O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Jockmaster

by webb025

1.

I couldn't understand it. When we began our first semester as freshmen at State University, we soon found each other as the only openly gay residents on our floor of the freshman dorm. We were both smart, read similar books, and had a similar outlook on life, or so I thought. We even had similar physical features, sort of tall and thin, with somewhat sunken chests without a hair on them. We both needed glasses, although his were much thicker than mine. And yet, and yet, while I was dying to talk about sex with him, compare notes on the incredible studs we could see walking around shirtless in the Jepsen athletic dorm across the street, maybe even fool around a bit, he never once reciprocated. Whenever I brought up the topic of sex in any form, he changed the subject. I assumed I just wasn't his type. Also most evenings he wasn't in his room; his roommates said he was in the library most of the time.

And now it was mid-November and he was gone. I came back from a weekend at home, and when I dropped by his room, I saw that his things were no longer there. His roommates said he had suddenly and mysteriously left school, no reason given. I had a feeling of loneliness sweep over me. Even though we had entirely avoided one topic, he was still the closest thing I had to a 'compadre' at the school, although towards the end I saw less and less of him.

That evening, as I reached into the drawer where I kept the binoculars I occasionally used to gaze into the Jepsen windows across the street (the jocks almost never seemed to have their curtains drawn, no matter their state of undress), I found an unfamiliar manila folder on top of the storage case. On it was written, "Keys to the kingdom. Enjoy, but be careful." And in it was a single piece of paper with some kind of simple diagram on it. The drawing was a large rectangle that filled most of the page, and it was filled with smaller rectangles, three across and five down the page, with numbers written in them. Eight of the smaller rectangles had been colored blue with a highlighting marker. At the bottom of the page were the words "banana rhinoceros". And that was all.

I stared at it for awhile, looked for any other clues on the page or in the folder, and couldn't come up with anything. The numbers in the boxes didn't seem to be a code of any kind, in fact they seemed to follow a simple sequence. But it had been a long day driving from home, and I was tired, so I just put it carefully away and went to bed.

I almost forgot about the folder the next day while attending my lectures. But when I got back to my room, my curiosity refreshed, I pulled it out and examined it again. The numbers in the top three rectangles read 101, 201, and 301, with 201 highlighted in blue. The next three underneath read 102, 202, and 302. And so on, consistently down the page until 105, 205, and 305. Obviously no secret message hidden in those numbers!

I sat there thinking. Since it was November, it was starting to get dark at around 5 o'clock, after classes but before dinner. As I sat by the window, the lights started coming on in the athletic dorm. And suddenly a light went on in my head. I turned the paper sideways, and sure enough, the diagram clearly represented the Jepsen dorm: three floors with five windows on each floor. On the page, the numbers had been written sideways to fit in the rectangles representing windows. But why were some windows highlighted? And what was the significance of "banana rhinoceros"? Was this some kind of treasure hunt?

I went to dinner, trying to figure out how I could get into the highlighted rooms without being noticed. And what would I look for when I was in them?

After dinner, I took the folder from my room, crossed the street, and went into Jepsen. This small dorm was the home of the most elite athletes on the State campus, whose skills cut across almost all the sports offered at the school. It was a reward to be assigned there with some of your teammates. Jepsen was well furnished, had a digital big-screen TV in the lounge on the first floor in the back, and also had its own eating area, where each athlete's specific nutritional needs were taken care of. I was afraid of being challenged on the way into the dorm, but carrying my folder and looking like I knew what I was doing seemed to do the trick.

Sure enough, on the first floor the rooms facing the street were numbered 101 through 105. On my "map", rooms 102, 103, and 104 were all highlighted in blue. The doors of 103 and 104 were open and the athletes were lounging around in them talking loudly, but 102 seemed quiet, the door ajar and lights out. Unnoticed, I slipped into the room, shut the window curtain, turned on the light, and started to look around.

The room was messy and was permeated with the intense familiar odor of jock sweat. Unwashed clothes lay on the floor, there were piles of CDs strewn in the corner, and a few well-worn porno mags lay beside a bed. The clothes in the pile looked huge to me; clearly whoever lived here was a big boy. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, or anything resembling either a banana or a rhinoceros.

Suddenly, the door banged open and in barged an angry-looking young giant, slamming the door behind him. He already had his shirt pulled off and his belt loosened for his arrival. His body was that of a football lineman, at 6'6" not much taller than my 6'4", but clearly weighing over 260 pounds to my 130. Cropped black hair cut in a fade, bulging hairy chest, huge biceps, long sinewy arms and huge hands, and yet with a face that made him look younger than me. He stormed in my direction, demanding "Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing in here?"

Thinking as fast as I could, I held out the folder to him, saying "I believe this is yours?" He grabbed it out of my hand, snatched the paper out of the folder, saying "What the fuck is this?" His eyes lit on the only writing, at the bottom of the page. "What the fuck is 'banana rhinoc...'" At this he froze momentarily, letting the folder and paper drop to the floor unnoticed. Then he frantically tore off his clothes as if they were on fire, actually ripping his boxers in the process, and once he was completely naked, long hose dangling from his crotch, he stood stiffly at attention, eyes glazed, and said, in a completely flat voice with no inflection or emotion, "I am Muscutron, athletic robot. You are Master Engineer. I am in need of lubricating fluids. Will you insert lubrication from front or rear?"

Relieved I was not going to be beaten to a pulp, but taken completely aback, I stammered, "Er, uh, what do you mean?"

