Disclaimer: This is fiction. If you can't tell the difference between that and reality, go away and get help. If the topics (male/male sex and mind control) bother you, what are you doing at this site? Leave! All characters (and the author) are over eighteen. If you are not, you do not have permission to continue reading. If your community is so repressive that freedom of speech and thought are no longer observed there, I'm deeply sorry for you, but you must leave this site (and consider what you can do politically to overthrow your local fascists). And finally, if you like this story, please write and post one of your own on similar topics. I like to read too!

This one's for Kattt; it's a little darker than my usual.

I. The Class

Subliminal suggestion is a wonderful thing! You can booby-trap the most innocent-seeming videos or tapes with enough triggers and programming to subdue even the most resistant will. Of course, I'm not talking about the Mickey Mouse bullshit they were fiddling around with in the sixties, trying to get movie-goers to drink more Coke (although that's where it all started). I'm talking about sophisticated techniques developed by the military and the CIA within the last five years or so, and I should know. I'm the one who developed them. Not that anyone in the military or the CIA would agree, but let's just say that I covered my tracks well; after all, generals and government agents can be suggestible too. So now I'm the only one I have allowed to remember how these techniques are implemented (or that they even exist).

You can think of me as Dr. Smith, although that's not my real name, of course. I'm currently a professor of psychology at a well-known college (never mind which one), the youngest ever hired there. I was a science whiz kid, and the CIA snapped me up when I was still a teenager, and so when I left them for academia and my personal freedom a few years later, I was still in my twenties. Now, I have access to all the cutest little studs on the campus, while I still have the energy to enjoy them. My course on introductory psychology has become one of the most popular in the university. Since everyone who takes it swears (because of the subliminal conditioning) that it is really interesting and not too demanding, the jocks and party boys sign up for it in droves.

This semester's class was no exception. As I looked them over the first day, there were more than a dozen boys (out of fifty or so students) whose fresh-faced, clean-cut good looks and hard young bodies made them ideal candidates for hypnotic seduction. As always, during the first class period I showed them a short video outlining the course format and requirements, as well as a brief overview of modern psychological thought. This is the video that contains all of my general programming. By the end of the film, every student in the room is convinced that this class will be wonderful, and should never be missed, and that Dr. "Smith" is totally cool (this sometimes even leads to crushes on the part of girls or gay guys, although that's easy enough to control). They are also specifically programmed to want to volunteer for any experiments I propose, to be completely cooperative, especially for the purposes of hypnosis, and to be extremely susceptible and responsive to hypnotic inductions by myself, or anyone else I should happen to designate.

After the video ended, I brought the lights back up and took quick stock of the class. As usual, about thirty per cent of them already showed the abstracted, slightly blank look that told me they had responded particularly well to the subliminal conditioning, and were ready for the next step. The rest were also affected, but just not as deeply or thoroughly; they would require another follow-up video. Among the prime thirty per cent were two of the young men I had especially wanted to capture. One was a slim, dark-haired preppy in khakis and an open-collared blue shirt. He had incredible bright blue eyes and eyelashes that went on forever, a beautiful kid. I had to check my roll chart to remember his name: Paul Pendergast. The other was a real stroke of luck. I already knew his name. So did just about everyone else on campus. He was Bobby Montgomery, the freshman sports phenom, recruited at great expense, and the pride of the university baseball team. His perfect body was decked out in a maroon t-shirt like a second skin, and western-style blue jeans tight enough to leave no doubts that his legs and ass were as perfect as a sculpture. Add to this an open, boyish, outrageously handsome face (rather like the actor Josh Duhamel, who plays Leo on All My Children), and a head of romantic, wavy, blond-brown hair, and it's no wonder that I (and most of the coeds) had a major case of the hots for him.

I took care of basic class business, outlining the reading assignment for the next meeting, and then announced, "I will be conducting an experiment this weekend concerning the hypnotic enhancement of visual recall (yeah, right), and I'm looking for a couple of volunteer test subjects. There will be a small stipend. Any of you who are interested, please raise your hands." Most of the class had hands in the air. The thirty-per-centers had all raised theirs as quickly as a reflex jerk. I pretended to consult my roll chart again, as though deciding whom to accept. Then I said, "Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Pendergast. If you will please remain at the end of class, I'll give you the information. As for the rest, thank you, and I'm sure that I'll be working with some of you on other projects later." After that I dismissed the class. They exited with the usual noise and disorder, and I was left alone with Paul and Bobby.

"Gentlemen, I shall expect you here on Saturday morning at 9:00, unless that poses a problem." I knew that the baseball team wouldn't be training yet. However both young men looked very disappointed.

Paul said, a little hesitantly, "I… uh… we both are pledging _ _ _, and there's a pledge meeting on Saturday at 11:00 we are required to attend. I hope that doesn't disqualify us."

The fraternity he mentioned was the best on campus; all the most popular, the handsomest, the richest guys were members if they belonged to a frat at all. This immediately set some wheels in motion in my Machiavellian mind. "We should be finished with the first part of the experiment by then, but just to allow for the unforeseen, why don't you come here at 8:00 instead. That should give us an ample margin for error." They nodded their agreement with relieved smiles.

"Now, before you leave here today, I want to give you some suggestibility tests. As I mentioned, the experiment will involve the use of hypnosis, so I need to make sure you are sufficiently hypnotizable that we are not all wasting our time. Will that be all right?"

"Sure, Dr. Smith," said Bobby. "What do you want us to do?"

"Both of you stand up straight, arms at your sides, and close your eyes. I want you to relax and just concentrate on the suggestions I'll give you. Use your imagination to make them seem as real to you as possible." I then proceeded to conduct a standard postural sway test. The boys were soon rocking back and forth like saplings in a windstorm. They were definitely well and truly programmed. "That will be just fine, gentlemen. You may open your eyes now, and I'll see you Saturday."� They left the room looking somewhat disoriented. I suspect that, even though I hadn't really tried to hypnotize them, they had both spontaneously gone into light trances, just because their suggestibility was now so thoroughly heightened.


