Relax and Enjoy 2: Johnny (mm hypno)

Johnny showed up at my tobacco store late Saturday afternoon, this time without his two teammate buddies. Also, this time he was not wearing his regulation county league baseball uniform. No, much to my delight, he was in fatigues, right down to the belt and rugged boots.

“Army?” I quizzed.

“Reserves.” He shrugged, and I approved. He had mentioned something about the military, but this was a sure a pleasant surprise.

After finding something in the humidor, he joined me in the upstairs lounge where it was quiet, and dark, and so relaxing, like a private men’s club, and he prepared his long, thick Presidente and confidently fired it up while I watched intently. I always like to watch a handsome army man prepare and light up a good cigar; the sight is almost mesmerizing.

“Rob is home and couldn’t come,” he explained while checking his ash. “Billy is busy,” he added, and with a questioning look: “but he said he’s coming over to your place later.”

I explained that Billy had been over the previous week to check out my humidor, and I had invited him again. Billy was his cute little Hispanic-American friend: small, slight of frame, but all tight muscle. I remembered that Billy had made a good slave boy, once hypnotized, and I wanted to have him again soon, maybe even tonight.

But this evening, it was just big, tall, country-boy Johnny with me there in the quiet, alone in our dim lounge, laying back in our oversized, over stuffed, leather chairs, relaxing and smoking our large, heavy stogies, and enjoying a cherished moment of silent male bonding. We watched each other through the smoky haze, while I proceeded to study him, and to seek out his weaknesses.

He was a sexy, muscular guy; an army man with short shocks of blond hair, and he had a slight southern drawl and the sweetest country twang. He sat there so content, his polished black boots resting up on the stool, puffing on his fat ring gage, flourishing it like a pro, watching me watching him, as we exchanged polite conversation. And Johnny warmed up to me, and he answered my simple questions, unaware of my designs, unwittingly stepping into my trap.

“So, no game today?” I asked.

“Nope.” He replied, and maybe that explained why he was so much less obnoxious and boastful than the last time we’d met.

I questioned him casually, slowly turning the conversation from sports to him, and got him to talk about himself, and he began to enjoy being the center of my attention. He relaxed more. He began to answer my questions unguarded, as though he was my patient and I was his doctor. He was so beautiful, this muscular male; yet also so innocent; an unsuspecting army boy, country boy, luxuriously smoking his Presidente, and I hungered to have him.

Still I would need to know more about him. We continued to talk over our manly cigars: me questioning him like some good doctor, and him, like my patient, answering honestly without concern. And he was at ease to respond, and didn’t seem to mind when I carefully shifted the conversation to more interesting subjects like sexual fantasies and fetishes. And finally I implied, in passing, of having a mild interest in bondage. And as he watched me over his smoky cigar, his eyes flashed, revealing so much. I let the subject go.

And I smiled a confident smile, and while I contemplated the weight and feel of my maduro, I noticed him reach down and loosen the crotch of his uniform, clearly hoping I didn’t see. And watching him made my own cock grow, seemingly with a mind of its own, and I had to adjust my jeans, which I did while he was looking away.

Yes, I had figured him out.

He would not be easy to hypnotize, unlike the all other military men I had put under. He might go into a shallow trance, sure, but it would be difficult to achieve deep amnesia; and I needed my boys to experience total amnesia. No, Johnny would require a different tact, something far more direct. I was going to have to force my power over him. And I knew just what to do.

So I lightened up the conversation. “Billy’s coming over to my place later for beer,” I offered. “Maybe you should come over now, and you can have first pick of my humidor. How about it?”

And soon enough, Johnny and I were both back at my place and I was pouring his beer and waiting for him to bring up the obvious subject.

“Uh... did you say you actually had a set of restraints in your basement?” He asked nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t too interested, just as I had planned. His fantasies were obviously churning.

I didn’t have to ask him if he wanted to see, I merely led, and he merely followed me down into the darkness.

My basement is clean, and comfortable, and purposely non-threatening. Not like a dungeon in some video; I like my prey to feel at ease. The wrist straps hang from the rafter near the wall. And though the ankle restraints are mounted firmly to the blocks, they somehow look almost harmless.

