Office Hours (hypno coll)

Disclaimer: This story is written for the enjoyment of consenting adults. The characters have names, which are not to be mistaken for those of any real people. If you are under the legal age for your community, you must quit this page NOW! If you object to subject matter concerning either erotic mind control or male/male sex, this isn�t for you, so rather than continuing to read and then taking offense, just leave. The rest of you, enjoy, and if you feel inspired, please write one of your own and post it. I like to read as well as write.

As the youngest and most recently hired member of the _______ University psychology department, I am inevitably given at least one section (sometimes even two) of the core-required Intro course. Most of my colleagues are astonished at how uncomplaining I am about this, but actually these large lecture classes aren’t really that bad. For consistency’s sake the structure of the course is already established (and has been since long before I came on the scene). The lectures themselves are, once you’ve prepared them, repeatable semester after semester with very little tweaking, since I’m dealing with the basics, not the up-to-the-minute research. And they always come with an assigned Teaching Assistant to do the “heavy lifting” as far as grading tests and correcting papers is concerned. However, the real reason I am always pleased to teach Psychology 101 is that I’ve found a way to greatly increase certain “perks” inherent in the task. First, as a core course, virtually every undergraduate in the university eventually has to take it, and so I see a huge cross section of the male student population: the jocks, the frat party-boys, the theater hunks, the studious nerds of all types, including even actual psych majors (of course I also see the same number and variety of the women but, since I’m gay, that is not of any particular interest to me). And second, the department syllabus for the class specifies that, in week three there will be a class demonstration of hypnosis. Most of the other faculty members who also occasionally teach the course make this fairly perfunctory (asking for a volunteer or two and then breezing through the basics). I, however, always do a mass induction for the whole classroom, which nets me everyone who is highly hypnotizable, whether they might initially have been disinclined to volunteer or not. This always results in at least some, and often several (I’ve had as many as a dozen, and never fewer than three), of the handsomer young men going into trance. Following the induction I do an extensive demonstration. It gets me terrific student reviews, because it’s always very entertaining, and, because my helpless conscripts are taken through so much hypnotic conditioning in the process, I can use their increased susceptibility to have those cute little studs at my beck and call for the rest of the semester.


The Class

This semester I have only one section of Psychology 101, but it’s a very large one (107 enrolled). The demographics are typical – mostly freshmen and sophomores with only a few upper-classmen who’d obviously been putting it off, so by far the majority are in the 18-20 age bracket. There are a few more men than women. (Okay, I do cheat a little there; one of the post-hypnotic commands I have given all my previous toys is to plug the course, but only to their male friends/teammates/frat-brothers, so, over time, the gender balance in my class has shifted a little in the direction I prefer.) During the first day’s introductory lecture I was already checking them out for good-looking young men who might be potential candidates for hypno-enslavement. There were quite a few. This early in the fall the weather is still lovely, and so nearly everyone was still wearing t-shirts and jeans or even shorts that did nothing to conceal whose bodies were slim, hard and sexy. There were no hats, hoods or scarves to conceal handsome faces (nor were there many beards, since a lot of the guys only let their whiskers grow as it gets cold enough for that to be comfortable for them). I was definitely looking forward to that special lecture in week three!

I started my hypnosis demo in the usual way by explaining what hypnosis is, what I was going to be asking them to do, and what is the most productive mind-set for going into trance successfully. At the same time, I was imperceptibly slowing the pace of my speaking and lowering the volume of my voice. By the end of the explanation, as was my real intention, the whole class was already completely focused on me, perfectly quiet, and no longer shifting or fidgeting. In truth, many of them were already partway into the lightest of trances without any of them realizing it, although most would get no farther into the state than that. (All hypnotists know that a successful induction begins long before the hypnotic “patter” commences.) 

When they were as ready as I wished, I told them all to close their eyes and to sit comfortably, but straight, with their feet flat on the floor and their hands palms-up in their laps. This is partly to ensure that they aren’t distracted by checking out what their classmates were doing and that they don’t become too physically uncomfortable to concentrate for the length of the process, but, more importantly, it is also one of the first actual suggestions. In complying by adjusting their positions at my request, they have already started the mental habit of obeying me. I then proceeded with a standard progressive relaxation induction. It’s the one I always use, as it seems to have greatest success rate. At the end of the (rather extended) induction, I began to suggest hand levitation. In moments it was obvious who was truly under my control and who would remain unobtainable. 

As I scanned the classroom I could see about thirty or so of the kids in the process of unconsciously raising their hands, about the same number of male and female. As is always the case, a few of the guys I’d hoped for were obviously not going to be affected (sigh). But there were still eight very handsome, very sexy young men who were patently spellbound and helpless, their relaxed hands floating lazily in the air like helium-filled balloons, more than enough to keep me happily entertained. By this time I knew names and majors. They were Tom Morrison (freshman, music major - jazz guitar), Jeff Brume and Aaron Dillard (sophomore theater majors), Quinton Pascoe (sophomore, engineering), Chris Collins (freshman, physical education – winter sports, mainly skiing), Matt Brownell (one of the few upper classmen, senior, business), Michael Rogers (freshman, psychology), and Tyler Andrews (sophomore, criminal justice, but also on the college baseball squad). Jeff, Quinton, and Tyler are all brothers in __ __ __ fraternity (and I believe Chris is pledging). After issuing suggestions making sure that all of the students with their hands in the air were locked into their trances and wouldn’t be waking without my permission, I released the other, less strongly affected (or unaffected) ones to open their eyes. 

There was the expected increase of sound as they registered which of their friends had gone under, a low buzz of conversation and laughter. But then the laughter grew louder, and I saw that a number of the students weren’t looking at their fellows, but at me. That certainly wasn’t typical. What was going on? Then I realized they weren’t looking exactly at me, but only in my direction. I turned, and there, at his usual station behind me, from which he could manage the smart-classroom computer and video hook-up when desired, was my Teaching Assistant Paul Strickland, slumped limp and dead to the world, his hand stretched high in the air appearing as though its upward reach were the only thing keeping him from sliding right out of the chair and onto the floor. Well, well, well! So that made nine good candidates, because Paul is also most definitely a hottie, even though his personal style strikes me as a little comical at times (it’s a rather desperate and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to counteract the youthfulness of his pretty, boyish face by dressing like a stuffy old Oxford Don in tweed jackets and even bow-ties, for God’s sake!). For the lecture, however, I’d have to treat his unexpected participation very carefully. Since he would be taking over the class at least twice while I was out of town delivering a conference paper, I couldn’t risk damaging his credibility in the eyes of the students by putting him through the usual circus tricks of the demonstration. I walked over to him and said, too softly for any of the class to hear, “Paul, when I say your name again, you will wake up, feeling refreshed and terrific. You will know that you accidentally went into trance, but you won’t feel embarrassed about that. You’ll feel confident that you remember everything about the experience, but there’s one order you will obey but will not remember: at the end of this lecture period, as soon as there are only myself and hypnotized young men remaining in the room, you will instantly go back into this deep, deep trance, even deeper than you are now, and join them. If you understand, lower your hand.” He did so immediately, without any change to his untroubled, innocently sleeping expression. So I touched his shoulder and said, “Wake up, Paul.” The handsome grad student opened his eyes and straightened up in his chair, looking around a little bemusedly, and I returned my attention to the class, none of them aware that I’d done anything more than simply waking him up. 

Picking about twenty of the hypnotized students (at random, other than my chosen eight) and reawakening the rest, I continued the demonstration as usual, showing them the power of the hypnotized mind on emotion, memory, perception, and even the physical state (muscular young Chris Collins stretched out effortlessly between two chairs, as rigid as a plank, even when a coed was sitting on his stomach, elicited gasps of amazement), and in the process deepening everyone’s trances until there was no possibility of escape for my selected victims. Lucky me, as it happened all eight of the chosen boys turned out to be exceptionally good hypnotic subjects, at least five of them (and perhaps the other three as well with enough deepening) true somnambulists, capable of every sort of hypnotic feat, and utterly incapable of the slightest resistance. I suspected Paul would prove to be a somnambulist too. After all, he had gone into deep trance without meaning to, likely even while trying not to, so he had to be extraordinarily hypnotizable.

At the end of the lecture, with about twenty minutes of the two-hour class remaining, I dismissed all of the non-hypnotized students, explaining that I needed to wake the subjects individually to be sure that they suffered no residual after-effects from the experience. No one questioned this (it has the advantage of being perfectly true, although, of course, I wasn’t planning to reawaken some of them without a little additional programming), and the classroom quickly cleared of everyone except myself and the twenty still-deeply-entranced young people. As quickly as feasible I woke up the girls and boys I wasn’t planning on keeping under my control, making sure (because of the post-hypnotic booby-trap I’d planted in Paul’s subconscious) that the last of these, other than the eight special boys, was a young lady. No sooner had the door closed behind her when Paul, totally obedient to his programming, collapsed into one of the vacant seats among the remaining hypnotized young men and was once again out like a light.

I quickly equipped them all with an irresistible re-hypnosis cue: the phrase “sleep now” plus their first name. At my command, like a Greek chorus, the boys repeated the instruction a few times so that I could be sure it was well and truly lodged in their automatic behavior, a reflex action completely beyond their power to prevent.

