.”

   Tom gently squeezed Taylor’s shoulder (privately enjoying very much the feel of the firm muscles). “What courses, or kinds of courses, do you think you’d like to take?” he asked.

   “When I’m too old to play ball, I don’t want to be just a talking head on a pre-game show. I’d like to be a physical therapist or maybe even go into sports medicine, so I guess math, science, biology – whatever it would take to do that. No one ever asked about it before. They just said, ‘These are the courses you should take,’ and signed me up.”

   Tom looked at Joel questioningly, and he nodded. “Taylor, we will talk to your advisor, and you will be allowed to take the courses you want to take. But you will find that you have a very strong compulsion to balance your class-work and your sports activities. Neither must be allowed to suffer, so you will restrict yourself to only that number of more challenging courses that you can handle well without compromising your football. Got that?”

   “Yes, sir!” the boy said with drowsy enthusiasm.

   “Good! You look tired, Joey.” Tom once again sidelined the coach as he had done the previous day.

   “Taylor,” he said, now openly ogling the attractive young man sprawled out before him, “You won’t awaken, but I want you to open your eyes and sit up on the couch.” Taylor complied and sat there, blinking sleepily, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. “You’re beginning to feel very sexy, very horny… very sexy… very horny. You need to stand up and take off your clothes. Every piece of clothing you remove makes you feel more turned on. Every piece of clothing you remove makes you go deeper into trance… deeper into sleep. When you are completely naked, and as deeply asleep as it is possible for you to be, you will masturbate. It will be impossible to stop yourself. Your hands will do it automatically, quite beyond your control. Do you understand?” Tom hardly needed the robotic confirmation he received, since the crotch of Taylor’s slacks had already begun to tent out from the activity behind it. He settled down to watch the show.

   Moving with dreamy deliberation, the handsome quarterback rose from the couch and began to unbutton his shirt. He still didn’t appear to be seeing anything with his unfocused stare. It was a little like watching a particularly self-absorbed Chippendale dancer, but in slow motion. Taylor reached inside the partly open shirt to caress his own chest. Then he finished with the buttons and shrugged the garment off his shoulders, at the same time licking his lips with sensual satisfaction at the hypnotically induced erotic rush. The fly of his light-colored trousers was developing an obvious damp patch from his pre-cum. At the same time, in response to the other half of the double-barreled suggestion, his eyelids drooped slightly and his head sagged forward a little. Next to go were the loafers, and then the socks. Each article removed triggered an increase in the ongoing sexual and hypnotic responses. The spellbound stud was swaying like a drunk, and openly rubbing his crotch through the thin material of his slacks. His eyes were more than halfway closed.

   “Sexier and sleepier… sexier and sleepier,” Tom whispered encouragingly.

   Taylor undid his belt, unzipped and dropped his slacks, and stepped out of them with easy slo-mo grace. His face twisted in a spasm of pleasure and then his eyelids slid even lower. Now there was scarcely a crack between the lashes. He hooked one thumb in the waistband of his briefs and started to pull them down, but they had scarcely cleared his balls when his eyes shut completely, and he stopped all motion except for the compulsive stroking of his now freed cock, completely rigid and shiny from the pre-cum spread all over it by his busy hand.

   Tom had freed his own cock and was playing with it. “You’re very deeply asleep, Taylor, who are you imagining as you touch yourself?”

   “Uh…” The boy’s precise and immediate response failed for the first time.

   Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Another closet case?” he wondered. In his most authoritative voice he said, “You are so deeply asleep, and so very turned on, that you no longer are capable of lying or concealing. You must answer. Who is your fantasy?”

    “I… uh… I…” Taylor was sweating, and his face was no longer calm, even though he showed no signs of being able to stop masturbating or of even trying to wake up.

    “Answer. You can’t help yourself; you can’t resist!”

    “Coach Kirkland.” The response finally emerged as a tortured gasp.

    “Well,” thought Tom, “I can’t fault him there, seeing as how I find friend Joel pretty damn hot myself. That explains why he fought it so hard. Taylor knows his coach is right here in the room, and the boy doesn’t realize that Joel’s also under hypnosis.” After making certain that the entranced young football player would keep himself at peak arousal but not cum accidentally, the hypnotist turned his attention to the sleeping coach. “Joel, open your eyes but don’t wake up.” Joel complied, staring blankly straight ahead. “I’m going to touch your forehead,” Tom continued, “And when I do, you will be a mirror. You’ll be Taylor’s mirror, and it will be your duty and irresistible compulsion to show him exactly what he is showing you. You must copy precisely his outward appearance in dress and posture, and you will automatically duplicate every move he makes. Do you understand?” Joel’s handsome head bobbed solemnly. “Excellent.” Tom brushed his palm across the hypnotized coach’s brow and whispered, “Be a mirror.”

   Joel’s gaze now, for the first time, focused, and he obviously was registering the details of Taylor’s current state. Then he rose smoothly (if dreamily) to his feet, and removed his clothing with mechanical efficiency, stopping only when his underpants were pulled down his thighs. Then he stepped forward to stand directly opposite Taylor, and, quickly adopting the boy’s stroking rhythm, began to play with his own cock until it was equally hard and glistening. Then his head slumped forward and his eyes closed, in perfect imitation of his helpless student, and they stood like matched bookends, masturbating in deeply hypnotized synch. The effect was so overwhelmingly erotic to Tom that, for the first time in ages, he lost control of his own response and came without meaning to (fortunately, on the floor, although only a lucky flinch backwards saved him from getting it on either his own pants, or on Joel’s pile of discarded clothing).