In the same flat voice, he said, "Invalid response. I am in need of lubricating fluids. Will you insert lubrication from front or rear?"

I thought about what he might be asking, and I began to realize the nature of the gift I had received in my desk. "Rear," I said, waiting for the reaction. It was immediate.

"Muscutron" walked to the back of the room, and stood up against the wall, face first, with his muscular back and the firm globes of his glorious ass pointed invitingly towards me. He intoned, "Say 'go' to start lubrication assistance process."

Unsure what to do, I said "Go." Immediately he began to move his ass and crotch forward and backwards in a rhythmic fashion. As he did so, his cock, rubbing against the wall, began to rise from its flaccid state to a rigid and impressive eight fat inches. I tore off my clothes almost as quickly as Muscutron had, but found I could not enter his ass while it was pistoning forward and backward. "Stop," I said, and the pistoning action slowly ground to a halt, the way it might with a machine that was shutting itself down.

Next, I ran into the common bathroom between rooms 101 and 102; fortunately it was unoccupied. In the medicine cabinet I found what I was looking for: a container of Vaseline jelly. I lubed myself up, then ran back into the room to find Muscutron simply staring straight at the wall, motionless. I positioned myself behind his ass and found my way inside, then said, "Go." Immediately the pistoning started up again, and I was in heaven. Fortunately I was tall enough that we made a good fit: my legs were longer (but much thinner) than his, and his torso was much bigger than mine.

I was well on my way to providing Muscutron with his required lubricating fluids, when I heard the door open and shut again, a pause, and then a voice half-shrieking, "What the FUCK is going on here?" Immediately I popped out of the firm ass I was in, although Muscutron continued to piston his crotch against the wall as if nothing had happened.

As Muscutron's evident roommate came towards me with rage in his eyes, I said, "It's not what you think, it's... banana rhinoceros." And instantly, the roommate's face glazed over, he went through the same emergency clothes-removal activity that Muscutron had done earlier, then stood stiffly at attention and intoned: "I am Lubritron, service robot. You are Master Engineer. Which unit am I to lubricate?"

Now that the roommate was under control, I had a chance to look him over more fully. He was only about 6 feet tall, sandy blond hair, blue eyes, smooth where Muscutron was hairy, with a build as perfect as Muscutron's in a smaller version. But there was one other immediately noticeable difference: Lubritron's cock was nearly as long SOFT as Muscutron's was HARD. I immediately saw why my friend had chosen these two for their respective roles.

It was my guess that Lubritron had been used to insert fluids into Muscutron on command on more than one occasion. I also figured Lubritron could be ordered to "lubricate" me, front or rear, if I wanted it. But I was horny to finish what I had started, and I wasn't sure I was ready for a cock of Lubritron's size to be put anywhere inside me. So, leaving Lubritron staring blankly into space, I went back over to Muscutron, ordered him to stop his pistoning, reinserted myself, and restarted the action. In almost no time, I was ready to fill Muscutron with all of my freshly made fluids. Exactly when I began to do so, he intoned, "Ejecting used fluids" and produced shot after shot of cum over the wall in front of him. Even after I pulled out after several of my own loads, satisfied, he continued to piston and shoot.

Finally, when he was done, he turned from the wall and said flatly, "Rear lubrication complete." That gave me the idea I needed to activate the frozen Lubritron. Walking over to him, I said, "Lubricate the Muscutron unit, front!"

With a "Yes Master Engineer", Lubritron "robotically" walked over to where Muscutron was standing at attention and said, "Commencing front lubrication". Immediately Muscutron dropped to his knees in front of Lubritron, said "Ready," and opened his mouth wide and extended his tongue. Lubritron then began to mechanically stroke his cock, which rose to an incredible near-ten inches, which would have looked impressive on a body like Muscutron's but seemed especially out of place on this smooth baby-faced blond only 6 feet tall. Lubritron inserted himself into the mouth of the waiting Muscutron, who somehow swallowed it all without gagging or hesitating -- clearly these two had done this before many times -- and then Lubritron began pistoning in and out of Muscutron's impassive face. Muscutron's flexible deep throat was getting all the exercise it needed with this action, but it was big and strong enough to take it.

Even though I had just cum, this scene was so hot that I was getting excited again. On a whim, I said "Faster," and somehow with no hesitation Lubritron seemed to double the speed of his pistoning in and out of Muscutron's throat. Soon, Lubritron was shooting load after load into Muscutron, who managed to take it all in without any seeming effort. Finally, Lubritron said "Lubrication complete", and pulled out, and stood once again at attention, staring forward. Right afterward, Muscutron stood and did the same.

I didn't want to push my luck, so I forced myself to calm down and go soft despite the incredible scene I had just witnessed, not to mention the hot sight of these two mindfucked football robots standing at attention awaiting orders. I wasn't sure what to do; how did I turn them "off"? And did I really them to go back to normal while I was still in the room?

To help eliminate the evidence, I ordered: "Muscutron, Lubritron, lick the wall and floor clean of used fluids, then turn yourselves off." The two "robots" dropped to the floor and began the process of eliminating the evidence. As exciting as it was to watch this, I felt I had better get out of there while the getting was good. I threw my clothes onto my still-dripping body, let myself into the hall closing the door behind me, and flew back across the street.

2.

When I got back to my room after my adventure "robotizing" the two football linemen, I was still excited by the feeling of control I had had over them. As my obedient robot toys, Muscutron and Lubritron (or whatever their real names were) could perform sex acts on each other, on me, or on anyone I brought around. But had I "turned them off" correctly, or were they standing frozen, awaiting orders? And did they remember what I did to them?