Then I said, “Paul, when I touch your shoulder you will open your eyes, but you will not wake up. You will remain deeply under hypnosis, going deeper with every breath, with every sound. You will return to your usual seat in the room and sit down, appearing just as you do when awake. You will pay no attention to anything I say to these other young men. When they have all left the room, you will walk with me back to my office, still deep in trance and under my complete control. Nod your head if you understand.” He nodded solemnly and, after I patted his shoulder, opened his eyes and walked dreamily back to his place by the smart-equipment.

I then finished my prep work with my eight other new hypno-slaves. Using the trance cue and their names, one after another, to increase the potency and depth of the suggestion, I ordered them all to delete all conscious memory of everything that had happened since going into trance. Then I instilled a compulsion in each of them to make an appointment for my office hours (hell, I’m no superman – I can only handle one, or at most two boys at a time!). Then I woke them up and sent them on their way, helplessly programmed to return to me. None of them even glanced at Paul as they left, let alone realized he was still in trance.



Back in my office (where my hypnotized teaching assistant had followed me meekly as a lamb) I locked the door and examined my prize as he stood blankly waiting for commands. As I’ve mentioned, Paul’s attire is pretty silly, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the rest of him. He has wavy reddish-brown hair and the cute splash of freckles that tend to go along with it, a very sweet, boyish face, with a neat little nose, delicious-looking pink lips, eyes so dark it’s impossible to tell whether they’re brown or blue, and oddly extravagant eyebrows (which, combined with the clothing, really do give the impression of a fussy old man suddenly transformed by magic into the semblance of his youth). His broad shoulders and slim hips, though, are anything but academic or elderly. If Paul were only a little taller (he’s a compact 5’ 9’’ or so), with that body he could easily have a career modeling clothes.

I took him through a few more deepeners (and, yes, he did prove to be a somnambulistic subject – hurrah!), and then said, “Paul, you are completely in my control. I will ask you some questions, and you will answer me truthfully. It is impossible to lie or to resist responding. Do you understand?”


“What is your sexual orientation?” I always ask, since, even using hypnosis, it’s hard to get straight boys to do everything. Even the most responsive subjects require a lot of finesse to engage in real homosexual activity, while some of the less suggestible ones can only be persuaded to undress (or at most masturbate), and that, only after massively distorting their perception of reality.

“I’m gay.” He showed no reluctance or stress in that admission.

Well, that was convenient! My dick instantly began to harden. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment. Josh and I called it quits after graduation. We knew what we had wouldn’t survive the stress of a long-distance romance.”

Better and better! “You must be very horny then, horny all the time. What do you do for sex?”

As that one hit home, Paul’s breathing deepened and his right hand twitched as though, were he not rendered hypnotically unable to exercise his own free will, he would have given his basket a little squeeze. “I jerk off… a lot.” Now there was some tension in his voice, although it was obvious that he was in no way attempting to break free from the trance in which his mind was locked.

“What do you fantasize about when you’re masturbating?”

“Guys I see on campus. Some of the guys in the class, some of the younger faculty. I imagine trading blowjobs, having them cum on my face… I like cum.”

Now my cock was rock-hard and ready. His fantasies and mine were in total sync. Of course, there wasn’t enough time remaining in my lunch hour to do the whole dress production, but, as I would have access to young Mr. Strickland for the rest of the term, there was no hurry. We could do a streamlined version now. “Paul,” I commanded, “You feel hornier than ever. Whose cock would you most like to be sucking right this moment?”

Paul licked his lips hungrily. “Dr. Hughes.” Ah, yes, the boy has good taste. Dr. Cameron Hughes, fresh out of Yale, hired to the English department just this fall, is only four or five years older than Paul (and only a couple of years younger than I) and has the darkly saturnine good looks of a young Sean Connery. Undergrads (male as well as female) swoon over him. I’d do him in the proverbial New York minute, were he not unquestionably heterosexual (and I having no plausible excuse to convince him to submit to hypnosis). 

“Paul, close your eyes, kneel down and get ready to suck some dick. Dr. Hughes just walked in the door and he’s about to give you your wish.” I unzipped and freed my more-than-ready cock as the hypnotized grad student obeyed my order. Then I eased my erection between those lovely lips and enjoyed an absolutely superlative blowjob. Paul definitely knows his way around the male anatomy. His technique was everything I could ask and more, and his enthusiasm (after all, he was absolutely convinced he was servicing the man of his dreams) was terrific. In no time at all I was ready to shoot. “Be sure you swallow it all,” I gasped. “You don’t want to mess up your nice clothes.” Paul speeded up his tongue action and increased the suction until I thought I was going to see God. I came in buckets, but the only sign of it (after Paul finished gulping me down like a pro) was a tiny dribble at one corner of his mouth. I drew him back up to his feet and kissed it away (Cameron Hughes and I are both clean-shaven, so I didn’t need to employ any further hypnotic suggestions to maintain the illusion). Then I zipped myself back up, straightened my somewhat rumpled suit, and woke Paul from his trance, first reinforcing his trance-cue, and then convincing him that his sexual experience had been nothing more than a vivid wet-dream the night before, while replacing in his mind the time spent in my office and under my power with a believable false memory to account for it.

“Okay, Dr. Turner, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll head over to the library and get back to work on my research.” Paul’s untroubled countenance made it clear that my hypnotic housekeeping had been successful.

“Fine. I’ll see you Wednesday at class.” I pretended to busy myself with some papers and he exited.



The first of the Psychology 101 space cadets to succumb to his post-hypnotic compulsion was the young jazz guitarist Tom Morrison. He came up to me before class started on Wednesday and literally begged for an appointed that afternoon. He had rationalized it to himself as a need for help in the class (not true, by the way – he’s a very smart boy and was having no problems whatsoever with the course). 

I was definitely looking forward to the encounter. Tom was among the very best of the hypnotic subjects (even measured in that talented bunch), something actually not uncommon in music majors since their discipline requires high abilities in both concentration and imagination. And, it certainly didn’t hurt my feelings that he’s also handsome enough to qualify as a member in any boy band (he actually does have a band, but their music is much too sophisticated to fit the “boy-band” genre). Tom has hair the color of dark honey, melting brown puppy-dog eyes with ridiculously sexy long lashes, a charming pouty mouth, perfect tanned complexion, and a compact hard body that would be the envy of a gymnast (which his preferred attire of tight t-shirts and skinny jeans never leaves in doubt).

At three o’clock on the dot there was a knock at my door and Tom hurried into my office. “Thank you so much for seeing me, Dr. Turner! I just don’t seem to get this set of readings, and I can’t afford to fall behind in the class. If I don’t get a B+ or better average every term I could lose my scholarship!”

“Relax, Tom, and have a seat. You don’t need to worry. Your coursework has been perfectly fine. I’m sure you’ll feel better about the whole thing just as soon as you Sleep Now, Tom.” At the sound of the cue phrase, a punctured balloon couldn’t have lost its structural coherence faster than young Tom collapsed into a limp, totally hypnotized heap on the couch. His eyes slammed shut as though someone had cold-cocked him. I locked the door and then returned to the sleeping boy.

After administering the deepening exercises, I conducted my customary Q and A. Tom is straight, and he does have a girlfriend (damn it), so I wouldn’t be able to proceed full steam ahead with his seduction. As the term wears on, perhaps I’ll discover some chinks in his heterosexual armor that will allow me more access to his body, but for now the best I could do was a little show-and-tell. 

“Tom, when I snap my fingers, you’ll open your eyes, but you will remain deep in trance. You’ll see that you are in your own bedroom all alone. You won’t notice or have any awareness of me until I say ‘Sleep Now, Tom’ again. Lindsay” (the girlfriend) “has been out of town all week and you are incredibly horny. You know that you will not be disturbed for hours, and so you will jerk off to relieve the tension. But remember, you can’t masturbate unless you are completely naked.” I made sure this was all clear to his enslaved mind and then snapped my fingers.

There is a particular quality to the unfocused gaze of a hypnotized subject who is seeing with his mind’s eyes rather than his physical ones. Tom’s eyes were open and he appeared to be seeing his surroundings, but there was a glaze to his expression that made it clear he was viewing a hypnotic mock-landscape provided by my suggestion and his own memory. He looked around, perhaps a little furtively, as though to reassure himself that he was alone. Then, with no further hesitation, he kicked off his shoes and skinned out of his t-shirt. His chest and six-pack (nearly hairless and totally ripped) was unbelievable! I ached to touch it, but, since that was out of the question (at least for the moment), I elected to touch myself instead. I dropped my pants and underwear and began my own jerk-off session.

Tom, still lost in his oblivious trance-world, continued to undress: socks (he has gorgeous feet), jeans (and legs), and finally jockey shorts (great ass, and the boy is hung like a bull!). When he was totally naked, he spit on his hand and got to work. I was in heaven. As a hypno-fetishist, there is nothing quite so appealing to me as the enforced unawareness of an entranced somnambulist given sexual commands. I might have been a lamp or a chair as far as Tom was concerned. And so he felt absolutely free to indulge his imagination and his physicality to the fullest extent and without any self-consciousness. It was a mind-blowing performance. The boy wiggled, writhed, panted and moaned (fortunately our offices are soundproofed), his hands seemingly trying to be everywhere on himself at once, his limber body twisting into a kama sutra of different positions (ah, youth, to be so flexible!). At the last moment, he sucked the middle finger of his other hand into his mouth and then shoved the moistened digit into his own asshole. That did it for me. I lost my grip and my load, just seconds before Tom, huffing and whimpering, shot all over himself.  

