A Story for Chester (hypno)
by magister
Part 1
The sound of the motorbike disturbed the quiet little street. However, these were neighbours used to strange goings on, and were unlikely to even move the curtains, in case they were witness to something that could disturb their wealthy dreams.
The bike stopped outside one of the large, white mansions, and two men stepped from the warm machine onto the neatly manicured lawn. The men were dressed in leather, long hair blowing around their shoulders. Both were out of place, but neither seemed to care less.
The larger of the two started toward the house, with the other walking deferentially behind him. It was clear that one was the leader, big, solid and a face that had seen its fair share of bar room brawls. The other man looked like a lovesick puppy, gladly trotting behind his master. The master ignored the other with practised ease, just as the rich residents ignored their servants. A confidence that took years to develop, and, of course, the appropriate servants.
They stopped on the verandah, and the master pulled a cigarette from somewhere inside his leather jacket. His puppy was there to light it immediately, and stared with rapture as each breath drew the smoke deep into the massive chest of his master. After a few casual puffs, he drew the smoke deep into himself, and turned to his devoted slave. In a process familiar to both, the master placed his mouth over that of his willing slave, and the smoke was blown and sucked from one set of lungs to another in an intimate embrace.
When the master withdrew his lips, the young pup tried hard to hold the smoke inside, but after a few moments had to release it in order to draw in fresh oxygen. He continued to watch the cigarette moving to and from his master's lips, hoping that he would once again be allowed to taste the breath of the man he adored.
With the cigarette finished, the large man moved to the shining white door and rang the bell. It was quickly answered by a young man in an old-fashioned butler's uniform. He seemed to expect the rough visitors, and politely guided them along the marbled hall. The way he walked suggested that underneath the tails and starched collar he could have been wearing a tightly strung corset, or something equally as uncomfortable. However, none of his discomfort showed on his face, and he led the two visitors through a labyrinth of rooms, down some stairs and into a very private cellar.
It was more than just a cellar, though. It was a room full of menace, with stainless steel manacles and leather in abundance, sterile tables covered with strange devices, and computer equipment that sprouted wires and connections that threatened to reach out and attach themselves to any unwary visitor. The butler asked them to wait, and left to fetch the owner of the house.
The big man looked around the room, admiring the equipment he recognised, and squirming uncomfortably when his eye caught something unknown. The younger man just looked admiringly at his master, waiting eagerly for his next command. He didn't remember the room, but his master often took him to strange places to perform some service, and he had long ago ceased to fear anything his master asked him to do.
The door opened, and into the room stepped a very undistinguished looking man. He could have been anywhere from 25 to 35, with a neat suit, tidy hair, nondescript glasses, and a manner that caused most people to ignore him. At their own cost.
He knew the larger of the men, and stepped forward offering his hand in greeting.
"Shane, I see you got my message."
""Ah, yeah, Mr. Everett. I brought him just like you said. I hope I ain't done nothing wrong."
"No, no, my friend. I'm sure you've done everything extremely well."
"I tried to follow the list ya gave me." He produced a greasy and often folded scrap of paper from his pocket. Jason Everett was amazed that it had lasted so long, considering the conditions that Shane lived under. Then again, Shane had some strong incentives to please, and to make sure every order was carried out to the letter.
"Yes, I am certain you have done exactly as I have asked. But, I would like to see how well you've done. Perhaps a small demonstration?"
Shane hurried to obey. He didn't know why, but something about this vague man terrified him, and he was only too willing to show off his handiwork. He turned to his companion, and immediately slapped him across the face. The younger man fell to his knees from dizziness, but looked up at his master with his eyes alight with pleasure.
"Okay, Rover, you heard the man. Let's show him how fuckin' good you are. Clean the boots like a good dog."
Rover got busy with his tongue on Shane's boots. His hair hung down covering both his face and the leather, but he seemed intent on getting every speck of dust. Everett just stood back and watched, a small smile the only sign he approved.
"See, Mr. Everett, I ain't let him cut his hair since you gave him to me. Some of the other guys, they sort of piss on it - like a shampoo or something - but it only made it grow faster."
Everett nodded appreciatively. "What about the other ... modifications."
"Well, I got his ear pierced. And his nips. I didn't know if you wanted 'em deep or not, but I figured, what's the point unless they go deep, huh? And I got it so that he smokes in what I smoke out, just like you said, tho' I don't know why I just can't give him a ciggie."
Shane looked at Everett for a sort of explanation, but when he saw nothing was going to be said, he went on.
"He works most nights, down at Seventh Street. He earns pretty well, 'cause he looks so good. It was hard getting him all that special food, like, to make him strong, but I did what you said. Rover, take them clothes off and show Mr. Everett how good you look."
Rover stopped in mid-lick, and stood to shed himself of his clothes. It was not unusual for his master to make him strip for strangers, as well as perform for them. He liked showing off his body, seeing his master worked so hard to make it the way it was.
As he stood there naked, it was easy to see why he earned 'pretty well'. He was all muscle from head to toe, superbly sculpted. Although the hair on his head reached past his shoulders, the rest of his body was smooth and freshly shaved and oiled. The lack of a tan line showed that he must spend most of his time completely naked.
"Turn around and show us it all," commanded Shane.
Rover turned on the spot, revealing the cord of some butt plug hanging from behind, and the rest of his body was as well developed as the front. When he stopped turning, his erect penis barely wobbled, so excited was he that his master was proud of him.
"When was the last time you let him come?" asked Everett.
"A week ago last Thursday, I think it was."
Everett walked forward and inspected the slave more closely, impressed with the muscle definition, the pierced nipples, the intricate tattoo on his right arm.
"And he knows how to ... please ... a man?"
"Sure. That's what he does to earn us money. We just use him to fuck, but when I send him out, he does other stuff with the Johns. He tells me how he sucks them and they kiss him and stuff."
"Well, aren't you going to show me?"
"What? Have him suck me?"
"Yes, I think I would like to see that."
Shane was obviously upset about performing in public, but his slave was almost trembling with anticipation. Shane didn't like anyone to know that he let another guy suck his dick. Fucking some queer up the butt was one thing, But, sometimes, when he and Rover were in their small room, he allowed the dog to have his way. Rover obviously considered it the ultimate pleasure to service his master's cock.
