The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

9

I had this dream last night. It was one of those dreams where you open your eyes and look around but you know you’re not really awake.

I opened my eyes. I was in my bed. Flat on my back. I felt funny, like I was lying there but also like I was falling back deeper and deeper into my mattress every second.

This sound filled the air in my dream, a low drone like the sound of the professor’s voice, sort of. There was a little moonlight coming through the window. Daniel was there in my bedroom. He stood there at the foot of my bed. I just looked at him. He looked back, his eyes half-closed and blinking like he wasn’t really awake either. He was smiling. He wasn’t wearing anything except this pair of white boxer shorts, and that little gold pendant he likes so much, and this gentle smile.

I was lying out on top of the covers—don’t ask me why—this was a dream, right? All I had on was that pair of cut-off sweatshorts I like to sleep in. I was sprawled out spread-eagle on the bed. I had a hard-on. I’m pretty well-hung, so I guess Daniel could see it through my shorts. I don’t think that thought crossed my mind right then, though.

Daniel climbed onto the bed between my spread legs. He was still looking at me. Still smiling. His gold necklace and pendant caught the light and flashed.

My hips lifted. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it, ‘cause like I said I kept feeling like I was falling back, back, back deeper into my bed. Daniel pulled my shorts down. He took my right ankle and moved my leg, slipped my shorts off that leg, then the other. He came up further on my bed, on his hands and knees, his body hovering over me, less than a foot away. His face lowered toward mine, lips parted, then touching mine, his tongue darting in and flicking across my teeth.

I couldn’t move at all, not a muscle. He pulled back. Still smiling. His arm moved, and I heard his boxers slide down his body. He lowered his entire body, laying half alongside, half on top of me. His mouth found my neck and earlobe and licked, kissed, nibbled. One of his strong hands coaxed its way across my pectoral, like he was rubbing a woman’s breast or something.

His legs between mine. His body rolling on top of me. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. Cock alongside cock—both hard. He let a little of his weight settle onto me, and then he began to move, pushing himself gently up, down, up, down, moving along my body. The friction felt really great. His hips ground our cocks together, between our hips. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, bit his lower lip.

He dropped his head forward and kissed me. He didn’t seem to care that my mouth wasn’t doing anything back. He kissed me gently, then more aggressively. I couldn’t make any part of my body move. Couldn’t push him away. Though to tell you the truth, I don’t remember whether I wanted to or not.

It was starting to feel really good, the way he was grinding his hips, working our cocks together between us. His balls kept slapping gently into mine. I felt this really relaxing feeling roll through me, and the next thing I know I’m starting to cum, spurting hot liquid up between us. He pulled back and grinned at me. His eyes were glassy. His body stiffened, then shuddered. He groaned, threw his head back, and I felt more cum scald my abdomen as he shot too.

When his orgasm had passed, Daniel looked down at me. He grinned. Gave me a light kiss on the edge of my mouth. He chuckled quietly. He took a deep breath, then pulled back off me. I was sleepy, falling out of this dream and back into sleep. I closed my eyes. I felt him climb off the bed, and that’s when the dream ended and a deep sleep took over and I fell back into it again.

10

So don’t ask me what happened at class last night, ‘cause I don’t really remember. It’s funny—some classes, I remember every word, and others I forget. My memory is really fucked. Just plain fucked.

My balls were buzzing—had been all day. I couldn’t get that dream out of my mind. Especially how much Daniel on the couch earlier had looked exactly like he had in my dream.

In the locker room, while I was stripping down to get into my singlet for practice, I was running some things through my head. Stuff Doc had said before about filters and how your subconscious could use them to help separate what was important from what wasn’t. The moment I pulled on my jock strap, I felt ... well, something different. I didn’t think much about it. I just continued to pull on my singlet and my headgear.

Then, when I walked out to the mats to start stretching and warming up, the moment my foot hit the first mat, it happened. For the first second or two, it was like ... like this mask was pulled over my head. Everything felt kind of weird and dreamlike. But just for a second. Then, suddenly, everything is clear. Crystal clear. I’m feeling relaxed and confident, strong and focused. It was a good feeling. Was this what Doc had been talking about? Yeah, it was a really good feeling. All over. I felt my cock growing a little, half-hard. Good thing I had my jock and cup on, so no one would notice.

All I know was, all through the drills and the practice matches, I was a machine. Every move clicked out, and just about everything happened perfectly.

Coach got in my face toward the end. Something about this hold not being completely legal. It took me a while to register him and what he was saying. Even then, I just felt like it didn’t matter that much. It was like Doc had said: the opponent was simply an obstacle to be controlled and neutralized. The way I had done it worked.