   As soon as he could pull himself together, Tom quickly mopped up his spill with a handkerchief. Then he took a deep steadying breath and returned to work. Taylor’s cock, in particular was beginning to look pretty dark in color and a little over-stimulated. The hypnotist didn’t want him to wake up sore. It would be too palpable a give-away. “Taylor, remain asleep, but open your eyes and look at Coach Kirkland.” The boy’s eyelids dragged themselves up, and, like a good mirror, so did Joel’s. Taylor looked blank for a second, and then the reality of what was in front of him finally penetrated his trance-befuddled brain. He gasped, and his cock jumped with excitement. “The coach is under deep hypnosis and helpless,” Tom continued. “He has to go along with whatever you do. So now is your chance to do everything you’ve ever thought about with him. You can’t resist the temptation. Make love to him now. You can’t resist… you can’t stop yourself… you must…” The hypnotist didn’t need to finish that last repetition, as Taylor had pulled Joel into his embrace and was frenching him passionately. The coach, obedient to his previous orders was giving as good as he got. By this point, both hypnotized young men were essentially making love, because the motions had grown too complicated and were changing too rapidly for Joel to keep up as a perfectly coordinated mirror image.

   Tom moved in close to savor the shapes, textures and scents of their sweaty bodies. He wasn’t ready to get hard again yet, and, in any case he wanted to save something for the remaining session upcoming in the afternoon, but the hypnotist was damned sure he would enjoy vicariously as much of what he had engineered here as he possibly could.

   Taylor was so into the kissing, that, for a long time everything worked perfectly. The two young men remained locked at the lips, their tongues slipping back and forth, their bodies and, especially, their rigid, oozing cocks, rubbing and sliding together as, with possessive, muscular arms, they grappled each other. Then Taylor tried to go down on Joel. The hypnotic mirror compulsion forced the coach to bend and then kneel at the same time. Tom could see the surprised frustration on the young football player’s face as he continued to find the coach’s mouth neatly blocking his, no matter where he tried to move it. The hypnotist quickly intervened. “Joel, you are no longer a mirror. You are simply a deeply hypnotized man, and you are making love to the most desirable person in existence. You’ve never wanted anyone more than you want this boy, and your desire erases any qualms or self-control. You have no thoughts or purpose but to enjoy and to please him sexually. Nothing else matters to you.”

   Joel froze briefly. For a second Tom wasn’t sure whether he was fighting the suggestion, or just processing it. But before the hypnotist reacted, Taylor had taken advantage of the coach’s momentary distraction and was on his knees, his mouth busily engaged. Whatever resistance Joel may have been trying to muster crumbled instantly. His mouth opened in a silent gasp of pleasure, his eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he grasped Taylor’s head, running his fingers through the boy’s hair, before clasping more tightly to control the motion as he fucked the quarterback’s mouth.

   Taylor’s right hand had resumed it’s automatic stroking of his cock, and his moans of lust, muffled though they were by his stuffed mouth, were growing louder. The love-struck coach, noticing this, pulled him up off his cock. The boy looked almost ready to cry with disappointment, until Joel manhandled him over onto the couch and took up a sixty-nine position. Then, the hypnotized grin on his boyish face as wide as though he’d just won the lottery, the young football player sucked Joel’s cock back into his mouth at the same time that his cock disappeared between the coach’s slurping lips.

   Tom, realizing that they had all been at it for nearly two hours, counting the induction, and that it was after eleven o’clock, decided it was time to wrap things up. “Taylor, Joel, as you continue to give each other blowjobs, I want you to finger your lover’s asshole.” His hypnotized slaves complied instantly, wriggling with pleasure at the new sensation. “You find that this feels so good, that, by the time I count to ten, you will orgasm. And it will be a spectacularly powerful, satisfying orgasm, as good as the best you’ve ever had or even imagined. Won’t it?”

    The hypnotized lovers stopped sucking long enough to say, “Yes, sir,” (Taylor) and “Yes, Tommy” (Joel).

    “You will both be very careful to swallow your lover’s cum. Don’t let any of it get on the couch or the clothing! Understand?” Again he received unconditional agreement; they were far too deeply under his control to resist anything at this point. “One… two… …nine, hotter and hotter… so turned on… and ten! Orgasm now!”

   Joel and Taylor stiffened spasmodically, then, as one they pumped their long-delayed loads into each other’s eager mouths. Had they not been under the compulsion to swallow every drop, they surely would have been crying out from release. As it was, the muffled groans between the gulps were as intense as screams. Tom, watching with delight, felt his own cock twitch in response, but then relax again. It was still too soon for another round.

   After nearly a minute and a half of pumping and swallowing, the two exhausted young men allowed their spent cocks to slip from each other’s mouths. They lay tangled on the couch, now that the sexual orders had been fulfilled, all of their concentration focused on merely drifting deeper and deeper into the twilight zone of hypnotic trance.

   Tom got them cleaned up and back into their clothes. Fortunately the head coach’s office had a few amenities: running water and towels (although due to the shortness of time, the hypnotist was forced to restrict their use to the sink and not the shower) as well as some personal toiletries including deodorant. When Joel and Taylor were both presentable, Tom commenced his usual mental cleanup. Much as he would have liked to, the hypnotist couldn’t extend the same favor to the closeted young football player that he had to the diver the previous evening. Of course he could have made Joel become Taylor’s lover, exactly the same way he’d conscripted young Kenny for Scott, but, if he were to do so, there would soon be serious trouble at the university. Tom knew that even tenure couldn’t shield Joel from the fallout if he were known to be having an affair with a student (especially a male one). So instead, he removed all knowledge of the erotic portion of the morning’s activities from the hypnotized memories of both young men, and then planted a suggestion for Taylor to look for a boyfriend his own age and stop yearning hopelessly for his handsome coach (He also planted a trance cue. After all, waste not, want not.) Finally, making certain that they were all in the same positions they had occupied when he’d doused Joel’s lights, Tom woke, first Joel (who sat up saying, “I guess that takes care of that, then”, just as though the intervening time had not existed), and then Taylor.