Shane had a fleeting thought about just bullying his way out of it, but that strange feeling about this Mr. Everett made him undo his Levi's and produce his member for attention. It was a massive piece of meat, and Everett wondered if even the willing mouth of the slave would encompass it all. But Rover surprised him by dropping to his knees and taking the massive rod easily into his mouth.
What followed was an extraordinary example of a blow job. Shane's cock was not the nicest piece of flesh Everett had ever seen, despite its size. It was sweaty and dirty from the inside of the jeans and the long bike ride. But more than that, the smell of it filled the room. It didn't look like Shane was into much personal hygiene. Nonetheless, Rover went at it like it was the best meal he had ever had.
It didn't take long for Shane to cum, and Rover drank down the liquid, without letting a single drop escape his nimble tongue. Shane returned his property to its snug home, and turned to face Everett.
"Everything done, just like you told me."
"Excellent. Very well done. Now, will you kindly ask 'Rover' to get into those chains there against the wall?"
Shane looked to where Everett pointed, and then guided his happy slave to the manacles. It didn't take long for him to strap his pet securely against the wall, arms and legs outstretched. He then turned back to Everett.
"Shane, program 666."
Shane immediately went rigid. Those few words spoken by Everett hit him like a sledgehammer, and he found himself immobilised and helpless.
"Now, Shane, I am going to keep 'Rover'. I have some wonderful things in store for him."
"Yes, sir."
"But what are you and your gang going to do without him?"
Shane got a puzzled look on his face, as he struggled to think.
"Everyone's going to be upset when you come back without your pet, aren't they?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's right. They'll be very unhappy. But you can make them happy again, Shane."
Shane looked hopefully at Everett, as he offered a solution to a problem that Shane found difficult to grasp.
"Yes, Shane. You can go back and be a Rover for the rest of the gang. You can make them happy by serving them."
"But, sir, I am the leader. I can't be a dog..."
"Shane, I know it's all confusing. But someone else can be the leader now. They can take over all your worries. You can just relax and be a Rover, just like this one here."
Shane was losing his look of confusion as he accepted his new program, while 'Rover' looked on from his manacled position.
"Shane, listen to me. When you leave here, you will want to go back and replace your pet by becoming one yourself. You will do everything the former 'Rover' did, and you will love every minute of it."
"You'll work his beat on Seventh Street to earn money for the gang. You'll learn all the ways of pleasuring and serving your master. The more you think about serving the other men, the more excited and happy you are getting."
Shane's expression had turned from confusion to excitement, as the meat in his jeans expanded with new found pleasure.
"If anyone comes looking for the old 'Rover', or asks anything about me, you won't remember any of it. You will believe that you were the one and only Rover, and you have always wanted to serve other men."
"Yes, sir."
"When I end this program, you will leave here, and forget the address completely. You will forget my face and name, and all you will want to do is get back to the gang and serve them and pleasure them, and help them find a new leader. These things will make you extremely happy."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Shane, end program 666."
Shane shook himself a moment, then became aware of his surroundings once more. He didn't seem to realise where he was, or why he had come there, but he was eager to leave. There were things he had to do.
"Ahhh, sir, ..."
"Yes, Shane, thank you for coming. You can leave now."
"Thank you, thank you, sir."
Shane hurried to the door, the room forgotten as he anticipated servicing his friends. He couldn't wait to feel cock in his butt and mouth. And maybe they would piss on him. He left in a cloud of submissive fantasy.
"Now, my "Rover'. It's just you and me. What do you think of that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy. Matthew, program 666."
The man in the shackles trembled as the conditioning asserted itself.
"Matthew, program prime mode."
The look of submission left Matthew's eyes, as his true personality emerged from its long sleep. He looked around the now remembered dungeon, and struggled against the cuffs that kept him flat against the wall. His eyes finally settled on his captor.
"Everett, you moron, what the hell is going on here?"
"Hello, Matthew. I must say you're looking well."
Matthew struggled against his restraints, trying to break free. As far as he was concerned, it was still a year earlier, and he had just had a meal with a someone he knew at school, and who was interested in buying property in the area. His memory told him that he had left work as usual, and went to the restaurant.
He remembered thinking how unfair life was. Here he was - handsome, popular, married for four years, a relatively successful Real Eastate salesman, destined for big things - and here was the nerd, Jason Everett, richer than anybody on the planet. Who could have guessed that when they were picking on the kid in High School that he'd end up developing some software that the government would pay through the nose for, and becoming one of the most powerful men in the world.
Matthew recognised him immediately. Even with all his money he still dressed like a nerd, and sat way at the back of the restaurant, in case anyone saw him. Matthew, however, loved to show off his tailor made suits and handsome profile. He didn't spend all that money on hairstylists and exercise equipment not to be noticed. He hated having to crawl to someone as pathetic as Everett, but money was money. And if the nerd was going to buy office space in the city, Matthew was going to be the one who sold it to him.
The next thing he remembered was waking up in this dungeon room, wires connected to almost every point on his body, and Everett standing in front of him like some mad professor. Matthew had spent a while, trying to coax the obviously insane man to let him go, but then Everett had pressed a key on the computer keyboard, and that was all Matthew could remember - until now.
"Everett, come on, let me go. It's not too late. I won't tell anyone what happened tonight."
"Tonight? I'm afraid that I'vehad you captive for, oh, well over a year now, Matthew."
Matthew looked puzzled. Was the guy completely crazy? But then he started noticing thechanges in his body. He first noticed the long hair hanging down each side of his face. He thought it might be a wig Everett had placed on him for some sick joke, but it moved and felt like his own. How had it grown so quickly from his short back and sides?
And then he looked down, and saw the naked tanned body below him. The hair was gone from his body, and even with his regular workouts, he had never been so well muscled. A closer inspection showed him the pierced nipples, the tattoo. H e felt like he was going into shock. This was all too much.
"What have you done to me, you fucking bastard!" he screamed. "You are gonna pay for this you pathetic little nerd. When I get out of here I am gonna sue you for every penny you have, you shit!"