After thinking about it, I realized that the two could not possibly remember, or they wouldn't have been completely surprised by my presence and unaware of what I was about to do, since they had obviously been "robotized" many times before. So that was good. I looked through the window to see if the robots were still frozen, but the curtains were still shut (almost alone among the dorm windows). The feeling of absolute control over the two musclegods got me once again totally hot, and even though I had only recently fed my seed into Muscutron's rear lubrication pipe, I had to jerk myself off imagining even more humiliating and obscene commands for my two robot toys. For example, I could have them buy additional " parts" to add to themselves -- clips to attach to their chest " electrodes", cleaning and expanding devices for their lubrication systems, and so on.

After I was done, I got to thinking about the other rooms highlighted in the diagram. What kind of adventures awaited me there? I found it hard to sleep.

The next morning, I looked across the street. The curtains to room 102 were now open, and as far as I could see the room was empty. There was no unusual activity that I could see anywhere in the dorm through the other windows. Excellent -- it looked as if there were no consequences to my adventure the previous night. I washed, dressed, and went to my first lecture, but I couldn't help daydreaming about last night. The day seemed to crawl by until the end of my last class.

After dinner, I went to my window to look across the street. The lights were on and curtains were open in most of the first floor windows. In 102, I caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a de- robotized Muscutron walking by the window, in a T-shirt and shorts, totally unruffled. The sight caused a brief stirring in my pants, but I suppressed the thought before it got out of control. Patience!

Looking over at room 103, the next room on my highlighted list, I thought I spotted some movement but couldn't see what was going on. I decided this would be my next destination, if nothing went wrong. Leaving the folder in my drawer -- I knew the trigger phrase and I knew it worked whether I said it or the target did -- I once again crossed the street, slipped in unnoticed, and headed down the hall. The door to 103 was ajar, so I knocked briefly, stepped inside, and shut the door. Sprawled out diagonally on his bed, in all his 6'10" glory, huge feet dangling over the edge, wearing only his boxers, was our basketball team's star center. Everything about him seemed extra long: his well-muscled legs, his arms with the prominent biceps, his hands and fingers, even his straight chestnut-colored hair was long, flopped over parts of his face. Hearing me come in, he languidly brushed his hair out of his eyes, and said, "What up, dude?" Quite the contrast with my uptight football toys.

Wondering what kind of robot he would become, I said the magic phrase. There was an instant transformation in his expression, from a lazy "Whatever, dude" attitude to an intolerable urgency, and he jumped up as I expected and tore off his boxers. However, instead of coming to attention, he ran to his closet, opened a drawer, grabbed a cloth bag out of it, and ran into his bathroom. I couldn't see what he was doing in there, and wasn't sure I wanted to go over there and watch, so I just shut the curtains and waited it out.

In a few minutes, an astonishing sight emerged from the bathroom. The huge basketball center was wearing a pretty pink top and a pink skirt (with obscenely-sized frilly underwear clearly sticking out from underneath). Where he got the pink girl's open-toed shoes in men's size 16, I have no idea, but his feet were squeezed into them rather tightly, long toes bulging out the front. A tarty shade of lipstick had been applied to his lush, full lips. He came up to me, walking as gracefully and femininely as a little girl, timidly almost, and said in a falsetto girl's voice, "I'm pretty Polly, I'm 15, and I like rough, nasty sex with real tough boys like you that can beat me up." And then he/she flashed me a winning, flirtacious smile.

Me, a tough boy that could beat up this tree of an athlete? Even at 6'4", my mouth only came to just above his nipple level (although now he had a pectoral-filled bra on under his top), and my upper body was absolutely no match for his, his biceps bulging out of his sleeveless top. What should I do? On a hunch, I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. He squealed in pain, but didn't offer any resistance, and couldn't break my grip. Of course, ordinarily, he would have brushed me off like a fly. But while he was "Polly", I discovered I could completely dominate him physically. And the sight of this 6'10" giant submitting to me totally turned me on something fierce.

I tore off the top and skirt, leaving Polly in her bra and underwear. I put the helpless Polly into several nasty wrestling holds, which caused him/her to squeal in pain. But I noticed a very long and growing bulge under the frilly underwear as I did this. Clearly Polly was getting very turned on by this dominating action. Finally, the underwear could no longer contain the long, thin pole that popped out from under. And no amount of my abuse of this near ten-inch "clitoris" seemed to lessen its excitement, although Polly's huge but weak, limp hand struggled vainly to remove my "powerful" thin fingers from it.

Next, I sat on the bed and pulled Polly onto my lap, face down, ass directly over my knees. I took off one of her huge open-toed shoes, and began to spank her with it. Her large muscles flexed helplessly, but she could not roll off or free herself. Her lengthy cock was trapped between my upper left leg and under my right thigh and was hard as a rock as I continued to redden her sizeable bottom. Finally, she couldn't take any more, and she erupted in volley after volley of cum. When she was empty, she slid off my lap onto the floor, cowering in fear.

