Disclaimer: This material is to be read only by those persons who are of legal age in their communities (those communities being such that the reading of materials such as this is not illegal in and of itself), and who are not offended by the topics of male/male sex and erotic hypnosis (although if you are offended by such, what on earth are you doing at this site?). Although I freely admit to being visually inspired by certain types of guys, this story is in no way intended to represent any actual individual. It is fiction. My apologies to friends and fans for the long silence. It was a case of overwork and writers’ block, but I’m much better now. In the meantime, thanks to those of you who kept on writing delicious stuff, and, the rest of you, get off your duffs and try writing your own material!
by
I. Trance Mix
Have you ever noticed how often reality just doesn’t play out as well as your fantasies? Of course you have. Me too. My name’s Andy McCullough, and I have a fetish for hypnotism. Oh, it’s not that I can’t get a guy without it. I have a good body (soccer, biking, rock climbing – I’m buffed and hard as nails), dark brown hair that just naturally seems to look right, no matter how I have it cut or combed, and a really handsome face in spite of the glasses I have to wear, since I can’t use contacts. (As immodest as all this sounds, it isn’t my assessment, but rather things various boys and girls have said about me.) No, I have no problem coming up with a date Saturday night. Girls or guys usually find themselves staring when I walk by (either from desire or from envy). It’s just that I really dig hypnosis. For me, there’s nothing like having really hot sex with a guy (yeah, I’m gay as a goose) whose mind is completely controlled, who can’t resist my wishes or change the night’s agenda on a whim. I’ve put in a lot of time, read a lot of books, taken a lot of courses, and become, even at my young age (I’m 24), a really effective trance-inducer. The problem has been that, now that I’m totally equipped to carry out my fantasies, I’ve come to realize that the boys I really want to hypnotize are almost never the ones who volunteer to be subjects. If I’m at a party or in a bar, and I bring the topic up, it’s always the girls (or the trolls) who latch on to the implied invitation. Bummer!
I’d just about written off my time expenditure and relegated the subject to my fantasy file, when, one day while web-surfing, I came across a site that offered custom subliminal suggestion CDs for parties. One tape instantly caught my attention: “Simon Says – programs your guests to follow any instruction you precede the words ‘Simon says’, with no feeling that it is in any way unusual to do so”. Now I know enough about hypnotism to know this sort of thing would work only for very susceptible subjects, and only for uncontroversial suggestions, but since the demographic sample I’m most interested in (healthy, intelligent, adventurous males in the 18 to 29 age range) also contains one of the highest percentages of very hypnotizable people, the former limitation was not likely to be a major factor. And as for the latter, I had no illusions of using the tape to turn straight guys gay (or get any guy into bed, for that matter). What I had in mind was simply to sidle up to a young man and (after trying some really innocuous test to make sure the subliminal suggestion had taken hold) say, “Simon says let me hypnotize you”, or “Simon says you want me to hypnotize you”, or even “Simon says, when I ask for subjects, you will volunteer”, depending on the situation. Then, once I had his cooperation in a real induction, I’d be able to take whatever steps were necessary to turn him into my willing and will-less playmate. I submitted my order that very day.
For a change, the company and the postal system both came through, and I had the CD within a week. After giving myself a stern self-hypnotic talking to, so as not to become programmed, I listened to it, and was delighted to find that the subliminals were truly undetectable, and that the music was a really cool dance mix that would be perfect for the kind of parties in which I planned to use it. The instructions said that all of the cuts contained the programming, so that hearing even one should do the job, although listening to the whole CD would, of course, increase the effect.
Before unleashing my Trojan horse on the unsuspecting male population, a trial run was in order. I called the local pizza palace and ordered my dinner. When Kyle, the high school kid who does their deliveries, arrived, I already had the CD playing. I invited him in while I pretended to hunt for change, and spun the process out until he’d heard a little more than two cuts. Then, as I handed him his tip, I said casually, “Simon says touch your nose.” Without taking any apparent notice that I had spoken, he casually reached up and scratched his nose. Bingo! “Simon says let me hypnotize you, Kyle”
“Ok.” He looked interested, but unsurprised. “What do I have to do?”
I ran him through a standard induction, and soon had the boy deep in trance. If he’d been less of a pimply underage twerp, I might have been tempted to have some fun with young Kyle, but, as I mentioned, this was just a trial run, so all I did was to remove his memory of having been my guinea pig, and send him back to work with a false recollection of minor car trouble to account for the elapsed time. Now I was ready for the big leagues!
The Graduate Students’ Association at the university I attend (I’ll be getting my Master’s in psychology in the spring) traditionally has a Halloween bash – costumes, dancing, some sort of Halloween-related entertainment, the works; and this year I managed to land the show. (Okay, it wasn’t that hard to do. Since grad students never have any money, offering to entertain for free has a huge advantage in this particular job market, and my hypnotism act qualified as “spooky” enough to suit the occasion.) In order to implement my plan, I had suggested that I would prefer the partygoers to dance and mingle a while before I went on, in order to “loosen them up”. The committee bought that one easily, and it was scarcely any more trouble to sell Carolyn Davies, who would be the DJ, on my special dance mix CD. All systems go.
The party was in full swing (and my subliminal CD had already aired in its entirety). I had about fifteen minutes before I was scheduled to start entertaining, and was prowling in search of guys I wanted to try for. The room was full of people dancing or just milling about, talking and sampling the refreshments. Costumes of all kinds abounded, although, being graduate students most of us had chosen sexy over gruesome. I was dressed as a vampire (quite appropriately, I thought, given their reputation for mind control), and, if I do say it myself, I looked fine.