"Now, now, Matthew, that's no way to talk. Anyway, you'll be glad to know that you have already been out of here. Actually, you've spent the last year in the company of some friends of mine."
Matthew looked confused. Some memories were trying to surface, but he couldn't quite grasp them. If he had been out of the cellar, why hadn't he tried to escape. Matthew struggled against the manacles, angry and confused and more than a little frightened.
"Don't bullshit me. If I was doing anything for a year, don't you think I'd remember it? And you don't think my wife - or my boss - wouldn't have the police searching the city for me by now? I think you've lost it Everett."
"You will remember everything, it just takes time for you to integrate some of the more - exotic - memories. As for your boss, you'll remember how you went in and punched him in the nose before you quit. And your wife? Well, first of all you started yelling at her, and then after a few weeks, you told her that you thought you were gay and had to go and find yourself. Remember?"
Matthew went pale as the memories started coming back. He could remember going in and telling off his boss. That wasn't as painful, though, as what he remembered doing to his wife. He could clearly remember telling her that he was gay, and the marriage was a pretense, and that he never loved her. The pain of these revelations hit him hard, and that only fueled his anger. He desperately wanted to be free in order to kill Everett.
"And of course, you'll also start remembering your wonderful time with Shane."
At the mention of his name, Matthew was bombarded with a string of images, of Shane and the things he made him do, and how Matthew had enjoyed doing them. Had actually looked forward to being a slave. As he slowly played through scenes of embarrassment and humiliation, his anger was replaced with feelings of overwhelming shame.
"Why did you do this to me, Everett? What the hell are you doing this for?" Matthew was close to tears and had ceased to struggle. Everett stepped up closer, and gently ran his finger over Matthew's washboard stomach.
"I know that what you did to me in High School was just your adolescent way of being noticed. But I was humiliated all my life - not just by you - but by everyone. Now I have the time and means, I decided to seek a little revenge. You know, work out the pain in my soul. That sort of thing."
"But why me? Why pick on me?"
"Oh, it's not just you, believe me. Remember Mr. Harrison, the Gym teacher? How he loved to humiliate me and call me names in class?" Matthew remembered some of the more embarrassing situations, and how Harrison had made a mission out of shaming Everett. Matthew had laughed along with everyone else at the time.
"Our dear Mr. Harrison was arrested earlier this year, although you may not have heard of it, seeing how busy you were." Everett smiled as more images of his slavery filled Matthew's mind.
"It seems he was heavily into child pornography. He denied it, of course, but several of the photographs in his collection featured him in compromising poses, so the jury found it difficult to believe him. They sent him happily off to jail, with him shouting that he was innocent. I believe they are thinking of trying for an appeal, on temporary insanity or some such. If there's anything left after he's spent a few months in prison."
Matthew was terrified by the calm way Everett was talking of destroying someone's life. There didn't seem to be any anger or passion, just cold, clinical revenge. Matthew was glad that he got away with just a year of punishment. A year that he could never forget.
"There have been others, but they were just tests to see if my methods worked. The ones I wish real revenge on, though, are the three of you. You, Eric and Roger. You all made my adolescence hell. So now, I'm going to extract my pound of flesh."
Matthew thought it best to humour the guy - get out and try to put his life back together.
"Okay, Everett, you've had you're revenge. Now you can just let me go, and I promise I'll never pick on a nerd again..."
Jason Everett just smiled.
"I'm sorry Matthew. You now belong to me, and I'm not quite finished with you. I need you to help me with the next step of my plan."
"No, please, Everett. Let me go. You don't need me. Please, Everett."
"My first plan was to have you seduce your friend Eric. Turn you into the sexy type of woman that he prefers. You have the hair for it."
As Everett reached up to stroke the long hair of his prisoner, a shiver ran down Matthew's spine. He had been humiliated enough.
"Please, Everett. Don't."
"Don't worry, Matthew, I won't. It was just an idea. But it would mean getting rid of some of those beautiful muscles. No, we won't make you into a woman."
Matthew felt relieved that he had escaped that fate at least. He was so stressed he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"No, I have other plans for Eric. And for you. But for now, I would like to see what you've learned over the past year. Your master said that you were extremely good."
"No, please, Everett, not that. No more."
"Matthew, program 666." His face went blank as he slipped into the conditioning state.
"Matthew, program slave."
Matthew refocussed his eyes, and saw his true master standing before him.
"Please, sir, did I please you? Was everything all right?"
"Yes, slave, you have done an excellent job." Everett went to remove the shackles from Matthew's arms and legs. Matthew shivered with delight at the touch of his true master.
"Now Matthew, let's spend the rest of the night showing me all the things you've learned. Then we'll talk about you're next assignment."
Matthew was thrilled. His cock was throbbing in anticipation, as his mind ran through all the things he could do with his body to please his master. He had put up with that fake master Shane in order to learn howa good slave behaves, and now he was ready to share it all with his one and only Master.
Part 2
Eric Madison lived in a modern apartment in the centre of yuppie heaven. He was the golden boy of a local sporting goods firm, and the rumour was he could sell anything to anyone. He was the great American dream - tall, fit, blond, handsome, charming, an athlete in high school, intelligent without being threatening. He was friends with everyone, and everyone liked Eric.
But that was all about to change.
It was a Sunday afternoon. Eric was relaxing in front of the TV. The girl who had shared his bed had gone home satisfied, and his regular workout had left him feeling tight and content. He enjoyed this small time to himself, the only time he had to unwind. But just as he was drifting away into a daydream that could carry him through for an hour or so, there was a loud knock on the door.
He thought of ignoring it, but it became so persistent, he decided he had better investigate. You never know, he thought, the building could even be on fire. He sighed and went to answer the door.
At first he didn't recognise the large man in the suit standing at the door, but when he smiled, it came flooding back.
"Matt! How are you? God it's been years! Come in." The stranger was his friend from High School. Eric and Matt and Roger had been like the three musketeers, doing everything together and getting into all sorts of trouble. Recently he had heard rumours that Matt and his wife had parted, and there were stories about him losing his job. But most of what he heard seemed so impossible, he just couldn't believe it.