I pulled her up onto her knees between my legs. Her torso was so long that even with my long legs dangling from the tall bed, while kneeling her face was well above my raging cock. I grabbed her head and pushed her face down onto my cock. At first she tried to keep her mouth shut, but I smacked her on the head and said "Open," which she did, and I inserted myself into her large mouth. I had to smack her once again when her teeth scraped my cock, but she didn't make that mistake again. With my right hand, I shoved her face completely onto my cock, which slid down her throat without a problem. Grabbing her hair, I then repeatedly pulled her head up and down onto my cock, fucking her face until I exploded into her mouth. She had clearly been used this way before, because she managed to only spill a little onto her bed. I dragged her face over to the spill and she promptly licked it up.

I pushed her onto her back on the floor, putting one foot on her face and the other on her once-again rising cock. Again, she struggled to push my foot out of her face, to no avail. "Lick," I said, swirling my foot around her nose and mouth. When she didn't respond, I applied painful pressure with my other foot on her cock, and she relented, her tongue working on the sole of my foot and between the toes.

It was getting late, time to leave. I told Polly, "Put your clothes away and wash up, you disgusting little bitch. Look at the lipstick you got on my cock!" She hesitated, and I flexed my scrawny arm and raised a fist: "Now!" Frightened, the obscenely tall and muscular little girl scurried into the bathroom, showered for a minute, and came out with her clothes in the bag, which she put away.

"Now go to sleep, and I'll be back later to check on you!" I said, as I dressed, left and hurried back across the street. Another incredible adventure! I was already looking forward to the next night.

 

3.

As darkness fell after yet another long day, my window reconnaissance showed me that there were several people in my next target room, 104. They were not reading or lying still, either; each was in motion on his side of the room, although again I couldn't see who it was. So tonight would involve multiple jockslave action, I thought. But I had no idea what to expect, since the first two nights had been very different from each other (although equally exciting)! I went across the street and entered the dorm.

Slipping into the room, I surprised the occupants working out with hand weights. I immediately recognized them; they were the Nelson twins, freshmen star gymnasts who were alternates at the last Olympics. They were about 5'6", with bowl-cut blond hair, well- built smooth upper bodies and nicely muscled legs with a bit of downy blond fuzz. As they looked up, startled, I said the magic phrase, and they went blank, stripped, dropped on all fours, and became Mop and Flop, two naughty little puppies who couldn't keep their noses and tongues out of anything. And their favorite place to stick those cute little noses and tongues was a butt -- each other's or mine.

They were feeling very playful, with their imaginary tails wagging constantly. At one point Mop jumped on me, pinning me down with his powerful arms while he licked my face all over. Meanwhile, Flop was sniffing and licking Mop's doggie butt, getting it ready for his perky 6" cock. He then proceeded to take Mop doggie-style, while Mop yelped in delight.

When Flop was done, the hypnozonked gymnast-puppy pulled out and demonstrated one of the benefits of his flexible worked-out little bod: he rolled over, raised one leg, and proceeded to clean his cock off with his tongue. I was finally over the top and was so horned that I had to do something. I grabbed Flop, positioned him on his hands and knees, and took HIM the way he had taken Mop. Meanwhile, Mop came over and started to work my ass with his nose followed by his tongue. It wasn't too long before I was pumping load after load into Flop's ass.

Exhausted, I climbed into their lounge chair and lay back. Both of them came over and began to sniff and lick my feet -- my size 13s took their cute little tongues awhile to get around. Then they curled up contentedly at my feet and dozed off.

Both Mop and Flop were covered with cum and sweat. I knew I had to clean then up so there wouldn't be any obvious evidence of the incredibly hot session we had just had. I woke each up in turn and dragged them into their bathroom and into the shower, where I had to soap and rinse their muscular chests and asses. They weren't very cooperative -- they kept trying to shake the water off as I washed them -- but eventually I got the job done. When I dried them off and brought them back into the room, they immediately fell asleep again at the base of the chair. I sat down to contemplate what had just happened.

As I sat there stroking their hair and faces with my feet, I longed for the day when I could buy them each a collar and leash and lead them around the dorm naked, or even the campus. Of course, they would be straining at the leash to sniff every butt and pair of shoes they could get to. Bad puppies!

4.

The second floor rooms had their own joys. There was the room with the two tall, lean senior swimmers who dropped to the floor and became Sssssteve and Sssssam, snake boys with obscenely long tongues who slithered across the floor on their lean stomachs and knew how to use their prodigious tongues all sorts of ways. Then there was the room with our star sophomore quarterback, blond hair and blue eyes and all "Aw shucks", who could be regressed back to any age, including early ones where he liked to put everything in his mouth, and later preteen ones where he completely believed everything you told him, as his much older brother, about the facts of life. Third, there was the room with the super macho, deep- voiced, trimly muscled 180-pound class wrestler, who on command helplessly became the most mincing, effeminate fag you ever saw, still constantly cursing and badmouthing gays even as he desperately tried to get fucked by one. I could just guess why he had been selected for this role.

But something different was waiting for me on the third floor...

 

5.

So far, I had triggered the special rooms in numerical order, and found each room different from the last, and exciting in a new way. I had covered the first two floors, with six rooms of hypno-erotic enjoyment. Whenever I looked out of my window at the Jepsen dorm, I was satisfied that I was master of most of what I surveyed. And there were two rooms to go!

Finally, one evening, with great anticipation, I went back across the street and up to room 301. I burst in on two very surprised, exceedingly handsome baseball players. They were both wearing nothing but cut-offs, and their muscles were nicely distributed around their upper bodies, arms, and legs. One was a redhead with cute freckles, maybe 6'4", and the other had longish jet-black hair that glinted almost blue like Superman's, and was a bit taller. The redhead was lying on his bed reading, other was sitting in a recliner, big feet propped on the footrest. My first thought was, their stripping process wouldn't take long!