Coach is a muscular guy, but so am I. He was getting in my space, trying to get in my face. I was a couple of inched taller than him. I puffed out my chest and stood my ground. Only a skintight layer of lycra separated m from being naked but no way was I going to back down. Everything he said—I guess I heard it but at some point it just stopped registering. He was getting all red in the face, but I guess he could see I was still as calm and relaxed as I could be. Pretty soon, he just huffed and said, “Fine—have it your way,” and stormed off.

After practice, when I was headed back to the dressing room and stepped off the mats, it was like, Click! Like something inside my head switched off. Not all the way off—I still felt kind of relaxed and happy. Must have been that rush of endorphins Doc had mentioned some athletes got when their filters kicked off. I didn’t feel like they had turned all the way off, though, but I didn’t mind much. All I knew was, I was really horny, and I had a hard time showering and changing back into my regular clothes without throwing a rod right there in the locker room.

I stopped by the library on my way back to my apartment. Don’t ask me why—usually the library was one of the last places you’d ever find me. But like I said, my balls had been buzzing all day, and I was horny as hell, and anyway I had to take a dump, so I hit the restroom on the second floor.

I headed straight for one of the stalls. Someone came in and went into the stall next to mine. A hole in the wall between us, about three inches in diameter. I didn’t think much about it.

I took care of business and I was wiping. The guy in the next stall put his foot close to the partition and tapped it a couple of times. I kept wiping. The guy cleared his throat and tapped again. That’s when I saw this eye looking at me through the hole.

Fuck! I tore off a big wad of toilet paper and stuffed it into the hole. Perverts! Now I remembered why the second-floor restrooms were notorious. Dude probably thought I was fresh meat or something.

I stood up and reached for my boxers. When did my cock get so hard? Shit, my balls were buzzing something fierce now, like a beehive.

Fucker in the next stall poked the toilet paper out of the hole. “Dude,” he whispered, “lemme suck it.” He stuck a finger through the hole, making a “come here” gesture. “Lemme suck you off,” he murmured.

I thought to myself, That sure sounds good. Then I thought, Fuck, where did that come from?

“C’mon, dude,” he said. “I don’t got all day. Lemme lick it and suck on it for ya.”

I felt something happen inside of my head, and this really focused feeling came over me again. Nothing else mattered but my cock and that hole and the need to get off. Don’t ask me why, but I just did it—I just shuffled up to the partition with my pants down around my ankles, and I pushed my hard-on through the hole. I felt his fingers wrap around the base, and then I felt his mouth fit over it like a warm, wet sleeve. I held on to the top of the partition with both hands, using my weight to force my cock through the hole as far as possible.

I have a long ol’ cock—too long for him to suck it all, I guess, so he used his hand too. His mouth moved on me. His hand around the base kept time, sending ripples of joy through every inch of my shaft and from there out through my whole body.

I was getting a blow-job from some strange man in the men’s room of the library! I couldn’t fucking believe it! Gotta admit, though, the situation got me off as much as the feel of his mouth on me, and I couldn’t hold back long. My hips were bucking helplessly against the partition and his mouth nursing on me felt like it was sucking the cum right out of my balls, and I was making all these little crying noises in my throat, and suddenly I couldn’t stop my cum from shooting into his mouth.

I fell back a couple of steps, pulling my softening cock out of his mouth with a pop! It sure had felt good, but—shit!—he was a guy. What had gotten into me? I pulled my boxers and jeans up, grabbed my gym bag, and practically ran out of there.

8

When I stumbled out of my bedroom, Daniel was on the living room couch watching some game on TV, the twenty-four-hour sports channel. He was slouched down, legs spread and feet cocked up on edge of the coffee table, like he was in stirrups at a gynecologist’s office or something. He was munching chips from a bag.

“Want some?” he said around a mouthful as I sleepy-stumbled into the living room.

“Sure.” I swallowed a yawn and thrust my hand into the bag to retrieve a handful.

“Your dad called,” he said, not looking away from the screen. “He said to call him.”

“Okay. Thanks. So who’s winning?”

“They are, the fuckers!”

On the screen a player stumbled and fell, and the ball made a break for freedom.

Daniel shouted, “Oh, you whore!” He lunged his upper body forward and flung a chip at the TV. “You’re supposed to hold onto it, fuckhead! Ohhhh, maaaan!” He slammed his torso back against the back of the couch, smashing his palms over his face. “Shit, Luke, these guys are just so fucking sad. It’s no wonder they’re losers.”

All he had on was a pair of ratty old navy-blue shorts and that little pendant of his. Daniel is on the wrestling team, and he’s got a great build.