"Jeez, it's good to see you. But what have you been doing. You look like you're ready for a Mr Universe contest or something." Although Eric was fit and worked out, he seemed small compared to his friend Matthew. Matthew was wearing a suit that strained to hold in his huge frame. Not only that, Eric had only ever seen Matthew with short hair, but now he wore it long and in a ponytail. He even had a pierced ear, which was more amazing.
In high school, the three friends had all been into keeping fit, but they had never really gotten into the whole body-building thing. However, Matt seemed to have become a living example of the 'Schwarzenegger Method of Health and Fitness'.
"I've just had some extra time since the divorce to look after my body. You're looking pretty good yourself."
"Yeah, I heard you and Barbara split. Sorry about that. I thought you had a really good relationship."
"Well, these things happen. People change. So, tell me, what have you been up to?" Eric took the lead in the conversation, and gave a rundown of his work and series of promotions. He was doing well, and scoring on a regular basis. Maybe they could double date? Eric could set him up with a girl. How about those Raiders? All the usual stuff.
"I just can't get over how different you look. Good - but different."
"Maybe I'll tell you about it some day. I could even introduce you to the program...?"
"No, I'm fine the way I am. Look, can I get you something to drink. I think there're a few beers in the fridge."
"Great."
Eric went to get the drinks, while Matthew looked around the place. He checked out the bedroom, and managed to slip a small black box out of his pocket and attach it to the back of the headboard where it was out of sight. With the first part of his mission completed, he went to join Eric for the beer.
**************************************
Over the next few months, the changes in Eric were dramatic. Within a week of Matthew's first visit, Eric started feeling less like going to work, and most of the time just wanted to sit around the apartment drinking with his friends. When his friends insisted he start going to work, he would become angry and belligerent - a side of him they had never seen.
He knew this wasn't right. He tried to get himself together, and on occasion, he would resolve to give up drinking. It never worked, though. Either Matt would come over, and Eric felt himself wanting to debase himself more in front of his old friend. Or he would go to bed, and spend the night dreaming of things he could never remember. But in the morning, when he finally dragged himself out of bed, all he could think about was his first cigarette, his first drink and his first wank.
That's right. He started getting a craving for cigarettes. He had never smoked before in his life, and had always gone on at length about what a disgusting habit it was, but now it was all he could do to stop himself. The place was filled with smoke, and soon Matthew was the only one who would still come and visit. Good old Matthew. So powerful. So in control.
Eric would spend hours sitting in his armchair and smoking. Most of the time now he didn't even bother dressing. He would sit there with a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the others and an enormous erection. If he had bothered answering the phone, he would have discovered that he was about to be fired, and that his credit card company was concerned about lack of payment.
Instead of worrying, Eric seemed to float off into a world of his own. Matthew brought around some pornographic videos, and stayed for a while to watch them. Eric found he couldn't stop watching them. From the moment he woke in the morning his first thought was to smoke and drink and jerk off over the videos. Every few days Matt brought him new tapes. By the time his termination became official and the landlord was talking about evicting him because of the smell, Matthew had started bringing gay pornography. He said that was all the shop had left, and Eric was so far gone he didn't care. He started feeling ashamed over what he had become. Sometimes he would sit there and cry while he continued to smoke and jerk off over an image of some young guy getting his ass rammed by some big thugs. His life was a mess and he didn't know why. And he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.
At least Matthew was still his friend. What would he do without Matthew?
Then one day it all came apart. The landlord opened the door so the men could come in and repossess his furniture and the television. He was given twenty-four hours to clear out. Through it all Eric just stood there, naked with a solid erection, trying to bum a cigarette off the removalists. Matthew walked in on this scene of degradation, and just smiled. Phase two was complete.
*******************
Matthew walked confidently into the now bare room.
"Eric, what have you done?"
Eric just broke down and cried. He didn't know what had happened. Four months ago, he had been on top of the world, and now he was reduced to this.
"Please, Matthew, I don't know what's going on. I think I need help."
"That's okay, Eric. I'm here to help you. You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course I do. You're my best friend - the only friend I have left."
"That's right. But if you want me to help you, you have to really mean it. I don't want to waste my time unless you're willing to do everything I say."
"Please, Matt. I'll do anything."
"I don't think you mean it. Convince me that you really want to change. That you'll do everything I tell you." Eric dropped to his knees and crawled over to Matthew. They made quite a scene, with Matthew standing tall in his tailored suit, manicured hair and hands, while Eric, naked, unshaved, scruffy and slightly emaciated, kissed Matthew's shoes and begged to do whatever he wanted. Eric felt so worthless compared to Matthew, that his only place was at his feet, begging him for favours.
"All right, Eric. I believe you. Let's get out of here, and we'll get you started on the road to health and happiness. As long as you realise you must do exactly as I say?"
"Yes, Matthew. Anything you say."
"Then let's go. Just put this collar on, so I know you're not going to run away."
Eric baulked at this. Matthew had produced a collar and leash, and was holding it out for Eric to put on.
"But, Matthew..."
"You want me to help you, don't you?"
"Yes, but, why do I..."
Matthew stepped forward, and used his physical power to intimidate the confused Eric even further.
"You will wear this collar because I tell you to. I don't want you to question my orders, I just want you to do exactly as you're told. Understand?"
"Yes, Matthew."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes ... Sir?"
"That's better. Now, put on this collar while I go grab something." Eric resigned himself to the collar, and proceeded to fasten it around his neck. He became aware of his nakedness, and realised Matthew must have gone into the bedroom to grab him some clothes. But when he returned, he was slipping a little black box in his pocket. There were no clothes.
"There's nothing else here we need. Let's go."
"But, Matthew, my clothes..." Matthew turned and slammed a fist into Eric's stomach. While Eric was bent over in pain, Matthew spoke clearly into his ear.