My first target for the “special” program was Weston Stearns. He’s a computer geek, and a registered nerd, and he is virtually asexual as far as I can determine (I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend or a boyfriend, nor has he ever picked up on any of my hints), but he looks like a wet dream. I don’t know how he keeps his body in such excellent shape, spending most of his time planted in front of a terminal, but he could give the bow-flex guy a run for his money! And his face! Cornflower blue eyes with lashes that go on forever, cheekbones like a fashion model, pouty little-boy lips that make you want to eat him alive, flawless skin, farmboy-gold hair, and just enough Don Johnson stubble to make him look studly! Am I drooling yet? You betcha!
I found Wes at the refreshment table getting a beer, and from his relaxed stance, probably not his first. Typically, he appeared to have come stag. He was dressed as a classic TV Western villain: Stetson with a silver concho hatband, cowboy shirt, bandanna/neckerchief, leather vest, tight jeans, and polished cowboy boots, everything in black. A pair of six-guns in a black-and-silver tooled gun belt completed the costume that was currently making it hard for me to concentrate (or even breathe). I walked up to him, saying, “Hey there, Wes.”
He smiled a slightly off-center (yeah, he’d already put away a few - I hoped he wasn’t too drunk to absorb suggestions) but nonetheless incredibly sexy smile and answered, “Hey, Andy. How’s it goin’? All ready to do your ‘look into my eyes’ routine?”
“Yup. Just putting on the finishing touches. Simon says put down your beer for a minute.” Just like the pizza boy had done in my test trial, Weston set his beer down without showing any signs that he found it odd to be suddenly playing a children’s game. Yippee! He was mine! “Simon says, when I do my show you’re gonna volunteer to be hypnotized.”
“Sure thing, Andy.” Again that smile!
“And Simon says you’re gonna be a very good subject and go into a very deep trance.” I had no idea if that last would actually make any difference, but since one of the most important features in becoming hypnotized in the first place is expectation, it couldn’t hurt. Wes nodded agreeably. One down and one to go: next stop, Paul Muñoz.
Paul is a theater major, and his looks and high-voltage personality are perfectly suited to that. Just imagine the guy on J.A.G. as he would have looked when he was in his twenties, and you’re looking at Paul. At 27, he’s a little older than most of us grad students, since he took some time after his undergrad years to earn money (he’s been a tennis pro in a swanky club and a ballroom dance instructor) and “experience life” (for which euphemism read: sleep around… a lot). He’s a hundred per cent straight, and, though he thrives on attention, his ego wouldn’t let him play second banana to a hypnotist, so I’d never been able to put him on my possibles list from either perspective. Until now, that is.
Paul, the epitome of male sex appeal in Naval officer’s dress whites, was dancing with a luscious brunette costumed as a 1920s flapper. Her boobs were too large for the clothes to hang right, but Paul didn’t seem to object. I walked past them and whispered, “Simon says you need to use the restroom.” Almost in unison, and without acknowledging my presence, Paul and his date excused themselves to each other and headed for their respective facilities.
I followed my quarry into the men’s room. He was standing at one of the urinals with that expression of concentration and relief that men wear only then. I waited until he’d finished and zipped up, and then planted my Simon says instructions. His only response was a nod and a muttered, “Cool,” as he washed his hands. Showtime!
I came out onto the little, jury-rigged stage to begin my act. I was still in the vampire drag, but minus the false teeth (I didn’t want to lisp). I started my spiel, explaining a little about hypnosis and what they could expect, and then asked for volunteers. Wes had hopped lightly onto the stage almost before I finished asking. As more brave souls (yeah, the usual selection of women and trolls) started to come up, Paul was talking eagerly to his date, who seemed reluctant. He managed to persuade her, however, and they both got to the stage in time to take the last remaining pair of seats. I quickly separated them, using the old you’ll-distract-each-other excuse (which happens to be true) to hide my real reason for parting them: not wanting the “missus” to pick up on the surreptitious suggestions I planned for her man. I put Paul next to Wes, dead center.
After a brief series of suggestibility tests, I launched into the induction, using all the skills I’d worked so hard to develop, and focusing primarily on my two boys. I don’t know whether they were just naturally gifted trance-subjects, or whether my Simon-says ploy had indeed upped the ante, but both Wes and Paul went down like sacks of sand. They were totally zoned and limp as mackerel before I even began the deepening sequences. What a rush! It’s a good thing that my black tuxedo and swirling cape made it impossible to see what was going on in my pants, because I was as hard as a rock! I went through all the deepeners anyway. After all, I still had the rest of the people to hypnotize, and a show to do, even if my mind was leaping ahead to the post-game celebration. And besides, it certainly wouldn’t damage my plans if they both went even deeper.