When I said the magic phrase, the two of them immediately stood up, as I expected. But they didn't begin to strip. Instead, the redhead intoned something weird I didn't understand, and suddenly I found it hard to think, and I found I was frozen in place where I stood.

As the following scene unfolded, it was as if I was not in my body, but watching the whole thing from above. There I was, glued in place. Somehow I had become naked and erect, and I could see how insignificant my body looked like next to these two built athletes.

The two circled me as I stood, helplessly on display. "So this is our playtoy. Not much to look at, is he, Rod?" said the black-haired one.

"Nah, kind of skinny. I must weigh almost half again as much as he does, even though we're the same height. And he's got like no chest hair, even though he must be, what, twenty?" I couldn't say anything; it was as if I wasn't actually there, just frozen like a statue in a museum.

"But we can make him do anything we want? Wait, how do I know that? And why do we want him to do things, anyway? We're not faggots or anything."

This puzzled Rod for a second. "I don't know, Vince, it just seems exciting to have a guy do anything I want. It's like I really get horny just thinking about the power of it. Maybe I always wanted it." Or maybe, I realized, it was the result of HIS programmed response to the magic phrase. And anything that followed might be because of that programming. But how did I get "programmed", and when? I went through these thoughts, but of course I was unable to say anything out loud.

Vince said, "Yeah, I feel it too. Instead of waiting for some chick to do us when she's in the mood, we have someone who can't help doing us whenever WE want it. And he can't do anything about it. In fact, we can make HIM want it more than us. He's gotta believe what we tell him, even feel what we tell him." I felt a jolt, and started to pay much more attention to the absolute truths told by these two all-knowing men.

Rod grinned. "Yeah, since he's inferior to us in every way, it's only natural for him to serve us, and he knows it." And suddenly I did know it, too. Why hadn't I seen it all along?

Rod was clearly was the smarter of the two, or at least the better programmed. He looked at me and went on, "First you must realize we are your jockmasters. Tell me what we are."

I replied automatically, in a somewhat slurred voice, "You... are...jockmasters..." And I knew that was just their normal title. It was always true.

"Now we have to come up with some way for us to trigger your natural slave tendencies, so you'll always know when it's time to obey and worship your superiors. What should we make him respond to, Vince?

Vince looked me over. "Well, he looks so puny there, like the secret identity of a superhero, except he's a super slave! So how about when we say 'This is a job for Weakness Boy,' he immediately remembers his real role in life and worships and obeys the guys with him?"

Rod laughed out loud. "Great! I love it! OK, what's your name, slave?"

I heard myself say, "...Scott Spencer, Jockmaster..."

"Yes, but you must remember, 'Scott Spencer' is just your secret identity. In reality you are Weakness Boy..."

"...I...am...Weakness...Boy..." Somehow I knew it was true. It had always been true, I just didn't know it until my jockmasters had revealed it to me.

"And your secret power is Super Submissiveness to your jockmasters. You exist to serve them in all ways. Being their slave excites you beyond anything."

"...being...slave...excites...me..." Although I was already erect, I became even harder thinking I could serve gods like these two powerful jockmasters.

"And you know you are with a jockmaster when someone tells you, 'This is a job for Weakness Boy'. You must immediately strip, because you must wear no clothes when you are with a jockmaster unless he orders you to."

"...no...clothes..." I then knew that being naked was my correct natural state when serving these gods.

"Once you are naked, your responsibility is to obey your jockmasters and see to their needs. If you are good, they may give you a special treat."

"...obey...special...treat..." Of course I just wanted to be a good slave to my jockmasters, but how wonderful they were that they would give me a special treat just for serving them well!

"Serving a jockmaster excites you, but you are especially fascinated by his superior parts, like his cock, symbol of his masculine power..."

"...cock..." I looked longingly at my jockmasters' cocks. Soft, they were longer than mine was hard. I pictured myself servicing them, pleasing them, making them expand to full length and fill me with their incredible manjuices.

"His feet, with their commanding odor..." Rod sniggered.

"...feet..." How I longed to serve under those giant wonders.

"His armpits, with their delicious mansweat..." At this, as if on cue (which it probably was), both of them flexed their arms, revealing the pits that I now longed more than anything to clean with my tongue. Vince's pits had tufts of nice dark fur, while Rod's were mostly hairless.

"And his asshole, source of his life-giving ass juice." They both turned around and bent down spreading their legs, and if I hadn't been glued in place on the floor, I couldn't have stopped myself from dropping to my knees and pushing my tongue into those incredible muscled asses to get that precious ass juice.

"Do you understand your role in life, Weakness Boy?"

"...I...understand...jockmaster..."

"I'd love to try you out, but we have dates this evening, so it'll have to wait. So get dressed, and go back home to your secret identity life of Scott Spencer until your jockmasters call on you. And you can't ever cum as Scott Spencer, only as Weakness Boy, and only when a jockmaster commands it."

I found I could move again. I started to dress.

Vince asked Rod, "What if he tells someone about this? We don't want it getting around, or have him tell the school or the cops about it."

Rod said, "Weakness Boy, you must not ever talk to anyone about this. In fact, while you are in your Scott Spencer identity you will not even remember you are Weakness Boy. Only when your jockmasters call on you will you remember.

"Nothing unusual happened tonight. You spent the evening at home studying. You will forget everything that happened, but when your jockmaster changes you, then you will remember."

