Friendly Cigar Invitation (mm hypno smoking)

I admit that you look real fine with your cigar.

Sure, I have seen you around. You're a strong, dominant man who enjoys his cigar, a big cigar, a great, masterful, smoky cigar. You like to stand alone at your end of the bar in your leather uniform, with your cigar in hand, blanketed by your own silent smoke, and observe all the men, and yes, I admit, you look damn fine with your cigar.

But I've heard about you and so I know a little about you. For instance, I know that you like to take men, and entrap men, and trick men into giving up control to you. You like to seduce your men into giving in to you, and then you like to reduce them and turn them into totally submissive boys and use your boys for your pleasure.

While I was watching you down at your end of the bar, dressed in your uniform and wearing your tall black boots and enjoying your immense cigar quietly alone, my friends told me about you. They told me that you were heavy into power exchange and intense mind control. And while I watched you, intrigued by the story, you turned and you looked at me. And as we watched each other, my friends whispered into my ear that you were skilled in ambush-style hypnotism and could seduce your victims and plunge them into the deepest hypnotic trance before they even knew what hit them.

And I could see that you were still eyeing me, evaluating me, appraising me.

Then, with your eyes still locked on mine, you raised up your great cigar, and drew on it confidently, and blew out a big cloud of your smoke, a rich cloud that drifted slowly down the bar to me, drifted slowly over me, surrounding me, and engulfing me entirely.
And then you smiled at me.

I took a swift, nervous swig of my beer.

See, I can only imagine all the many strong men you've invited to your home, the many tough men you've lured in, the men whose minds you've tricked and taken hold of, and placed under your spell. I can imagine all those unsuspecting men who have been engulfed by your power, and hypnotized against their will, and reduced against their wishes to devout, worshipful slave boys, completely under your command.

Yes, my friends warned me about you.

But now -- now my friends have gone.

And now that my friends have gone and left me here, now that my friends have left me here all alone and quite unprotected at my end of the bar, now totally out of the blue, you've decided to approach me. You've chosen to invade my space at my end of the bar and to introduce yourself, and to begin to enclose me with you -- within your thick blanket of smoke.

And after a short moment of pleasantly disarming small talk, you've invited me over to your place to join you for a cigar. It's a friendly invitation, and your invitation is so enticing.

My friends were correct; you are very seductive.

Why, just look at you standing here in your uniform so close to me, so very close to me that I can just smell your leather even though you're smoking calmly on that wonderful cigar of yours. Your smoke may be growing thick and heavy around us both, but it cannot mask the holy smell of your pure black leather.

And then you add "I have a fully stocked humidor that I think you'll enjoy." I'm sure you do. "How about tomorrow?" you suggest so innocently, placing your maduro majestically between your teeth.

And yes, I admit, I occasionally enjoy a cigar of my own; it's true; and so your generous invitation seems so very ... well, inviting. But my friends have warned me to stay away from you. They told me that you're dangerous, and I am sure that you are.

But as your heavy smoke continues to drift around me, and encircle me, and as I cannot help but breathe it in, I begin to wonder. I wonder how fine you look when you're smoking on your cigar and looking down upon your mind controlled subject.

I can just imagine your victorious, gloating grin around your giant cigar as you lord over your tranced victim lying so naked and prone on the floor before you, not a conscious thought left in his empty head, groveling obediently with his tongue hard against your boot.

And the thought of it intrigues me; it makes me curious.

So, before I politely decline your invitation; before I get up the courage to firmly, yet diplomatically, say No, and so end all hopes of living out a secret fantasy of mine, I pause, and I imagine. What is it you do to them? What must it be like for them?

Let me just imagine:

I imagine that you befriend your intended victim at a bar, any bar, maybe even this bar. You spot some tall leathered biker, or some hot looking country buck, or some muscular blue collar man and you invite him to your home to join you for a cigar, a friendly smoke between real men, and since he's a big cigar man like yourself, he readily accepts.

What real man could possibly turn down such a generous invitation?

And so he arrives at your door dressed confidently in his boots, jeans and a tee, and he's ready for smoke. And you offer him beer, and the choice of your humidor, and you offer him your big soft leather couch, and he sits down in it, and sinks right down into the thick, plush cushions.