II. Paul and Bobby

Saturday morning arrived, and with it, to no surprise of mine, my two subject/victims. Paul was as spic and span as ever, in spite of the early hour. He was wearing a cream-colored button-down oxford with his khakis, and looked adorable. Bobby was in his trademark tight jeans and another spray-on t-shirt, this time light blue. It was one of those body contoured ones that ends right at the waist instead of tucking into the pants. He looked totally fuckable. I made them fill out some official-looking paperwork, and then took them to the inner lab room behind my office. The door locks, and, although one doesn't tend to notice it specifically, it has no windows. I can do anything in there, and no one is the wiser. I seated them before two of the video monitors.

"Bobby, Paul," I said to them, "I'm going to show you a short video. After you have watched it through, I want you to make a list of every object you remember seeing in it. Then I will hypnotize you, after which you will watch another, similar video and again record your recollections of its contents. I will then be able to analyze the extent and quality of the improvement, if any, in your visual recall. Now here is the first video." I flipped the switch and it began. The film lasts about five minutes and is basically just a series of rapid, random images, but, like all my videos, it has an ulterior purpose. Along with the pictures come another set of subliminal commands that further reinforce the subject's hypnotic susceptibility and my control of him. By the time he has finished watching it, he will be capable of being placed in a trance so deep that his entire personality structure can be altered to my specifications. I could make him an assassin, or, as I planned for these two, a helpless sex toy.

When the film ended, both young men busily began writing their lists of recalled items, and after a couple of minutes both had finished. I took their lists and glanced over them. The subliminal program had included an embedded command to add one item to the list without noticing it, and, sure enough, both lists had, among the real articles, the phrase "a hypnotized boy". I had them! It was time to move on to the hypno-programming.

I instructed them to move from the video monitors to two computer stations. I had several basic hypnosis programs in my files, and was able to add subliminal reinforcement to them to accommodate any agenda. Each boy had a pair of headphones and a personalized induction. I typed in the proper codes on my terminal, and instantly Paul and Bobby were confronted by beautiful whirling spiral patterns on their screens (loaded with the most powerful subliminal cues), while through the ear pieces they were bathed in a continuous litany of my voice relaxing them, commanding them to look at nothing but the spiral, to think of nothing but my suggestions as I ushered them into deep, deep trance. Within minutes they were staring blank-faced at the screens, motionless except for their quiet, regular breathing, floating without resistance on a one-way trip to permanent, inescapable servitude. Never again would either boy have so much as a thought that I didn't permit him to have. Their wills were being eradicated forever.

I had a little time on my hands now until the inductions were complete (at the end of the program was a command for the subject to raise his hand as an indication that he was enslaved), so while I watched idly as flashes of color from the fascinating spiral displays were reflected in the young men's glassy eyes, I planned another little video project. Bobby and Paul were going to be very popular pledges at their fraternity. They were going to be the pipeline to some great porn flicks for the frat parties. And the fine old brotherhood of _ _ _ would have some stag nights to remember (although, of course, they wouldn't be able to).

Finally, first Paul and then Bobby slowly raised a hand. Paul, sitting up in a normal position, looked as though he merely wanted to ask a question, although his empty, fixed eyes showed that he would never question anything again. Bobby had slumped in his chair so that it seemed as though he were hanging from some invisible restraint around his wrist. His short t-shirt had ridden up exposing a glimpse of his tanned midriff and the top of his Hilfiger shorts. He too continued to stare unblinking at the center of his spiral.

I decided to work on Paul first. I gently removed his earphones and instructed him to stand and undress. He complied with a mechanical precision, carefully straightening and folding each article of clothing after he removed it. God, he was cute! I like slim young men, and Paul had my favorite body type. He was well muscled, but streamlined rather than bulky, with the sort of development produced by upper-class sports like tennis and riding. His tan was honey-smooth with a really sexy tan-line highlighting his perfect pale ass. In spite of his rich head of black hair, the rest of his body was very nearly hairless except for the bush around his uncut cock (which was handsome, although unspectacular). I placed my hand on the soft, warm skin of the back of his neck and said, "Close your eyes and sleep deeply. You will stand here without moving, concentrating on going deeper into trance. You can't hear anything until I touch you again." His long-lashed eyelids swept shut, his head fell forward to rest chin on naked chest, and he stood motionless as a statue of a sleeping Adonis.

Then I removed Bobby's headphones and ordered him to strip. He was much more casual about his clothes, and for some reason he started at the bottom instead of the top: first the shoes and socks, then his jeans and underwear. He looked so cute with his hard bubble butt sticking out below the short t-shirt that I told him to leave the t on for the time being. (Besides, the shirt was so tight, I felt like I could see everything about his chest anyway.) Bobby apparently had somewhere he could sunbathe in the nude, because every visible inch was thoroughly tan. His cock was circumcised, but even with that small part missing, the boy had plenty of meat; at least eight inches. His body, too, was extremely to my taste. Although he was obviously a trained athlete, with an athlete's developed muscles, still, baseball doesn't bulk a boy up the way football or weightlifting, for example, would tend to do. I led him back over to the video monitors, and then went to reclaim Paul from his slumber.

When I had both young men once again seated before the video screens, I said, "I'm going to show you one more video today. It's a porn video, and you are going to find it the sexiest thing you've ever seen. Whatever you thought was sexy before now will instantly vanish from your thoughts, and you'll never again be turned on by it. The only thing that will get you hot or hard from now on will be the ideas and images you will see here. You will watch it with all your attention, because you won't be able to bear missing a second of it, and it will make you feel so horny that you will have to masturbate. You won't be able to stop until you've made yourself cum, and you won't cum until the movie is over. Repeat those instructions." Like some weird stereo, the two entranced boys recited their orders, virtually word for word the same. This is one of the things I love about subliminally augmented hypnosis. It's so much more effective than hypnotism alone, and it eliminates (or at least minimizes) subjects' personality differences.