If you’ve ever seen a hypnotism show, you know they tend to be pretty much alike. For this group I could get away with being a little risqué, but basically I was confined to the traditional stuff: too cold, too hot (Wes lost his shirt on that one – yummm), funny movie, sad movie, porn movie, lost belly buttons, somebody’s pinching your butt, you’re drunk, etc. It turned out to be a good group. Wes and Paul were the stars as far as trance response, but there were several other good subjects as well (although not Paul’s date, whom I was unregrettably able to send back to the audience), so the show had a good flow, and the audience had a lot of laughs. I did a couple of specialty scenes for my two principal actors (mostly so that I could sneak in the suggestions for my non-traditional agenda while appearing to prep them for the next bit): Paul making out with his chair, under the impression it was a sexy girl (and his whites did nothing to disguise his hard-on!); Wes, stiff as a board (body, not cock), stretched out between two chair-backs in the classic hypno-trick; and finally, Wes (still shirtless) perched on Paul’s (fortunately post-erection) lap, both of them convinced that they were performing a ventriloquism act. And they were pretty damn funny, too; the crowd was nearly hysterical. By the time I woke everyone back up, my reputation as an entertainer was assured, and Paul and Wes were completely programmed, with triggers to return them to trance and irresistible subconscious compulsions to follow my instructions.
II. How the Wes Was Won
Knowing that Paul would be occupied with his date for the rest of the evening, I decided to wait until the next day to call in his chips, so when my crowd of well wishers had subsided, I went in search of Weston. He was back at the refreshments with another beer. Wes had put his shirt back on, but he still looked outrageously sexy. I moved in next to him and said, “Thanks for coming up on stage; you were great. I hope you had a good time.”
Wes grinned. “I think I did. Can’t say I remember all that much about it.”
“Well, no, you wouldn’t, would you?” I agreed, and then I added, “Pardner”, which was his trance cue. Weston’s sexy smile froze on his face, and his eyes went as blank as pebbles. “Wes, you’re going to spend the rest of the evening going deeper and deeper into trance. Every breath you take will put you more completely under my control. You’re going to come home with me after the party, when I tell you to, so don’t make any other dates. Understand?”
“Yes, Andy,” he said like a good little hypnotized slave.
“I’m going to count to three, and then you’ll act as you normally do, but you won’t come out of your trance. Nothing can awaken you until I awaken you, and you must continue to obey any suggestion I give you. One, two, three.” Wes’ eyes refocused, and animation returned to his features (although I could still see the subtle difference between his current state and true awareness). “Go ahead and enjoy the party,” I said, “But cut back on the booze. You don’t want to be drunk when we leave.” He obediently put down his beer and went off to mingle.
I realized that my CD had hit the play list again, and since Wes was now a sure thing, and Paul off-limits until tomorrow, I decided to take a few moments to look around and see if there were anyone I’d missed. It was pretty much the usual gang, and I was going to bag it and spirit Wes away, when out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a young male form that caused me to swivel rapidly for a better look. He was a dark-haired kid that I didn’t know – obviously hired as part of the catering/clean-up crew, since he was too young to be a grad student. If I had to guess I would have said freshman work/study programs. He was cute as could be in his black t-shirt and trousers, and his face made me think of Wes Bentley or John Stamos (when he was much younger, of course). His slender young body was moving and grooving with the music as he removed empty refreshment trays, so I knew he’d been listening. I walked over to him and said, “Simon says tell me your name.”
“I’m Johnny O’Neill. You’re the hypnotist guy aren’t you? Your show was really cool.” His voice was pleasingly boyish and eager.
“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Simon says come with me, Johnny.” The pretty young fellow obediently followed me off towards the kitchen, still carrying his empty trays. As soon as we were out of sight, I took them from him, set them down on a counter and said, “Simon says let me hypnotize you.”
Johnny looked at me expectantly. I had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Simon says look at my eyes. Simon says keep looking at my eyes. Simon says you can’t look away, can’t move, can’t resist. Simon says hear only my voice. Simon says let your breaths become slow and even. Simon says feel your muscles relaxing, relaxing, relaxing…” The mixture of subliminal suggestion and straight hypnotism worked fabulously. As I ran through the induction, preceding each phrase with “Simon says”, the boy responded to every suggestion instantly and profoundly. His posture slackened, his face grew blank and sleepy, and all the while his green eyes were helplessly locked on mine as I put him deep, deep under my spell.
“Johnny, Simon says you’re completely hypnotized now, and have no thoughts or will but to obey my voice,” I finished. He continued to stare his frozen stare into my eyes. “You will finish your duties here, and then drive straight to my house,” (I gave him the address), “remaining deep in this trance until I and only I release you from it. If you understand, touch your cock.” Without any reaction, the boy briefly fondled his fly. “Although you’ll still be in trance, you’ll act as you normally do until I say ‘boy-toy’, at which time you’ll once again be without will, unable to do anything but obey. Now back to normal and follow your instructions.” Young Johnny blinked, gave me a rather confused smile, and wandered back into the main room to gather more empty food trays.
I quickly collected Wes, so that we’d be at my place before Johnny drove over. The handsome, hypnotized pseudo-cowboy obediently followed me out to my car with no hesitation. Once he was buckled into his seat I said, “Close your eyes and sleep deeply.” Instantly Weston was a rag doll. Only the seat belt harness held him upright. His head bobbed gently as I drove, and, on a whim, I reached over and picked up his limp left hand, depositing it in my lap where I could feel his relaxed knuckles next to my erection. I don’t know if he had any awareness of what his hand was resting against, but, in any case, he was incapable of removing it from my crotch. I grew harder by the second.
When we reached my house, I returned enough physical self-control to my conquest that he was able to walk on his own, although with his total lack of facial expression and the unspontaneity of all his motions, anyone watching (fortunately no one was) would have spotted him at once for the mind control poster boy. I loved it.