“Let me show you how you use them,” I said reaching for his wrists. “Don’t worry; they’re not tight; you can wiggle right out of them,” I lied. “And these ankle shackles are mostly just for show.” I had made the process seem so easy, and he had submitted without protest and was quickly restrained. I stood back and looked at him.

My hot army man was now held against the wall, his arms secured up to his side, helpless in my leather straps attached to strong chains. His legs were fastened against the blocks.

He couldn’t have escaped from me now even if he had wanted to.

“See how good it feels?” I asked. “A person in restraints always becomes so relaxed and passive, he can’t help himself.” My victim was pleased as he looked from side to side at his wrists held in the leather straps, and then down at his feet, and he tugged against the heavy manacles and he seemed to be enjoying his bondage. It was just as I had suspected; he was willing to remain, and he was becoming steadily more willing to listen to me speak.

I lit the candle on the table across from him and then used it to light up a new cigar, an enormous Prime Minister I had set aside just for this moment. I brought it to life, letting the room fill with its smoke while I continued to seduce my unsuspecting friend’s mind.

I pretended that it was still nothing but a casual description but I purposely selected my words: “A person in bondage quickly becomes submissive, and so trusting, and very suggestible.” I predicted the feeling of bondage was already affecting him more than he knew. My words were working their way down deep: “He soon starts to believe everything I tell him.”

I puffed on my long Dominican as I allowed the suggestion to sink in, and then I added in a measured tone: “You become so submissive that you have to believe everything I say. You have to obey all my commands.”

I paused again, enjoying the heft of my cigar and the sight of this big country boy held so firmly in my leather trap. He was no longer eyeing his restraints; he was just gazing at me sort of vacantly. “See. You’re feeling very relaxed now, aren’t you?” and he nodded slowly with just a hint of suspicion on his face. But it was too late, of course; his will power was already draining out of him. He was starting to look like he was in a trance.

I knew what he needed to hear next so I continued in my most gentle monotone: “I am going to make you into my slave, boy.” I waited. “I am going to take total control of your mind, and I am going turn you into an obedient slave.”

His eyes opened wide; he tried to argue: “No, stop,” he mumbled. “Let me go now.” He shook his head trying to break the stupor that was enveloping him, and he pulled weakly against the chains, but I ignored his efforts knowing my direct induction was taking effect.

My voice was still measured and slow: “I will take total control of your weak little mind and you will fall deep into my power. I will reduce you to a mindless slave and you are going to like how if feels to be my slave.”

Even though he was trying to resist, he was becoming so very suggestible; my words worked their way down deep. And again he stirred, pulled against the restraints, but the feeling of helplessness overcame him, and he fell still. “Please don’t” was all he could muster. The stupor was becoming thick in him.

And then I reached down and opened his army uniform, and lowered his fatigues down over his boots, and took his fat cock in my hand. As I stroked it, it started to swell, and though he first opened his mouth in protest, I ran my thumb slowly over its head, and he immediately gasped with pleasure. I think he almost begged me to stop, but I have the special touch, I know where to press, and my big, strong man shuddered as I flooded his mind with ecstasy. His head rolled from side to side. Whatever he had been thinking slipped away.

I puffed on my cigar gloriously, enjoying the feel of his cock in my hand, and watching him restrained, and helpless. Yes, he was giving in to me.

“Please...” he whimpered. It was all he could say.

He was motionless now, gazing at me as I paused to check my ash. He was ready for the next step.

I moved right up next to him. “When you control a man’s cock,” I said firmly, “you control his mind.” I spoke directly into his ear, and let the words sink in deep, and then I slowly repeated the command again as I ran my thumb over and under his pulsing shaft.

His eyes grew wide as I continued to stroke it so slowly, and I watched him sink further. He pulled weakly against the restraints, but his eyes found mine and he couldn’t look away.

His resistance was slipping. It was becoming so difficult for him to think clearly. He looked at me as though through a fog as I focused my eyes deep into his. “When you control a man’s cock, you control his mind.” I said again, and his cock was solid in my hand, reaching out for me, throbbing for my touch.

I waited for his mind to empty further and then asked him: “Your cock is under my control now, isn’t it boy?” His cock shuddered and he gasped and tried to think but he couldn’t. He was surrendering. “Your cock is under my control now, isn’t it boy?” I repeated and waited for him to give in.