When they had finished their response, I started the video. It is, of course, another custom made tape, with yet more encoded subliminals. The plot concerns young men being hypnotized and then serving their masters sexually with total mindless obedience (and apparently great pleasure). The marines who made the film have no memory of doing so. They were among my first successful experimental subjects back when I was still involved with the military. They were all really good subjects, and all really hot. (They are all still subject to compulsive sexual service. All it takes is a phone call.)

Bobby and Paul watched the steamy action with rapt attention, jerking away like mad on their now rampant, dribbling cocks. Their handsome, innocent faces were still devoid of expression, but their bodies were writhing with passion, and their breath came in labored, lustful gasps. With his free hand, Paul was alternating between pulling on his ball sac and roughing up his nipples, while Bobby had his left hand buried under his balls as he tickled his own asshole while he stroked. The moment the screens went dark, the boys exploded like geysers, jets of cum going all over both of them. I froze Bobby in place, telling him to think about exactly which part of the film he liked best, and then commanded Paul to clean the cum off of the young ball-player with his tongue. It was a measure of how successful the whole process had been that this recently straight young guy not only didn't hesitate to eat his classmate's cum, but his previously softening prick surged back to full erection while he was doing it. I then reversed the orders, and Paul sat like a statue while Bobby got his first taste of boy-cream. He too seemed to enjoy it a lot.

After both of my young sex slaves were nice and clean, I ordered them to get dressed, and began the first of what would be many debriefings. (Oh, you thought I was going to have sex with them? Well, of course I was, but not on this first day. They needed a little time to assimilate everything that had just been done to their psyches.) I asked each boy which part of the video he had identified with most strongly, and was mildly surprised by the answers. Somehow, we always seem to associate smaller stature with submissiveness, but it was Bobby who imagined himself in the place of the sweet-faced young recruit who was hypnotized into mindless obedience. Paul wanted to be the sergeant who cast the hypnotic spell! I told Paul to read up on hypnotism. I would train him to hunt out new subjects for me, and he could practice on Bobby (who, thanks to my command, would be most agreeable to the idea). I then removed all conscious knowledge of what had gone on permanently from their impressionable minds. They would be unshakably convinced that (a) the psychology experiment in which they had taken part, had been exactly what I had said it would be, and (b) their new personalities and sexual preferences were, in fact, not new at all, but rather the same as they had always been. I implanted verbal cues (Svengali-boy for Paul, and Trilby-boy for Bobby) that would send them instantly back into a programmable state (although such was their obedience that this may not have been strictly necessary). Finally, I instructed them to find a way to bring up the subject of secret celebrity pornographic movies (which they could obtain) in the hearing of the fraternity brothers. I was sure that the temptation of the possibility of seeing a media sex-goddess doing herself (and, thanks to my hypno-connections, I actually had something of that sort available) would be more than adequate bait to set them all up for my subliminal Trojan horse. Then I sent them on their way to the pledge meeting with instructions to check in with me by phone to report developments and to receive conditioning reinforcement. They would return to normal consciousness as they left the room.

The next few weeks just flew by. I spent a lot of time programming and enjoying my two new slaves. The fraternity had been most intrigued by the boys' hints, and so all my plan really waited upon was Paul's mastering of basic hypnotic technique. (Basic would be good enough, since the film would do the rest by itself, but it had to be Paul doing the induction, because I would have no excuse for being there until after the brotherhood was already under.) As it turned out, the instruction was able to proceed rapidly. Paul was a natural at hypnotism. First of all, he was a southern boy, and even though his drawl wasn't strong, his voice still had that honey-coated laziness that was automatically soothing. Secondly, his amazing blue eyes were an almost irresistible focus point. Very few guys, straight or gay, would look anywhere else if he were talking to them. And finally, of course, my control of him guaranteed that he would remember and follow my directions perfectly. At first he practiced only on Bobby. I particularly enjoyed having Paul place the young jock into a deep sleep and then commanding him to engage in sexual activities with me. Soon, this was too easy to be of any use (except for fun), because conditioning had rendered Bobby so susceptible that, once I gave my permission, anything would send him into a trance, so I made Paul find other subjects on campus from among his friends. He became quite popular at impromptu parties as an entertainer, and developed a good deal of skill. I knew we were ready for my real plan when he returned from a weekend visit home with grainy videotape of his younger brother and his brother's best friend (both straight, cute-as-a-button eighteen-year-old high school seniors) falling under his spell, and then, after an exhaustive battery of deepening exercises and tests, stripping and taking turns sucking Paul's cock. As a finale, they obediently sixty-nined each other to orgasm, their handsome, totally blank young faces making it clear that they had no idea what they were doing or why; and all this even without the subliminal process. The boy was very good!

The tape (and the plan) I prepared for the studs of _ _ _ was a masterpiece, if I do say it myself. They first part of the video they would see was indeed a hot, nasty film involving a gorgeous and extremely well known actress (never you mind who!) in a variety of explicit, extremely kinky scenes. It was absolutely certain to rivet the attention of any red-blooded heterosexual male (as well as the attention of any gay male trying to pass as straight for the purpose of fraternal acceptance). It was, of course loaded with continuous embedded subliminal commands. Many of them were the same ones I used on my slaves (like Bobby and Paul) to ensure total hypnotic susceptibility and compliance, but, in addition to these, I had added a specific order to allow Paul to hypnotize any viewer without the need to provide an excuse or justification. When, at the end of the pornographic portion of the film, the screen dissolved into one of my whirling spirals, the whole brotherhood would have no choice but to continue to stare at it as the pledge erased their consciousness and enslaved them. I could then step in and make of them whatever I wished, simply by controlling Paul. As I said, it's brilliant!