Once inside I commanded him, “Become a doll, Wes – a Ken doll. You can’t move yourself. You will hold the position you’re in unless I change it. And, like any doll, you’ll let me dress or undress you. It’s what you’re for.” I guess he’d seen the advertising often enough to remember what those dolls look like, because his handsome face instantly acquired the bland, frozen smile and the wide-open, unfocused gaze that are their trademark. He was so perfectly the embodiment of my fantasies that I almost came in my pants. I unbuckled the gun belt and set it aside, then opened his leather vest and pushed it off, running my hands over his chest and shoulders, and down his arms, as I did so. The boy’s muscles were un-fucking-believable! Wes wasn’t bulked up unnaturally, but he was sculpted like a Greek statue, and he was so firm! I felt him up some more, almost giddy with anticipation of what was next to come, and then I pulled his black cowboy shirt from the waistband of his tight western jeans and undid the pearl snaps one by one, until I could slide it off as well, once more revealing the most perfect torso imaginable. From the broad shoulders tapering to the washboard abs and slim waist, he was flawless. What little body hair he had was so blond as to be virtually invisible, his skin was unblemished, and it glowed with a light, buttery tan. As his body was exposed, I could also catch the faint scent of him – clean and masculine, just a little sweaty (after all, he’d been partying), with a faint tang of beer and smoke, and even a hint of the leather he’d had on. It was possible to imagine he really was a hapless young cowboy of the old west tricked into helplessness by the black arts of some frontier sorcerer.
I lost all self-restraint (and what need of self-restraint did I have, as long as he was under my complete control?) and grabbed him, fondling him, sniffing him, licking his skin everywhere it was exposed, like an animal in heat. Wes, true to his instructions, remained motionless and unresisting as I mauled him. I can’t be certain how much time passed in my frenzied exploration. I had locked onto Wes’ delicious lips and been tongue-ravishing him for some moments before I finally registered that the doorbell was ringing. Leaving him where he stood, still utterly unmoving, I went to answer the door.
It was Johnny O’Neill, of course, his face filled with confusion and some distress, as he obviously didn’t understand where he was, or why he had come here. He started to say something, but I cut him off. “Come on in, boy-toy.” Immediately the stress vanished from his expression along with all other signs of personality. Like a sleepwalker he drifted in and stood calmly waiting for orders. I had him stand next to Wes and then took them both through another extensive set of deepeners. Weston didn’t need them, but it wouldn’t hurt him to go along for the ride, and since I hadn’t had as much time to work on Johnny, I wanted to be sure he was far enough along to get the results I fancied before proceeding. In about fifteen minutes, however, the cute young waiter was as completely in my power as the helpless stud.
I quickly undressed, and then started up my scene (and a pretty wicked one it was!). “Johnny, when I count to three, you’re going to open your eyes. You will remain completely hypnotized, and obey anything I tell you instantly, without any ability to resist. But you won’t know that you’re hypnotized. You won’t have any idea or memory of that at all. Do you understand?”
“I won’t know I’m hypnotized,” he answered dutifully, in his sleepy young voice.
“You’ll be able to see that Weston here is completely hypnotized, and you’ll be able to realize that I’m naked. It may alarm you, but no matter how upset you become, you won’t be able to leave the room, to offer any harm to me, to Wes or to yourself. And you will have to continue to obey all my orders without knowing why. One… two… three.”
Johnny blinked and his green eyes started to come back into focus. Then they widened. “What the FUCK?!” His head swiveled from me to Weston and then back again, staring at my naked bod with horror. “What the hell’s going on? Where are your clothes?! Man, I’m not into this shit at all!” He began to pace restlessly, although he couldn’t seem to make himself head for the door and freedom. Obviously hoping to acquire an ally, he shook the motionless cowboy. “Dude, snap out of it! We gotta get out of here!” But of course, Wes couldn’t react. “Jeez, you hypnotized him, didn’t you? This is so fuckin’ twisted! Let us go you sicko!!”
I smiled blandly. “Simon says take off all your clothes, Johnny.”
“NO FUCKIN’ WAY!” he bellowed. But his hands had already begun to pull his t-shirt off over his head. His handsome face twisted with effort as he struggled to resist the compulsion, but in spite of himself, he kicked off his shoes and then, cursing, pulled off his socks. Now his expression escalated to true panic as his hands unfastened his belt, unzipped his fly, and removed his trousers. He was down to his plaid boxers. “Christ, please don’t make me take off my shorts,” he begged.
“Simon says all of it, Johnny.” Helplessly he pulled his underwear down, and then stood before me starkers. His traitorous hands, no longer under compulsion now that he had finished following the suggestion, were deployed in front of his crotch in an attempt to cover himself (and a vain one, I might add; even shrunken with terror, the boy was hung), and he blushed crimson. “Simon says hands at your sides, Johnny, and freeze in place until I release you.” With a despairing moan, he obeyed, and I walked around him to take stock. God, he was pretty! Even in misery, his face was adorably sexy, and the dishevelment his struggles had created in his hair was totally erotic. His body wasn’t the hard, toned statue that Wes’ was, but he was slim and really well proportioned, with an ass as perfect as a peach, and his soft skin just cried out to be touched. I ran my fingers over that satiny skin, down his back and then cupped and fondled his butt. It was tactile heaven. “Johnny, have you ever had sex with a guy?”
“God, no!” he growled, “That’s disgusting! I only do chicks!”