I'll bet you have a soft leather couch just like that, don't you. After all, you want your guest to be very, very comfortable.

And the two of you real men raise your tall boots up onto your stools, and light up your manly smokes, him with his own big ringed gar of respectable size, and you with your even more massive, masterful maduro, and the two of you let your smoke slowly swirl and mingle and fill the room.

And your guest, he smokes on his cigar comfortably while he talks freely, and downs his first beer, and he's a hot looking male. He looks good in his jeans and his boots and his full muscle tee, and he's very level headed but he acts just a little too tough for you, flourishing his cigar about like some macho stud.

He's pretending to be some kind of rough top, but you know he'll make an even better submissive bottom once you have him deeply hypnotized.

That is how you think of all your guests, isn't it. And as I sit here beside you at the bar, encircled by your smoke, I can imagine your tall, muscle bound friend in his boots and his tee, flourishing his cigar and smiling big, innocently unaware of your plot. Then you look down at me, and place your glove around your cigar, and roll it slowly around between your teeth for me to see, but all I can think about is your unsuspecting friend. What do you do to him next? Perhaps you simply offer him a second beer.

Yes, he's sharp, and he's been around, and he's awfully confident about himself. Sure, he's nobody's fool -- but all it takes is a second beer and some pleasant conversation, and some laughs to put him at ease, and he's starting to like you, and to trust you, and he doesn't have any idea of what's coming.

You watch him as this fine male specimen puts his big smoke back in his jaw, savors the feel, and blows out a satisfactory cloud of his own, and then he lowers his cigar.
And he lowers his guard.
Yes, clearly his guard is down.
I suppose that is when you make your move.

While he's at rest and contemplating his own rich smoke, you ease up to him quickly yet quietly, and you trick him into hearing those first, most important words of your induction. "Watch my cigar -- and you will relax. That's right, focus your eyes on my cigar and your body just relaxes."

"Huh . . ?" is his only response.

And his eyes obediently lock right onto your cigar and they remain there. He's been caught off guard and so he naturally does what you say. He cannot help but do what you say.

Dazed and confused by the beer and the smoke, he doesn't even pause to understand what you're doing to him, or realize that it's a hypnotic induction that he's listening to, or that he's already started to give in to the sound of your voice. Your calming, easy, endless monotone just seems to enter into his brain and he doesn't know that he's already giving up control. His gaze remains locked on the cigar that you're circling so slowly before him, and he focuses on your voice and he accepts without thought everything that you're telling him.
He is becoming so relaxed, so very relaxed.
And his breathing begins to slow.
And his eyes begin to take on a vacant cast.

You got him at just the right moment.
You got him where you want him.

He is focusing on your cigar and his eyes follow it back and forth effortlessly, just as you intended, and they're becoming heavy and distant. And he is concentrating on your carefully selected words, and your steady, persistent monologue is penetrating his defenses and penetrating deep. He gives in to the seductive power of your monotone and his head falls back against the soft cushions.

And then you pause to observe your victim, and you take a great puff on your cigar and you let the smoke encircle him, and you watch as he silently breathes it in.

Ah, how good your fine maduro must be as you watch your unwitting victim slide helplessly down into a trance. He lies motionless, relaxed, and his mouth drops open and his face becomes placid as he allows you to take him still deeper. He remains silent, just floating along with your induction and breathing ever slower.
And his arm starts to slide off his lap and onto the cushion.

And as I sit here beside you, surrounded by your heavy smoke and picturing your victim sliding helplessly under your control, you wink at me, and you draw upon your cigar a long slow draw, and then exhale another great cloud and your cloud fills our end of the bar. And I can see through all your smoke that you're still watching me intently and waiting for my answer, but all I can think of is the image of your subject slipping quietly into a trance.

Yes, there's just nothing like watching this tough, masculine man losing control and becoming submissive and suggestible under your command. There's nothing sweeter than seeing his strong, muscled frame fall limp and slide heavily down the soft pillows of your couch into the plush confines of the leather cushions.

And then you notice that his cigar is still aglow in his hand, and seeing that he's about to let it drop, you respond. You reach down and carefully remove it from his hand, and place it safely aside. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't even stir. And your couch is safe now, and your guest won't miss his cigar for a long while anyway.