III. The Frat Boys

The night of the _ _ _ stag party, the word on the film had gotten to all the brothers. Not one single active member was willing to pass up the chance of seeing the fabulous Miss ________ strut her stuff for real, so we had a full house. (I say "we", because I had made sure that Paul and Bobby had concealed a remote-controlled digital video camera in the shelves above the wide-screen TV. It could record the entire living room, and would make a complete record of everything those frat boys did or said. I was watching the live feed from a van parked near by. I still own a lot of that CIA surveillance shit.) The room quickly filled with handsome, confident, boisterous young men. I could tell by their heightened color and extra-loud speech that they were all very excited, although some of the cooler ones were trying to hide it. (Some of the less cool ones even had the premature beginnings of erections tenting their trousers, although they were certainly trying to hide that!) Among the twenty or so brothers and pledges who were assembled, I recognized several: Daniel Sanders from the drama department, a dead ringer for Michael Wetherly, fresh from the starring role in the campus production of Carousel; Chris Keeper, an intense, dark-haired junior, star of the diving team, who had just missed out on the last Olympics and was expected to be a major star in the next; Carter and Jason Forbes, richer-than-God identical twin heirs to a brewing fortune (which was appropriate in a way, since, aside from their auburn hair and sea-green eyes, they looked an awful lot like the Brewer twins); a short, blond kid whose name I didn't know, but whom I had seen playing jazz in clubs around town (and who exuded such constant, outrageous sexuality, that when he played, it almost seemed as though he were making love to his trumpet); and two of Bobby's baseball teammates, Jeff Miller, the power-hitter first baseman and team captain (just think of porn star Kurt Young in a baseball suit), and Matt Mendoza, short-stop, quick as a snake, holder of the university league record for stolen bases (and with flawless olive skin, passionate dark eyes, sensuous lips, and a body that gave new meaning to the phrase "ai carrumba!", holder of the university record for stolen hearts as well). The rest of the crew had yet to make their mark to the extent that I would know of them by sight, although at least half of them were more than pretty enough to be worth adding to my stable. The remainder, probably there because they had money, or as legacies, could be removed from the sample easily enough once they were all entranced.

After a blessedly short version of the usual ritualistic bull that precedes any fraternity function, they settled down and Paul started the tape. The brothers greeted the steamy opening scene with the usual raunchy banter of an all-male crew sharing a heterosexual experience, but as the subliminals began to kick in they became quieter and quieter, staring concentratedly at the screen and ignoring each other. By the third scene (with Miss ________ doing her chauffeur and his girlfriend at the same time), the attack on their inhibitions had proceeded far enough that most of them were openly groping themselves, and several were developing damp stains at the crotches of their trousers. Bobby, of course, was so profoundly affected that he might have been stuffed and mounted except for his quiet breathing. The only boy who showed no signs of influence was Paul. I had worked on him for several hours at various times during the preceding week to ensure that this one time he did not lose control of his faculties (and to program him with an irresistible compulsion to hypnotize the lot of them according to my specifications as soon as the film ended).

After the final sex scene, the video screen clicked over to the hypnotic spiral pattern. Without missing a beat, Paul said in his intimate, seductive voice, "Keep on watching. Don't look away even for a moment. Just keep on watching the pretty spiral… watching the pretty spiral. Let yourself relax and drift right into the center… relax and drift, relax and float. Think of nothing but the spiral, hear nothing but my voice… the spiral… my voice… the spiral… my voice…" Between the programmed increase of their hypnotizability to a hair trigger of susceptibility, and the specific subliminal command to allow Paul to hypnotize them without questioning or resisting, not a single head turned away from the TV, not a single hapless frat boy escaped as young Mr. Pendergast continued his excellent induction. After fifteen minutes or so, out of the entire fraternity, there was not one boy left with a shred of his own will. All were helpless, mind-controlled zombie slaves. Paul then, in compliance with his own conditioning left them slumped and sleeping, and went to open the door and let me in. Transferring control from Paul to myself was a mere formality quickly accomplished, after which I spoke the young hypnotist's cue phrase, and he instantly joined his comrades in the ranks of Morpheus. Playtime!

First I got rid of the half dozen or so who didn't appeal to me. I instructed them to permanently disregard any sexual activity involving their fraternity brothers, regardless of how blatant. By the time I finished with them, the Dean of Men could be fucking one of the pledges on the dining room table during dinner, like a centerpiece, and they wouldn't even notice. Then I sent them off to bed under a compulsion to go straight to sleep and, before morning came, to forget about everything that had happened.