“Johnny, I’m going to kiss you on the forehead, and when I do, Simon says you’ll forget that you ever had any sexual interest in girls. Simon says you’ll only be interested in guys, and Simon says that you’ll be very turned on by the idea of being the sexual toy of me and my hypnotized buddy here.” I took his face in my hands and leaned in.
“Please don’t do this!” he begged hysterically. “You’ve gotta let me go! I won’t tell anybody, I swear!! I’ll give you money! I… Oh God, please! Please!! I…” My lips made contact. “I… I… don’t… what… ?? What were we talking about? I don’t remem…” I had moved my lips from his forehead to his mouth, stopping his monolog. In no time he was returning my kiss with all the passion a guy can muster, who hopes that first base will get him to second or third. His mouth was sweet and delicious, so sweet that I almost lost track of time, and his tongue had a devil in it, but, after all, Johnny had only been an afterthought, a fortunate accident and not my main intention. If I didn’t return to working Weston pretty soon, he might even come out of his trance, and I was determined that wouldn’t happen. I managed to free my mouth long enough to whisper “Sleep, Johnny.” The young man went instantly limp in my arms (all except for his cock, which had by this time become fully erect, and continued to bob stiffly as I eased him down onto the carpet). Still whispering, I said, “Sleep deeply until I talk to you again, and dream of handsome men and your new role as a hypnotized sex toy.” The boy’s lips shaped themselves into a tiny smile, and I could see, beneath his closed eyelids, the beginnings of the rapid eye movements of a dream state. His cock grew even harder.
I returned to my cowboy, still just as I had left him, standing motionless, halfway undressed, wearing only tight black jeans, cowboy boots, black hat, and black bandanna around his neck. Just to be safe, I performed a couple more deepening rituals, which he passed with flying colors, and then I said, “Wes, everything I tell you is the truth. You will believe whatever I say absolutely without question, regardless of what your thoughts may have been before I spoke. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Andy. I must believe everything you say,” he repeated.
“Wes, you are a gay man. You are only interested sexually in other good-looking men; it’s why you keep your body in such beautiful shape. You love it when other guys look at you with envy and desire. In particular, you find me extraordinarily attractive; I’m the perfect reality of your hottest fantasy. You can’t even look at me without feeling turned on. Further, you are especially fascinated and aroused by the idea of hypnotism. You love being hypnotized and in my power, just as you are now, and you will always be eager for me to hypnotize you again, any time I ask. You are also very turned on by seeing other guys fall under my spell and become helpless. Have you got all that?”
I could tell that Weston was struggling against some of these concepts, but he was too deeply under to fight very hard, so, after only a brief pause while flickers of subdued emotion played across his essentially vacant face, he sighed, “Yes, Andy,” and I could see a bulge beginning to form in his jeans as the suggestions took effect.
“Finally,” I continued, “Any time I call you ‘cowboy’, you’ll instantly be so horny that you’ll have to have sex with me. When we make love, you’ll always follow my lead, and do anything sexually that I want you to do. It will be a compulsion you can’t resist. I’m going to snap my fingers, and you’ll wake up. You will have no conscious memory of anything that has happened since you went under during my show; you’ll only know that you have been hypnotized. But your unconscious mind will remember all of my suggestions, and you will obey… you will obey… you will obey. Repeat all your instructions.” He did, letter-perfect.
“…will obey… I will obey… I wi…” Snap! Weston’s eyes slowly came back into to focus, and he looked around dazedly. “Where…?” Then his gaze found me, and that sexy smile blossomed again on his handsome face. “Wow! You really had me in lala-land! That is so cool!” Then, apparently for the first time, he registered my nakedness. “Jeez, Andy, you look great!!” The bulge in his jeans became even more pronounced as he eyed me hungrily.
I stepped in close to him and ran one finger over his exposed chest as I said, in an intimate voice, “Hi, cowboy. Welcome back.” Wes’ grin grew even broader, and then his strong arms had pulled me into an embrace and we were kissing passionately. Did I say I thought Weston was asexual!? I guess he was just very private, because there was certainly no lack of enthusiasm or technique in his lovemaking. I have to admit that it was even more fun with his cooperation (however sneakily obtained) than it had been when he was just a helpless puppet. I pulled his hard, denim-clad ass to me, and ground my erection against his basket as we made out like teenagers at a drive-in. My cock was dripping precum and both of us were gasping for breath when I disengaged. I hooked a finger in the waistband of his jeans and said, “Hey, Wes, check this out,” as I turned him to the point where he could catch sight of pretty little Johnny, fast asleep on the floor, mother-naked, his large erection pulsing gently.
Weston’s eyes widened. “Oh man,” he groaned lustfully, “You’ve hypnotized him, haven’t you?! God, that’s so fuckin’ awesome!!” One of his hands was kneading his crotch.
I smiled at him. “Shuck off the rest of those clothes, cowboy, while I get him ready for us to play with.” At the word “cowboy”, Wes let out another moan of passion, and then he began struggle to pull off his boots. “Oh, ‘you can leave your hat on’.” I chuckled at my joke, but I knew he’d obey. Then I knelt down next to Johnny.
“Johnny, remain deep in trance, but open your eyes.” Without moving a muscle otherwise, the teen obeyed. “You are a helpless sex-toy. You exist to fulfill other men’s desires. You are a sex-toy. Say it.”
“I am a sex-toy.” Johnny sounded like a robot. There was no resistance, no inflection in his voice.