As we both came down from our orgasmic high, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. First of all, because it was a terrific orgasm, even if it was all my own hand, but more to the point, that little finger-in-the-ass trick gave me distinct hope that, with a lot more hypnotic softening up, young Tom Morrison might indeed be made available for more than just show-and-tell. I sent him back into deep sleep, cleaned us both up (putting the used tissues into a plastic bag to take with me –it wouldn’t do for the cleaning staff to find all those fragrant used cum rags in my office waste basket), and then ordered him to put his clothes back on. When Tom was again dressed, I applied the usual mental clean-up and ushered him out of the office, trance-cue reinforced, memory sabotaged, but once again fully awake. I knew I’d be having him back often.



The requests for appointments had been coming in thick and fast, the rest of my hypnotically compelled slave-boys having taken very little more time than Tom to give in to the post-hypnotic suggestion. My office hours were booked for some time in advance. But it was more than a week before I could actually meet with any of them. That pesky paper presentation took me to Cleveland for six days. It was unfortunate, but that tenure clock keeps ticking, so there was no way I could afford to skimp on the scholarly activity. I returned home on Thursday evening, tired, cross and horny, but already looking forward to the Friday office hour when I would meet with Matt Brownell.

Matt is also one of the true somnambulists, so I anticipated a fine session. But he’s also older than the other guys. His personality is much more fully formed and confident, his clothing style and grooming more polished. There’s nothing puppyish or insecure about him. Indeed, although he’s a year or two younger than Paul, he seems a lot more mature. So there was also a chance that he might prove a little more resistant to certain kinds of hypnotic tampering. Matt is tall, dark, and strikingly handsome (of course, otherwise I would have had little interest in enslaving him). His lean, impressively proportioned body suggests tennis or swimming, although, as far as I’m aware, he doesn’t have any particular athletic connections or activities here at the university other than jogging for aerobic fitness. In fact, he seems to be a bit of a loner. From either his manner or his choice of company (as in lack of any), I couldn’t get any sense of what his sexual preference might be. I was definitely intrigued.

When Matt arrived at my office he walked right up to me saying, “Dr. Turner,” and shaking my hand, more like a businessman greeting a colleague than a student approaching a professor, no matter how junior. 

Well, I can play that game too. “Mr. Brownell, please have a seat.” I gestured to the couch and he sat down.

  He looked at me expectantly. “What did you want to see me about, Dr. Turner?” Evidently, unable to come up with a plausible reason for requesting the appointment, his subconscious had transposed it into my request (which, of course, in a sense it was, although he had no way of realizing that).

“I just wanted you to Sleep Now, Matt.”

Nothing happened!! For one horrified, heart-stopping moment I thought it hadn’t worked; that somehow he’d managed to throw off the trance-conditioning and I was up shit creek without a paddle. Then I realized he wasn’t moving at all, and a closer look revealed that his eyes had gone glazed and unfocused. I waved my hand before his frozen stare and got no reaction. He may not have collapsed into limp, boneless relaxation as Tom or Paul would have, but he was still well and truly under. Whew!

“Sleep now, Matt… Sleep now, Matt…” I repeated it a couple more times, not so much because I still doubted the genuineness of his trance, but mainly just to calm my own nerves and let my heart-rate return to normal. At the fourth repetition, Matt’ eyes finally drifted shut. However, his posture as he sat on the couch hadn’t relaxed in the slightest. He was still upright, leaned a little forward as though listening intently to something I was saying. It was like a photo that had caught him in the middle of animated conversation just as he happened to blink.

Normally I don’t try a formal depth-check (it can actually bring a subject out of a deep state to a shallower one to ask him to assess his own hypnotic level), but I was very curious, and Matt’s response to the trance-cue was an anomaly I hadn’t encountered before. “Matt, when I touch your hand, a number will suggest itself to you…a number between one and ten. This number represents how deeply hypnotized you are now, with one being very lightly hypnotized and ten being very, very deep.” I touched his hand and asked, “What is the number?”

Matt was silent for a moment and then said, “I don’t know,” in a soft, meek voice that sounded entirely younger and less assured than his waking speech.”

Why was he resisting? He patently hadn’t come out of the trance. “Please explain.”

“I’m not between one and ten…” his voice trailed off.

Huh? “Well what is the number, then?”

“Twe… twenty-seven…”

Holy shit!! The concept of the one-to-ten scale is so ingrained in our collective consciousness that coloring even a little outside those lines makes a serious statement. To perceive himself as almost three times deeper than the parameter I’d set, Matt must be damn near comatose… or else… he had a personal agenda that liked the notion of super-deep hypnosis. Hmmm… The light began to dawn, and I thought I finally understood where this was going. “That’s a very deep trance indeed, Matt,” I said. “In a trance that deep, you are completely helpless… unable to think… unable to resist… a helpless, mindless slave. Say it: ‘I’m a helpless, mindless, hypnotized slave-boy’.”

  “I’m a helpless, mindless hypnotized slave-boy.” I could see the crotch of his jeans had begun to swell. Oh, yeah, I had his number!

“That’s right. You’re a helpless mindless slave-boy. You must do everything I tell you, no matter what that might be. You have no will… you have no choice… you are in my power and you must obey. Stand up and remove your shirt, slave Matt.”

“Yes, master.” The handsome young man rose to his feet like a well-programmed robot. His eyes had opened again, but his stare was so blank and frozen his eyeballs could have been ceramic prosthetics. Without haste, but with no evidence of conflict, he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt, so I was immediately treated to the stimulating sight of his bare torso, muscular, tanned, hairless (I wondered whether that was the result of grooming or of genetics), and utterly sexy.

“Now pull down your pants, slave.”

Matt, moving a little more quickly now, undid the fly button of his jeans, unzipped, and the in one smooth motion pulled both the jeans and his unexpectedly flamboyant tight purple briefs down around his ankles. His legs were perfect, and the buttery tan globes of his ass made me want to bay at the moon. His cock, average for his height, but very pretty, was totally erect and damp at the tip. No question but that Matt was a dyed-in-the-wool submissive and that slavery (mental or otherwise) was a major fantasy for him. I didn’t even bother to ask whether he was straight, bi, or gay. To his mind it wouldn’t have mattered who was doing him. Just as long as he felt helpless and controlled, he’d be turned on to the max. I rid myself of my own trousers and underwear, and then quickly applied condoms to us both. I commanded him to bend over the couch and he unhesitatingly obeyed.

“Play with yourself, but do not cum until I tell you to.” I lubed myself and Matt’s ass, and then commenced what proved to be one of the better fucks in my recent memory. Matt, panting and moaning softly, dutifully milked his hard-on, his ass humping and flexing with abandon, as I drove in and out of his tight, hard butt. It was magnificent! All too soon I ran out of self-control. As my orgasm took me, I managed to grate, “Cum now, slave,” and Matt’s cum-spasms wrung the last few drops from me. 

After I caught my breath, the clean-up was remarkably simple. Without the condoms, the boy would have sprayed all over the couch, making a dreadful mess, but as it was, things were pretty well contained. I did have to lick a little escaped splooge from his cock (hey, it’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it) before I could get him back into his clothes, but that was all.

When he was put back together just as neat as when he’d entered the room, I started the mental clean-up. In Matt’s case, because of his specific control fetish, I did it a little differently. His trance-cue was still reinforced, but instead of my standard false memory, I told him to forget he’d been here at all. He’d supply his own explanation for the missing hour, and believe it unshakably. “But, Matt,” I added, “You will remember having been hypnotized in my class. You will be fascinated and aroused by that memory of how helpless and obedient you became while in trance. You will find yourself fantasizing about being made a helpless sex-slave through hypnosis, of finding a hypnotist who is willing to turn you into a mindless toy. Perhaps you will act on that fantasy; perhaps soon.” It will be interesting to see how long that suggestion works on him, before Matt Brownell is driven to approach me (or Paul, or some unnamed hypno-domme if he prefers a woman) with an intriguing proposition. I ushered him to the door and off he went, still deep in trance – he wouldn’t come to himself until he was well away from my office. Then I packed up and headed home. TGIF



Chris Collins, the handsome, hard-muscled downhill skier, was actually the last of all the young men scheduled for an office hour appointment, so I wasn’t due to see him until well into the following week. But Sunday afternoon I found myself feeling bored and (surprisingly after such a full week) randy, so on a whim I tried his cell-phone number just to see if could make anything happen. To my delight, I not only got him, but, when asked if he were busy, he admitted he wasn’t doing anything in particular. Yes!

“In that case, I wonder whether I might prevail upon you to do me a small favor this afternoon.”

“Sure, Dr. Turner. What can I do for you?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because I would like you to Sleep Now, Chris.” The pointed silence at the other end of the connection told me that he was under. “Do you hear me, Chris?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice sounded much softer than before, and had almost no inflection.

“I want you to open your eyes but don’t wake up.” I gave him my address and then continued, “You want to come to my house. You will drive safely and well, but you will remain in your trance, which will grow deeper with every passing the second. Come to me now, Chris. Turn off your phone and come to me.”

The whole “come to me” b-movie routine (aside from tickling my fancy) had been a bit of a gamble, but luck was with me, and nothing had occurred to shake Chris’ entrancement. Less than fifteen minutes later there was a knock on my door, and I opened it to find the boy standing on my doorstep, from the blank stare on his handsome young face, obviously deeply hypnotized.