"Remember..." The next thing I knew, I was in my room studying. Too bad I hadn't had a chance to go over to Jepsen tonight and try out the third floor rooms I had on my list. But I hoped to get over there the next night.

 

6.

At around 9 pm that evening, as I went through my assigned reading, there was a knock at my door. I was puzzled; I wasn't expecting anyone. Before I could answer, the door opened, and in stepped a kid, maybe 15 years of age. I didn't recognize him, but he was obviously a very athletic type. He was only about 5'10", but his build showed clearly under his tight shirt, and even in his baggy jeans I could see that there was already some semi-hardness in what must have been a significant package for a 15-year-old. He had that natural swagger to his walk that a totally confident guy used to getting his way would have. I was the victim of some of those guys back in high school, and I was glad I had about four years of age and six inches of height on him.

He spoke first. "I saw everything."

"What do you mean, kid?"

"I was visiting my brother over in Jepsen 303, and heard someone barge into 301 where his buddy Vince lives. The door was open and I heard loud noises, so I went over to look. I saw everything."

I was baffled. "I don't know what you're talking about, kid. I've been here in my room all evening."

"Nah, I followed you here, I know the whole story. And anyway, stop calling me kid, I'm your... uh... jockmaster. And I want a blow job from you, pronto."

I stood up, angry. "Look, KID, I don't know who you think you are, but..."

Then he said, "This is a job for Weakness Boy!" And I immediately knew who I REALLY was, and I realized that standing before me was not some high school punk, but a godlike jockmaster. He was all-powerful, and solid as a statue, while I was gangly, skinny, and physically inadequate. Embarrassed to still be in clothes, I stripped as quickly as I could and knelt before him, looking at his scuffed, dirt-stained size 13 running shoes. How grand they looked on his perfect compact muscled body, and how I longed to clean those shoes inside and out with my tongue, as they housed the jockmaster's sacred feet and their all-important sweat. But the jockmaster had expressed his particular desire to me, and of course serving that desire was my number-one priority. It was the very meaning of my existence.

He stood there, hands on his hips, waiting for me to free his beautiful cock from its prison and service it as it had never been serviced before. My super-submissive power made anything that was important to my jockmaster even more important to me, and anything that was desirable to him even more so for me.

I unzipped his baggy pants, and saw he wasn't wearing any underwear. His cock, anticipating what was coming, got hard at my first touch. I noticed admiringly that even though I was taller and older, his cock was longer than mine, and much more slender. As I held his magnificent manhood, my own cock seemed short, thick and useless. But that was the natural way of the world for a jockmaster and Weakness Boy.

I lapped on all sides of the beautiful cock to get it ready for my blow job, but I wasn't fast enough to please the jockmaster, who was after all a teenager. He grabbed my head and simply fucked my face on his cock, treating me like the sex toy object I was. Very soon, he shot his load into me, but he was still moving and some of it fell on the floor. I was unhappy with the idea of all that life-giving fluid being wasted.

The teen jockmaster graciously allowed me to lick up the spilled puddles of his powerful manjuice, while he stroked my hair like a puppy's.

"Wow, that was waaay better than I ever got from any girl at school." A shudder of pleasure went through my body at having pleased the jockmaster. I silently wished he would order me to clean out his armpits, dirt-stained shoes, or check his asshole for ass juice, but it was not my place to make any such suggestions.

The jockmaster put his pants back on, while I stood at attention and gazed admiringly his body. He thought for a while. "I'd better clean up this situation. Weakness Boy, when I leave you'll get dressed and go back to your secret identity. You'll forget everything that happened here tonight. Except when you see me again, even in your secret identity, you'll recognize me as someone you respect alot. And you will believe everything I say. That part was really cool when they made you do that over there. You won't realize I made you respect and believe me, you'll think it's your idea. Got it?"[[

"Yes, jockmaster. I will respect and believe you even in my secret identity."

"OK, I'm outa here."

As the door shut, I went back to my reading. What a boring, uneventful evening. Yet for some reason, my cock demanded attention. I rubbed it a bit, then realized I didn't have time to jack off that evening. Maybe tomorrow, when I went back to Jepsen...

 

7.

After missing a few days, I was finally ready to visit Jepsen again. For some reason, something in the back of my mind made me decide to skip room 301 and go straight to room 303, the last room marked in blue on the diagram. As I closed my books and got ready for an exciting evening, my door banged open with no knock, and there stood... my God, it was him! The guy who dropped out, my only fellow out-gay on the floor, the grantor of this fabulous gift! Yes, it was... it was... why couldn’t I remember his name?

“You can’t remember my name because I erased it from everyone’s memory,” he said as he entered the room, without my having said anything. “I had everyone remember for a week after I left, then I set it to ‘expire’ in everyone’s minds. In fact, you’re the only person around here I allowed to remember that I even exist. I’m Clay, by the way.” And the memory came rushing back.

“Clay, yeah, of course! And YOU’RE the one to thank for the incredible experiences I’ve had across the street! How the HELL did you manage it?”

Clay chuckled. “Have you been to all the rooms yet? What did you think of room 301?”

“I haven’t gotten there yet, but tonight I was planning to hit room 303.”

“Ha! Yeah, that’s a good one. The guy in there and the wrestler in 203 were the two biggest homophobes I found over there, so I reserved some really SPECIAL identities for them. But I came back today because I thought I should warn you about room 301. It’s not exactly like the others, and you should be prepared before going in there.”

“What’s different about 301?”