“You will do anything either I or my friend Wes ask you to. It is your only purpose.”
“I’ll do anything you guys ask. It’s my only purpose,” he droned. (I hadn’t asked Johnny to repeat that, but evidently robot-mode suited his imagination.)
I turned back to Wes, and gasped with delight. Let’s just say that this blond god with his perfect gym-toned bod and his (now that I could see it) gorgeous rock-hard cock, wearing nothing but a black cowboy hat and an electric smile, and fondling himself as he stared at Johnny and me, was so totally my idea of heaven that I had to shut my eyes and think of algebra to keep from cumming on the spot! After I regained a modicum of poise, I said, “Wes, why don’t you try him out? His name’s Johnny. Give him a command.”
Grinning like a wolf, Weston said, “Come here, Johnny.”
“Yes, master.” The boy got up and walked over to him.
“Kneel down and suck my cock, boy, and while you do it, keep humming your favorite song.” With another dutiful “yes, master”, Johnny obeyed. Wes looked at me and wiggled his eyebrows devilishly before turning his whole attention to the hum job he was receiving.
They made a very stimulating picture together, and I thought, “With an imagination like that, young Mr. Stearns is definitely boyfriend material!” It wouldn’t have occurred to me to request the humming, but, now that I saw the result, watching Johnny mindlessly repeating a Sugar Ray tune as he gave head was incredibly hypno-erotic. And I could only imagine how awesome it must feel, although Wes’ moans of pleasure gave me some hint.
Actually, come to think of it, I could do more than imagine, couldn’t I? I walked over to stand next to Wes, and put my hand on his shoulder. “My turn,” I told him. “Besides, you don’t want to cum until I say, do you?” Nodding, he yielded position and moved behind me, where he snuggled against my backside, his arms around my waist, and his hard, moist cock nestled comfortably along my butt-crack. I ordered Johnny to resume, but now on my dick, and was quickly engulfed by one of the most incredible mouths I’ve ever experienced. And, yes, the humming made a big difference! I didn’t dare let him continue for long. I was too close to blast-off, and I had big plans for my cowboy’s ass. Reluctantly I withdrew from between the hypnotized young waiter’s lips, and set him once more on Weston’s cock, while I quickly donned a condom and lubed up. Then I moved in behind Wes, kissed the nape of his neck, and whispered into his ear, “Loosen up your ass, cowboy. I want to fuck you while he sucks you off.”
Wes moaned, “Oh, yeah!” and bent his knees a little to spread his crack. I positioned myself against his hole, and slid in, meeting almost no resistance. I was in heaven!! There are fucks, and then there are F*U*C*Ks. This was one of the latter! The heat, the tightness, the total generosity with which my hypno-programmed little cowpoke yielded himself to my lust was beyond my wildest dreams. If I could have suspended the moment forever, I would have! Life, however, doesn’t work that way, even with the help of hypnosis. All too soon, Wes began to pump uncontrollably, and deep inside his butt, my dick felt the contractions as he shot his load into Johnny’s suctioning mouth. That was all it took. I blew like a geyser, so hard that only my arms around Wes’ broad shoulders kept me from collapsing to the floor. My spent erection slipped from his ass, and I spun him around and locked onto his lips in the most committed kiss I’ve ever given anyone. He returned it with interest, and it was some time before I was able to notice Johnny, still on his knees humming, his empty mouth still working like a baby dreaming of a bottle. Somewhat sheepishly I quickly cancelled that last command so that he could stand up and stop trying to give head to a cock that was no longer there.
After getting us all cleaned up again, I wiped Johnny’s memory. He’d leave, and then he’d wake up with no recollection of anything involving hypnotism or me (other than remembering having seen the show at the party). I did leave his trance cue in place (even reinforced it). Oh, I was planning to try for a longer-term thing with Weston, but the young waiter was awfully cute, and waste not, want not. (Besides, neither of us had had a go at his ass yet.) By the time I finished the programming, and pretty Johnny had drifted blankly out of my house, my lover was showing some wood again. Obviously, the suggestion about finding my hypnotizing other guys to be a turn on had taken a good hold in Wes’ psyche.
“That was without a doubt the sexiest thing I’ve ever had happen!” Wes blue eyes were lit up like stained glass. “Please, please promise me this won’t be the only time. God, I wish you could hypnotize me again right now!” His hand dropped to his resurgent hard-on.
I grinned. What the hell, the night was young. “Oh, I think that can be arranged, pardner!”
III. An Officer, But No Gentleman
Wes had spent the night. We’d had more sex, and I’d worked on him in deep trance to explore the possibility of forming a more lasting relationship. I found that we had a lot in common, even without the hypnotic meddling I’d performed. It turns out that he had already been gay (and far from being indifferent to my previous hints, he’d been longing for me, but was simply deeply closeted, and almost terminally shy as far as sexual matters were concerned). We also shared similar tastes and viewpoints in many other of life’s arenas (and he was too hypnotized to lie about it). In short, if I had felt the stirrings of something more lasting than lust that previous evening, by morning I was pretty sure I was falling in love with my golden cowboy, and that, maybe, he was falling too. But I still had some unfinished business: Paul Muñoz.