"You call me 'Sir'. You do exactly what you're told - no questions, no argument. I will not tell you again. Do you understand?" There was no response, so Matthew grabbed Eric by his shaggy hair and pulled his face up.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir!" managed Eric. He couldn't remember Matthew ever being like this. But he couldn't understand his own behaviour, either. He was finding it hard to think, and he still craved his cigarettes and desperately wanted to sit down and jerk off. Instead, he was lead out of his building, two steps behind Matthew and completely naked. Although he didn't know it, he was leaving his old life for good. There was no going back. Phase three was about to begin, and it would be worse than he could imagine.
******************************************
The room was dark. Not that it mattered to the man in the mask. His eyes were covered by the hood, which was the only thing resembling clothing that he wore.
He stood naked in the centre of the floor and his only movement was the rhythmic motion of his hands. His wrists were tied together behind his back, and his hands gripped a large dildo which he was systematically inserting and withdrawing from his ass. His entire world consisted of that small movement, like a well- oiled machine. He had been standing there for an hour - maybe a day. He couldn't remember. He could barely think. All he knew was obedience.
The door to the room opened, and a well muscled man in a chauffeur's uniform entered. He had once been a Real Estate salesman, but he could barely remember that. Then he was a slave to a bikie gang for almost a year, and perverted himself in ways that could still make him blush. Now he was the personal driver for his powerful master, and the trainer for this new slave.
The man in the hood used to be his friend and another successful salesman, but now he was reduced to a robot. A machine that would be groomed to give pleasure to one man. To think of nothing else but total devotion to his master's wishes. All for revenge. If there was anything left of Matthew, he would have howled in anger and frustration.
But there was nothing but a devoted toy, ready to brainwash his once friend. There was no expression on his face as he went over to the small black box on the wall and flipped the switch.
Immediately, the hooded man sagged, and fell to his knees. It had only been the power of the hypnotic vibrator that had kept him to his task. Now, the dildo slid from his cramped hands and fell to the floor, leaving a trail of sweat, shit and blood along his fair skin.
Matthew walked to the centre of the room, his long leather boots creaking with each step. The captive heard the sound and tried to focus in on the noise. However, the hood muffled the sound as well as blocked his sight. Matthew reached out and unfastened the clips that kept the hood in place. As he removed it, Eric blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
It took him a moment to recognise Matthew. The last time Eric had seen him, he was in a business suit with long hair tied back in a pony tail. The man in front of him now was dressed in a 1920's chauffeur's uniform, with short hair slicked to his head and a neatly trimmed moustache.
"Matthew? What's going on? What's happening?" Eric realised that his mouth was extremely dry, and he couldn't remember the last time he had had a drink of water. In fact, he was finding it hard to remember anything.
Matthew roughly grabbed Eric's shaggy hair and pulled his head back.
"I thought you knew the rules by now, boy. You call me 'Sir'. You don't talk unless I ask you a question. You do exactly as you're told. Do not forget it again." As Matthew released his head, Eric suddenly remembered more of what had happened. It seemed like a series of dreams - or nightmares. As foggy as his mind felt, he could recall being in this position before, and he felt cautious enough not to open his mouth again.
"You're lucky, though. I've actually come to tell you exactly what is going on. Do you remember a kid called Jason Everett? Went through school with us?"
"Yeah, sure. I mean, yes, sir." Eric caught himself just in time as he saw the gleam in Matthew's eye.
"We sure gave him a hard time, didn't we? You, me and Roger must have given him hell."
"Uh, I can't really remember. I suppose we did. Uh...sir."
"Well, I'm working for him now. He ended up rich and powerful, while we ended up with nothing." Eric thought that was a bit strong, but in the present circumstances, he thought it better not to argue. Matthew continued his explanation as he walked around the room, circling his kneeling prisoner.
"It turns out that he decided he'd rather use all his money for revenge rather than therapy. That's where you come in. The Master decided that after all those years of calling him a cock sucker, he wanted you to admit that you were transferring your own homosexual desires onto him."
"What the ...? Are you crazy? Are you saying that all this is because I called some teenage prick a few names..." The sudden fist to his jaw caught Eric in mid sentence. Matthew stood over him in towering anger. Eric didn't know that every fibre of Matthew's being had been conditioned to serve and love his Master, and comments like that could have been fatal for anyone else. Eric wished his hands were free so he could wipe away the blood that trickled from his mouth.
"But that's all beside the point." Matthew slowly regained his composure. "You want to get out of here? Fine. You just have to do a few little things for the camera here, " he pointed across at some video equipment mounted against the far right-hand wall, "and you get to go home. Now, that doesn't sound too hard, does it?"
"No. I mean, no, sir." Eric thought he could just play along, do what needed to be done, and then get out of there. Obviously, Matthew had flipped out, and was using this Jason Everett thing to cover up his delusion. He would just do whatever Matthew asked, and then look for his chance to escape.
"First of all, we need you to tell the whole world what you are."
"Sir?"
"Just tell the camera that you're a cock sucker."
Eric paused to think. He didn't want to say anything that could come back to haunt him. But then again, anyone could see from his position that he was being forced to do this.
"I'm a cock sucker."
"Okay, cock sucker. Tell the people what it's like to service a man's cock."
Over the next twenty minutes (with some encouragement from Matthew) Eric gave a rundown of what he thought it was like to suck a dick. Images came to his mind that he couldn't place. It was as if he had seen men doing it, or heard about it before, but couldn't remember where or when. But he was surprised at how much he knew about the process.
"Great. You must be one really great fag to know all that. Now we need a demonstration to show everyone that you're not just making it up." The confusion on Eric's face was replaced with horror, as Matthew stood before him and started undoing his fly. He started to protest, but seeing the look on Matt's face made him stop and think about his position. As much as the thought repulsed him, he needed to service his captor if he was ever to get out of there.
His mouth felt even drier as he began, but he soon moved into a rhythm. His mouth, jaw and neck muscles took over, as if he'd been doing this forever. Even his dick hardened, reminding Eric that he was completely naked - something he had forgotten in the other terrors of the moment. He hoped his erection was just some physiological quirk, and nothing else. He entered the world of the blow job, and immersed himself into getting it over with as quickly as possible.
A stranger might have questioned where a so-called straight person had picked up such wonderful technique, but the parts of Eric's memory that knew where he had learned to do such a professional job weren't currently available to him.