Clay hesitated. “Well, the other rooms are all about seizing control. Whoever triggers the secret identities becomes the absolute master of everyone in the room, and controller of the action. You know, the robots’ Master Engineer, the puppies’ owner, pretty Polly’s abusive boyfriend, and so on. But as much as I enjoy operating these guys’ implanted perversions as their puppeteer, I also get off on surrendering control, on letting someone else dominate the scene and completely control my thoughts and desires. So I set up room 301 for that purpose, hypnotized myself so I would respond to what’s in there, and before I left I sort of programmed you to respond to it too.

“It’s a little scary, letting strangers who you’ve programmed to want to dominate and humiliate you have absolute control over you. But it’s reasonably safe, since they can’t trigger you into falling under their control until you trigger them first, and the program eventually winds down and they forget everything. And of course in their normal identities, they have no idea who you are.”

I smiled. “Guess I’m glad I never got into 301 then, thanks for the warning. I was going over to 303 tonight, wanna join me?”

“Actually yes, I think what I set up in 303 would be perfect for two of us to do at the same time. Let’s go!”

We headed over to Jepsen and up the stairs to the third floor. On the way up, we passed a tall redhead about my height coming down. I thought he looked vaguely familiar, and he paused for a moment looking at us as if trying to remember who we were, but then he and I realized it was probably a case of mistaken identity, and we went our respective ways without a word. For some reason, Clay had a bit of a smirk on his face as we continued up the stairs.

Entering room 303 without knocking, we saw the nicely-muscled back of a dark-haired senior athlete, captain of the soccer team as I found out later, sitting in front of his laptop. He jumped up and turned around with a startled expression, and took one step towards us before Clay hit him with the magic phrase. Then like all the others, he began to strip. Only he wasn’t doing it quietly.

As I admired his nicely worked-out 6’ frame, finely-sculpted and somewhat hairy chest, bulging biceps and nicely tapered waist, he was loudly quoting prices! “OK, what’ll it be? Blow job one dollar, fuck me two dollars, plug me at both ends three dollars, spank me fifty cents, whip me seventy-five cents.” His body was now on full display, his cock standing out at a proud eight inches.

Clay smiled. “So why are you doing this? You’re straight, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but this is the only way I can earn enough to pay my tuition. I hate every minute of it, but if I get fucked thirty thousand times, I’ll have enough for the whole year! But I’m not allowed to turn down any gay guy for any reason, no matter how disgusted I feel, no matter how gross or dirty he is. That’s the rules.”

Clay said, “OK, then, we’ll plug both ends. Which end do you prefer, Scott?”

I was about to answer when suddenly a kid came into the room from the bathroom common to rooms 303 and 304. At first I thought he was just some random 15-year-old guy, but as he brushed his dark hair away from his penetrating green eyes, somehow I suddenly realized he was quite a force to be reckoned with, someone I should really respect. He was laughing out loud while the involuntary prostitute soccer guy stared at him. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The kid kept laughing. “I love it, I love what you’ve done to him.” Clay and I were both baffled, until he said, “This is a job for Weakness Boy!” And suddenly I knew this was no mere kid, but an all-powerful jockmaster. I immediately started to strip, and oddly, I noticed that Clay was doing the same thing. We both came to stiff attention before the jockmaster.

“Hey, there’s TWO Weakness Boys! One of you tell my big brother to freeze, he seems upset.” Clay said “Freeze!” and instantly the muscular soccer captain snapped to attention and froze in position.

The young jockmaster walked around examining his two helpless Weakness Boy slaves. “So this is what you’ve done to my big bro, huh? That’s great! All my life he’s had the upper hand, six years older than me, ordering me around, sometimes muscling me around. Until he left for college he was the boss of me, disciplined me when our folks weren’t around which was most of the time. He was pretty rough on me at times. I looked up to him, but I always fantasized about taking control of his muscled bod, turning the tables, making HIM the little bro, getting HIM over MY lap and giving him the spanking of his life. And now I can do it

“But in the meantime, how can there be TWO Weakness Boys? One of you must be an impostor. Seize the impostor!” Instantly obeying the jockmaster’s command, I lunged at Clay. Imagine him pretending to be Weakness Boy, when I was the REAL Weakness Boy! Almost simultaneously, Clay attacked ME, and we grappled naked on the floor while the jockmaster laughed uproariously.

I was beginning to get the upper hand when the jockmaster shouted, “Attention!” And both of us immediately stopped fighting and snapped upright to attention, matching the pose of the entranced soccer captain who had remained frozen in place staring forward the entire time.

The jockmaster stood before us, and looking at Clay, said, “Who the hell are you? And what do you have to do with all this?”

At the jockmaster’s command, Clay told everything: that he had made himself an expert at hypnotism, that he had created the Jepsen rooms to learn how far he could go with it, and to provide himself with some great sex with no consequences. He left school when he discovered the great power he could wield with his skills, and had begun setting himself up with slaves that could help him build a mini-empire.

This puzzled the jockmaster. “You’re obviously wicked smart. So why did you set it up so I could gain control of YOU?”

Clay explained that he enjoyed letting himself be controlled once in awhile, and that he thought it was safe since the men that he allowed to control him forgot what they did each time, and could only be triggered on his command.

“So you didn’t figure on ME, huh? What about commands I give you? Do they wear off after awhile too?”