   The boy had gone under so deep, and remained there so long, that when he struggled back to consciousness, still obviously a little sleepy and disoriented, he apparently had no memory of any of it. He pulled himself together, looked at Tom, and said, “All right, Mr. LeBlanc, I guess I’m ready. What do you want me do to?”

   Tom chuckled. “We already did it. Look at your watch.”

   “Huh?” Taylor’s eyes strayed to his wrist and then bugged. “No way!!!”

Teamwork

   For the afternoon session, which Tom knew in advance would be the trickiest, he had requested Joel’s cooperation (conscious, for a change) in a little ruse. Because Chris Stuckey, the cocky basketball star, would almost surely refuse to be hypnotized if he knew why he was being asked to allow it, and because he would, with equal certainty, demand an explanation, if they approached only him, Tom had asked that the whole starting basketball squad be included. By presenting the hypnotic experiment as a group induction, with the ostensible purpose of team visualization and bonding, the crafty hypnotist hoped to sucker Chris into participating, or, at the very least, to have him present for the induction so that he would be in range of Tom’s hypnotic subtleties.

   Joel delivered, and at the appointed time, five young men entered the head coach’s office. Tom was introduced to Bobby Seaforth, Grant King, Stu Parsons, Dennis Turner, and Chris. The hypnotist’s eyebrows rose involuntarily. They were all hot. His luck was holding. Even if Chris escaped, he still might be able to stage-manage it so as to have an opportunity for fun with some of the others.

   The five young men took a while to settle down, their normal young male teammates-together banter heightened by their curiosity about what they were here for. Only Chris seemed a little aloof, as though it were somewhat beneath his dignity to join in. As he waited for the boys to give him their attention, Tom took stock. Bobby and Stu were blonds, Dennis’ and Chris’ hair, varying shades of brown, and Grant’s was inky black, a startling contrast to his very fair skin. They were all (except for Chris, who was wearing what at first appeared to be his basketball clothes, but on closer inspection proved to be an A&F fashion statement) dressed in jeans and t-shirts, everything fitting well enough that the hypnotist could make some assessment of their bodies. All of them were (of course) tall, and all of them were very fit. Bobby had the best build (although Tom couldn’t understand why the kid would be into muscle-building to that extent, since it couldn’t be all that useful for basketball), and, if the drape of the jeans was honest, Grant had the biggest dick. Each boy had a very pretty face, although each in a different sense: Dennis, boyish and mischievous, like your ideal little brother, Stu, dreamy and romantic, a teen idol, Grant intense, sexy and dramatic, with sensuous red lips, another striking contrast to his pale skin-tones, Bobby, innocent and angelic (and, Tom thought, naïve and perhaps even a little dim), and Chris, patrician, confident, and pretty obviously impressed with himself.

   At last they were all seated (Bobby, Grant, and Dennis on the couch, and Stu and Chris in chairs drawn up next to it) and looking expectantly at Tom. He disclosed the purpose of their gathering, and the reaction was instantaneous. A dozen questions (and also, regrettably, some complaints) were fired at him, everyone speaking at the same time. Grant, Stu, and Dennis all looked openly fascinated, Bobby appeared to be a little apprehensive, and Chris seemed to be trying to conceal his interest by deliberately cultivating a bored, superior air.

   Joel came to the rescue. “Pipe down, you yahoos. Tom LeBlanc is a friend of mine from my college days, but he’s also a really famous, really high-end hypnotist.” (Over dinner the two ex-roommates had caught up on each other’s careers, so Joel now had some ammunition for his argument.) “He’s worked with movie stars and star athletes. Any of you bozos ever hear of Rob Carlton or Nick Constantinides? Tom has done hypnotherapy for both of them. We’re damn lucky to get his services.” Now he had their attention. Those were two of the hottest up-and-coming baseball players in the majors! (Although from Chris’ thinly veiled sneer, it seemed he was aware of the rumors concerning the more unconventional aspects of their off-the-field relationship.) “Bottom line is this: you guys in this room comprise an amazing body of talent. All of you are good, some of you, extraordinarily so. But all that talent is pretty much wasted if you can’t learn to play as a team.” (On Tom’s advice, Joel was careful not to look directly at Chris when he said this.) “Coach Tengler and I have used every trick we know to get you to pull together, but it’s not working, so we’ve prevailed upon Mr. LeBlanc to perform this group visualization/bonding retreat for you, and you’re going to cooperate, and you’re going to give him your respect! Got that?” There were some ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘okays’, as well as a couple of sheepish nods, and then Tom was able to proceed.