Eventually Matthew came in an explosion of cum that filled Eric's mouth. He tried to pull his mouth away, but Matthew kept his head pushed tightly into his crotch, making it impossible not to swallow the creamy liquid. When he was finally released, Eric spat the little remaining semen aside onto the floor.
"Great. I think you've done a fantastic job. You should be really happy that you've come out of the closet and admitted your real feelings for me." Eric just glowered.
Matthew went over to make sure the tape had been successfully recorded. Then he turned back to Eric.
"Now, over the next few weeks, you're going to have to learn to appreciate your Master from the ground up. It won't be easy, but I'm sure you'll love it."
"But you said..."
"I'm sorry. I lied."
Matthew leaned over and flipped the switch on the little black box, and before Eric could say another word, his face went blank as he sank into the deep trance that was conditioning his body. The way Matthew understood it, the process of trance and humiliation would eventually convince Eric that he had always been gay, and that he sincerely wished to serve a man that looked exactly like Mr. Everett. Rather than simply have obedience forced upon him, as had been the case with Matthew, the Master wanted to see if the conditioning could work more subtly.
"Stand up, Eric."
"Yes, Sir!" responded Eric, now in perfect slave mode.
Matthew produced a pair of leather brogues from a cabinet next to the video installation. He moved up to where Eric stood.
"See these shoes, boy? They belong to the Master. They have his smell, his essence." Eric started getting more aroused. "Smell them. Feel them." Matthew rubbed the shoes over Eric's face and down his chest.
"This is turning you on. You are feeling incredibly horny now."
"Yes, Sir."
"Good." Now Matthew placed one of the shoes over Eric's rigid penis. "This is making you want to come. You can feel your insides churning with the need to come. But you can't. Not yet."
Eric's hypnotised face screwed up in pain as Matthew rubbed the shoe over and around his erect cock. "This feels really good, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Sir."
Then Matthew rubbed the laced strands against the underside of Eric's shaft, and the cock was turning purple from the pressure. The change between the stringy laces and the smoothly polished leather made Eric ache with longing.
"Okay, boy, you can come. But only on the outside of the shoe." Immediately, Eric exploded, his cum coating the tip of the shoe and flying on past. Then Matthew held it up to his face for Eric to lick it clean.
"Good boy." Matthew dropped the shoe, and turned Eric around to undo the wrist restraints. Eric was so deep into the trance, that as the blood flowed back into his hands, he didn't even move to rub them. The agony of the returning circulation meant nothing to him as he waited for the next command.
"Now, before I get you some food and water, you're going to have to come on the shoes five more times. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And each time you come on the shoes and lick off your own cum, you'll get even more turned on. You'll think how wonderful it would be to worship the shoes while your Master was standing in them."
"Yes, Sir."
"Then get to it. I'll be monitoring you through the camera there. I'll be back when you're done."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
Matthew left the entranced Eric to make love to the shoes, and felt a small pang of jealousy. However, he was following his orders to the letter. Tomorrow, he would return and they would play out the cock sucking scene again until eventually Eric would come to love the process of serving. His body would be conditioned to be aroused by all aspects of the Master, until he would be able to come at the mere mention of Jason Everett's name.
If there was anything left of the real Matthew, he would have screamed with anger and frustration.
*************************
Alan Albers was a sad man. He sat at the bar and sipped at his second brandy, and sighed again at the emptiness in his life.
He was not an old man, but being gay meant being old came a whole lot sooner. He wasn't an ugly man, but being gay meant being beautiful. He wasn't a fearful man, but being gay meant being brave.
So he sat in this bar, and watched the beautiful, young, brave men meet and wander off together, and he just hoped no one would notice when he went home again all by himself. He turned on the barstool and watched as more men drifted in the door to join the casual mingling among the tables.
His attention was caught by a handsome blond man who stood framed in the doorway. He was extremely well manicured, and attracted more than one admiring glance. The chauffeur that stood slightly behind him also drew a few gasps of excitement among the more - submissive - men. The sight of the handsome man made Alan more excited and more depressed. He was perfect, and he would choose some young man, and they would be gone and Alan would be even more alone.
Was it his imagination, or were the blond and the chauffeur both looking his way? With a few whispered words, they separated, and the blond started moving toward the bar. Alan entertained his fantasy a moment more, before admitting that the young man was probably just thirsty. His walk across the room was punctuated by others making themselves known, but the blond dismissed them with a smile and a quick rebuff.
Alan looked dumbfounded as the blond approached and came to a halt directly in front of him.
"Hi, my name's Eric. Do you mind if I join you?"
"Uh, no, sure. Please. Can I get you a drink?" Nothing like this had ever happened to Alan before, and he was not sure how to handle it. He was discovering that years of fantasy had done nothing to prepare him for the reality.
After a few minutes of awkward chatting, Eric leaned forward and placed his hand on Alan's. He dropped his voice to a sexy whisper.
"Listen, Alan, I really need to make love to someone, and you're the sexiest guy in the place. Can we go somewhere and maybe get to know each other better?" Alan was swept away by the blue eyes and the promise of sex. He knew it could be a joke. He knew it could be a big mistake. But he wasn't thinking with his head, and so he stood up to leave.
As they left the bar, there were many disbelieving stares and frustrated grumbles. One guy complained to the barman that life definitely wasn't fair when things like that happened. The barman just smiled. He had seen the young blond and his driver around a lot just recently, and they seemed to have set their heart on making every nerdy looking guy feel like a prince for a night. He had no problem with that.
Eric was just discovering his need to make love to men. He was happily servicing all the men his friend Matthew pointed out until his true Master called for him. The thought could make him come in his pants.
Part 3
"Watchya doing tonight, Roger?"
"I'm not sure. I've got a feeling I have an appointment with someone, but there's nothing in my book."
"Then let's go for a drink. I found this great new bar with wall to wall babes." That was all Phillip thought about. Babes and having a good time and more babes. He was the youngest lawyer on the staff and was still sowing his wild oats.