It had been a little chillier that day, so he was wearing a knit cap and a sweatshirt. I quickly brought him inside, seated him in a comfortable chair and ordered him to close his eyes. Then I set about my usual deepening routine. Once he was completely prepped, I made him take off the cap and unzip the bulky sweatshirt. Then I gently brushed his thick brown hair back into place, getting rid of the worst of the “hat-head”. Chris is such a good-looking kid – perfect features, what they used to call an alabaster complexion, all white and rose with not even the tiniest hint of a blemish, deep chocolate eyes. His expression, even when frozen in trance, always seems a little serious. It reminds me of the young Fred Savage (although Fred was never this handsome). And then there’s that althlete’s perfectly toned body of his! I was definitely in lust.

In response to my questions, he revealed that he was straight (crap!) but didn’t have a current girlfriend. I suppose I could have merely settled for having him put on a show, as I had with Tom Morrison, but it was the weekend, I was in my own house, and I didn’t have to be finished with him in just one hour, so I decided to explore a little more thoroughly. “Chris, going even deeper… even deeper… you can’t lie to me or to yourself. Have you ever done anything sexual with another guy? Or thought about it?”

His eyes shifted nervously under their closed lids, but then he answered, albeit a little hesitantly. “Last year my best friend Jake Foster and I went skiing together for the weekend after Christmas. When we came back from the slopes the first night we got dinner at the lodge. We had good fake IDs, so we were able to order beers and we both ended up pretty hammered. There was this really cute waitress, and Jake started hitting on her. I thought his moves were kinda lame, but he’s a chick magnet and she was eating it up. Anyway, they went off together to get busy and I was left on my own. There was nothing much else going on so I decided just to go to bed. I’d assumed Jake and his waitress would be at her digs. After all, he and I were sharing a single bedroom unit, so it’s not like he could have expected privacy there. But when I got to our room and walked in, there they were, buck naked and fucking like bunnies with Jake’s ass pumping up and down as he rode her. Super embarrassing! I backed right out of the room as quietly as I could, and I don’t think they even registered that I’d walked in on them. But it was like that picture was etched on my eyeballs. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never spoken to Jake about it, but ever since I’ve always wondered what would have happened if they had noticed me, if, maybe, they’d invited me to join in. I’ve wondered what it’d be like to share a girl in bed with another guy, especially one as good-looking as Jake. And I keep thinkin’ of his ass flexing and pumping. I mean, it’s a guy’s ass, but it was still really hot. What would it be like to fuck a guy’s ass?”

Bingo! That little tale (and especially the language he’d used in telling it) was evidence of more than enough latent bisexuality for me to work with profitably. And it had been a while since the last time I’d had a good ass-fucking. When you’re the hypnotist, topping is easier to engineer than bottoming.

As deep as Chris’s trance had become, it was child’s-play to regress him back to that evening at the ski lodge. Soon, in his mind, he’d just left the restaurant and was on his way back to the room he shared with his buddy. I positioned him just outside my bedroom door, frozen in place and oblivious until he should hear his cue. I went in closing the door behind me, stripped, and lay face down on the bed with my ass poised and ready, all set to play the part of Jake Foster (whoever the hell he was). Then I called out, “Action,” and began to hump the mattress. The door swung open, the light spilling in across me, and I heard Chris suck in his breath. He started to edge back out, but I quickly twisted to look at him and said (as Jake), “Dude, close the door, lose the wardrobe, and get your butt over here! I wanna make a Jake sandwich!”

Well, as the saying goes, “Mama Collins didn’t raise no foolish babies”. Chris’s face lit up with the most beautiful smile, and then he began to strip at light-speed. Fortunately, even in his horny haste, the boy took the time to suit up his impressively stiff cock and lube it properly with the materials I’d set out bedside, so I didn’t have to intervene and interrupt his fantasy train. Then he flung himself onto the bed with me and off we went. We were kissing a lot, which was a bit unexpected. I couldn’t say whether Chris was imagining he was kissing the girl, or whether the hypno-fantasy had really unleashed long-denied homosexual desires for his best friend. I will say that he’s a great kisser – soft lips, wicked tongue, a perfect sense of when to be gentle and yielding, and when to be insistent (as well as knowing just how insistent to be without making me feel as though teeth were going to be broken).

Soon I was hot enough that it was time for the main event. “Fuck me, Dude.” (I was still being Jake.) “I want your cock in my ass!” Chris grinned a dopey, hypnotized grin and flipped me over onto my front. But instead of starting to work his dick into my ass, he buried his face in the crack and began to eat me out! I can’t tell you the last time one of my hypno-toys did that! It’s the hardest sexual suggestion to make stick; even a lot of avowedly gay men aren’t necessarily willing to do it. And yet Chris was not only doing it, he was actually good at it! He was amazing, awesome, mind-blowing, and he sent me right into orbit. I’ll bet even his straight pal Jake would have given up his cherry under the influence of that stimulus. By the time Chris stopped tonguing me, lodged his cock in my hole, and began to piston in and out, I was writhing and gibbering like a nymphomaniac on poppers. As crazed as I was, I didn’t last long before my orgasm roared through me like a runaway freight train. But it was sweet: we came simultaneously.

After returning Chris to the present and applying my customary memory wipe, I watched contentedly as he zombie-marched back to his car and drove away. (He would remain in trance until he was back where he’d been when I called, with no idea that I’d called him or that he’d ever left). I couldn’t get the smile off my face. Chris is a terrific lover. He’s going to make some lucky woman (or maybe even man) very, very happy one of these days. And he’s going to continue to make me very, very happy on a regular basis for the rest of the term.



My Monday office hour appointment was with Aaron Dillard, the actor wannabe (actually he’s not bad – I’ve seen him in a couple of drama department productions, and even in the small parts that are the best a sophomore can hope for, besides be very easy on the eyes, he’s always natural and believable). I had considered cancelling or rescheduling, since I definitely needed some recuperation time after the workout I’d had the day before with Chris Collins, God among freshmen. I already knew that Aaron is gay. He’s out, open, and, quite frankly flamboyant (when he’s not in character acting a straight role), so my current disinclination to engage in vigorous play with him wouldn’t prevent me doing it another time, or add any difficulties. But I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let three whole weeks (or, as it might be, even more) go by before reinforcing his hypnotic conditioning. I might lose him altogether. So I left things as they were, and that afternoon, only a few minutes after his punctual arrival at 3 o’clock, Aaron was sitting on my couch in a rigid and extremely deep, eyes-open trance.

It was the rigidity that gave me the idea. Aaron Dillard is so beautiful that, even without doing anything at all, he’s still riveting. He has short, preppy–style blond hair, stop-you-in-your-tracks blue eyes, and a face and body that Hollywood type-casting would immediately tag for the teen-throb side-kick of the hero in a western or action flick. So the perfect, low-energy activity for now would be his photo-shoot (I could save the pictures until I was more ready to act on them). I always keep a decent digital camera in my office; it’s a useful tool in my legitimate work as well as being handy for keeping souvenirs of my various hypno-conquests (I make a set of each hypnotized young man at some point during his semester in my power). I fetched the camera from my desk drawer.

Then I told the hypnotized actor, “Aaron, this could be your big break. You’re being considered for a part in an experimental indy film. It’s a great opportunity – a real role (you could even call it pivotal) in a movie by a director whose last film won the Palm d’Or at Cannes. They want still photos of you to make sure you’re right for the part, and there is some nudity involved, so you’ll need to take off your clothes. There’s also one extended scene where your character would have to remain absolutely motionless as though turned into a statue. But you’ll find that to be very easy. When I say ‘pose’, your body will become like a plastic action figure, and you’ll be able to hold whatever position I place you in, without any effort or even awareness of what you’re doing. Understand?”

Aaron had begun to smile like a sunrise as soon as I’d mentioned the possibility of a movie role, and he nodded eagerly.

“Terrific! Go ahead and undress, and then stand over there by that end table.” 

The boy burst into action, clothes flying every which way, and in less than a minute he was standing by the little end table as directed, buck naked and looking at me hopefully.

“Pose”. Aaron was instantly motionless, the eager smile replaced by an almost waxwork blankness. I walked over and began to manipulate his stance. First, I gently closed his eye-lids and tilted his head slightly so that he’d look hypnotized. I placed one of his hands on his chest (as though he were playing with his nipple). His other hand I wrapped around his dick (after stroking it a few times to get it hard enough). Then I stepped back to assess the result. He looked amazing! His slim, smoothly muscled body looked as slender and elegant as willow, and his skin had a light, buttery tan all over. He must have had somewhere he could sunbathe nude this last summer. Aaron doesn’t have a lot of body hair (and, being blond, what he does have of it isn’t very visible except quite close up), but there was a nicely-placed treasure trail leading from his navel down to the bush around his cock. I took off the lens-cap and went to work.

I used up my entire photo card: high-resolution full-body shots from every angle, close-ups (of his face, his cock, his ass, and practically every thing else), and, once I’d documented this pose, I placed him in others. I even took one, almost comic yet disturbingly sexy, version of the classic hypno-zombie stance with his arms stretched out straight in front of him, his blank gaze seeing nothing. And throughout the session, Aaron continued to allow himself to be molded into any pose I wished, all without the slightest hint of effort or resistance. Eventually, however, the hour was drawing to a close, so I jerked him to a quick orgasm, cleaned him up, released him from his immobile state, and got him back into his clothes. I felt almost sorry when I wiped his memory. He’d been so happy at the idea of that movie part!