   “Gentleman, the first thing I want you to do is get rid of your preconceptions about hypnosis. I’m going to have you perform a couple of simple tests that will show you a little more about how it all really works, and show me what will be the best way to help you find your own trance states. Stand up please.” Eyes shifting warily again towards Joel, the five athletes complied without a murmur. Tom then put them though the standard light-hands/heavy-hands exercise. “Oh well,” he thought, as Chris’ hands moved slightly in the opposite directions of those he was suggesting, “It was too much to hope that he would cooperate… and reverse suggestibility isn’t the same thing as no suggestibility!” Among the other boys, Bobby and Grant were the most profoundly affected. Tom found Bobby’s susceptibility fairly predictable, as that kid had all the earmarks of a highly suggestible personality. Grant, appearing so self-possessed, was a little less expected. Yet he seemed to have gone along so well that, when the hypnotist had them all open their eyes again to observe their results, Grant took three tries even to crack his lids, having apparently gone into a light trance spontaneously. (Realizing that he could use it to his advantage later, Tom carefully avoided drawing attention to this.) Dennis and Stu fell comfortably in the middle (or maybe slightly higher than middle) level of response, so the hypnotist knew he could get the whole squad if he played it right. He continued with a couple more tests (which were designed more to soften them up than actually to test them any further), achieving a similar range of results from the boys, and, not coincidentally, deepening Grant’s state to a full-blown hypnotic trance, although only Tom was aware of this.

   “Now we’re ready for some real hypnotism. Bobby, I’d like to start with you,” Tom said when he’d finished up the latest test, following the proven method of beginning with the sure thing so the other subjects can all be thinking about how inevitable the outcome appears to be. The sweet-faced blond looked as though he’d like to refuse, but a warning glance from Joel sent the boy to stand facing the hypnotist as Tom requested. “Stu, I want you to stand behind Bobby to catch him when he goes into trance.” The other blond stepped into position. “Bobby, focus your eyes on mine and listen carefully to my voice…” Tom had chosen this highly theatrical induction to take advantage of young Seaforth’s naïveté. The lad expected hypnosis to be something like this, and so Tom obliged his expectations. The hypnotist thoroughly enjoyed the process, as Bobby, staring wide-eyed as a fawn caught in headlights, soaked up the suggestions like a sponge. In practically no time Tom was able to pass his hand across Bobby’s eyes and order him to sleep. The boy went down like a bag of sand, Stu scarcely grabbing him in time. He hung limply in the arms of his teammate.

    Grant went down too. Just as Tom had broken his eye contact with Bobby, he had looked straight into Grant’s already hypnotized eyes. So when the hypnotist had commanded, “Sleep!” in his most authoritative manner, the dark-haired boy also went out like a light, collapsing backwards onto the couch. Dennis gasped in surprise and then giggled a little nervously, and Chris muttered, “Holy shit!” under his breath. Tom motioned to Stu to ease Bobby down onto the carpet and launched into a rapid series of deepening and control suggestions, to ensure that both of the entranced boys would stay that way for as long as he chose. Then, at his command, both Grant and Bobby moved themselves to the two chairs where the sat with eyes closed, silently counting themselves deeper and deeper into submission.

   “How convenient that Grant went along for the ride,” Tom said cheerfully as soon he was able to address comments to anyone but the two targeted boys. “Now that leaves only the three of you. Please take seats on the couch, and I’ll show you an induction method called hand levitation.” He had, of course, no intention of doing that; confusion technique was the only way to go with a non-complier like Chris. The cocky star player was sufficiently concerned about what Joel could do to him if he flat-out refused that he would continue to at least pretend to go along with it, and the fact that his subconscious was now fully convinced of hypnotism’s (and especially Tom’s) power, coupled with the fact that his resistance would also be unintentional compliance if he were faced with a barrage of contradictory suggestions, should guarantee that pretense of cooperation would be enough to ensnare him in the hypnotist’s spell.

   And so it proved to be. Chris sat between the other two. He looked a little worried, but not too worried. After all, he was Chris Stuckey, BMOC! No two-bit Svengali was going to get the better if him! However, as Tom worked his wizardry, it became more and more obvious that none of the three, cocky superstar included, was able to evade the bewildering barrage of suggestions. Stu went down first. He only stood it for a couple of minutes and then caved, slumping helplessly. Dennis lasted a bit longer, although only because initially he’d found the hypnotist’s logic-defying patter humorous. But shortly after Stu’s capitulation, his mischievous grin faded, and he too fell into the blank acceptance of deeply focused trance. Chris really fought it, looking more and more alarmed, but by the time he had reached the point where he might have cracked and refused to continue in spite of pressure from Joel, he was no longer quite that much in control of his actions. The constant changes of focus in the hypnotic spiel, the impossibility of resisting everything as suggestion conflicted with suggestion, and finally, the fact that, once the other two had fallen, the hypnotist could turn his whole attention to the holdout, tailoring everything completely to the rapidly developing chinks in Chris’ mental armor, all combined to engineer his undoing. At last, with an expression on his handsome face that was almost incredulous, the boy lost the battle all at once. His eyes rolled up in their sockets, his eyelids slammed down like a fire curtain, and he fell sideways onto Stu’s lap, limp as a mackerel.

   Tom heaved a mental sigh of relief, and moved into the deepening process in earnest. He recalled Bobby and Grant to active participation as well; they might not need it, but it wouldn’t hurt their enslavement to have it. He took his time, because what Joel wanted him to do to Chris, as well as what he planned for all five of the teammates, really did demand the deepest and most totally obedient trance. After nearly a half an hour more (and an array of neurolinguistic sorcery that even impressed the hypnotist with himself) the entire starting basketball squad belonged to Tom as surely as the clothes he was wearing or the cash in his wallet.

   He winked at Joel and said, “Chris, I want you to do something for me. I want you to say the words ‘I’m hypnotized’. Say them, Chris.”

   “I’m hypnotized.” No resistance there.

   “Say them again, and keep on saying them.”