But then he does stir, and he starts to struggle. As if half aware of what you're doing to him, he seems to scramble up out of his trance, and he tries to shake himself out of his stupor, and he even protests with slurred words:
"what are you doing?" Confused.
Your captive is trying to escape from you.
"no, stop. . ." he mumbles.
". . . can't let you . . ."

So you merely lean forward and catch his attention again with your cigar, compelling him to gaze upon it as you wave it back and forth. And his eyes return to their focus, swinging slowly in time, and his pupils again become distant. "Hush, shh, just relax. There's nothing to worry about. Just let go and relax."
He exhales deeply and surrenders his struggle, and his eyelids begin to

The sound of your voice is just so calming to him and your seduction so inviting, and he cannot possibly ignore the pleasant indoctrination. So take another puff on your cigar, and watch the smoke linger over him, and watch him breathe it in again in total peace. That was a close call.

And then you proceed to ease him deeper, and he no longer tries to resist you for all his fight has gone out of him. He just listens to your gentle induction with its endless repetition, and all the while his head is nodding from right to left in harmony. Then at your command, his pupils rise up and back, and his lids close, and the look on his face is one of sweet dreamy sleep.

There is no sight more beautiful than a man deep under hypnosis.

And as I sit here beside you, fantasizing about your guest in all his hypnotized beauty, I find that I am becoming enraptured by your strong presence. Then you remove your cigar from between your teeth and say to me so calmly "cigars can be so very relaxing; don't you think? They can be almost hypnotic." Oh, you just love to put your victims to sleep, don't you.

Yes, and you love to lure your victim even deeper with "you are now hypnotized, so deeply hypnotized, and it makes you feel so good, so very good. You like being hypnotized, don't you; and now you want to go even deeper into hypnosis."

And the man's broad shoulders slide all the way down and his head falls into the pillows in total defeat, and he softly agrees that he wants to go even deeper into hypnosis.

Ah, there's just nothing like the thrill of conquest of making an ambushed, unwilling subject agree that he wants to go even deeper. "Yes sir, I want to be even deeper in your power," he murmurs. That is what you wanted to hear.

And so you place your cigar victoriously within your grin, and gloat over your subject, and blow your smoke over him, and watch him lying there so relaxed and helpless upon your couch.

Remember that just minutes before, he had been some over-confident, self assured stud. Whether he had been the tall leathered biker, or the hot country buck, or some big blue collar laborer, he had been acting tough and feeling on top of the world and thinking he looked pretty damn hot smoking on that big fat cigar of his. Remember how he flourished it about? Glance over at his half finished cigar now lying cold in the tray. And now look over at him. Your subject lies silent and limp with his defenses gone, lost so deep in his trance that he hangs on your every word; reduced to complete submission.

So you may now fully enjoy your victory smoke for you are finally free to reach all the way into your subject's mind, and manipulate his mind, and toy with his mind, and toy with his body too, for there is nothing he can do to stop you.

Take a great puff on your cigar and continue "now your eyes will open and you will look right into my eyes. Look right into my eyes." Your subject's eyes flutter open and they look up at you and there is something so empty about his gaze, and his expression is so blank. Tell him "You are ready to become my slave boy now, aren't you," and with his eyes still locked on yours, he nods his head slowly and he whimpers an almost inaudible 'yesss'.
Oh yes, he's ready.

And so you take your time to reduce your subject to a groveling, obedient slave boy, and he will honestly agree to all you say for he cannot help but believe everything you tell him. He is so content, and so trusting, and he is so totally unaware of his absolute humiliation in your hands that a pleasant smile crosses his sweet face.
Yes, he is just so very, very vulnerable.

As I sit here enveloped by your smoke and dreaming of your subject so deep in his trance and so vulnerable in your power, you place one hand firmly on my shoulder and you take your cigar and wave it slowly right in front of my face to judge my response. I can just feel the inviting, relaxing warmth of its glow and I find myself watching it for a moment, sinking into a pleasant stupor of my own. But then I shake myself out of it, and I return to the image of your hypnotized subject lying there so helpless under your command.