Jeff, Quinton, and Tyler - The Frat-Pack

__ __ __ Fraternity, home of three of my remaining hypno-slaves, Jeff Brume (the other actor), Tyler Andrews (the criminal justice major), and Quinton Pascoe (the engineering student), is a frequent source for providing my toys. It’s the party-frat on campus, and seems to be the first choice of all the cutest, sexiest guys (if they’re interested in being in a fraternity at all), so I always am particularly diligent in programming any of its successfully hypnotized members to “sell” my class to their frat brothers. As a result, I seldom teach a section of Psych 101 that doesn’t have at least one or two of them enrolled.

The downside of this is in the scheduling. Frat-boys hunt in packs. They like to take (as much as possible in differing majors) the same sections of the same courses. Their social activities all seem to revolve around the frat’s meetings, parties, the inter-fraternal competitions and fund-drives. So they tend to be busy or available, for the most part, at exactly the same times! And, as I’ve already mentioned, at thirty-and-change years old, I’m no longer enough of a sexual athlete to handle orgies with much pleasure. A three-way is about the best I can do.

However, in spite of my misgivings, on Wednesday afternoon, Tyler, Jeff, and Quinton, were all three seated side by side on my couch, waiting for what they thought was a review/study session. They’d been very difficult to pin down individually (as with Aaron, I’d had some concerns that, if the process continued to hang fire too long, their post-hypnotic suggestions might weaken), and they had all begged so nicely to be allowed to come to this same office hour meeting together (they had each said that, since they always studied together, it only made sense to have the review together too), that, against my better judgment, I caved. At least my office hour was the last thing on my Wednesday schedule, so I could use more than an hour, and I could also, once they were back in trance, take them home with me, which was going to be necessary, as my office isn’t large enough for four men (and Jeff and Quinton are tall) to engage in sex in it at the same time. And I did have a plan, one that would end up with them doing most of the work, so I could save as much energy as I needed to in order to last the course.

I closed the folder I’d been pretending to consult. “Well, gentlemen, shall we get started?” They all politely gave me their undivided attention and rapid-fire as a machine gun, I said, “Sleep now, Quinton - Sleep now, Tyler - Sleep now, Jeff.” If my words had actually been bullets, they couldn’t have dropped those young men any faster. Quinton and Tyler had collapsed against each other as boneless as a pair of scarecrows in a Harvest Home display, while Jeff (who, as the last boy triggered, before succumbing had had a second of alarmed reaction time in which he tried to get up from the couch) had fallen over completely. His body lay across Quinton’s knees, and his head was planted face-down in Tyler’s lap. I sorted them out into more comfortable positions and then proceeded to deepen them. Since these three (along with Tom and Matt) had been in somnambulistic trance even during the first classroom induction, it didn’t take long before their minds were my playground. 

“Stand up, don’t wake up, but open your eyes and come with me,” I ordered. They obeyed like a drill team of brainwashed soldiers in a military cult and I led them to the parking garage and my car, where upon another command and they dutifully got in, buckled their seatbelts and waited silently for me to, in effect, kidnap them. Persons familiar with the __ __ __ frat would have found it unusual, even noteworthy, to see its members behaving this soberly. Typically any time two or more of them were together the horseplay was almost non-stop. But since these boys were with me (i.e. faculty) their subdued state hadn’t attracted any notice, so I was able to drive away with them, without anyone finding anything strange about it.

In my house, I took them to my bedroom (with its king-size bed), snapped them to rigid, blank-faced attention, and proceeded with my game plan. “Jeff, Tyler, Quinton, whatever I tell you becomes instantly and absolutely true for you; so instantly and so absolutely true that you can never analyze, question, or doubt it. Every word I say is irresistible reality just as soon as I say it, and has always been true. You understand this and you know it is so. Nod your head in agreement.” All three enslaved frat-boys nodded mechanically. “You are getting younger. You are no longer sophomores. You are freshmen, new freshmen pledging the noble __ __ __ fraternity. It’s Hell Week and you know what that means, but you are determined to make the fraternity, so you will do whatever it takes to accomplish it.” 

There are lots of fraternity secrets, and the particulars of hell week hazing are among the most carefully guarded, but from the first time I captured the mind of one of the brothers of __ __ __ several semesters ago, they haven’t been a secret from me! And I knew that, among the many tests of physical and emotional endurance inflicted on pledges by their fine tradition of sadistic pledge masters during that week, was an evening in which the pledges were made stinking drunk and then forced to perform blowjobs on each other (or on any of the active brothers who felt like getting one).

I gave them all a pre-emptive suggestion to prevent their becoming nauseated in their soon-to-be-hypnotically-induced drunken state and then continued in a much harsher voice (as the pledge master), “Pledge Brume, age!”

Jeff answered promptly, like a marine in boot camp, “Sir! Eighteen, Sir!”

“You, Pledge Pascoe!”

“Sir! Eighteen next week, Sir!”

I sneered, “Then that would be seventeen, wouldn’t it, worm?”

He cringed. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Pledge Andrews!”

“Sir! Eighteen, Sir!”

“Pledges, welcome to Hell Week! It’s going be my job to put you pussies through hell, until all of your pussy-ness is burnt right out of you and there’s nothing left but __ __ __ material! Your first test today is to prove you can drink like a man. That jug in front of you is genuine Kentucky white lightning, 120 proof, burns like a motherfucker. Brother Davis gets it from his dad, who gets it from… well, from the man who makes it. You’re gonna pass it around until you’ve all had at least three good shots. But you want to keep going as long as you can, ’cause the guy who finishes last gets a prize. And anybody who pukes or passes out is out of the fraternity.” 

The three hypnotized boys immediately began, in order, to pantomime (well, it was absolutely real to them!) drinking from a jug. At the first swallow each one coughed and choked on the hypno-rotgut. Tyler even had tears running down his cheeks. But they kept on, still gasping, but gradually seeming to become a little more used to it. They quickly became quite drunk, at least in their own minds, going from military erectness to sloppy, swaying inebriation. Quinton began to giggle uncontrollably. 

“You think this is funny, worm?”

“No, Sir.” Then he snorted and laughed even harder.

  Finally, only Jeff still had enough coordination to get the phantom jug to his lips. He took one last pretend swig, coughed and then slurred “I win.” His grin was supremely silly.

“Pledges, take off your shirts.”

They obeyed. Quinton still giggling helplessly, took three tries to get his t-shirt up and off over his head. His eyes were nearly closed. He’s shorter and smaller than his two frat brothers, with short-cropped brown hair and a nice boy-next-door sort of understated body development. His face is totally cute and boyish. Of my current hypno-toy crop, he’s the only one with a beard, but it’s one of those ridiculous little fringes around the bottom of his jaw-line. I’m sure he grew it to try to look more grown-up, but it has the absolute reverse effect. He looks like a sweet little boy dressed up as an Amish elder for Halloween. Tyler is a tall, big guy, well over six feet and fairly tough-looking. His dark brown hair is casual and short, his muscles are impressive, and his strong, handsome face carries a small scar on one cheek that gives him an air of danger (if he doesn’t go into law school, he’ll be one hell of an intimidating cop). He also has an incredibly sexy ass in his tight jeans! Jeff, the actor, is simply gorgeous – glamorous, wavy blond hair, green eyes, a matinee idol face (if Aaron was the teen-throb sidekick, then Jeff is definitely the leading man). He too is tall (I’d guess six-two or –three), with a smooth, sculpted body like Michelangelo’s statue of David.

“Pledges, your next task will be to show your capacity for devotion to your fellows.” I paused for a moment and the three extremely inebriated young men looked at me owlishly. “You must suck each other off. Anyone refuses, he’s out of the fraternity.” That put a cork in Quinton’s laughing jag. On the other hand, Tyler was already unzipping. “Not so fast Pledge Andrews! Since Pledge Brume won the drinking contest, he gets the first blowjob. Pledge Brume, lose the rest of your clothes.” Jeff, looking as though it took every remaining bit of discipline he possessed to keep from passing out, slowly began to finish undressing. I continued, “After you’ve all gotten off, the one of you that I consider to have made the best showing gets the very great privilege of sucking my cock.” 

When Jeff was naked, I made him lie down on the bed (his lolling head and uncontrolled limbs made that seem as much a necessity as a convenience). Then I said, “Well, Pledges, what are you waiting for, a starter’s pistol? Get to work on him!” Even though I hadn’t asked to determine who was straight, gay, or bi, I wasn’t in the least worried about any potential rebellion. After all, the fact that they were in __ __ __ meant they’d all already passed this particular test once! Quinton and Tyler looked at Jeff a bit uncertainly, and then at each other, each as though daring the other to go first.  Finally Tyler, who was obviously made of sterner stuff than Quinton, reached out and gingerly touched Jeff’s cock. There was no particular reaction other than that Jeff’s eyelids (which had fallen to half-mast) opened wide again. 

“Pledge Tyler, stop being such a pussy! Get in there and make him hard!”

Tyler got up on the bed alongside Jeff and began to work in earnest. Perhaps basing his actions on his experience of what worked well on women, he started by licking and nibbling at Jeff’s nipples. And his own ass, sticking up in as he crouched over his frat brother, was a joy to behold.