I caught myself wondering why I’d never noticed that before. I mean, I’d noticed girls thought he was attractive, sure, but I mean I never really noticed it myself. He had really wide lats, massive arms, and thick pecs with just a little patch of dark hair between them, with that gold pendant nestled against his chest. Just like I remembered from my dream. He was 22 but he had one of those boyishly handsome faces that sometimes made him look like a kid when he grinned. Dark brown hair, cut short. Deep brown eyes. Eyes that were now looking right back at me.

I looked away quickly.

“Helloooo?” he said. “Earth to Luke. Come in, Luke.”

“Huh? Sorry—what?”

“I said, what time is your exam today?”

“Oh—uh, 2:00, I think.”

“Better book, dude. It’s 1:35 already.”

“Huh?” It couldn’t be that late already—I couldn’t have overslept that much! I never overslept, and here I’d already missed both my morning classes, and I was about to be late for an exam!

The clock on the VCR flicked over to 1:36.

“Shit! I gotta jet, dude,” I called as I ran back to my bedroom to jump under the shower and throw on some clothes.

15

Since it was Saturday, I went out for my usual run to burn off some excess energy. It was early afternoon, and the temperature was climbing. As usual, this time of day, there weren’t many people at the track.

After I did my stretches, I was already starting to sweat. I stripped off my tee-shirt and tucked it in the back of my shorts and started my laps. I ran full-out, counting off the laps until, finally, I was through. Exhausted too. I walked another lap, hands on my hips, chest heaving in the oxygen, to cool down.

“You’re a fast runner,” he said.

I looked over. “Oh—hi, profess—or. I didn’t—see you—there,” I panted.

He was dressed in shorts, a tee-shirt, running shoes, like he’d been jogging himself. “That’s good,” he said. “That kind of focus keeps you from getting distracted. Helps you keep your intensity up.”

“Yeah—I guess—so,” I panted.

“I had hoped to run into you here today.”

“Huh?”

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Think you can run a little more? My place is a couple of blocks away. Let’s go have a nice, cold drink and talk. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I somehow wanted very much to go back to his place. Like I was expecting his invitation.

“C’mon, I’ll race you,” he said, swatting my ass as he started running. He was in excellent shape, and his powerful legs set a good pace. I could keep up with him, probably pass him, but I was nearly exhausted from my run already—and since I had no clue where he lived, how could I pass him? So I trotted along beside him, turning when he did. He kept counting off the pace, and I found myself falling into step with him, with his counting.

Finally, we came to a two-story brick house, and he headed up the driveway. I was worn out, nearly ready to collapse, from running that far. Sweat covered me like a second skin. I followed him up the steps to the front door and inside.

His house was nothing great but looked comfortable. Homey. I watched as he stripped off his tee-shirt, almost like he was displaying his strong, masculine chest to me. I turned away and forced myself to concentrate on something else.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, pointing at the couch. He walked into the next room, the kitchen.

I sat down on the edge, not wanting to get my sweat on the back of the seat, with my knees spread the way men always sit. “Uhm, nice place you have here,” I said, to make conversation.

He came back with two glasses of water. He handed me one and drank from the other. I swallowed thirstily. I felt so odd, like there was an electric charge in the air, an air of expectation.

The professor was looking right at me, watching me intently. I was suddenly aware of my cock getting hard, pushing against the flimsy material of my nylon running shorts. The professor looked me right in the eye and said, “So, tell me—when was the last time you got laid?”

I was pretty shocked by his directness. I felt myself blush. “Uhm—like two weeks, I guess?” My cock was definitely getting hard, and I shifted my hand in my lap to hide it.

“That long ago? A good-looking guy like you should be getting laid every night.” The professor glanced down. “Getting hard? Just from talking about getting laid?”

I tried to laugh and joke it off. “You know how it is,” I said.

“Maybe that’s the power of suggestion at work,” the professor said. “Just like the reason you’re here.”

I said, “Huh?”

“You’re here because of a suggestion I gave you in class. A post-hypnotic suggestion to be where you were, when you were, when we ‘ran into’ each other. That was no accident.”

“If you gave me the suggestion in class, why aren’t the other guys here?”

“It was a special suggestion, just for you.” He reached over and took my wrist, pulled my hand away from my crotch. Now he had to be able to see my wood. “No need to hide this,” he said. “I’ve seen it several times before”—which struck me as kind of weird, you know? I mean, when had the professor seen me hard before?

He said, “You know, now’s the perfect time for you to be hypnotized. You’re tired from your run. All of your conscious mind’s defenses are down. You’re already relaxed, maybe even feeling a little sleepy, right?”

“I guess so.”