   “I’m hypnotized. I’m hypnotized. I’m…”

   As Chris recited, Tom continued, “As you say that, you realize how true it is. And the reason you know it is true is that you can’t stop saying it, not matter how hard you try. Go ahead, Chris, try to stop, but you can’t.”

   “I…I’m hyp…no…ti…ized. I’mmm… hy…pnot-t-tized. I’m hypnotized. I’m… hypnotized. I’m hypnotized. I’m hypnotized. I’m…” The boy gave up the effort, and the compulsive phrase once again rolled smoothly from his lips, over and over.

   “You may stop saying it now, Chris. You know that you’re hypnotized, and that, because you’re hypnotized, you have to obey every order I give you. Don’t you?” (The logical premise of this was, of course, flawed, but Chris’ logic faculties had taken such a beating that he could no longer analyze. He could only accept, and by accepting, it became so for him.)

   “Yes. I have to obey.”

   “And the rest of you: Bobby. Grant, Dennis, Stu, you all realize that you must obey every order I give you as well. Isn’t that so?” A will-less chorus answered in the affirmative. For the next hour, Tom basically talked turkey, primarily to Chris, but with enough buttressing suggestions to the others to keep them from lapsing into actual sleep. Trust, cooperation, teamwork, and altruism (along with a lot of basic male bonding) were the topics of the day. Tom wound up his hypnotic pep talk by saying, “And if you ever disrespect your teammates, or put yourself ahead of the good of the team, you’ll go straight to the showers, clothes and all, because a player who won’t serve the team is ALL WET!”

   After taking a bit of additional time reinforcing their obedience, Tom turned to Joel and slipped him back into trance. Then he could once again proceed with his own agenda. It was too crowded in the office (not to mention too close to the dinner hour) to explore the various possibilities presented by the five sexy, totally mind-controlled basketball players, so the hypnotist gave them all a trance trigger (“b-ball boys’ club”) and some marching orders. “Who has the largest car?” He asked.

   Stu’s hand floated sleepily into the air. “I’ve got a Blazer.”

   “It would seat all five of you?”

   Stu nodded. “Yeah.”

   “At eight tonight, the five of you will meet in the parking lot at Stu’s car. It will be an irresistible compulsion, and you won’t wonder, or even think, about why you’re there. You will get into Stu’s car (Stu will be the driver), and as soon as you’re buckled in, you’ll go instantly into deep trance, just as you are now. Your minds will be completely blank, merely waiting for me to give you further suggestions. All except for yours, Stu. Your mind will be focused on driving safely and well. You’ll drive to my hotel (Tom gave him the address) and park. Then the five of you, still deep in trance, will come up to my room, #__, and once there, you’ll continue to do whatever I tell you.” The hypnotist then went from boy to boy, reinforcing the commands individually. Once satisfied that no one was confused or able to marshal any resistance, he removed their conscious memory of that set of instructions and woke everyone back up.

    That his therapeutic suggestions were successful was instantly apparent by the increased friendliness in all the boys’ body language. They were much less wary of each other’s personal space, even touching in casual, brotherly fashion as they chattered and marveled about the experience. And Chris, no longer distant, was right in there with them. He was laughing as he said, “You guys all fell over like bowling pins! At least I made Mr. LeBlanc work for it! What a crew of wussies!” The comment was uttered light-heartedly and without the touch of venom it would have carried before, but nevertheless Chris suddenly stopped laughing, a very peculiar, concentrated expression coming over his face. Like a soldier at drill, he executed a smart right turn, walked into the head coach’s private shower stall and turned on the water. Only after he was soaked did Chris come to himself again. “What the fuck?!!” he spluttered. “Uh…I mean, what the heck? Sorry, coach.”

   Chris’ teammates came dangerously close to losing bladder control they were laughing so hard. Dennis was literally rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach in pain from the force of his merriment. Even Joel wasn’t able to maintain his professional decorum; he was snickering like a schoolboy.

   Chris looked around wildly from one hysterical teammate to another, his eyes finally stopping on the hypnotist. “Mr. Le Blanc, what the heck happened?” the drenched young man asked desperately.

   “Chris, it’s exactly as I told you while I, shall we say, had your attention: a guy who disrespects his team is all wet,” Tom answered blandly. “Here, have a towel.” (This last was necessary, not only to dry off, but because the water had rendered Chris’ basketball pseudo-uniform a degree more transparent than was socially acceptable.)

   The boy stared at him thunderstruck, mopping frantically at his dripping clothes. Then the humor of the situation finally hit him and, for possibly the first time in his young life, Chris Stuckey laughed at himself. And his team stopped laughing at him, and started laughing with! Joel grinned at Tom. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

   “It’s about time you got here, Parsons. We’ve been freezin’ our butts out here waiting for you!” The smile on Dennis’ face and the lilt in his voice took the sting out of his ragging.

   “Come on! It was only five minutes! Jennifer was on the phone, and I couldn’t get her to stop talking. Sorry, guys.”

   “Oooh. Pussy-whipped, pussy-whipped,” Chris teased amiably.

   Stu just grabbed his crotch in the classic “eat me!” gesture, and got into his car. The other four boys piled in after him. Five seat belts clicked, and suddenly the car was filled with silence. Five pairs of eyes stared straight ahead unblinking. Five handsome faces had gone stony blank. Five strong young bodies were now motionless as statues. Then Stu, and only he, came back to life, after a fashion. With the emotionless efficiency of a robot, he put the car in gear and drove off.