This left me with my two original slaves, the six campus celebs, and then seven more boys (including the trumpeter) whose names I didn't know. The first order of business was to find out who they were. On command, each spellbound boy dutifully recited his name and particulars, just like a polite little kid on the first day of school. The little blond jazzer's name turned out to be Tony Catalano. In addition there were: a dark–haired boy with really sexy five-o'clock shadow (I had thought Greek, but it turned out to be Italian) Joe Perelli, pre-law; a couple more from the theater department (although not as accomplished or widely known as David), Shane Conway (a boyish cutie who reminded me of Chris Demetral) and Bryan Jones (a Christian Kane clone); Trent Stevens (a red-haired freshman gymnast, and another pledge); Peter MacBride, the editor of the student newspaper (his name I had known, but I hadn't known that it belonged to a guy hotter than Dean Cain);� and James Windham-Price, a rosy English lad, third or forth son of some minor nobleman, and the last of the pledges. Next, I assigned them each an individual cue phrase for instant control (severely straining my imagination in the process), and then made them watch the same sexual reorientation video I had previously shown Bobby and Paul (it wouldn't hurt them to watch it again). On my command, every boy whipped out his cock and began to jerk off as they all concentrated on the film that was changing them irrevocably from confident young straight guys into mind-controlled gay obsessive slave boys. Within fifteen minutes each one was hard and dripping (I had forbidden them to cum), and convinced that there was nothing he wanted sexually so much as to follow a hypnotic master's orders without thought of resistance. I told them to undress, and the room was instantly full flying garments, discarded as quickly as possible. It was also thick with the powerful aroma of young male arousal now released by the bared bodies. They were unbelievable! The young men of _ _ _ outdid any male calendar I'd ever seen so far in physical beauty, and they presented a complete spectrum of all my favorite types: none of them too skinny or too over-developed; most with smooth chests (although Joe Perelli was well-furred, and Jeff Miller, unlike Mr. Young, had a fair amount of foliage); a fine assortment of cut and uncut cocks of various configurations (the largest among these belonging to Dan Sanders, young Windham-Price, and, oddly enough, the compact Tony Catalano, although none of the other lads was poorly hung); and on every face, from the puppy-dog sweetness of Bobby, Shane, and Bryan to the sophisticated self-assurance of Daniel, Jeff, Peter, and Matt, all traces of personality had been erased and replaced with vacant-eyed, unquestioning capitulation.

On all faces but one! As I looked over my new stable, I realized that Paul, although he had taken his dick out and stroked as he had been told, had not removed his underpants. It seemed that his training as an assistant hypnotist was giving him a little too much ego reinforcement for my liking. I needed to rework him a little, and I had just the plan.

"Paul," I said, "Come up here to the front of the room. As a reward for helping me, I'm going to allow you to choose the boy you would like to have under your personal control." As Paul stepped forward (he was, after all, still completely hypnotized and programmed, even if his subconscious was feeling its oats a little) I murmured to him to finish undressing, which he did without apparently noticing. "So, Paul, which of your fraternity brothers would you like to hypnotize into your personal sex toy?"

"I want Tony," said the spellbound young hypnotist.

"Very well. Tony, come up here and join us." The short blond trumpet player walked up to stand docilely before us. I was impressed all over again with how, even in a deep trance, his handsome face with its sculpted cheek bones accented by retro sideburns, his sensuous lips, and his perfectly proportioned, compact little body all exuded a constant unmistakable message of sex, sex, sex, as though he were perpetually surrounded by a cloud of pheromones. (Then again, there was also that outsize cock, which sent its own message!)

"Tony, I want you to listen carefully to what Paul has to say to you. And be sure to look him in the eyes while he talks to you."

"Yes, sir," came the slow, mesmerized response. Tony fixed his eyes on Paul's.

Paul began his induction process. I recognized it as the same one he had used on his brother in the home movie. And Tony, like Paul's brother and his friend, went easily and sweetly under into another, even deeper trance than the one he was already in, until he stood, eyes shut fast, swaying gently. "Tony, Kneel down, slowly," Paul commanded him, and the hypnotized boy sank to his knees. "Now, open your mouth. You are my slave. I am your master. You'll suck my cock, because I want you to, and when you've swallowed my load, your enslavement will be complete. You will never again be able to refuse me anything!" Then he shoved his rigid dick between the unresisting lips of the young trumpeter, and began to fuck his mouth purposefully.

It was then that I struck. "Paul, you can't stop fucking Tony's mouth, even if you try. It's the best blowjob you've ever felt, and the need to continue it is irresistible. And you can't stave off your orgasm, either. But, when you come, Tony will suck all of your will and all of your power from you along with your cum. He will swallow your ability to control yourself or anyone else. You will no longer be able to hypnotize except by my command, because you yourself will be a hypnotized thrall, helplessly obedient to Tony, to myself, to anyone else I say. You'll be the slave of slaves, weak and without a single thought of your own. You can't stop this from happening." This was such fun I was practically humming.

Paul's blank face registered a trace of emotion, for the first time in a long while: fear. However, his pretty little ass kept right on flexing as his hips moved his cock back and forth in Tony's sexy mouth. He grabbed Tony's head as though to try to push him away, but in spite of himself, the push turned into a caress, and he just humped even faster, his breathing growing harsh as his orgasm neared. Then, with a sob, he came. Again, Paul seemed to be trying to withdraw from the busily sucking mouth, but the head of his cock never cleared Tony's lips, all of his cum went down Tony's throat, and his self swirled away like water down a drain.

After he was emptied, Paul just stood there pale and unmoving, the head of his softening cock still in blond jazzer's mouth, as that boy continued to suck unaware that his task was completed. "Why don't you take your dick from Tony's mouth and tell him to stop?" I asked.

In the deadest of tones Paul said, "I have not been told to," and continued to stand as he was.

I immediately sprang a boner. He was so perfectly helpless now! "Take your dick out of his mouth and tell him to stop sucking," I ordered. Paul complied. "Now, tell him he is your master, and beg him to fuck you. As soon as you hear his voice, you'll have to do anything he tells you to do." Again, Paul obeyed instantly, although his voice trembled a little when he asked Tony to stick that extra-large piece of meat into his ass.

Tony turned out to be a pretty fair topman, even if it took three sets of overlapping trances to accomplish it. He made Paul grovel a bit before ordering him to bend over, commanded the preppy slave to loosen himself up, and then took his ass cherry with the skill and imagination of a pro. He banged that boy limp. And if the helpless whimpers of pain and pleasure were any indication, young Mr. Pendergast was enjoying being dominated much more than he'd ever enjoyed domination. But then, he had no choice in the matter, had he?