It seemed that the nipple play was having an effect on Jeff, and he began to show some wood. Quinton, apparently a little embarrassed that Tyler had shown him up, hesitantly began to stroke Jeff’s developing hard-on. I could see from the increasing tightness at the crotch of Quinton’s jeans that he too was getting an erection. Even though, from his general vibe and body language, I’m fairly certain young Mr. Pascoe isn’t gay, I guess the cute little science-geek, at the (hypnotized) age of almost-eighteen, was both inexperienced enough and, as a result, horny enough, to bone up even watching two dogs fuck, let alone two people, regardless of gender. They continued in this fashion for a while, Tyler expanding his tongue bath to included more and more of Jeff’s hairless, sculpted chest and the column of his throat (he paid particular attention to Jeff’s Adam’s apple), and Quinton masturbating Jeff more and more purposefully, until the young actor’s dick was stiff as steel and juicy with pre-cum. The expression on Jeff’s face was priceless, an almost indescribable blend of drunkenness, helpless arousal, and distaste (obviously he’s heterosexual). However, the arousal was quickly overcoming his distaste for its cause, and he had begun to squirm and moan as his passion caught fire. Tyler, taking that as his cue, brushed Quinton’s hand aside and began to perform his mandated duty. He went to town on Jeff’s cock as though he’d done such a thing a million times, making me very curious about his sexual identity. No one in __ __ __ would dare to be openly gay, but either Tyler was a well-camouflaged closet case, or else he was bi-experienced to a significant degree in his pre-college existence. He had Jeff on the ropes in no time flat. The actor howled and shot his load all over Tyler’s face, afterwards falling back almost unconscious.

I gave Jeff a moment to recuperate (and Tyler a moment to mop his face) and then said, “Nap-time’s over, Pledge Brume – your turn. Pick one of them and get on with it.”

Jeff looked as grim as though he were facing a firing squad (or at least, in classic hazing terms, about to be made to eat raw liver), but he pulled himself together and squared up to the task manfully. Without a word he got up from the bed and pointed at Quinton, who emitted a little squeak like a frightened mouse. 

“You’re up, Pledge Pascoe. Drop your drawers.”

Quinton’s hands were shaking as he finished undressing, but he hadn’t lost his erection. Jeff knelt in front of him and with one swift motion (probably to keep himself from dwelling on what he was doing) he engulfed his frat-brother’s cock. Quinton sucked in his breath. His eyes rolled back in his head, and I was afraid he was going to faint, but instead he gave a heartfelt groan and came immediately. Talk about your hair-trigger! I hope that, in his normal consciousness, he’s learned to exercise a bit better control; otherwise his sex-life is going to be pretty sad! 

Jeff, who’d been given no warning, was coughing, choking and spitting. When he’d finally recovered enough to speak, he only said, in a disgusted tone, “Dude!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!” Quinton wailed, blushing almost purple.

I tossed Jeff a towel. “Clean yourself up, Pledge Brume.” Then I turned to Quinton and Tyler. “Pledges, you know what has to happen next. Go to it.” Quinton went instantly from almost purple to white as a sheet, and I actually felt a little guilty. Luck of the draw had landed him with the job of sucking off big bad Tyler, intimidating and, if the fit of his denim wasn’t lying, dauntingly well-hung. 

But I’d underestimated Tyler. After he’d undressed (and his dick was pretty scary), instead of manhandling and dominating Quinton, he was exceedingly kind. He put his arm around Quinton’s shoulders and gave the young man (who was shaking like a leaf at this point) a gentle, brotherly squeeze. “We have to do this, but don’t worry. We’ll take it slow. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.” After Quinton finally stopped trembling, Tyler’s strong hands on his shoulders encouraged him to kneel. Tyler stroked his own cock to make it fully hard and then presented his huge erection to Quinton, saying, “Don’t try to take it all.” (As if anyone could!) “Just take the head in your mouth. Use your lips and tongue to protect me from your teeth as best you can. I’ll do the rest.” Quinton stared at that monster like a deer caught in headlights and followed Tyler’s instructions as obediently as if they’d come from me, the hypnotist. Tyler then commenced what has to be the most controlled fuck anyone ever executed. His big hands held Quinton’s head, but they only stroked his friend’s hair and supplied encouraging support; he never pulled or pushed the boy into taking him in farther than he was comfortable with. And Tyler’s magnificent ass pumped, but only an inch or two at most. Quinton, for his part, as he realized that he wasn’t going to be choked or have his jaw dislocated, started to show a little more enthusiasm for the task. It took quite a bit longer than a typical blowjob, but at last Tyler eased his dick out of Quinton’s mouth, gave it a couple more strokes and came in his own hand. To my astonishment, he then licked his cum from his palm, knelt, and kissed Quinton on the cheek. “Thanks, Bro,” he whispered.

Well, there was no longer any question in my mind as to which of the frat-boys would be swinging on my dick! I quickly pulled everyone’s trance triggers, reducing the hypnotized young men once more to totally controlled immobility. I posed and then again froze Jeff and Quinton. They were going to be useful as visual inspiration, but otherwise non-essential. Tyler, I then returned to the scenario at just the point I’d taken him out of it. 

“Pledge Andrews, you have shown yourself to be the kind of man we look for in the noble brotherhood of __ __ __. As your reward you have earned the privilege of sucking a real man’s cock, a __ __ __ cock, the cock of your pledge master. Now claim your prize.”

Whether it was the hypnosis, or whether Tyler (as a freshman) had simply already been wise enough not to underplay the moment, he approached me with the respectful solemnity appropriate to an acolyte in a ritual. I’m sure the actual pledge master would have been most favorably impressed. He sank to his knees, his hypnotized gaze never leaving mine, and then turned his attention to undoing my trousers and freeing my cock (which, as you might expect after all of this visual stimulation, was absolutely ready for him).

I don’t know that I can really describe accurately the blowjob that followed. It was extremely enjoyable, but also extremely odd. I still couldn’t really get a definite read on Tyler’s sexual viewpoint. His technique was excellent, but that was exactly what it was: technique; and I couldn’t even tell whether it was practiced technique or merely very well-thought-out. I also got no sense of either passion or distaste in his performance. I suppose that the ambiguity could have been a result of his hypnotic state, since, by that point, Tyler’s trance was amazingly deep and complete, but even after he brought me to an intense climax, he remained an enigma to me. Was he gay, bi and very experienced, straight but really accommodating and experimental, or even just so hypnotically vulnerable that his preference no longer mattered? I couldn’t decide.

I would definitely have to investigate him further, but it was getting late, and I needed to get them all back to campus. I unfroze Quinton and Jeff (okay, I allowed myself a little hands-on exploration first – sue me), got everybody cleaned up and back into their clothes, and did the necessary mind alteration to their perception and memories (not too hard, since they’d actually already experienced the kind of gay-based hazing in real life that I’d just recreated for them through hypnosis). We drove back to campus in silence (well, when you’re that hypnotized you don’t tend to say much of anything except to the hypnotist, and then only if you’re asked to, and I wasn’t engaging them in conversation. I walked them back to my office and then woke them all, each unshakably convinced that we’d just finished a terrific review and study session. The boys were sincere in their thanks as they left. As for myself, I had a hard time not giving in to a case of the giggles. You see, I’d been naughty; before waking them I’d given each of them a post-hypnotic suggestion to dream about the blowjob he’d just given. And it would be a wet dream (lol). 



My Friday office hours appointment (and the last of the hypno-boys yet to be seen, since I’d been able to bump Chris Collins up to the previous weekend) was with Michael Rogers. Mike is a cute, baby-faced science nerd, with short but fluffy brown hair and eyes (his best feature) of an arresting russet brown, the color of old, dark amber. His body is fit, but not particularly developed beyond being lean and trim (his bicycle is his preferred mode of transportation everywhere, and that burns off the fat and keeps his legs well-toned, but I doubt if he’s ever gone in for any particular sport). He’s also the only one of the current nine, other than my TA, that I knew before he enrolled in the class, because he too is a psychology major, so I’d been one of his curriculum advisors. And he hadn’t needed to make up a plausible excuse for seeing me in office hours in order to rationalize complying with his post-hypnotic compulsion, because there were already plenty of legitimate reasons for him to check in with me on a regular basis. For this particular meeting, he wanted to talk about his term project (in addition to the final exam in Psychology 101, there is a term paper for the course, and while the non-majors mostly do a simple library research paper, the psych majors, especially those who are more gung-ho, often turn it into a get-your-feet-wet mini-version of a thesis, with experimental research and scholarly writing). It would likely take up much of the actual office hour to deal with our legitimate business. Also, Michael, although he was a perfectly decent hypnotic subject, had not been one of the automatic somnambulists, so I knew I would be spending a bit more time in simply increasing his trance depth and responsiveness as well. Fortunately I was able to clear the rest of my Friday afternoon schedule, so we would have as much extra time as needed.

When Michael showed up a few minutes late because his previous class had gone over its time, and charmingly flustered and apologetic about it, I was once again captivated by just how sweet and unaffected he is. There’s a definite difference between really handsome (like Jeff Brume, for instance) and cute, that goes deeper than just harmony of facial features and well-developed muscles. There’s an almost unavoidable sense of self (even arrogance) in the truly beautiful that a merely good-looking kid like Mike simply doesn’t possess. I don’t think he has a clue as to just how appealing he really is!

Well, business first. I was intrigued and surprised to learn that his choice for a final paper/project was to involve hypnosis. He claimed that the class demo (even though he’d been under for the best part of it, as well as having had his memory blocked by me concerning what went on) had captured his imagination. (I suspected he’d already been fired up about the subject.) At any rate, he wanted to investigate the relative hypnotizability of students from different majors, sciences and liberal arts. I quickly explained that this far too large an undertaking. I suggested that instead he should choose fellow students from only one major, and test whether there was a correlation between their perception of themselves as introverts or extroverts and their ability to allow hypnosis to develop – a short questionnaire plus administering good old Stanford-Binet should do nicely. We spent the next half-hour going over the necessary university protocols and paperwork for involving human test subjects (with me trying not to laugh as I mouthed the required platitudes, knowing full well how my own hobby totally bypasses them).