   Tom opened the door to the soft knock, and the mesmerized basketball squad filed silently in to stand in a row waiting with vacant patience for their next commands. The hypnotist stuck his head out into the corridor to check that there were no too-curious observers, but he found the coast clear. He shut and locked the door, saying, “I see that the full membership of the b-ball boys’ club is here.” Instantly all five boys closed their eyes and relaxed visibly as the programmed cue deepened still further their already very deep hypnotic states.

   It took only a few suggestions to get the susceptible team out of their clothes (and Tom was able to confirm his original surmise about Grant’s equipment – the kid had some major meat there). The hypnotist began to build a new suggestive structure after his own agenda on the already hypnotically established foundation of team fellowship and mutual support. It was slow, painstaking work, but nobody was better at it than Tom LeBlanc! Eventually he’d maneuvered the helpless basketball players into a mental corner, where they were unable to refuse the concept that helping each other out sexually was a fundamental aspect of their team commitment. (The original idea for this was something Tom had run across in the stories of one of his favorite authors on the web – and their premise, that, with orgasms as the reward, such trance behavior could be reinforced easily in horny young males until it became ingrained, was, in his humble opinion, perfectly sound psychology.) By the time he finished with them, the entire b-ball boy’s club was totally programmed with the belief that any member’s name followed by the words “I’m horny” would turn that boy into an eagerly compliant playfellow of the teammate who had spoken, willing to provide any and every sexual service requested of him. In addition, he made sure that they all were convinced that they would find it equally satisfying whether they were the instigator or the victim of the ploy.

   “B-ball boys’ club, I’m going to count from ten down to one, and you will all wake up. You won’t remember consciously any of the suggestions I’ve given you. You won’t remember how or why you’re here, nor will that worry you. You won’t care, because, when you wake up you’ll be naked and hornier than you’ve ever been in your lives. The only thing that will concern you is getting some action. Understand?” The instant increase in size and hardness of the guys’ cocks was answer enough in itself, although all five boys dutifully gave their agreement in sleepy, serious voices. Tom shrugged out of his robe. “Ten… nine… eight…” he counted them out. At the last number, as they were slowly opening their eyes, he added, almost in the same breath, “Grant, I’m horny,” for, of course, Tom had included himself in the select group who could “pull” that particular trigger. The hypnotist could see the suggestion capture the will of the handsome dark-haired boy. In seconds Grant’s expression had gone from disorientation from waking up in strange circumstances, to smiling with sexy shyness, and his impressive dick had risen to full hardness. He came over to stand before Tom, and reached out a tentative hand to stroke the hypnotist’s chest.

   Showing the same quickness on the uptake that made him a star on the court, Chris jumped in with “Bobby, I’m horny”, and instantly his cute blond teammate was his. In this he just beat out Dennis, who had had the same idea. Dennis stared in surprise as Bobby locked in on Chris, and that moment of hesitation was his undoing, as it gave his remaining teammate the opportunity to invoke the charm on him. Suddenly he was no longer concerned with Bobby, or what Chris might be up to with him. His mental focus had narrowed to nothing other than the desire to please Stu. Tom contented himself for the time being with merely putting his arm around Grant’s trim, naked waist, and allowing the hypnotically seduced young man to fondle him without specific instructions, since he wanted to watch the other two couples until he could be certain there were no snags.

   Stu had pulled Dennis down onto the couch in the living room section of the suite. He was kissing him passionately while his hands boldly explored his teammate’s cooperative body, undoubtedly in very much the same manner he would have been making out with a girl. The frequency with which his fingers returned over and over to the inviting cleft between Dennis’ saucy buttocks made it pretty obvious which sexual favors he would be demanding of his obliging buddy. Tom had set out lube and plenty of condoms where the boys would easily notice them, so he didn’t see any need for intervention there.

   Chris stood holding Bobby close. He appeared to be whispering endearments into the pretty blond boy’s ear, but otherwise they weren’t doing anything that was overtly sexual. Tom’s curiosity was piqued. He excused himself from Grant after suggesting, “I’d really like it if you’d take some lube and grease up your ass, Grant. I need to fuck you. Be sure you keep your cock hard for me.” Grant of course agreed eagerly, the spell he was under allowing him no other response, so the hypnotist was able to leave him to it and investigate what Chris and Bobby were up to. As he drew near enough to hear what Chris was saying, Tom froze in astonishment.

   “…just like this afternoon… You can feel it, can’t you, Bobby… relaxing and letting go… so relaxed… thoughts drifting away… It’s a comfortable familiar feeling, and you always hear my voice….”

   “My God,” Tom thought, “Chris is trying to hypnotize him!” And it seemed to be working. Whether because of his natural susceptibility coupled with his artificial compulsion to do whatever Chris asked of him, or because he was essentially already at least partway in trance from Tom’s post-hypnotic suggestion, Bobby appeared to be falling under hypnosis just as easily as he had before. Quickly, before this could proceed far enough that he would lose the ability to attract Bobby’s attention, Tom said, “B-ball boys’ club freeze!” Instantly they were all rendered motionless. (Grant had a finger trapped in his own ass, where he’d been caught as he lubed himself, while Stu and Dennis were joined, like dogs, in mid-fuck.) “All of you stay completely turned on,” the hypnotist continued. “When I allow you to move again, you’ll continue what you were doing right where you left off just now. In the meantime, everyone but the boy whose shoulder I touch, you will have no awareness of anything happening, nor of any time passing until I tell you to unfreeze.”

   Tom tapped Chris gently on the shoulder and said, “You’re deeply hypnotized, and you want to answer all my questions. Why are you hypnotizing Bobby?”