After recovering from his orgasm, the entranced young trumpeter apparently discovered that he had a taste for giving orders. He continued to command his slave to lick his cock clean, to lick his feet, to go around the room licking and sucking all the exposed cocks. Paul did everything he was told, no matter how bizarre, until I tired of the game. "Tony, deep sleep!" I snapped my fingers, and he was gone. "Paul, deep sleep!" Snap. Ditto (in the middle of giving head to a mesmerized Matt Mendoza). "You will hear only my voice. You will go to bed now, in Tony's room. From now on you are lovers, Tony as master, Paul as slave. No matter where you are or what you are doing, you both will always obey me. Now go." They drifted blank-faced up the stairs together, Tony pulling Paul gently along behind him by his cock.

I knew I didn't have time to work the entire frat this same evening, but I did have a few things I wanted to be sure to accomplish, and one more set of lovers to program (I like them in pairs or trios to play with myself). First, the remaining details should be attended to. I ordered Jeff to get rid of his body hair (Joe Perelli looked good in his fur, but I thought Miller would look better without his). To keep him company, I had Bobby, Matt, and Trent, the young gymnast join him in the depilatory compulsion (although they didn't have much to lose). Chris Keeper probably already had a habit of removing his body hair. At any rate, other than around his cock, he had none. I sent all five upstairs to fool around with hair remover, shaving equipment, and each other for the rest of the night. Next I ordered Joe and Peter the journalist to collaborate on a play scenario for the three actors featuring hypnotic enslavement and imaginative sex, and I ordered Daniel, Shane, and Bryan to obey their every suggestion concerning plot and action (including trying everything out to make sure it "played" well). Later they would give me a full dress (or rather undress) performance. Up the stairs they went. As an afterthought I sent Windham-Price off to join them. He wasn't an actor or, so far as I knew, a writer, but he had the best ass of the whole bunch, and would greatly enhance some of the visual aspects. That left me alone with the twins, and I got right to business. I had plans for them!

I repositioned the digital video camera for better close definition, and then began to program Jason and Carter. As they sat side-by-side, glassy eyed and motionless except for the occasional twitches of their still hard dicks, I convinced them that they were in love with each other, had been lovers in secret for quite some time now, and could now no longer bear to keep the secret from their family. I commanded them to make thorough, uninhibited love for the camera (and my private files), and then to record another video, a letter to their father, telling him his sons were gay (and, by the addition of some of my most insidiously wicked subliminal programming to date, making it possible for me to control him and the family fortune). The final video, after I finished editing it, was a work of art. I found myself seriously wondering if the new-age babble about twins having some extra psychic connection might be true. They never missed a move, nor had to exchange a word of instruction, so well did they anticipate each other. From the first long, deep, wet kiss, through every variation of the intimate entwinings of their beautiful bodies, the lovemaking was so nearly perfect that it might have been choreographed. And as their pretty hypnotized faces ran through a range of expressions from boyish mischief to totally mindless lust, each one was softened by a glow that could only be called tenderness.� They could truly have been lovers for years. After they finished and had cleaned themselves of the more obvious results of orgasm (and I had cleaned myself – I can't remember the last time that I came spontaneously, but the twins had been so extraordinary to watch that I had shot without touching myself), I told them to put their jeans back on, and then they stood, still bare-chested, Carter with his arms possessively around his twin, and began to record their "confession".

"Dad, there's something we have to tell you…"


IV. Jonathan 

Two weeks later, in his morning mail at the offices of __________ Brewery, Jonathan Forbes, CEO found a package waiting for him, a video from his sons. He immediately began to tear it open, smiling to himself. Ever since his beautiful wife had died in a car wreck so many years ago, Jonathan's handsome, clever, athletic sons had been the main focus of his existence. Now that they were away at college, he missed them fiercely. He called his secretary on the intercom, and told her to hold his calls, and then he popped the tape into the VCR. As soon as the picture came up, he knew something wasn't right. There was something different about his boys, something in the eyes. And why weren't they wearing shirts? Then, with an icy shock, he registered what they were saying.

"Dad, there's something we have to tell you," Carter was saying. "We knew it would upset you, so we've been trying to fight it for years, but we just can't keep on this way. We've got to stop lying to you, and to ourselves."

Jason continued, "Dad, we're gay. We always have been, and the only way we're going to be happy is with each other. I love Carter and he loves me. We want to be together for real, as who we are."

"We're sorry to do this to you in a tape," Carter took over again, "But we were afraid if we talked face to face things might be said that none of us really meant. We love you, Dad, and we hope you can accept us as we are, and love us still."

Jason finished off, "We'll call you in a few days, after you've had some time to deal with your feelings. We love you, Dad." The screen went black.

Jonathan stared at the black screen, his face white as paste. Then, with trembling hands he pushed the rewind button. This couldn't be true. Something was wrong with his sons. He had to figure out what it was. He started the tape again. There was something funny about the expression in their eyes. He watched more closely, but couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him. At the end, he rewound and watched again, focusing as hard as he could on his sons' eyes. And then he watched again. And again… and… again… and…

Half an hour later Jonathan Forbes erased the tape and threw it away, without consciously realizing that he was doing so. He looked at his afternoon calendar and saw that at two o'clock he had an appointment with a Dr. "Smith". Somehow he was certain that this would be a very important meeting, so he instructed his secretary to clear the rest of his day, and told her that, when the doctor arrived, she might leave for the day, as he wouldn't be needing her beyond that time. Then he settled back in his leather desk chair to wait for his appointment. He passed the time by closing his eyes and counting backwards from 1,000 while breathing as slowly and steadily as he could. It seemed to be the right thing to do. And it was very soothing.

At the appointed time, Jonathan opened his eyes, just in time to stand as his secretary ushered in Dr. Smith. To his delight, right behind the doctor were Jason and Carter. He had been very worried about them, although in his relief at seeing them he couldn't now remember quite why.

