O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Pecking Order 6

by webb025

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[Paul Agnelli, varsity football coach]

It was a nightmare. Things had been going so well for the team until today, when I noticed that both my team captains, the quarterback and his backup, weren't on the field for practice. I found them both still in the locker room, looking uneasy and unwilling to take the field. I took the quarterback, Brian Overman, into my office to ask what was wrong. Almost in tears, he said he had reached a point of total burnout, and felt he had to take some time off from the team. Brian is normally such a steady, reliable guy that I took him at his word, and only briefly tried to talk him out of it. But I always want what's best for the players.

Next, I pulled his backup Sam Wolowitz into my office, to tell him what happened, and notify him that he would be taking the quarterback job for the time being. He just smiled and said he wasn't nearly up to it, but he knew who was: Jason Primo, the quarterback of the JV team. I was incredulous. I'd seen Primo in action, and he was good but unwilling to put in the work to improve. I insisted to Sam that Primo had no varsity experience, and that surely Sam was up to the job.

Sam just smiled again and said that with Primo around, he (Sam) was only qualified to be a receiver. Or maybe a tight end. He said it with a faraway look, and made it sound somewhat dirty. What the hell was going on?

Before I could demand answers, Sam held out an open bottle to me. He said, "I think this Gatorade has gone bad. What do you think?"

I snorted, "Gatorade can't go bad," and I took a sip.

"No, you've got to take a whole gulp to taste what's wrong," said Sam.

So I did. Some time passed. I got a bit dizzy for some reason, but now I feel a lot better. And now I know that Brian and Sam are right. Jason Primo is the only logical choice to be varsity quarterback. Besides, I never realized it, but he's got a great ass. I really enjoy staring at it hungrily whenever he's leaning over the center...

[Officer Asslick, formerly Haslett, policeman assigned to the school, now under the command of Sergeant Hungman, also known as junior student Buzz Hingam]

I don't know what's happened to me. My life has turned upside down in just the last few days. I'm still on assigment from the local police as the school security officer, but everything else has changed. And I'm totally helpless to do anything about it.

I joined the town police two years ago straight out of school, so when I was assigned there, I wasn't much older than the students. I knew who all the bad guys were, what tricks they were likely to pull, and how to handle them. I was always quick to stop them in their tracks, because if you let that sort of shit go on, it gets much worse. Now, suddenly, the bad guys are my bosses, and I have to help them in any way I can.

I am now under the direct command of Sergeant Hungman, who I used to think of as a problem kid at the school but who I now recognize as having absolute authority over me, and as the ultimate judge of right and wrong. I'm aware that he has altered my ideas of what's good and bad in several ways. Somewhere inside me, I know that something isn't right with this, and I try to remember why, but I'm so deeply in his power that I can't figure it out anymore.

He has also planted several weaknesses in me that are now inseparably part of me. The worst is that I now have a constant craving to plunge my tongue as deep into his ass as I can, and lick and suck out the precious teen sergeant juices inside. But he only lets me do it two or three times a week, in the upstairs boys room. The rest of the time I can only daydream about it, which causes my expanding cock to cram itself uncomfortably in the crotch of his uniform.

Yes, it's HIS uniform. He has claimed what once the source of my authority as his own, but he makes me wear it at the school. When I have it on, I feel his power radiating from it and surrounding my body, controlling everything I do. When I take it off at home, I get a sort of empty, directionless feeling. I hang it in a shrine I built, and say a brief prayer to it before I go to sleep. While it hangs there, I sense it waiting for me to put it back on the next day, so it can surround and control me again.

Today at school, I'm solving a problem that comes up from time to time. One of my jobs is to enforce the school's strict bully policy, although I vaguely seem to remember the policy differently than I now understand it.

In my office I have Bobby Thorndyke, a short, pale-white blond student sitting in front of my desk. A few minutes ago, I told him to take a drink from my water cooler, since it was hot and I didn't want him to faint. Now, he's feeling a bit dizzy, wondering what is happening to him, as I prepare to lay down the law.

Behind me stands Tony Nardi, maybe the nastiest bully in the school, hands on hips. He's tall and beefy, olive skin, with pitch black straight hair, tattoos on his arms, wearing huge, smelly, ancient size 16 sneakers that he never changes, and sporting an angry expression. But right now he can hardly suppress a smirk as he watches me work.

"So, Bobby, you claim that Tony here has been extorting half the money you make working at the supermarket."

Little Bobby is trying to clear his head. "That's right, Officer. He's been doing it for over a month now."

"Well, Tony claims that you didn't come through with the money this week. Is that right?"

Bobby seems confused, but he manages to say, "I couldn't take it anymore. All the work I do, and he takes half the money. I wouldn't give it to him this week and told him I was turning him in."