He lifted up his finger, held it there. I’d seen him do this in class enough that I knew exactly what he was doing. It was exactly the same way he hypnotized Isaac that first night in class. “Luke, I want you to watch my finger. Keep your eyes on my finger.” The professor moved his finger back and forth, and my eyes tracked it, like it was inevitable, and maybe it was. Back and forth, always coming a little closer to my face. Closer and closer, until finally the professor brought his finger to rest on the bridge of my nose, making me to look cross-eyed at it. “That’s good, Luke. You’re almost there. See, I know you’re here for a reason, and pretty soon, that reason will be as clear as crystal.” He put his hand on my forehead and started drawing it down across my eyes and face. “Sleep,” he ordered, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from closing.

“Luke,” his voice came to me. “Open your eyes.” I did. I was in a darkened bedroom, lit only by stray light through the curtain. Stretched out on the bed, on my stomach. “That’s it,” he said. “So easy to open your eyes and let your conscious mind engage while you stay deeply hypnotized. So deeply hypnotized, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Whoa—did I really just say that?

“Good. I want you to enjoy this. Think of it as your reward for doing so well in class, but there’s more to it than just that. You’re here to reward someone too, someone who has also done very well in class. Isn’t that right, Isaac?”

Isaac’s voice from somewhere said, “Yeah,” very slowly.

“Come over here where Luke can see you, Isaac.”

Someone shuffled closer to the bed, emerging gradually from the darkness at the edges of the room. I recognized that fraternity tattoo on the outside of his leg, just above his ankle—Isaac—though some part of me wondered how I knew that since I couldn’t remember ever seeing his bare legs before. My eyes drifted up his long, lanky body and pale skin. He was naked. My eyes passed his semi-stiff prick and its nest of red pubic hair, his bare freckled chest, and settled on his half-closed eyes, the foggy look in them.

“Yes, Isaac is in a trance too,” the professor said. “Just like you are, Luke. A deep, relaxing trance. He’s had a little crush on you, so I thought this would be a good way to reward you both for doing so well in my class.”

The professor told Isaac to go ahead, and Isaac climbed up on the bed, kneeling beside me. He went very slowly, massaging, kissing, licking, scratching, massaging some more. All the while, the professor whispering about how relaxed we both must be feeling, how tired, how sleepy. Isaac was using this massage oil with a really heavy, sensual patchouli fragrance—very erotic—not enough to get me slick but enough to make his hands glide over my skin and fill the air with the fragrance. It felt like the fragrance was some thick cloud in which I was floating, drifting. From the moment he began, all the way through, Isaac never lost contact with my body—some part of him was always touching some part of me.

He started by massaging my shoulders and back. Up along my neck, into my scalp, then back down and along my arms and hands, first one, then the other, then down my back, my butt through my shorts, down the backs of my legs, the left one first, all the way down to my foot, where my shoe and sock just seemed to melt off my body, then back up to my butt and down the right, where that shoe and sock just seemed to fall off as well. I discovered how sensual having my calves massaged can be. It felt like I was just melting into the mattress, just like the professor was telling me to do. I also discovered I have an erogenous zone on the backs of my knees, and that I like getting licked there, slowly, the way a cat will clean itself. Isaac massaged my feet, even my toes and the spaces between them. Then back up the backs of my legs, across my shorts, up my back to my shoulders.

He rolled me over. Started massaging my chest. I could barely keep my eyes open, but Isaac kept looking at me through his own sagging eyelids and smiling, like he was doing this from some great well of peacefulness within himself and I could take a drink from it if I wanted to. He worked my chest, then down along my right arm. I discovered the inside of my elbow is a place where I like to be licked too, slowly and sensually. He spent a while on my right hand, then when he started back, he paused at the wrist. From the nightstand, he picked up a necktie. I’ve never played with bondage, but I didn’t say no—didn’t even think of it. He just kept smiling to let me know it was all right. I let him tie the tie around my wrist, then knot it to the headboard.

Isaac worked his way back down along my arm, across my chest again, started along my left arm. He took his time. He was in no hurry, so we were in no hurry. The more he licked the inside of my elbow on that arm, the more I felt like—I dunno—it was an incredible feeling; if he had kept it up a while longer, I might have cum. He made his way to my left hand. On his way back, he paused after he worked the wrist and retrieved a second tie. I just lay there and let him tie my left wrist to the headboard.

Isaac kept going back down my arm. Massaged my pectorals, then down along my abs, my sides, reaching under me to pull at the bottoms of my delts. I was getting this really connected feeling, like for the first time I was starting to understand how my body isn’t just parts or muscle groups—it’s one big whole where everything attaches and shares with everything else.

By now, neither of us seemed to be listening to the professor. We were locked in our own little world, just us. Isaac worked his way down to my running shorts. His hands told me to lift my hips, just by the way they ran over the ridges of my hip bones. He pulled my shorts off, my jockstrap too. He worked my hips and groin. I was hard but he skipped over my rod. Instead, he went down the fronts of my thighs, really working the heavy muscles there. Down my calves, finding ways to run his fingers between the muscles, and down to my feet and toes again. When he worked his way up my legs, he started spreading them, a little further apart each time he worked his way further up. When he got to my thighs, he put my calves on his shoulders. My legs were pretty much limp, so he didn’t have any trouble. I could feel the blood flowing down out of my legs and into my torso as he massaged my thighs.