When I was shown into Jonathan Forbes' office, the twins in tow, for our two o'clock meeting, I almost stumbled from surprise at the way he looked. I would have guessed that Mr. Forbes would be handsome, considering how beautiful his sons were, but the reality far outstripped my expectations. First of all, he didn't look any older than my own age, so he could have been, at the very most, only in his early forties. He had to be one of the youngest CEOs in the history of American business, and must have become a father almost before he was out of his teens. Secondly, he was in great shape, so a corporate desk job hadn't spoiled his hard physique (which was well displayed, because he wore a tailored shirt and a tie without a concealing jacket). Finally, his face was so boyishly charming, his appeal so uncalculated and disarming, that I was totally captivated. If ever actor Bill Campbell had a doppelganger, this was it (although, considering how much this man is worth, perhaps Billy Campbell should be considered the doppelganger). My original plan of acquiring financial backing only was quickly amended to include some more personal benefits!

He came forward to shake my hand in a friendly way, and then moved past me immediately with a broad grin on his face to hug first Carter (who, when he broke from the embrace, moved behind his father), then Jason. As Jonathan Forbes relaxed his hold on Jason, Carter's arms snaked up under his in a kind of full nelson, but instead of locking his hands behind his father's neck, he reached up farther to begin to massage his temples gently. Jonathan tried to turn in his son's grasp, but Jason took hold of his shoulders saying softly, but insistently, "Look into my eyes, Dad."

"Look into your eyes? Why… Wha…" Jonathan's face had already begun to go slack, his eyes to glaze, as he stared helplessly at his son.

"Don't worry about it, Dad, just look into my eyes. Keep looking, as deep as you can, looking and relaxing and listening to my voice. And now you can't look away, can't stop listening, can't stop relaxing as you drift into a deep, deep sleep."

At the same time, Carter was whispering much the same sort of hypnotic monolog from behind. The twins, as I had programmed them to do, were providing a sort of instant confusion technique. No matter which of his sons Jonathan Forbes chose to listen to, the other was speaking, in effect, directly to his subconscious mind, which was, thanks to the subliminals in the video, wide open and listening. The sexy CEO was now gazing fixedly at his son Jason, with no further evidence of resistance. Gradually his head began to loll between Carter's caressing fingers, and his eyelids began to droop, giving him an incredibly erotic bedroom expression. Then they slid all the way shut, and his body sagged limply in his son's arms. He was out. Jason leapt to help, and together the twins eased their entranced father back to his desk and into his chair.

As soon as there was no danger of their dropping him, I said, "Mirror image, sleep (the twins' cue)," and they froze staring into each other's eyes, back in a completely programmable trance state. Then I proceeded to the easy part of my plans. The twins were quickly persuaded to open up their father's responsiveness to include my voice as well as theirs, and to suggest to him that their future educational success depended on his regularly depositing substantial sums of money in the university foundation account from which I drew all my funding. The amounts in question would keep me in luxury, and yet wouldn't even alter his tax bracket, so that suggestion was accepted without any demur. However, achieving my next goal would be trickier. I wanted Jonathan. I wanted him much more than the college boys that I so enjoyed manipulating. This was a real man, and one I could see as not merely a toy, but as a potential mate. But I hadn't brought my sexual reorientation video along with me (after all, who knew he would be this hot?), so now I would need to find a way to break him down before I could rebuild him as I wished. Nevertheless, the very things that made him so attractive to me (besides his physical beauty), his strength of will and his fully formed personality, also made him particularly resistant to my process. As a matter of fact, I was almost certain that the only reason I had gotten him this far along was because I had been able to use his love for his sons as a wedge to crack open that integrated ego-structure. It had been no mere whim that had caused me to use Jason and Carter as the actual hypnotists in his entrancement. I took the twins aside to give them their next instructions, and then left them standing in a corner, motionless as plastic mannequins, while I returned to the hypnotized CEO.

"Jonathan, do you hear me?"

"Yes." He didn't move, his eyes remained closed, and his voice was as emotionless as if he were answering the telephone.

"Do you love your sons?"

"More than anything. They're my life." He smiled dreamily, but his voice remained uninflected.

"You must believe what I tell you: your boys are afraid of you." He flinched. "They're sure that you can't understand about their being gay, about their need for each other, that you can't still love them. You're a powerful man, Jonathan Forbes. They're afraid you'll use that power to hurt them. They're terrified. Out of that fear, they may even come to hate you. You'll lose them forever."

Jonathan's voice came out as a low, frightened wail, "No-o-o-o." He was writhing in his chair, as if the pain he felt were actually physical, and tears were leaking out from under his still-locked eyelids.

"Yes, Jonathan, you'll lose them forever… unless you can find a way to make them believe you understand, to make them truly believe you still love and accept them. Otherwise they will be gone from your life, never to return, and you'll be all alone."

"Oh God, no!" He was weeping openly now, his breath coming in sobbing gasps. He struggled to raise his trance-bound body out of the leather chair crying, "Have to find them… Have to tell them…"

"Sit down!" I commanded sharply. He slumped helplessly back into the seat, his handsome face creased with pain. "They will not believe you if you merely tell them you love them. You must show them that you understand them."

"Sh-show them?" Jonathan had completely lost his confident presence, his tear-streaked countenance as confused and innocent as a kid's. "I… I don't understand."

"You must let them see that you can appreciate how a man might desire another man, that you know the ways in which two men can take pleasure in one another. You have to let your sons watch you make love to another man. This is the only way to convince them. Do you understand, now?"

"But… but how? I've never… I don't know any… Who…?" In spite of his deep trance and the pre-emptive subliminal onslaught that had been hidden in the twins' video letter, Jonathan was still fighting for control.

"I can help you. I can tell you what to do, what to think, what to feel about another man. You must believe what I tell you, and do as I say, for only I can save your sons for you. If you resist me, they are lost. You must listen and obey. You must listen and obey."