I pounced on his error in judgment. "But you're smaller and weaker than Tony, right? That means Tony has a right to get what he's demanding from you. You know the school's strict bully policy, which is: Obey them or else." I see this registering on Bobby's weakened mind. It seems odd to him at first, but with the help of the drug, it is beginning to make sense to him now. Some part of me deep inside is hating what I'm doing to the kid, but there's nothing I can do about it. My job is to help the strong dominate the weak, as nature intended. While I'm performing this service to the powerful, my cock is twitching in the Sergeant's pants. Maybe he'll reward me today by letting me clean out his incredible ass upstairs.

Across this whole session, thanks to the drug, little Bobby's face has gone from anger, to shock, and now to acceptance and shame. He says contritely, "I'm sorry, Tony, I really do owe you. I didn't mean to try to get you in trouble. I'll get you the money tomorrow."

Tony is big-hearted about it. "OK, just remember to bring the money to my locker. And I think you should work a few extra hours next week. I gotta lot of expenses, ya know."

"I will, Tony. It'll be hard, with homework and all, but I can cancel my date with Jennifer and put in some more time for you."

"Oh, and my little brother is real mad today 'coz he failed a test. He needs someone to beat up on and kick around to make him feel better. Come over to my place after dinner and help him out, and I'll forgive you your little act of disobedience."

"Sure, Tony," Bobby says gratefully. And his new subservient attitude is now locked into his brain. He can't remember things were ever any different; after all, what's right is right!

As an added bonus, Tony makes Bobby take another deep drink from my water cooler, after which he tells the hypnozonked kid that whenever Bobby sees or smells Tony's gross, falling-apart malodorous sneakers, his cock will get hard as a rock, and that whenever Bobby is with his girlfriend, he can only get hard by imagining those sneakers firmly planted on top of his body. This is so cruel that I almost cum without touching myself, although I have to stop that from happening at any cost because cumming into the Sergeant's pants would demonstrate disrespect and insubordination. And the Sergeant's punishments can be creatively nasty: he might snap his fingers and transform me into Bobby Thorndyke's groveling cumdump and toilet for the day. But with a strenuous mental effort I manage to avoid the worst.

My job for this morning is done. The powerful are served, the weak crushed. Mission accomplished!

[Billy Leddy, football team manager and object of their obedience and worship]

I'm testing Percy Truman's latest invention on the team. It promises to help a lot with two big responsibilities for each player: knowing his particular job for each play called, and coordinating his response to what the other team does with that of his teammates'. Percy has installed these practically invisible little bluetooth devices in the ears of the whole team so they can receive instructions directly into their inner ears at the start of each play. The transmitted instructions, plus the obedience drug, should mean perfectly executed plays every time.

Of course I can't speak instructions simultaneously to eleven players at the beginning of each play, so I've written a program that lets me just enter a play number, and the appropriate prerecorded instructions for each player are heard inside his head. Then during the play, I can transmit commands into their minds to respond perfectly to what the other team is doing, like moving pieces on a chessboard, except with continuous action. By converting the team into sort of mindless robot-jocks, I can almost eliminate the element of human error in our game. (And have a nice collection of muscular playtoys to use in non-game situations!)

I'm not sure if what I'm doing is legal under league rules—probably not—but as long as no one finds out, there's no problem. Drug testing won't discover anything; the drugs are already out of their system and the obedience is now hard-wired into their brains. And who would think to look deep into their ears?

Practice using the new devices is very different than it was before. Then, it was all about learning the right moves, and proper conditioning. Now, it's more like mixing a song in a music studio, with the players' moves representing the various tracks to be combined into one smooth result. As we tune each play, I change the programming slightly until everyone moves exactly the way he is supposed to and the result is what I expect. And as for conditioning, I can order them to run as far as I'd like, and work out in the weight room exactly as I tell them to. Using a doctored bottle of Gatorade left casually at a nearby gym, I've been able to have a professional conditioning coach "volunteer" to advise me on the best practices for perfecting the strength and coordination of my team of obedient robot-jocks". (I do reward him afterwards with my cock up his newly hungry ass.)

Calling all the plays is our new quarterback Jason Primo, who just came up from the JV. Before, I never thought much of him, but now I realize he is essential to our team. Somehow I know I can never use the drug on him, because it would be terribly wrong. But this has caused some coordination issues.

Jason doesn't always show up on time for practice, and he doesn't seem to put much effort into it. He also doesn't do too much conditioning work. If it weren't for his obvious excellence as a team leader and a truly superior person, I would wonder if he was right for the team. But every time that thought crosses my mind it goes away, and I realize that of course he's the best thing that's happened to the team.

Finally, after a lot of work adjusting the players' individual mind-programs to work perfectly synchronously, we were ready for our first league game using the new devices. Although the team executed flawlessly—they had no real choice—we nearly lost because of mistakes made by Jason. He threw three interceptions at times when he should never have thrown the ball at all. A number of times he held the ball too long and was sacked for big losses. And once he fumbled the ball at the goal line, costing us a score. If it weren't for the near-perfect performance of our defense directed by me from the stands, and the fact that the opposing team wasn't a strong one, we could easily have lost. In the end, we won 3-0, thanks to a very long field goal by our kicker Kevin. It looks as if the many sessions of the team worshiping Kevin's right foot, bowing and scraping and kissing and licking and toe-sucking, paid off. Every team member has a photo of Kevin's foot in his locker, right next to the one of the commanding, masculine face of captain Jason.