This time, Isaac went from my thighs to the area where my balls meet my ass. He kept reaching under me to grip my ass, then making long pulling motions from my ass to my thighs, then around the outside and up into my groin. He rubbed my balls gently, licking at them slowly but firmly. Most chicks just kind of lap at them a time or two and then move on, but he was using his tongue like a finger to probe and rub and massage them. He licked at my shaft, from the root to the tip. I don’t usually leak precum, but I was oozing it like a fountain. He had a finger between my thighs, making little circles around that ridge of flesh behind my balls. That finger made its way down toward my asshole and flicked across it lightly, so lightly it felt more like air. His other hand turned my cock shaft toward his mouth, and he went down on me, looking me right in the eye and never taking his off mine. His mouth was soft and hot and wet, and his tongue undulated along the underside of my shaf! t. He wasn’t “sucking.” Just holding me inside him and moving himself along me.

I started to cum. At first, I thought it was going to be a pleasant little orgasm, very relaxed and just a good feeling flowing through me. Then when I was about halfway through what usually happens during one of them, something happened in the base of my cock, and the next thing I know, I’m having one of the strongest orgasms of my life—just flat-out amazing, like I’m pulled tighter than a violin string and humming from the stroke of a white-hot bow. When it’s finally over, I’m like one of those patients after electroshock: spent and limp and too dazed to think clearly.

Isaac kissed his way up my groin, my stomach, my chest, neck, cheek, kissed me. His way of letting me know he was still there. He started massaging my face: chin, cheeks, temples, forehead, the areas around my eyes. Every now and then, he’d stroke down my neck, across my chest or shoulders or along an arm, stirring up the residual feelings in my body and making them swirl around a little. Mostly though, he focused on my face until, eventually, he kissed me one last time and untied me, one hand at a time.

He was still fully hard. When the professor told him to, Isaac took his cock in hand. He straddled my chest and stroked it. I was too limp to move. He jacked himself off, never taking his half-closed eyes off me. His body shuddered, bucked forward and back a little, and then I felt his cum spackling down, hot and wet, against my chest and neck and chin.

Like the professor said, we were finding ourselves very sleepy, ready to go back down into sleep. Isaac lay down alongside me, his arm thrown across around me like a blanket. I closed my eyes when the professor told me to and sank into my trance almost immediately.

25

I got to the gym a little early. I was going to class, sure, but I had something to do first. I hauled my gym back into the dressing room and dropped it on the bench.

“Hey, Luke,” Daniel said, already pulling on his singlet.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, shaking his hand. Beyond him, Daryl was already in his singlet, getting his shoes tied. Tony was pulling on his swim team swimsuit, a trim little Speedo that didn’t cover nearly as much of his big ol’ bulge as it should have, probably because he had a lot of bulge down there to cover. Isaac had on the shorts of his basketball uniform and was reaching for his shirt; our eyes met for a second, and he was looking at me like I was his best friend or something, and then I had to look away. I got undressed. I guess we all had the same idea this week: showing up for class in our team uniforms. After all, what better way to focus our minds on improving our performance as athletes?

And over there was Marco. Marco is South American. Dusky skin. Beautiful face. Perfect body. Dark hair worn shoulder-long and a little shaggy. He’s already in his white shorts and pulling on his soccer team tunic, the one with the team mascot and his number over his heart. He’s got this way of moving that makes you think of sex. Trust me. Hell, all of a sudden, just looking at him, I was sure thinking of sex. Sex with Marco. Him sucking my cock. Me sucking his. Me laying his naked body back and hoisting his legs up.

Fuck! What the hell was I thinking? Marco was a guy, dammit! Good-looking but still a guy. I looked away and had to think about math tests and shit like that to make my erection go away. Good thing no one seemed to notice. Except for Marco, who was looking back at me with this expression that might be smoldering sex or annoyance. I couldn’t tell which, and I turned away quickly, blushing in spite of myself.

We put our street clothes away—time for class. Tony, in his Speedo, was nearly naked, but he didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious. Daryl, Daniel, and I in our skintight singlets were pretty close to naked too, but we’re used to being on display like that. When you wear a singlet as much as we do, you get used to it.

We filed into the classroom.

At first, I thought maybe class had been canceled and Doc forgot to tell us, because the lights were out. Well, the overhead lights were off, that is, but it wasn’t entirely dark in there. There were these two candles—the tall, thin dinner-table kind—about six feet apart in the middle of the floor mats, on these little stands.