Roger was different. He was serious about his career, and he had his sights set on being the youngest partner the firm had seen. He tended to work hard and was extremely focussed on winning. But, because of his boyish features and charm, it was hard for anyone to dislike him.
"Maybe later, Phil. Let me just hang around for a bit and see if I can't remember what I'm supposed to do."
"You'd better watch that memory of yours. You're getting forgetful in your old age!" Phillip laughed and headed off down the slowly emptying corridor.
"I didn't forget. I just got busy!" Roger called after Phillip's disappearing back. They had made plans for watching the game last weekend, but Roger had forgotten. It was strange, though. Phillip said he had called Roger's apartment several times over the weekend, but there was no answer.
On the other hand, Roger remembered being home all weekend, watching the game by himself, getting some work done. Maybe he was working too hard. Maybe that was why he felt that there was an important meeting tonight, but everyone assured him that he was mistaken.
He finally packed up and headed out of the office. The whole floor was dark as everyone else had long since headed off to warm homes and evening meals. Roger was debating about whether to go home and rest or follow Phil to the bar, so he didn't quite notice the limousine waiting at the curb in front of the building.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Roger looked up, startled from his inner dialogue. The chauffeur was standing in front of him, and Roger felt he looked vaguely familiar.
"Sorry, do I know you?"
"Not at the moment, Sir. But it may come back to you. I am here to take you to your appointment."
Roger still felt bewildered. He knew he'd seen this man before, although not with the slicked hair and moustache. And definitely not with all that bulk of muscle. But at least now he knew that there was an appointment. If he could only remember who it was with.
"Oh, that's right. I had to go see Mr. .... ah....."
"That's right. If you would just get in, Sir, we'll be on our way."
The chauffeur grabbed the briefcase from Roger's hand and ushered him into the car. Roger hadn't been in enough limo's to lose the fascination of sitting in such luxury. For a few minutes he got caught up in the pleasure of sitting in such extravagant surroundings.
After a few minutes, though, he realised he was about to be extremely embarrassed when he met his host and couldn't even remember his name. He buzzed the driver and tried to think how best to ask the question.
"Look, I know this is stupid, but the name of the guy I'm supposed to meet has completely slipped my mind. Just on the tip of my tongue, you know ..."
"Don't worry, Sir, I'm sure you'll recognise him as soon as you see him." Then the driver broke the connection. Roger was left sitting in the back and wondering what was happening to his mind. Why couldn't he remember the name? Where had he seen the driver before? What had happened over the weekend? Hoping it was just all overwork and stress, Roger settled back into the plush seats and waited for the driver to take him to his mysterious host.
****************
The mansion was large, surrounded by high fences and a guard at the gate. Roger tried to see if he could pick up a clue from some signs or the neighbourhood, but nothing rang a bell at all.
They pulled up outside the large portico entrance, and the driver held the door open for Roger. He was met in the large foyer by an elderly butler who showed him into the dining room. Then it all became clear.
Sitting at the end of the long table was Marco DeLucci, the biggest gangster this side of the capital. He was middle-aged, plump, very Italian and the alleged murderer of at least a dozen 'competitors'. He had a bad reputation, and Roger knew he was in trouble.
"Mr. DeLucci."
"Ah, my young lawyer is here at last. Now we can meet face to face. Please, have a seat."
"No, thank you, Mr. DeLucci. I'm afraid there has been some mistake. Perhaps ..."
"No, no mistake. A mutual friend has arranged this evening. I don't know what you have done to offend him, but let's just say that I owe him some very large favours."
Roger was getting more and more confused. He had prosecuted several cases involving DeLucci henchmen. He had won every single one of them, so Mr. DeLucci had every reason to want some sort of revenge. Roger felt very vulnerable. He started glancing around for various exits.
"Don't worry, Mr. Lawyer. Everything has been taken care of." He reached over and pressed a button on what looked like an intercom. Roger heard a buzzer sounding in the next room, and the door opened.
For Roger, what happened next was the most confusing event of the entire week. A man walked through the door, and part of Roger's mind identified him immediately. He was Carlo Luka, a fall guy for the crime gang. He had been arrested for extortion and assault, but everyone knew he had done a hell of a lot worse. But they went with the evidence, and Roger had helped put him away for several years. He was surprised to see him free so soon, but he didn't put anything past the manipulation of organised crime.
Carlo was a large, ugly man. He was extremely well muscled, but thick. He looked like a brick wall, even in the evening clothes he was now wearing. His face might have once been reasonable, but his nose had been broken several times, and there was a scar from under his left eye down to his chin. He looked exactly like a thug, and Roger had been pleased that he had had a part in getting him off the streets.
But what surprised Roger the most was the feelings running through his body. From head to toe, he was electrified by the sight of Carlo. More, he wanted to serve him, touch him, please him. Every fibre of his being cried out to throw himself at the feet of this thug and beg to be used by him. Wave after wave of need flowed through him, and it made absolutely no sense to him.
"I see you remember Carlo. I am afraid he's a little upset with you for putting him behind bars like that."
Roger felt pain. Deep pain. At the mention of his actions making Carlo upset, his body almost spasmed with feelings of guilt and self-hatred, and pain throbbed through every muscle.
"I'm ... sorry ..." he murmured.
"So you should be. So you should be." Mr. DeLucci waved a hand at Carlo, and he started moving forward. Roger just stood there trembling from fear and anticipation. He kept thinking 'this can't be happening, it's not real' but as Carlo moved closer, his body wanted to bow, scrape, beg, serve, anything to please him.
"Our mutual friend has told me that he thinks you would now like to work for me. He said that you would like nothing better than to defend my employees instead of getting them locked up. I hope he was right."
Roger was beyond hearing or thinking. As soon as Carlo was a few feet away, Roger fell to his knees and started kissing Carlo's shoes. He was babbling things that included an apology for every bad thing he had done, real or imagined, and interspersed with pleas to serve the thug in any way he wanted.
Mr. DeLucci smiled. This was more than he expected, but it obviously was going to work out well. Ever since he had met that Everrett character, he seemed to be getting more and more into his debt. When he suggested that Mr. DeLucci should recruit this young lawyer, he was sceptical, but thought it an easy enough request. But now that he saw exactly what Jason Everrett could do, he felt a pang of warning. Maybe he should keep an eye on him.