Clay frowned in thought. He wanted, NEEDED to provide the most honest answer he could to the great jockmaster. “I don’t know. I think consciously, the commands do fade. But I have successfully implanted thoughts and ideas that rule the subconscious long after I’ve left. It’s been a few months since I was here, but my mind remembered that I belonged in the jockmaster’s control. I still know I am Weakness Boy, with the power of super submissiveness, and must do whatever you say.”

I got a bit annoyed at Clay’s continuing insistence that HE was Weakness Boy.

“So tell me everything you’ve done here in Jepsen. And does the same control phrase you used on my brother work with everyone you’ve programmed?”

“Yes, jockmaster, it’s easier to remember, and there’s no chance anyone would say that phrase without knowing what it would do. If you say it now, you will also assume command of your brother here.”

The jockmaster went over to his big brother and said the phrase. There was an almost imperceptible shudder in the frozen jock as he briefly looked down at his new master, and then he looked forward and returned to his statue-like pose.

The young jockmaster paced around a bit, then spoke to Clay again. “Well, Weakness Boy, I’m going to put some thoughts directly into your head for you to remember when I’m not with you. You will keep building your empire, but you will know in the back of your mind that you’re building it for ME, your all-powerful jockmaster. Once a week I’ll come by here, you’ll feel the need to be here too, tell me what you’ve done, and teach me everything you know. And your reward will be this.” He reached into his pants and pulled out his long, slender cock. It was longer than either of ours, and he was three years younger. How magnificent he was!

“You will earn the right to become my cockslave. You have always wanted to be a cockslave, and now I, the great jockmaster, will give you that chance. But you gotta earn it. And you can only ever cum with this powerful cock in your mouth or your ass, when I permit it. When you’ve gone without being able to cum for a week you’ll be wishing to be in my power again.”

I could tell by the look in Clay’s face as he stared at the cock that would control his life from then on, that the commands would work without question long after the jockmaster left.

The Great One then came over to me. “And as for you, Weakness Boy, I owe you one. It was your stupidity that let me take control of this operation. You will now work with Clay here as his slave assistant. You love him, you want him, you need him, but he’s not interested in you. But you will still follow him around like a puppy and do whatever he says, as he works to build MY empire. When you’re alone in your bed, you’ll jerk off thinking of him. But you can’t cum either.

“Your reward for letting me take over is this.” He held up one of his dirty size 13 running shoes. “Although you love Clay, you are driven sexually wild by my feet. You’re totally obsessed with my feet and my old shoes. You get incredibly excited by the thought of me kicking you in the ass, or even in the balls, with these big feet. And you can only cum when I give you permission, when your little boy cock is being crushed under my foot. So I think you’re going to feel the need to be here each week to watch me have raw animal sex with the guy that you love but can never have. And I’ll reward you afterwards by stomping on your cock so you can cum.”

As he said this, I couldn’t take my eyes off his running shoes and I got totally hard just watching them. Of COURSE I would serve those feet. I mean, I love Clay deeply, but I really need to be abused by the jockmaster’s feet...

The jockmaster spoke. “OK, I’m going to have some fun torturing my brother for being a hooker, so both of you go back to Scott’s room. You won’t remember anything that happened here, but your personality changes are permanent. In fact, you won’t even notice the changes, you’ll think you were always that way. And I’ll see you both next week.”

As Clay and I dressed to leave, the jockmaster circled his older brother. “Hey bro, you still can’t move, but now you remember who I am, right?” The muscular soccer jock, still frozen at attention, looked down with sudden recognition, then fear as his younger brother picked up the belt he had discarded earlier when he stripped for his “customers”. The teen wrapped the belt menacingly around his hand. “So now you’re selling yourself for sex? What would mom and dad say? What do you think dad would want me to do?” I saw beads of sweat forming on the immobilized jock. Clay and I left before anything else happened.

Clay and I were relaxing in our room. Clay had used his abilities to “convince” my straight roommate, and his own old straight roommate, that they belonged together as a couple, so they now lived happily together in Clay’s old room, and Clay moved into my room. Of course Clay is really in charge, as he normally is when we’re together, so I guess it’s now HIS room, not mine. I love the fact that he takes command when he’s around, I guess that’s why I love him so much. Too bad he doesn’t seem to love me back.

So I mostly try to get off using my sexual thoughts about guys’ feet. I look at them all the time, in shoes, socks, or (my favorite) naked in the dorm halls and showers. I try to imagine what it would be like to worship those feet, but of course I can’t try anything. Anyway, none of the feet I see are absolutely PERFECT. I’m sure I’ll recognize the perfect ones when I see them.

I’m helping Clay with his hypnotism projects. I get off watching him program unsuspecting people for fun and profit. I often wish I was the one being controlled, particularly if the results are humiliating, or sexy.

Despite all this sexual tension, I can’t seem to get off for some reason. I find the sexual pressure builds in my balls through the week, with me getting increasingly intense uncontrollable erections, and then the pressure is mysteriously relieved at the weekend, when I feel satisfied somehow even though my cock feels as painful as if it’s been stepped on and rubbed under someone’s shoe.

The whole thing is a bit weird, but my life helping the one I love “conquer the world” is very satisfying, even if that love is not reciprocated. And as a consolation prize for the love I can’t have, every once in awhile Clay provides me with a cute hypnotized guy to play with under some fantasy scenario. I select a guy from one of my classes, and that evening he shows up at my door, confused as to why he’s there, maybe even unsure of who he is, and definitely not knowing what’s about to happen. And when he leaves, he doesn’t remember a thing unless I want him to. For example, there was this cute blond freshman wrestler...

END

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