As I spoke I could see his face tensing with effort as he tried to throw off the web I was weaving around him, but the threat of losing his sons was too intolerable to him. Gradually the stress drained from his face and body as he accepted my logic and the last remnants of his will crumbled. He melted back into the chair, looking helpless and young (more like the Billy Campbell of Rocketeer than the actor of today). Soon he was repeating along with me, all resistance gone, "I must listen and obey. I must listen and obey. I must…"

I quickly removed my clothes and then commanded, "Stand up, Jonathan." Without opening his eyes, he rose smoothly from the chair. "The first thing you must learn to understand," I continued, "Is that your sons are excited by each other's bodies. The simple act of undressing or being undressed makes them feel sexy. You too must become aroused when a man undresses you. I want you to remember exactly how you felt the first time your wife removed your clothing. Remember it as if it were happening now." Almost instantly the front of his slacks began to tent. "You will feel exactly this same way any time you are touched or undressed by a man, except that it will not be your wife that you're thinking of; you'll know it is the man who turns you on." Then I reached forward to unknot his tie. He shivered as though from cold, and a flush rose to his face, but he made no move to resist. I removed the tie and began to unbutton his shirt, allowing myself to feel him up thoroughly while I was at it. The tailored shirt hadn't lied. He was in great shape, his body hard, sculpted, and tanned to a buttery glow. Oh well, he probably has a personal trainer, if not several. I moved down to the slacks, their light-colored fabric now showing a telltale damp spot at the crotch, unbuckled the belt, unzipped, and pulled them down, along with the silk boxers underneath. A trim waist, a flat belly, a butt as high and firm as a teenager's, and a hard, moist cock of pleasing proportions: the man was perfect. I was immediately as hard as he was.

After freeing Jonathan's feet from the slacks and underwear (and, of course first, his shoes and socks), I took his arm and led him gently over to stand in front of the mirrored sliding door that concealed the closet on one side of the office. I instructed him to open his eyes without waking from his trance, and he obeyed, gazing at his reflected image with an innocent lack of concern. I said, "You are a very handsome man, Jonathan Forbes. Look at yourself, see yourself the way a woman would see you, the way your sons would see you, sexy, seductive, totally desirable." His expression changed to a goofy self-satisfied grin. I continued, "From now on you will look at other men this way, allowing yourself to see their attractiveness, to be turned on by it. You will feel what Jason and Carter feel. Now, look at me!"

I haven't made mention of it before, but, in all modesty, I'm not a bad looking guy, myself. I look a lot like the actor Will Hutchins used to look on the old Sugarfoot television show, when he was around my age: not exactly athletic, but very trim, and serious yet boyish, with a deceptively young, innocent face. Jonathan focused on my reflection in the mirror and then turned to look at me directly. His cock seemed to get even harder, if that were possible, and I felt as though I had been plugged into a mild electric current, so intense was the lust in his stare. I had to clear my throat before I was able to speak again.

"You wouldn't so much mind having sex with me, would you?" I husked.


"In fact, you'd really like to make love to me, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yeah!" He sounded like a teenager whose girlfriend has just offered him a blowjob.

I raised my voice, "Back on duty." At the sound of that phrase, Jason and Carter roused from their motionless daze and walked over to join us. They immediately went into the routine I had suggested to them previously.

"Kiss him, Dad," Jason instructed, while Carter added, "Lots of tongue." Jonathan, still hypnotically obedient to his sons' commands as well as my own, took me in his arms and began to french me with the skill of an expensive gigolo and the eagerness of a sailor on shore leave. I have been the recipient of a lot of kisses, hypnotized and not, and this one left them all behind. I finally had to push him gently away to keep from blacking out from an excess of excitement and a lack of oxygen.

Carter was instantly ready with the next order. "Kneel down, Dad. Lick Dr Smith's cock and balls. Suck his cock 'til he cums, and swallow it all."

Jason added, "When you've swallowed it, he'll be inside you, a part of you. You'll belong to him just like we do – to love him and obey him always."

Their father, helpless to resist and, at this point, no longer inclined to try, sank to his knees and began to deliver to me the blowjob of a lifetime. For a straight guy who had surely never done this before, his inventiveness and his sensitivity to my reactions put many an experienced gay man to shame. His talented tongue brought me to the edge many times without letting me go over it, as if he were as happy for the process to continue as I was. By the time he took me back deep into his mouth for the last time, sucking earnestly to bring on my climax, I was almost unable to stay on my feet. I came hard enough to see stars, and he gulped down every drop of it. I realized that Jonathan hadn't cum yet, so I said, "Mirror image, sleep," and set the twins, now blank-eyed automatons, to the task of taking turns sucking their father off, while I held him, whispering more post-hypnotic commands into his receptive ear.

Jonathan opened his eyes just in time to stand as his secretary ushered in Dr. Smith. To his delight, right behind the doctor were Jason and Carter. He was so proud of their courage! Admitting you're gay is hard, as he knew very well. But it was so much better that they were honest now, instead of wasting years trying to be straight. He wished he could have been so brave. But, then again, if he had been he wouldn't have these two wonderful sons, now would he? He barely paused to give the doctor a friendly, impersonal handshake before grabbing each of his boys in an exuberant bear hug. Only then did he turn and take stock of his visitor. For a moment he almost felt he couldn't speak. The man was a god! Jonathan Forbes had never seen anyone who pushed all his buttons as immediately and thoroughly as this Dr. Smith did. He had to try to make a play for him! Dear Lord, please let him be gay! The handsome CEO of ____________ brewery pulled himself together and at once began to exercise all the charm he could muster to captivate his guest.


V. Envoi

So I got the money, I got the power, and I got the guy. Who could ask for more? Who, indeed? Well, since you ask, at my advice, the brewery is bidding to acquire a professional football team. Two words: Jason Sehorn.