But then he was distracted by seeing this young hot shot lawyer begging to serve one of his goons, and all suspicious thoughts fled his head completely. Everrett had given Carlo a list of things to do to this lawyer, but Marco had his own plans. Things were going extremely well.
************************************************
Roger stood up as the Judge entered the courtroom. Roger knew he looked elegant in his new $100 haircut and $2000 suit. He knew there were women behind him who were desperate to bed him. He knew that the man he was defending was as guilty as sin. He knew that the Judge was upset with him for turning his back on 'honest law'.
None of this mattered. Roger wanted the case to be over so he could get home and worship Carlo. That was how he thought of it now. For the past two months, it was like a craving that never left.
Once, after the first week, he had actually gotten away for a few hours. He found himself wandering the streets, fighting his need to run back to the Italian thug like a junkie would fight his growing need. Roger thought he had escaped, but eventually he found himself crawling back to beg forgiveness from his captor. Carlo had just smiled, and reached for the leather strap he kept handy.
Roger had learned that Carlo had strict orders not to touch the face of his slave. But beyond doing permanent damage, Carlo had free reign over Roger's body. And he used his power ruthlessly.
The jury were passing their verdict to the judge, and Roger waited hopelessly for the outcome. The only difference between winning and losing for Roger was the inner feeling that sustained him through his beating. If he won, he would feel a rush of adrenal pleasure that he had followed his master's wishes, so when Carlo worked out against Roger's body, he was filled with pleasure and the delight of serving.
When Roger lost, he would still serve his master, but the inner pain would be excruciating, making him feel like scum and dirt and worthless. Roger had only lost one case in the past few months.
The Judge read out the verdict of not guilty, and Roger inwardly rejoiced. He didn't listen to the Judge's warning lecture, or the outraged comments from the court audience. He was filled with joy that he had carried out Carlo's command.
He packed up his papers, shook a few hands, made a few polite comments, and then was out the door as soon as possible. There were TV cameras and reporters, but he ignored them all. He pushed his way through the throng and down the steps to where the limo waited. Matthew was there as usual, calmly holding the door and waiting for him.
As always, Roger had the flicker of recognition, but then it was gone. Although he had seen a lot of Matthew over the last weeks, there was still the gnawing thought that Roger had met him before - had known him before. But for now, all his energy was directed toward getting home and giving Carlo the good news.
**************
Carlo had been in a good mood. He had required that Roger strip, as usual, and then used the strap against his naked buttocks and thighs. Roger was filled with pleasure that he was pleasing his master, and although he ached all over from previous beatings, it didn't matter to him at all. He needed Carlo. He needed to please him, and that was all there was in the world.
Then came the hard part. Carlo had a special exercise for Roger that he at first had found impossible.
Carlo was straight, and as much as he enjoyed beating and humiliating Roger, it wasn't a turn on for him. And as far as Roger was concerned, he was straight as well. He adored Carlo, worshipped at his feet, but had never been aroused by it. It was more a physical need than a sexual one.
But then Carlo had come home one evening, and pulled Roger out of his restraints. He got Roger to kneel, which was not unusual, but had then told him he had to jerk off while worshipping Carlo. Roger at first found it difficult to get an erection. He had never thought of a man in any sexual way before, and didn't even know how to start.
But he did know that he had to do anything to please Carlo, so he tried. He pictured Carlo in various 'female' forms and scenarios, but found it almost impossible to substitute his large, ugly bulk for that of a girl. He spent over an hour rubbing his dick, but he still couldn't come. Carlo got angry, and almost broke several of Roger's ribs. Roger felt the inner pain of disappointing his master, and tried again.
After two weeks of trying and failing and feeling terrible, at last he managed to come while imagining himself doing something that really pleased Carlo. He could imagine Carlo smiling at him and patting him on the head, and Roger's cocked pulsed and erupted. Carlo seemed not to care, but at least he wasn't angry. Roger felt depressed that he had jerked off over another man, but his body was filled with the beautiful rush he got whenever he pleased his master.
That night, Roger had wept a bit, thinking of what his life was becoming, but within the limits of the chains he was kept in at night, he once again stroked his cock while thinking about Carlo. If this is what his master wanted, then he had no choice but to give everything he had in order to make it come true.
*****************
Carlo dragged Roger into the bar in what was getting to be a Friday night routine. Roger was dressed only in a leather harness and hood. His cock was exposed, as was his butt. He knew that the hood was not to protect his identity, but stop people damaging his face.
Carlo brought out the handcuffs, and chained him to the bars at the end of the room. Roger knew it was a gay leather bar. His nose and ears told him that much. All he usually saw, though, was the wall he was chained against. He felt the rough hands on his body, and it wasn't long before those hands were entering the private parts of his being.
Carlo left him here for a few hours, while he went off to find other kinds of entertainment. He had left instructions with the bartender that Roger was to be used in any way people saw fit, as long as there was no permanent damage. (One night, a guy had sliced a deep cut into one of Roger's buttocks, and later that night disappeared. Since then, the leathermen respected the rules implicitly).
Roger was used as a source of entertainment. At first, part of the challenge was to make him come, as little the men did gave him an erection. However, after a few sessions, Roger could be brought to orgasm fairly easily, so now the game was to get him close but not let him come at all.
All sorts of things were done to his cock and balls and arse and back and legs, and Roger endured them all. If Carlo wanted him here to entertain these men, then that's what he would do. He hated it, but he had no choice. One evening, Carlo had left a sign around his neck that read 'Screw A Lawyer' and Roger had had his arse fucked over twenty times during the hours he hung there.
Then, at around midnight, Roger would come in and unlock him and take him home. Even though Roger would be aching and drained, he mounted his leather harness so that when Carlo came home he wouldn't be disappointed. Roger was losing himself in this new life. By day, the brilliant, though corrupt, young lawyer. By night, the toy of a sadistic Mafia thug. Sometimes he wondered how it had all happened. Wondered why it was happening to him.
Wondered when it was all going to end.
END