A major problem is that Jason tends to call his own number too often instead of letting the rest of the team perform at their robotic best. If only I could add Jason to the team's programming, we would be impossible to beat. But I know I can never use the drug on him, because it would be terribly wrong. There's that unbreakable thought again. So how do I coordinate the team when I have no control over the leader?

I've got to solve this problem. To help me think this evening, I pull out my phone, start an app, and click on a name. Across town, a cellphone auto-answers and activates its nearby bluetooth ear link. A minute later, a 280-pound senior lineman with a very hairy chest and a goatee looks up, puts down his homework assignment, gets in his car, and drives to my door. Soon he's naked on his back in my bed, as I twist his nipples and pull on his chest hair and he gives out little gasps of pain and pleasure, his fat cock thrashing around like a loose firehose. As I move into position to fuck his face, and his large tongue and throat ready themselves for the assault, I go over the ideas circulating in my mind...

[Jason Primo, new varsity quarterback]

Well, I did it! By controlling the minds of a few key people, I have become quarterback of the varsity team. And I had my first game last Friday, and we won! OK, it wasn't because I played great, it was thanks to our new team enslavement and coordination tools: my obedience fluid and favored slave Percy's bluetooth command devices put us over the top. It was great seeing the team move like one man under the control of Billy Leddy, their mind-master. And the guys protecting me on the line REALLY felt their lives were on the line doing it! They pushed some bigger guys over onto their asses like bowling pins.

And OK, I screwed up a few times. We still won, didn't we? I don't think it means I have to practice any more or harder; it was just my first time leading the team. I'm sure I'll do better next Friday. Screw practice, I'll just skip it a couple of times next week to keep my mind off the pressure.

Anyway, I've got more important things to think about. Before last Friday's game I approached this hot big-boobed senior chick, Lisa. Before today, she wouldn't have paid the slightest attention to me. But being the new varsity quarterback gave me the opening I needed. A secretly spiked drink plus one mind-twisting session later, and she now believes I'm secretly an actual god of love come down to earth, and that being fucked by me would be the most incredible experience in her life. She's been calling me every few minutes and I've been ignoring her calls to make her more and more desperate. When I finally let her come to my room, I'll make her crawl and apologize for never having offered her body to me before. She'll really feel awful because of her "crime"!

Then I intend to put her through the most painful and degrading session of submission and sex I can possibly come up with. I haven't decided yet if I'll have her love what I do to her and what I make her do, the more disgusting and degrading the more exciting she finds it, or if I'll have her hate every minute yet find herself forced to constantly beg for even more pain and humiliation! Can't wait to see what I'm inspired to do.

I also have roles planned for Lisa's best friend Monica, and Monica's boyfriend Pete. While I was chatting with Lisa, those two couldn't understand why one of the most popular girls in school was talking to a lowlife like me, and they did their best to talk her out of seeing me. Of course it didn't work, with Lisa's brain firmly under my control. I think I'll have Lisa introduce Monica and Pete to a "new drink" they've never tried before, then I'll bring them in as "attendants" at our hot sex session, with the two of them forced to call us "Master" and "Mistress", lick up any precious spilled fuckslop, give us sponge baths, and whatever else I can think of. I'll make Pete crazy in lust for me, and Monica for Lisa. That'll teach them to get in the way of the REAL top of the school's social order!

Oh, and nerdboy at the college, who's coordinating the effort to improve the mind drug for my use, told me they were finally ready with the new version that was much longer-lasting than the current one and so it required far fewer re-doses. It took a few tries and a lot of experimentation, during which they accidentally came up with a version that made the victim believe anything that ANYONE told him or her. Two students they tried this on ended up as sex slaves to some unscrupulous guy who saw them wandering around looking confused. But that version doesn't help ME. I want my slaves' minds locked into whoever converted them, like baby birds bonded to their mother.

In the meantime, I'm having Freddy Abner, who I made "master" of the men's health class, organize a numher of other classes each under a carefully selected master student, with Billy Leddy doing the same for the athletic teams. With former quarterback Brian Overman out of the picture, Billy showed he has "the right stuff" by transforming team co-captain Wolowitz into his personal groveling assistant, clearing the way for me to lead the team.

It'll take time, but eventually the whole school will happily do anything I say, both students and faculty, and they'll feel it's the normal, RIGHT thing to do. And the best part is, if somehow anyone catches on and discovers the secret, Fred and Billy will take all the blame, and they'll really believe it was totally THEIR idea!

This is the life!

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[Next (if folks want it): How will Billy Leddy solve the team's play coordination problem with new varsity quarterback Jason Primo? What interesting new ways can Officer Asslick find to punish resistance to the school's policy of allowing tough guys to take what's rightfully theirs from the weak?]

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