With that squared away, Michael leaned forward, his body language telegraphing an instant increase in intensity and interest. “So, how do I learn to hypnotize people?”

“The quickest way would be for you to Sleep now, Michael.”

His eyes slammed shut, and he relaxed so immediately and thoroughly that, if I had to jump to catch him, or he would have fallen right out of the chair he was sitting in. I tilted him back into a more secure position in his seat. I hadn’t actually been lying to him. It’s really quite easy to learn how to hypnotize (being hypnotized is what takes some natural talent), and a hypnotic-learning course would do the trick quickly and neatly; I could even convince he’d known how all along (and I’d have to, since I didn’t plan on allowing him to remember this part of the meeting). And, as a series of suggestions to keep him going deeper into his trance, hypno-lessons would do as well as anything else. 

After another half-hour or so, I had instilled the basics of a number of hypnotic routines and techniques in Mike’s currently pliable mind along with a compulsion to practice them, and not coincidentally, in the process rendering him far, far more deeply entranced and under my control. However, we were now into the second hour of our meeting, so I opted for a less involved sexual encounter, pretty much the same one I used for Tom Morrison’s first session.

“Michael, you are deeply hypnotized and you will tell me the truth. You’re too hypnotized to be able to lie. What is your sexual orientation?”

“I like guys.” That was a little unexpected, since his low-key “vibe” is 100% straight college boy, but Mike showed no unease or diffidence in his statement. He must be very comfortable with his orientation to seem neither obvious nor defensive about it.

“Excellent. When I snap my fingers you’re going to take off your clothes and have a really satisfying jack-off session. You’ll be really horny, enjoying the best fantasy you’ve ever imagined. You can tell me about it while you masturbate.” I snapped my fingers and Michael kicked off his shoes and then stood and began to remove the rest of his clothing. He’d opened his eyes, but his stare was glassy, his attention turned completely inward. He was already deep in his fantasy world, as his hard cock revealed when it burst out of his opened fly. When Mike was naked I froze him in place for a moment just to admire the scenery. His chest and abs, although not ripped, were better-defined than I had expected. His ass and legs were excellent, of course, from all that bike-riding – all-in-all very pleasing.

I dropped my pants and got comfortable. Then I unfroze him to continue, reminding him that he should describe his fantasy as it progressed.

Mike’s eyes once again drifted shut. A soft sensual smile formed on his lips, and he began to stroke himself, gradually sinking back down onto the couch.

In a dreamy voice he began to speak. “I have this major crush on my roommate, Justin. He’s totally hot – blonde hair, wide, innocent blue eyes, the kind of mouth you want to kiss for days at a time. And he was a swimmer in high school, so of course his bod is smokin’. But he’s totally straight, so there’s no way I could get to him… until now. He’s agreed to be one of my experimental subjects, so now he’s sitting in a comfortable chair waiting for me to hypnotize him. God, he’s so gorgeous I don’t know if I can control myself long enough to get him under! I begin the induction and he’s going into trance just as easily as I hoped. Those beautiful blue eyes are getting all vague and fixed. ‘That’s right, Justin, just relaxing more and more… letting your thoughts go far away… your mind blank and quiet… no thoughts… nothing but my words… my voice… nothing else matters… nothing else is real… my voice becomes your thoughts… you can’t think except as I tell you to… your eyelids are so heavy now they just want to close… so-o-o very heavy… you can’t hold them open any longer… Close your eyes and sleep, Justin… deep sleep…. deeper and deeper, just like that.’ And he’s gone, eyes closed, head hanging, completely in my power!”

During this recital, Mike had been stroking harder and faster, his breath coming in gasps. And I have to say, so was I, and so was mine! Here was a kindred spirit indeed! Michael continued to “hypnotize” his roommate into mindless sexual compliance, imagining him stripping, engaging in all manner of foreplay, and finally helplessly allowing his hypnotist to fuck his beautiful mouth to climax. Michael and I both shot at pretty much the same time.

As soon as my brain oxygen returned to operating level, I cleaned Mike back up, and got both of us dressed, but my mind was working a mile a minute. “Michael,” I asked the still-entranced psych student, “What’s your roommate’s full name?’

“Justin Stoker… I don’t know his middle name, I never asked”

Hot damn, so it was that Justin! I don’t have him in my classes, but I know who he is, and Mike’s quite right; Justin Stoker is one of the most beautiful young men in the entire university – sort of a cross between the teenage Ethan Hawke and James Vanderbeek in the Dawson’s Creek era. Justin is in the same boy-band-but-not-really as Tom Morrison, which means that he too is a musician, and therefore, that he too is, most likely, extremely hypnotizable. Young Michael’s fantasy might actually be attainable, but probably not under his own steam, inexperienced as he is. However… Mike was already carrying a load of trance-administered hypnosis training together with that post-hyp I’d given him to practice what he’d learned. Maybe, he could get Justin sufficiently entranced to be able to bring him to me. I could then take over and finish the job. Mikey would get his dream boy, and I’d get the show of a lifetime.

“Michael, this is what you will do…” I coached him carefully on the neuro-linguistic skills most likely to give him the edge in persuading Justin (without him even realizing he was being manipulated) to allow himself to be hypnotized “for Mike’s Psych 101 project”. I reinforced his compulsion to try, but gave him a new post-hypnotic suggestion that, if successful in hypnotizing his handsome roommate, he would not attempt anything sexual, but instead would bring the boy to me for help in getting him to go deeper. (Of course, I was still going to modify Michael’s memory before allowing him to leave this room, so he wouldn’t realize that I knew why he wanted his roomie to go deeper. Everything would still seem to be under the cover of his class work.)

By the time Mike walked out the door of my office, completely convinced that we’d done nothing but academic work, he was as prepared and programmed as I could possibly make him, and I was cautiously optimistic that my hypno-stable was going to acquire another new thoroughbred!


Justin and Michael

Sunday morning two days later, I was sitting at home drinking my coffee and reading the news when my phone rang. I send my office phone to my cell when I’m not there (I can still ignore whomever I wish to). To my surprise, it was Michael’s number. Could he possibly have worked that fast? I hit ‘talk’.

“Dr. Turner? This is Michael Rogers. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Of course he would have been disturbing me (or any other faculty member) calling on a Sunday unrequested, but thanks to the post-hypnotic suggestions I’d lodged in his mind, he hadn’t hesitated to call anyway. “I know it’s Sunday and short notice, but I wonder if I could meet with you today some time. I’ve been working on my project, and my roommate Justin has been helping me out by letting me hypnotize him. I think he’s a good subject, but I still can’t seem to get him to go into as deep a trance as I’d like. Could you give me some pointers?”

That certainly changed the complexion of my day! “Michael, I’m not going to be on campus today, but the two of you could come by my house this afternoon. If your roommate is agreeable, you could hypnotize him here while I observe, and then I could trouble-shoot your method and help you with techniques of trance-deepening. Is that a possibility for you both… say two o’clock?” I could hear muffled conversation at his end as Mike consulted with Justin (or, and my dick twitched at the thought, maybe he was just ordering him to do it).

“Two o’clock would be great, sir. Where do you live?”

I gave him the address and we ended the call. 

At precisely two o’clock (it’s wonderful how post-hypnotic compulsions tend to keep subjects punctual) the two young men arrived at my door. Michael was adorable in his almost puppyish excitement as he thanked me effusively for agreeing to see them. Justin was even more incredible-looking than I’d recalled, wearing a blue chambray shirt that made his blue eyes seem almost incandescent and jeans so tight and flattering as to be almost pornographic. He was much quieter than Michael (even seeming a little spaced out – I wondered whether he might still be partially under hypnosis), but as Mike introduced him to me, he responded in a friendly enough way.

“So, Michael, why don’t you show me what the two of you have accomplished so far? Then I can give you feedback where I see room for improvement.”

“All right, Dr. Turner. Justin, sit down and get comfortable. As soon as you’re ready, I want you to look into my eyes.”

I would have cautioned him against that approach, at least with a straight boy, as it tends to make them self-conscious and uneasy, but apparently it didn’t bother Justin (or else he was already conditioned to it). As soon as he’d complied with the instructions and his eyes were locked with Mike’s, the young hypnotist said, “Good, Justin… deep breath in… and exhale… one, two, three deep trance now.” Justin went limp instantly, obviously (to my experienced eye) profoundly hypnotized. He appeared to be as good a subject as his band-mate Tom. Michael continued his demonstration with a few of the classic tests, all of which Justin passed with flying colors.

“Well, Michael,” I said after he paused, looking at me expectantly, “You installed a re-induction cue phrase, so I haven’t actually seem your induction process to comment on it, but Justin certainly seems to be fully under hypnosis. What isn’t satisfying you about his response?”

“Nothing, really, sir, But I think he’s capable of going much deeper, and I’d like to be able to get him there.” His eyes were bright and avid. “Please show me how to do it!”

Sleep now, Michael.” This time I was ready to catch Mike as he slumped forward once again completely in my control, and I easily levered him back into his chair. I persuaded the now totally cooperative young hypnotist to give me control of his entranced subject, and after he had done so, and I had installed my own re-hypnosis cue fro Justin, I proceeded with some hard-core, serious trance deepening for them both. I needed Justin to go as deep as I could possibly get him if there were to be any chance of succeeding in my (and Michael’s) agenda, and it wouldn’t hurt Mike to go along for the ride.