There was no question of Paul becoming anything to me other than entertainment. Aside from his sexiness (which I was still determined to explore – Weston and I being much too new for me to consider exclusivity for either of us), I knew too much about his love-’em-and-leave-’em m.o. with women to want to try for anything else (even without adding Wes to the equation). Besides, that actor’s ego-driven personality would wear thin with me very quickly. No, Mr. Muñoz was going to be nothing more than a one-night stand, but it was a one-night stand I meant to have. I sent Wes away for the day (okay, I cheated just a little with a post-hypnotic suggestion so as not to hurt his feelings), and then I dialed Paul’s cell-phone.
“Hello?” That rich voice already gave me a little tingle.
“Hi, Paul. It’s Andy. I just wanted to thank you again for being such a good sport last night in my show.”
“No problemo, man. It was my pleasure.”
“If you could drop by my place, I have a little thank you gift for you – nothing much, but I think you’ll like it. You left the party last night before I could give it to you.” I tried to keep the smirk out of my voice.
“I’ll be there in fifteen, and thanks.” He hung up. I spent the next couple of minutes getting the apartment ready for his arrival (not that there was much to do, since, thanks to last night’s programming, I had already known he’d automatically accept my invitation). Then I just waited for the doorbell. It wasn’t long in coming.
I opened the door, and Paul stood there, tall, dark, and handsome, looking hot as a pistol in blue jeans and a red pullover sweatshirt. “Holà, amigo. Come on in,” I said. Paul stepped forward into the apartment and grasped my outstretched hand. Instantly his face went blank, his grip lost all its strength, and he froze in that position, deeply hypnotized (for, of course, that handshake was his trance cue). I let go of his relaxed hand, and closed the door.
“You hear only my voice, Paul. You obey only my commands. Every breath you take is pulling you deeper and deeper under my control. You can’t wake up unless and until I tell you to. Sit on the couch. Take off your shoes” Paul, moving like the sleepwalker he now was, shuffled over to the sofa, sat down, and began to remove his sneakers, his expressionless gaze fixed on nothing. “It’s very warm in here Paul,” I continued. “You’ll be much more comfortable without your sweatshirt. Take it off.” With the jerkiness of a puppet, he complied revealing a torso to die for. Unlike Wes’ tanned buttery smoothness, Paul sported a fascinating pattern of black chest hair displayed against his deep bronze skin: elaborate whorls around his lusciously chewy-looking nipples, soft furring along his washboard abs, as neat as if it had been combed, and the perfect treasure-trail leading down into the waistband of his jeans. I had to touch him.
“Deep sleep,” I commanded. Paul went limp. His head lolled back and his thick, long eyelashes swept closed, their richness, now fully displayed against his sleeping face, making him look especially young, beautiful, and (most atypically for him) innocent. “You will remain deep in a dream, unable to move, unaware of anything, until I talk to you again.” I gave him a moment to establish this, and then began to explore. First, I drew a finger down the narrow hairless passageway from one earlobe to the base of his neck. God, he was so relaxed, and his skin was as soft as a baby’s! Of course, just a scant inch away it was sandpapered with close-shaven but still completely visible five o’clock shadow. I rubbed my fingertips across the stubble to fondle Paul’s adam’s apple (which, due to the tilted back position of his head, was especially prominent). It felt wonderful, and so I gave it a little kiss. There is something intensely erotic about being able to touch freely such a vulnerable spot, when the guy is completely unguarded and incapable of resisting, and I was becoming very aroused. I ran my hands down his hairy chest, making his nipples contract, and then caressed his furry stomach. My hands stroked across his abs and onto the sides of his slim waist. As tall as he was, Paul still couldn’t have been more than 30 incredibly trim inches; no love handles here! It felt so pleasant that I did it again, finding a rhythm, until I was petting him almost like a cat. Then I began to talk to him again, telling him how comfortable he was, how good it felt to be touched this way, and how much more it was making him relax, as I kept deepening, deepening, deepening his already profound trance state.
In my plans for Paul, there had been two possible ways for me to proceed. Remembering how thoroughly he had gotten into making love to a chair when I persuaded him it was a sexy woman, I was pretty sure I could get him to do the same if he were convinced that I was female; but I had also had another, more complicated (but ultimately much hotter as far as my particular fetish was concerned) scenario, suggested by his costume from last night, that I was hoping he would be receptive enough to enact. I decided to try for it. After all, he’d already let me feel him up big time without so much as a twitch of resistance. There was no way he was going to break out of his trance before I could read the signs and back off to safer ground.
“Paul, do you remember the Navy uniform you were wearing last night?”
“Yes.” His voice was soft and sleepy, yet filled with pleasure. Obviously, he liked being stroked and wasn’t processing anything about who was doing the stroking.
“When I count to three, you will become the young naval officer you were pretending to be at the party. You are dressed in civilian clothes because you are not on duty, but you will know that you are enrolled in officer candidate school, just like Richard Gere in ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’. I am your commanding officer. Because you have been a difficult, undisciplined trainee, I insisted (and you obeyed to avoid dismissal) that you allow me to hypnotize the disobedience out of you. Now you have no ability to resist my orders, doubly because you can no longer ignore your military training and because of the deep, deep trance you are in. Do you understand?” Paul sleepily repeated the gist of my suggestions, getting all the important points right, so I counted off, “One, two, three.”
Then, in a much tougher voice, I said, “Open your eyes, cadet. Attention!” As if shot from a catapult, Paul sprang to his feet and stood at classic military attention, his muscles so taut he almost vibrated. It happened so fast, it was as if the response to the order had come from his deepest reflexes, bypassing his thinking brain altogether. “At ease.” He assumed parade rest. His still somewhat sleepy gaze started to turn towards me, so I snapped, “Eyes front, sailor!” His pose grew a bit more rigid and he stared straight ahead.