I said it a third time, stroking him ever so slowly now, and finally he sagged in the restraints, and after a long pause he whispered with that sexy country voice: “My cock is under your control.” He exhaled heavily, and he looked so relieved to admit it. And so I repeated it one last time: “Your cock is under my control now, isn’t it - boy?” I emphasized the word ‘boy’ and waited. It came so much easier this time: “Yes, my cock is under your control... Sir.” It felt so good for him to confess, all his strength drained right out of him, and a weak smile crossed his vacant face.

I watched him for a moment, my big, tall army boy, hanging in those straps, brainwashed by sexual pleasure, half naked, exposed, his uniform down over his boots, and his cock so hard and begging for more attention. And while I contemplated my cigar, and my victory, I congratulated myself under my breath: “Oh, yes, you are ripe to be mindfucked, now aren‘t you my tough army boy?”

But to my surprise, he overheard and responded quietly: “I am ripe to be mindfucked, Sir.”

I looked up at my captive; I couldn’t believe my good fortune, so I repeated louder: “You are ready to be mindfucked, aren’t you boy?” and again he said flatly, ever so softly: “Yes, I am ready to be mindfucked, Sir.” Grinning broadly with delight, my cigar clenched between my teeth, I commanded him: “You want me to mindfuck you all night, don’t you boy?” Once again, in his slow, slurred voice and with a vacant stare he agreed: “I want you to mindfuck me all night, Sir.” And after I was finished laughing out loud at him, I said: “Good, then, let us begin.”

I left him hanging helplessly in the restraints while I made him focus on the candle and concentrate on my voice. “Concentrate on my voice,” I said over and over. And I succeeded in putting him down deep into a powerful hypnotic sleep. My big army boy had the most contented look on his face while I worked his subconscious mind into a pliable, receptive vessel. And he soon believed he was nothing but a sex slave in need of a dominating master.

And I knew just who I wanted his master to be this night.

When the kid, little Billy Boy, finally arrived, he showed up talking loudly, ready for beer, ready for smoke, and ready to just hang out with the guys. But I met him upstairs, and after reciting a short series of preprogrammed trigger phrases he fell peacefully silent, deep asleep and ready to be believe everything I told him. Tonight, he would believe he was a hard, leather master in need of a slave, and before my eyes, he became dominant, and rough, and excited when he found his slave Johnny waiting obediently for him in my basement.

For once, I enjoyed just being the voyeur, and I watched Billy, mad with power - smoking on a giant, master’s cigar - command and control his new slave Johnny. Billy was just a small guy, but he dominated big Johnny, insulted him, made him grovel naked and humiliated at his feet, and ordered his helpless slave to worship and obey. And through it all, I enjoyed pulling their strings.

And when Johnny was eagerly swallowing Billy’s cock, Billy puffed on his fat cigar and demanded: “Who is your Master?!” and Johnny, mouth full, struggled to say: “You are my Master, Sir!” And though I could barely make out the muffled words, I could clearly hear that sweet country twang.

Finally when the two of them were exhausted, and spent, and lying on the floor on top of each other, I straddled them, took out my cock, and emptied my load all over them both. And as I watched my cum mingle with their own, and run down their wet, slumbering bodies, I stopped and rested a minute.

After a while, I took a warm wash cloth and carefully wiped them off. And once they were clean and dry, I had them sit like mere boys, naked and asleep on the floor at my feet, and I carefully emptied their minds, erased their memories, and gently healed their wounds. They would forget everything; they would be friends once again; and then, after they were dressed, I allowed them to awaken. And they returned to their normal, boisterous, manly selves, and were unaware that half the night had passed without their notice.

So these two buddies and I spent the rest of our time enjoying our cigars, guzzling our beer, talking about sports, and laughing at stupid jokes about sex. It was a wonderful night of male bonding with the guys. And when I saw them to the door, Johnny turned and suggested: “Next time, we gotta bring Rob!”

Rob. Yes, their charismatic, hot hunk of a friend. I had watched him watch me at the cigar store and I wanted him badly, but I had declared him off limits. Now I reconsidered. I imagined the fun I might have with all three of them together.