After nearly an hour of frankly hard work they were both as mind-controlled as my extensive repertoire of skills could make them. And I’d been right about Justin. He was one of the best hypnotic subjects I’ve ever worked with. He responded to suggestion the way a fine Italian sports car responds to the control of an expert driver: instantly and perfectly. If any straight boy could be leveraged into the gay world by means of hypnosis, it was this one. I sent Michael to sleep with the instruction to hear nothing until I touched his shoulder, and not to wake up until I told him to. Once he was sidelined, I could begin the process of hypno-seducing his roommate.

“Justin, are you a virgin?” He was so hypnotized I didn’t even have to caution him against lying; his mind couldn’t have managed the complexity to lie.

“No.” Such a quiet, meek, helpless little voice!

“Tell me how you lost your virginity.”

Justin launched into his recitation as though he were being tested on the U. S. constitution, or his catechism – no emotion at all. “It was at my girlfriend Katie’s sixteenth birthday party. I was seventeen. For weeks I’d been trying really hard to get her to have sex with me, but she kept putting me off: ‘she wasn’t ready’, ‘there wasn’t enough time’, ‘the place was wrong’. I was pretty frustrated, but then, at the party, she whispered that this was it. I must have looked stunned, but she just grinned and pulled me into a side room. She told me to wait five minutes and then sneak away and join her in the summerhouse. Longest five minutes of my life. And her cousin Joel insisted on starting up a conversation with me so I almost couldn’t get away, but I managed to duck him by saying I needed to use the restroom. I got to the summerhouse and Katie was waiting, looking amazing in her party dress. We started to kiss and pretty soon we were both losing clothes as fast as we could. It all went too fast ’cause we were both so excited and nervous, but it was still awesome. Afterwards all I could think about was doing it again, but Katie put her clothes back on right away, straightened up her hair, and went back to the party. I guess she didn’t want anyone to have a reason to think too much about where she’d been or for how long.”

“Very good. And have you ever done anything sexual with another boy? Or thought about it?”

There was no hesitation. “When I was thirteen at summer camp, my cabin had circle-jerks off and on most of the summer. I think our cabin counselor was gay; he started the idea. We talked about girls while we were doin’ it, of course, but every one of us was checkin’ out the others. We all wanted know who had what, and how we measured up.”

“Did any of the other boys appeal to you? Did you ever get excited by them?”

Now Justin looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Not really… Jeremy Logan had the biggest dick… and he was almost as pretty as a girl… sometimes I… I wondered…” He stalled out in the sentence. 

I relaxed him even further to defuse his discomfort, but I knew even this little touch of bisexuality was enough to build on. “You must be honest with yourself, Justin. Of course you wondered. You wondered what it would feel like to play with Jeremy’s big dick instead of your own, what it would feel like if Jeremy or one of the other guys were stroking you off instead of just your own hand. Jeremy and those other boys turned you on. They got you totally hot. It was a really important part of that experience. Even now, when you touch yourself, you think about them and about other guys just as much as you think about girls. This is true. You will admit it to me and to yourself: guys turn you on. Say it.”

“Guys turn me on.” There was no discernable uncertainty; it might even have been true before my hypnotic meddling. So far, so good.

“Now that you understand that and admit it, you must realize that the other story you just told me wasn’t quite the truth.”

“It… it wasn’t the truth?” Justin sounded, in a vague, sleepy way, confused.

“No, it wasn’t the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth,” he repeated, accepting the suggestion.

“As soon as I tell you, you’ll remember it perfectly. What really happened was this. You were all ready to have sex with Katie at last, but when you got out to the summerhouse, started kissing each other, and got all hot and bothered, she developed cold feet and refused to go through with it. You were really ticked off said some things you probably shouldn’t have, and she left in a huff. But you were still hard and horny, too hard to go back to the party until your cock calmed down a little. While you were waiting to become presentable again, Katie’s cousin Joel came into the summerhouse. Apparently he’d followed you and heard everything. He looked a lot like Katie, only a guy, and you know you like guys too. And you were so mad at Katie and still so horny that, when Joel called her a ‘champion cock-teaser’ and offered to ‘help you out’, you let him. He took out your cock and gave you a blowjob that totally rocked your world. As you said, even though it was over too fast, it was totally awesome, and afterwards you could only think about doing it again. Joel just winked and made a date to meet you later that night after the party was over. And that was when you sucked his cock, and fucked your first ass. You’ve loved sex with other guys ever since. You remember this now. You remember it all. Don’t you? Of course you do!”


Between the confusion, the many layers of deep hypnosis cocooning his awareness, and his own natural susceptibility, the boy sounded so mentally foggy, I suspect he couldn’t really process what he was agreeing with. But by agreeing with it, he cemented the suggestion indelibly into his psyche. He would now truly believe my false memory construct. The hard work was over. It took me only a few moments to turn young Justin on to his roommate (after all, as I’ve already mentioned, Mike is very appealing) and to instill a hypno-fetish complementary to his roommate’s in his vanquished mind. From now on Justin would be just as erotically charged up by the idea of being hypnotized for sex as Michael was for hypnotizing him.

I recaptured Mike’s attention and then said, “Michael, Justin, in a moment I’ll snap my fingers and you’ll be wide awake, back in your full normal consciousness. You will not remember anything that happened since you went into hypnosis this afternoon. You will not remember that you were hypnotized at all, although you will continue to believe and obey all instructions you’ve received. You will have no awareness of my presence until I speak your personal trance trigger, at which time you will once again go into deep, deep trance and follow my instructions absolutely. Michael, you will know that Justin can now be hypnotized deeply enough for you to make him your lover, and you will do so right here immediately. Justin, you will always allow Mike to hypnotize you. You will go as deeply into trance for him as you possibly can, and obey his commands without question.” I settled myself for the show and then snapped my fingers. 

Both boys’ eyes snapped open, their faces wearing identical slightly bemused expressions, the look of guys returning from a pleasant day-dream. Then Michael grinned a frankly evil and sexy grin. “Hey, Justin,” he crooned, “Deep trance now.” The handsome blond boy instantly went limp again, as helpless as a marionette whose strings have been cut. Mike continued, “It’s really hot in here. You need to get cooler and so do I. Go ahead and strip to your shorts. I will too. We’re roommates, so it’s okay that we’re in our underwear.”

At the very first suggestion of heat, Justin had begun to look uncomfortable, and by the time Michael finished, he was already beginning to shed clothing. In short order both boys were down to boxers (Justin) and briefs (Mike). The young hypnotist’s fly was already greatly tented, while his subject, thanks to his recently installed hypno-fetish, wasn’t far behind. 

I, who had done this particular dance so many times before with other reluctant, yet deep in their psyches interested, straight (so they thought) boys, found it odd, almost surreal to sit and observe someone else doing the steps. But it was still absolutely hot. I freed my own erection and enjoyed myself as my protégé hypno-seduced his roommate.

  As Michael neatly persuaded Justin out of his boxers (he made the boy believe he was in a sauna), initiated physical contact (Justin was getting a massage), and gradually increased the erotic nature of everything, until the two young men were passionately making love (even if Justin didn’t exactly understand who his partner was, since Mike had focused him exclusively on the sensations, basically rendering him incapable of thinking about who was providing them), it was ever more clear to me that the young hypnotist had thought about this. A lot. Obviously his fascination with hypnotism, as well as its sexual slant, had been well-developed long before I entered the picture. As much as I was enjoying the whole production, the scientific part of my mind couldn’t help but be impressed by the freshman’s grasp of the psychological elements. Even as the scene played out much like Michael’s own hypnotized fantasy, he was carefully avoiding any elements that wouldn’t have focused on Justin’s pleasure, thus baiting and setting the hook that would lead to many more (and increasingly successful) hypnotic seductions of his roommate in the future. When the two boys reached orgasm, it was Michael who was deep-throating Justin’s cock. My protégé’s orgasm was the result of his own excitement and simple rubbing against Justin at the same time. 

My own orgasm actually followed just a bit later. As Michael reinforced his hypnotic program on his roommate and wiped Justin’s memory, the sight of the handsome, helpless blonde’s frozen, mindless stare took me over the edge. His eyes were just so fucking beautiful!

I waited until Mike got Justin and himself back into their clothing and finished his mind-cleanup. Then I triggered their trance response again and did my own house-keeping. Justin, so gorgeous and hypnotizable, was definitely in the queue for some one-on-one time with me. And cute, sweet, devious young Michael could prove very useful indeed. Having a well-programmed sous-hypnotist was something I had yet to try, and it struck me as quite promising. I couldn’t wait to see who else he might bring under his (and so my) hypno-control. Certainly our taste in male beauty was very similar. 

I finished up and then returned them to normal consciousness, none the wiser for the mental tampering that had taken place. Michael thanked me for my help (not knowing that I should have been thanking him instead) and then ushered/led his roommate out (Justin was processing so much subconsciously that he scarcely had enough mental power left over to walk on his own). 


All in all, it was shaping up to be a very successful semester. I had each of my new hypno-toys up and running, their potential sexual use engineered to continue and develop in a most satisfying way. I’m sure that, as the semester comes to a close, I will be ‘retiring’ them with, as is always the case, genuine regret. Of course, no boy who has fallen under my power is ever completely free. I always leave the means of re-enslaving them at any time still planted in their helpless minds. But as long as there are new sections of Psychology 101, and new classes full of hot young men just waiting to be conquered, I will continue to take advantage of the bounty.