I walked around him slowly, taking in the view. Man, he looked just as good from the back! Call me shallow, but one of the reasons I’m not always keen on hairy guys is that I hate back hair. But Paul’s back was nothing but smooth, tanned, tapered, muscular perfection; and his tight little butt, so temptingly displayed in the form-fitting blue denim, made my cock jump for joy. “Take off those clothes, cadet.”
“Sir?” Paul sounded scared and a little rebellious.
“That’s an order, cadet!” I barked. “Strip!” Again, the response was so immediate that his hands had unzipped his fly and pulled his jeans down to his ankles before there was any time for him to try to fight it. Paul was not wearing underwear! Two seconds more, the jeans were off, and he was bent over to remove his socks, giving me a perfect view of the lightly furry crack in his delectable little butt. I thought my hard-on would break my zipper! I returned him to parade rest, and then slipped off my pants.
In my best drill sergeant mode I growled, “Cadet, the proper response to an order is ‘Sir, yes sir!’, not some candy-ass question! You got that?!”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“And that’s the only answer you’re going to give me! Now tell me you’re nothing but a worthless faggot cocksucker!”
“S-sir, yes sir! I… I’m nothing but a worthless f-faggot cocksucker, sir!” he was fighting it, but unsuccessfully.
“And your only value to this man’s navy is to serve your commanding officer’s cock.”
“Sir, yes sir! I’m only good for serving your cock, sir!” Less resistance this time.
“And you will serve it!”
“Sir, yes sir! I will serve it, sir!”
Oh, I had him now! “Bend over and spread your ass, cadet. Prepare to be fucked!”
“Sir, yes sir!” Paul presented his ass as ordered, while I condomed and lubed myself.
“With every stroke of my cock, you’re going to say ‘Sir, yes sir’, and each time you say it, you’ll go deeper into trance, and you’ll become more and more turned on, until you’ll be so hypnotized and so aroused, you’ll cum even though you won’t touch yourself. You won’t be able to stop it happening.”
“Sir, yes sir!”
I drove into his hot, tight hole and began to piston back and forth, accompanied by Paul’s helpless litany of “Sir, yes sir”, which became more and more mechanical and uninflected as he repeated it over and over again (although the actual pitch of his voice grew more and more strained as his sexual excitement increased). While I pumped, I could reach around in front to feel how hard his dick was growing (and how damp, as it began to drool precum). Yes indeed, straight macho stud Paul Muñoz, who’d never had a thing to do with another guy before this, was taking it up the butt, and grooving like a man-crazy slut! It really got me going, and soon (much sooner than I’d planned) I passed the point of no return and blew my wad. Paul was still working up to his, but when I had finished cumming, I leaned forward, my cock still planted in his ass, and said, “Cum now, cadet,” and, with one last, desperate “sir, yes sir”, my hypnotized slave exploded in orgasm, spewing jizz all over the carpet. Afterward, he simply stood without moving, his face blank, as his cock slowly softened and returned to normal. I pulled out of his butt, and got a damp washcloth to clean us both. Order restored, I was ready to finish up.
“You splooged on the carpet, cadet! Get down on your hands and knees and lick it up.”
“Sir, yes sir!” and I was treated to the sight of the beautiful, egotistical young actor, down on elbows and knees, furry butt in the air as he humbly cleaned up every drop of cum with his tongue. Then I ordered him to dress himself (while I resumed my clothing as well). After his attire was all properly in place, I seated him once more on the couch.
“Cadet, I’m going to count to three, and then you’ll be Paul Muñoz again. You’ll still be completely hypnotized, but you won’t have any memory of anything that happened while you believed yourself to be in the navy.” Paul began to answer, but my count cut him off before he reached the second “sir” of his programmed response. Then he just sat staring at me blankly. I went on to remove his handshake trance trigger, since I didn’t plan to use it again, and then continued, “You’re going to leave here and drive home, driving carefully and well, remaining deeply in trance until you get there. Once you are safely home, you’ll wake up. You will not have any memory conscious or unconscious, now or ever, that you were here today, that you were re-hypnotized, that you even talked to me on the phone. As far as you are concerned, none of this ever happened; the only time you have been hypnotized was on stage at the party last night.” I repeated this all several times, and then made him repeat it back to me, to make sure it was well and truly ingrained in his mind, and then I led him to the door, and watched as he wandered vaguely off to his car and drove away.
Late that afternoon, as I waited for Wes to return, I took stock of the day’s events. After having my way with Paul, I was more certain than ever that the cowboy was the one I wanted, perhaps permanently. Even while I’d been fucking Paul’s brains out, I’d constantly been thinking of how much Wes would get off on the scene, and how much hotter it would be if he were there to watch, to join in. I even found myself wondering what his face would look like in deep trance, if I were to make him fuck me! (And for a long-time card-carrying top, that was quite a leap!) No, there was no doubt about it: I was in love! And maybe it was time to give monogamy a try. Or at least, I smiled to myself, monogamy with the occasional shared (and, of course entranced) guests. So, that evening, when my golden boyfriend winked archly and asked, “Did you miss me today, Andy?”, I pulled him into an embrace and was able to answer with total honesty, “You bet, cowboy!”
Simon says, sometimes the reality outstrips the fantasy.
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