Cameron asked, “Hey, Doc, what’s up the candles and shit? Someone forget to pay the electric bill?”

“Very funny,” Doc said, chuckling along with us. “Tonight you finally start learning how to hypnotize yourselves without my help. One of the classic ways is by staring into a candle flame. Candles make good tools for beginners. Now, if you’ll all take a seat in a circle around one of the candles, we’ll get started.

“Have a seat,” he says to us, and he tells us to sit in a circle. So we get settled, sitting cross-legged in circles around the candles. Daryl, Marco, and Isaac are at the other one. At this one, Tony sits to my right, Cameron to my left, with Daniel directly across from me.

“Everyone comfortable?” Doc asks us, and we know he’s getting started. “The first thing I’d like you to do, of course, is to just let yourself look right into the heart of the candle flame. That’s right. Now take a deep breath. Look directly into the flame. By now, you’re probably starting to recognize the feeling that comes when your mental filters kick in. It’s a pretty good feeling, huh? Those filters always help you do a better job. Let me tell you another story. About two years ago, I was asked to conduct a hypnosis session with a major league baseball pitcher. The pitcher and his coach described his problems in a way that led me to suspect he had a serious mental block. He had been pitching worse and worse over the season. According to his coach, he had done better in previous years but now he to be sinking into a severe slump. Under hypnosis, the pitcher told me that he felt guilty about throwing bad pitches. Every time he threw, he was recalling how badly the last pi! tch went, and then he was using that to convince himself how much worse the next pitch was going to be. It was a deadly cycle of self-consciousness and guilt. So I helped him set up a set of corrective mental filters and suggested that, the moment the ball was leaving his fingertips, he would be looking into the past and could no longer affect the ball. I then suggested that since the ball, the past, and the outcome of the pitch were now clearly out of his hands, he did not need to feel guilty about the outcome, and all he had to do was learn from the experience and continue learning and getting better. As an added filter, I suggested that when he came on the field, unless some emergency required all his attention, he would find that he couldn’t see or hear anyone or anything beyond the fences. They’d be filtered out of his perception, as if they just wouldn’t exist for him, because they were not a part of the game and thereby didn’t need his attention if he is playing. The ! result, according to his coach, was that the pitcher’s self-consciousness turned to self-confidence, and the other players noticed he had a much better attitude. And yes, his pitching really improved for the rest of the season. That’s the kind of improvement your filters will offer you.”

Doc paused for half a second, then continued into the main part of what I was learning to see as his induction. “Just breathe any way you want to, and let yourself catch the rhythm. Let yourself find the rhythm in the flickering flame, and follow it. That’s fine. You can breathe normally. As you let yourself focus, focus more and more on the flame, deeper, I wonder if maybe you had an experience where you had to lift your arm to do something, something like lift a bag of groceries out of the trunk of a car, and you really had to reach for them and lift them up. And I’m wondering if we might get your hand lifting tonight. As you go into a trance, even if you’re not consciously sure you’re going into a trance yet, your hand and your arm can lift automatically. Maybe it will start to lift now, or maybe it will start to lift as we go deeper into the trance, as you stare deeper into the candle flame, the fingers and thumb starting to move ...”

Across from me, Daniel moved. That broke my concentration, and I looked up at him. He was looking right back at me, and he grinned and mouthed something, jerked his head toward Doc and the group around the other candle. I couldn’t make out what Daniel was trying to say, but I looked anyway. Daryl and Isaac I could see pretty clearly—they were staring right at the candle, eyes heavy-lidded, expressions blank, hands twitching and starting to lift a little. I sneaked a glimpse at Doc but he was droning on, not paying any attention to us. I looked back at Daniel. He was grinning and moved his mouth. I couldn’t lip-read it in the semi-dark and mouthed back, What? He frowned at me like I was being silly or dense or something and mouthed it again. I looked over at Cameron, then at Tony. They were looking pretty zoned out. Tony’s hand was bend up at the wrist; as I watched, it started to rise off his thigh, into the air. I looked back at Daniel. He was grinning big, and he silently! mouthed a few more words. I missed it again and frowned my confusion back at him, which only made him grin wider.

Doc was suddenly standing behind Daniel, and he gripped the back of Daniel’s head, forcing his eyes down toward the candle, forcing Daniel to look. Doc didn’t even break his rhythm. “And you can feel yourself looking deeper ...,” he was saying, “... deeper ever second ... into the flame ... and you may find that ... you can’t look away ... can’t stop what’s happening ... inevitably ...” And when Doc let go of Daniel’s head, Daniel didn’t look up, didn’t turn away from the flame, and his expression was starting to fade, like he was falling into a trance faster than any of us. Daniel always was an overachiever.