   Without opening his eyes or changing his position even a fraction of an inch, Chris spilled compulsively. “It’s sexy. I always wanted to see what it would be like with a hypnotized girl, but I never knew how to do it, and besides, none of the girls I knew were into it anyway. But then you showed how it was okay to have sex with a buddy, and I’d seen what you did and how easy it was for you put Bobby into a trance, so I decided now was my chance to try. And I gotta say, I’m really turned on watching him go under.”

   “Well, well, a kindred spirit,” Tom mused. There was an idea percolating in the back of his brain, but it wasn’t completely worked out yet, so he decided to have everyone return to their activities to give it time to ripen. “B-ball boys’ club unfreeze,” He commanded, and like a DVD released from the pause button, the five boys were back at it. Stu and Dennis were again humping like bunnies, obviously unaware that they’d ever stopped (and, true to the post-hypnotic programming, Dennis was grinning and moaning with lust, every bit as delighted to be fucked as Stu was to be fucking him). Grant continued to play with his asshole, making sure it was relaxed and well greased in preparation for Tom. He too appeared extremely aroused by the sensations, his rigid cock twitching with pleasure and dripping pre-cum. The hypnotist left them to their own devices a bit longer as he continued to watch Chris’ progress.

   “Your eyes are so heavy now that you have to close them, Bobby. You can’t hold them open any longer. Close your eyes, Bobby, and sleep. Yield to my voice… relax… give in… sleep… sleep… sleep…” Tom felt like cheering as Bobby’s eyelids fluttered down and he was out. It was obvious to him that Chris had the potential of becoming very good at this. “Bobby,” the fledgling hypnotist went on, “When I snap my fingers you’ll become a total slut, a real sex-pig. You’ll need to have hot, dirty sex with me, and you won’t be able to feel shy or embarrassed about anything I ask you to try. As far as you’re concerned, the nastier the better.”

   At the snap of Chris’ fingers, Bobby’s eyes flew open. Gone was the gentle, naïve innocence. They were full of heat and sensuality, as though a demon had taken possession of him. With a low growl, like a big cat in mating season, he grabbed Chris more tightly and sank his teeth into Chris’ earlobe. Over Chris’ startled gasp, he rasped, “Fire in the hole, motherfucker! I’m so hot I’m gonna explode! Eat my ass and then fuck me ’til neither of us can stand up! Make me your bitch, you fuckin’ stud!” He threw his stunned teammate to the carpet and began to maul him. Chris recovered his wits soon enough however, and was shortly giving as good as he got. They rolled around like animals in their sexual frenzy, licking, biting, struggling passionately until Chris was finally lodged and pumping away between the cheeks of Bobby’s muscular bubble butt. Their language as they urged each other on was so raunchy that even Tom, who thought he’d heard it all, was amazed.

    The hypnotist was jolted out of his temporary bemusement when he suddenly noticed Grant across the room, now staring straight at him, and unabashedly jerking off. The boy’s horny, sulky expression said it all: “When’s it going to be our turn, damn it?” Tom abandoned Chris and Bobby to each other and walked over to his chosen boy. He finally allowed himself to do what he’d wanted to do ever since first seeing the young basketball player. Pulling the tall young man down into an embrace, Tom fastened his mouth on Grant’s sensuous, startlingly red lips. The sexy mouth opened willingly under his and the kiss grew more and more intense. God, but the kid knew how to kiss! The hypnotist almost felt as though his tongue were having an orgasm, so lusciously did Grant’s tease it. He had to see what else that talented tongue could do. Freeing his mouth, he gasped, “Suck me, Grant.”

   With a wicked grin on his handsome face, the dark-haired stud went down on Tom. If Tom had been in a more rational state, he might have judged this to be the best head he’d ever received. As it was, the intensity of the sensations robbed him of coherence. All he could think was, “Oh, fuck! O-o-oh fu-u-u-ck!!!” as his hips involuntarily spasmed and thrust in automatic response. The hypnotist was on his way to orgasm in less than a minute. But just before it was too late, Grant, as though telepathic, released Tom’s cock from his all-conquering blowjob. He winked mischievously as he looked up from his kneeling position and said, “You asked me to grease up my ass. Aren’t you gonna use it?”

   The shaken hypnotist could only nod silently. Grant rose smoothly to his feet, and taking him by the hand (as though Tom and not he were the hypnotized slave), led him into the bedroom. Once there, he fell back on the bed, threw his legs up over his shoulders, and licked his lips while looking right into Tom’s eyes, as though to say, “Climb on, cowboy”. Mama LeBlanc didn’t raise no foolish babies, so the hypnotist wasted no time in mounting up. As soon as Tom was in and pistoning away, Grant re-established his lip-lock, and they kissed and fucked with abandon. Again, if Tom had been judging their activity critically, this time he might have found Grant somewhat lacking in skill as a bottom. He had neither the experience nor the physical control of his ass muscles to be a truly great fuck (and, as a straight boy who’d never even considered doing it before, why should he?). But he was eager and tight, and, at this juncture the hypnotist was so turned on from the amazing foreplay, that it would scarcely have mattered to his lust if Grant had only been a blow-up doll of himself. The idea of the sexy basketball stud had become so exciting to him, that it was enough, by itself, to ensure his total rapture. As orgasm was about to take him, Tom looked into Grant’s flushed, pleasure-glazed face and realized that he also was ready to cum. The hypnotist let loose and rode the wave to its crest. They shot their loads virtually as one.