Yes, and at your command, you can make him as naked as you want him to be, for he will not stop you. You can make him show off his muscle for you, and parade his body for you, and you can dress him in a slave's leather harness and a heavy leather collar, or any other outfit that you might choose, for he will not care. Keep him like that for hours if you like, for he will not mind what you do with him at all. He will not even know.

So you kick back in your chair with your cigar comfortably between your teeth, and you command your subject to reply "Yes Master, I am your devoted slave. I must obey my Master." There is not a shred of resistance left inside his empty head, and so you rub the hard heel of your boot over his erect cock and relish your absolute power over him.

This big tall man is now your boy toy for as long as you like and so you start by placing him below you on the floor servicing your boots. For an endless while, he makes obedient love to your boots, running his mouth and tongue hard over the smooth shiny leather, groveling and worshipping you as he does.

And for a time, you have him lying naked across your lap, his unprotected butt open to you, and you squeeze it, slap it, spread ash over it, and explore it -- even as you use the time to further explore the deepest recesses of his subconscious mind, and he responds freely to your probing questions, readily revealing his deepest secrets. And you finish the scene watching your heavy cigar smoke drift lazily across his reddened, ash covered ass.

Then you permit him to run his wet mouth all over your cock while you recline with your arms behind your head, your cigar firmly within your jaw. And it feels real good to have his warm lips sliding up and down your shaft. You only allow him to pause long enough to look up into your eyes and respond: "Yes Master, I am nothing but your cock slave now." And then he dives back down unaware of his continued behavior manipulation.

And sometime during the afternoon, you pause to light a new, even finer cigar, and then you continue to play with him more. And he continues to act out his part in all your erotic fantasies, blissfully content in his ever increasing humiliation under your total control.

But eventually, later, many hours later, after you've done everything to him as often as you've wanted, and you've had enough fun with him, you awaken him from his trance, but only after you've reprogrammed him to forget. He will forget having been tricked by you and ambushed by you. He will forget how he tried to resist you and he will forget being taken against his will. He will even forget that he was ever hypnotized at all.

"Yes Master, I will forget everything," he agrees easily.

He will now believe that he came to your house for the sole purpose of being your boy and serving you. He came to you and submitted to you willingly because he has always wanted to be your obedient boy.

"Yes Master, I have always dreamed of being your obedient slave boy."
He will believe.

And so upon your command, your boy comes to, stark naked with his chest and face drenched in your cum and in his cum, and his body completely covered with ash, spit, and lube. He returns to consciousness on the floor between your boots, his head resting hard against your leg, and he looks up at you, and gives you a weak smile, and politely says "thank you, Sir," as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened this day. And he reaches up across you to the table for his cigar, now long cold. And as he relights his cigar, you pat him on his head and say "you're welcome my boy; any time."

And your guest isn't at all aware that he's had his behavior modified, or that he's been reprogrammed with post-hypnotic triggers -- just for your continued amusement. He's just happy to be resting naked beneath his Master.

Yes, that is what I imagine you do to your guests.
I assume that is how you play with their minds.
I suppose that is what happens to all the confident, macho men who
foolishly accept your friendly invitation to join you for a cigar.

Yes, you see, my friends have warned me about you. They've told me that you're a skilled hypnotist and that you're heavy into power exchange and intense mind control, and they've told me to stay away from you. They've told me that you're dangerous.
Uh huh, I know.
I've been warned.

But here you stand at my end of the bar, standing next to me, above me, so very close to me in your black uniform, and smiling down at me around your great smoky cigar. And after using a little pleasant conversation to put me off my guard, you've just invited me to come over to your place and to join you for a cigar, just a friendly smoke between men. "I have a fully stocked humidor" you say. I'm sure you do. "How about tomorrow?" you suggest so innocently, placing your maduro majestically between your teeth.

Well . . .

And then you let a thick cloud of your smoke surround me again, and the rich aroma settles heavily about me, entering my nostrils, permeating me, intoxicating me.

Well . . . yes, sure, ok. I'm interested. And my cock begins to respond as I accept your invitation. My cock begins to push up hard inside my jeans with excited anticipation.

I would enjoy a good cigar with you. Thank you for offering. Tomorrow will be fine; or even tonight if you prefer, for I don't have anything special planned.

And then the smile around your cigar curls up just a little evil.

I sure hope you'll have a lot of fun with me.