Doc was saying something like, “And now as your hand is lifting, that’s maybe a sign that you’re starting to go into a trance, or maybe you’re already in a trance a bit, ready to go further ...” I looked around. The others were all staring, blank-faced, at the candles, as if half-asleep.

“And I’m wondering,” Doc was saying, “if your arm will lift up and out, whether it will lift to your cheek, or your nose, and I’m wondering if you think it’s pretty silly now, but it’s lifting, and I’m wondering if there’s any doubt, while it’s still lifting.” I yawned, in spite of myself. Then Doc was behind me, one finger on the back of my head tipping my head down, where my eyes met the flame as it danced, and Doc said, “And I’m wondering if maybe you’re already feeling it happen, so familiar, that familiar feeling of a trance coming insistently over you,” and I began to feel ... funny. Kinda sleepy and focused at the same time. And Doc was saying, “And that’s okay, as it lifts, as your hand lifts, lifting higher, as you feel yourself sinking back into that familiar, delicious state of hypnotic peace, eyes starting to close. So heavy. Hand rising. Eyelids closing. Closing tightly ...”

Doc said my name and touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, lifted my head, took a deep breath. I looked up and around at him. Doc was smiling at me. I wasn’t aware of having fallen asleep, but some part of me knew I wasn’t really awake either, knew that I was still hypnotized, and that seemed cool.

Doc told me to stand up, and I did. My body felt kind of weird. Sluggish. Like I was seeming everything through some kind of glass. But I stood up, and I followed him. He led me out into the hallway. The lights were out in the hallway too now—the gym must have been closed. That didn’t matter. Doc led me to the room next door. Another classroom. Mats on the floor. One wall was all mirrors. The light were on—brighter than usual, it seemed—and they made me blink.

Doc had a video camera set up on a tripod, aimed over there. Over in that corner, by the edge of the mirrored wall, Doc had put outlined a square with masking tape. Doc was talking to me—I couldn’t quite catch the words, but I understood. Once I stepped into that eight-foot square, everything would be okay. Whatever happened would stay safely in the square. I could do anything, and it would be okay.

Doc told me to go over and stand inside it, and I did. He had the video camera going, and he had another handheld camera pointing at me. I grinned back. I flexed my arms and chest, feeling the muscles stretch. Felt really good. I looked at me reflection in the mirror as it mimicked my motions. Yeah, I looked really good, really sexy.

I got down on all fours and positioned myself and pumped out a quick set of ten pushups. I watched myself in the mirror the whole time. Doc was walking around, getting different angles, but I ignored him for the most part. I came up onto my knees for a second. Long enough to pull the straps of my singlet down off my shoulders, to peel the top half of it down to me waist. Yeah, pushups made my chest look great—really pumped up my pecs. I watched myself run a hand across them in the mirror. That felt good too. I dropped back down and pumped out another ten pushups, feeling myself starting to sweat just a little.

My body was feeling good—really alive—even if my head still had that kinda fuzzy feeling. I flopped over onto my butt. I tugged off my wrestling boots and the half-socks I wore under them. I stretched back, then cranked out a dozen or so crunches, feeling my abs tighten nicely. Doc was telling me what a great job I was going, and how good I looked, and I grinned. I sat up and skinned my singlet the rest of the way off, which left me wearing only that skintight pair of Lycra wrestler’s briefs, the kind guys wear sometimes under a singlet if they don’t want to wear a jockstrap.

My rod was making a long ridge across my left hip. It was hard, and touching it through my wrestler’s briefs sent this pleasant tingle through my whole body. I knew Doc wouldn’t mind. He knew how it was when guys got horny. He was even saying so right then.

I stood up and, with my thumbs hooked in the waistband of my briefs, I shucked them down and off my body, stepped out of them and dropped them just outside the square. I looked at myself in the mirror, muscles all pumped, cock sticking out and needing some serious attention. Yeah, I looked damn good. The camera over there on its tripod was surely getting a good look, and Doc with his handheld camera was also getting some great shots. Yeah, I was very attractive—why shouldn’t he be getting this on film? I ought to put on a good show for him.

So I did. I wrapped one hand around my cock and ran the other across my pecs. The double assault nearly made my legs buckle from ecstasy. Everything felt twice as good as usual while I was in the square and in front of the camera. I stroked my meat with long, lazy strokes, feeling the sensations ripple out through my body, building slowly. My other hand roamed across my chest, my flat stomach, even my balls and ass, spreading the joy around. I loved the sensations washing through me. Fucking loved them.