   As Tom came back down from his post-orgasmic high, nestling, damp and satisfied, in Grant’s strong arms, still nibbling kisses at the basketball player’s red lips (now looking rather bee-stung), and surrounded by the sexy smells of cum and clean sweat, he thought to himself, “This is why I learned hypnotism! It’s just too damn bad that I live so far from here; this kid could be habit-forming!”

   They were all seated again in the suite’s living room. Everyone was cleaned up, although none of them had bothered to get dressed again yet. Chris had brought Bobby out of his trance, and the boyish blond was once again his sweet, innocent self, looking at Chris with awed admiration (and still blushing furiously as, from time to time, he would recall something he’d said or done while under his teammate’s spell).

   The idea that Tom had been formulating was now clear in his mind, so he acted on it. “B-ball boys’ club!” Instantly the five boys were back in profound trance, all the recent practice making it especially deep. “Chris,” he said, “Now that you’ve tried it, you really enjoyed putting Bobby into trance for sex, didn’t you?”

    “It was fuckin’ awesome.” The sincerity of Chris’ response was unmistakable, even though his totally hypnotized delivery rendered it vague and toneless.

   “Take it from one who knows, it’s always ‘fuckin’ awesome’! From now on you’re going to learn as much as you can about how to hypnotize: how to do it better, faster, more easily; how to do it even to people who may not want to be cooperative. It’s going to be your favorite hobby, your fascination, your greatest non-career obsession. Do you understand?”

   “Yes, Mr. LeBlanc.”

   “But, Chris, you will never use hypnotism to get girls. Never! Hypnotism is only for use on young men… only on young men, and only on handsome young men you want for sex, so you won’t hypnotize anybody but your b-ball boys’ club teammates until you are so good at it that you can be sure of maintaining your own safety and secrecy.” Tom worked on this theme for a good while (interrupting himself only occasionally to keep the other four boys actively in trance). It was a complicated set of concepts, particularly in that he had to set up not just a compulsion in Chris to become the best erotic hypnotist he could be, but to devise a course of action that would enable him do so. He also had to expand on Chris’ definition of “buddies” (i.e. boys he could allow himself to want sex with) to include guys, even outside the basketball squad, if they were desirable, once he’d acquired enough skill to bewitch them. It took time, but eventually the hypnotist thought he had the boy aimed in the direction he wished. Tom counted on the follow-up sessions he would arrange through Joel to give him opportunities to reinforce and (if necessary) fine-tune Chris’ special programming. The last suggestion he put in place was a command for the budding mesmerist to keep him informed in detail about all of his hypnosis-related exploits (not only to receive mentoring and advice, but also as entertainment for Tom!).

   It was nearly two in the morning, and Tom was exhausted. He got the five boys dressed and ready to go. The memory cleanup took much less time than usual, since the only thing he really had to erase was their knowledge that their new attitude towards boy/boy sex had been hypnotically engendered. The sex itself now fit comfortably into their self-images. But something nagged at him; he was forgetting something. The tired hypnotist wracked his brain. Finally light dawned: he’d done Chris, but not the complementary programming for the rest of the squad!

   “Grant, Dennis, Bobby, Stu, you all know that Chris is going to learn to be a hypnotist. You will never discuss this with anyone other than each other, amongst yourselves. No one else may be allowed to know. Understand?” (Nods and sleepy ‘okay’s.) “And of course, to help out a buddy, you’ll always be happy to allow him to practice on you any time he wants. Won’t you?” (More nods, this time, within the context of total somnambulistic torpor, enthusiastic ones.) Tom woke them up and sent them home, receiving, to his pleased surprise, a tender good-bye kiss from Grant on the way out.

And Back Again

   Joel drove Tom to the airport the next morning. He couldn’t say enough about how pleased he was with the hypnotist’s efforts, especially the near miracle he appeared to have worked with Chris Stuckey and the basketball squad.

   “Well,” Tom laughed, “It was a most interesting two days. I thoroughly enjoyed working with your young men, and I’m glad you’re satisfied with the results. I do need to remind you that the therapeutic trance-work I did with Scotty Dumont and with the basketball squad will need to be reinforced a few times before the changes can be considered more-or-less permanent. If you make sure they call me, I think telephone sessions will do – at least three apiece, say- although if I find that I do need to see any of them in person again, I hope you’ll help me work that out as well. Taylor, of course, isn’t likely to need any more hypnotic intervention. Once he’s taking the courses that he doesn’t despise, I’m sure he’ll catch fire.”

   The air-terminal parking facility was nearly full, but Joel managed to find a space in a far corner squeezed between two large vans. Once parked, they were virtually invisible to passers-by. He reached over to shake Tom’s hand. “It was great seeing you, Tommy. And again, I have to say I’m completely impressed and grateful. You did more than I could have hoped for these boys, and if there’s ever a favor I can do you in return, you only have to ask.” He smiled warmly.

   The smile froze in place on Joel’s face as Tom winked and said, “You look tired, Joey.” The hypnotist smiled in turn, as the young coach slipped neatly back under his spell. “You see, Joel –buddy, there are a couple of favors you can do me. First, keep your eyes peeled for any other young men who might benefit from a hypnotherapy session, even if it’s only something as simple as kicking the smoking habit. They don’t even have to be in the sports program; they just have to be very handsome and sexy, like the boys I was working with this time. You’ll do your best to recommend me to any and all of them. I imagine you’ll be able to use your enthusiasm for the results of the last two days activities very effectively as a sales pitch. And as for the second little favor…”

   Tom couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face the whole flight home. There’s nothing like a quickie in the back seat to make for a relaxed traveler.

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