My hand roamed back and found my ass, flicking a finger across the hole in ways that brought a whole new dimension of bliss. Next thing I know, I’m on my back with my legs spread, with one hand pistoning at my meat while the other teases my hole with two delicious fingers sliding in and out. Everything is feeling too good, and I’m panting, gasping, thrashing almost out of control. Everything is feeling too full, starting to burst, and then Doc says something and my orgasm is exploding all over me, cum shooting everywhere and splattering across my chest and arm and abs.

I topple back onto the mat, sprawled out, my whole body sweat-and cum-soaked and limp. Doc is telling me something, and I turn to look at him and smile for the camera. He’s telling me what a good job I did, how good I must feel, how tired I must be, and yeah, I’m already feeling myself sinking, and I can’t move or hold my head up any longer, and my eyes are closing.

When I open my eyes again, I’m back with the others, sitting around the candles. The flames have been extinguished. Doc has just turned the lights on, and we’re blinking, squinting sheepishly at each other. We yawn and stretch and stand up. I’m dressed again, but my singlet straps are still off, the top half of my singlet hanging around my waist. Daniel’s and Daryl’s singlets are pushed down too. Marco has his soccer team tunic off, tucked in the back of his shorts, and Cameron has his tennis shirt off too, draped over his left shoulder. We’re all jocks and there’s nothing wrong with having your shirt off. I guess we didn’t think anything about it.

Class was over. We filed off to the locker room. The lights were off throughout the hallways—it must have been late. This was the first time class lasted past the time the gym closed. I pulled my locker open. A shower sounded good—I wanted to wash the day’s funk off. So I stripped down. The others were doing the same thing. I stepped past the camera that Doc had set up on the tripod by the shower entrance and turned on one of the nozzles. On the opposite wall, Cameron and Tony were horsing around under the spray, laughing at some joke.

The water felt great, like a whole weight was being washed off of my shoulders. The shower beside me came on, and I looked over. Marco stood there, head back, running the water and his fingers through the hair on his chest. I reached for the soap and started swiping it across my own chest.

Pretty soon, I felt something. Eyes. Marco’s eyes on me. I looked over at him, and he smiled, a sly, confident smile. I smiled back. He was lathering his cock and balls, and staring right at me, kind of intently. I looked down. His dick was starting to get hard, lengthening and stretching out toward me.

I felt my cock starting to stiffen too, and I had to turn away, turn my back toward Marco. I focused on lathering my arm.

Over there on the other side of the showers, Isaac and Daryl were horsing around and giggling. Playing a little harmless grab-ass. But Isaac was letting his hand linger on Daryl’s ass, and Daryl was letting him. They were coming together, and their mouths met. My jaw dropped. No way! What was happening here?

A hand touched my back. Hands. Running over my back in small, lazy circles. Half soaping, half-massaging. I looked over my shoulder. Marco. He grinned at me. Okay, I have to admit—it felt great. I love a good backrub. So I grinned back. He ran one soapy finger down my ass-crack, then into the crevice, finding my hole. This electric jolt ran through me, and suddenly I had this ... hungry feeling in my ass. I pushed it back, to encourage him to do that again. He did, his finger slipping inside this time. I didn’t care who was looking, or what the others thought, or about that camera Doc had set up at the entrance of the showers.

Fingers pulled my ass cheeks apart, which pulled me back into the moment. Marco was kneeling behind me, spreading my ass. His tongue came in, and he went to work. His tongue and lips bathed my crack there under the spray. He was laving attention on my asshole enthusiastically.

“He likes that,” someone said behind us. I didn’t care. Marco’s tongue worked on me, making me squirm and moan, making my butthole quiver and snap.

“Lemme fuck you,” he moaned, breathless. He didn’t wait for me. He moved forward. I felt the head of his cock slide between my cheeks and begin to wiggle against my asshole.

Someone came around us—Tony was sliding down in front of me, kneeling. Marco began to push forward.

“Ow,” I protested. “It’s too big.” He pushed harder, and I felt his cockhead start to slip into my sphincter, to enter me. It was pushing my hips forward too, and my cock slipped into Tony’s mouth, like a warm, velvet sheath. “Oh, man,” I breathed. Then the whole mushroom head of Marco’s rod was inside, spreading my ass. It hurt—hurt like hell—but it felt ... good, somehow, at the same time.

Cameron was standing beside me, jacking himself as he watched Tony blow me. Marco’s cock hit something inside me, something satisfying, something that made me feel dizzy every time he thrust into me. His thrusts carried my dick in and out of Tony’s mouth. I looked down. Tony, on his knees on the hard tile floor, was jacking his own erection as he blew me. And damn!—he had a huge cock. Fucking huge. I was sure glad it was Marco fucking me instead of Tony with that monster, but part of me wanted to feel Tony’s massive eleven-inch piece of meat inside me too.

Marco was beginning to fuck me in earnest, and I had to have him inside me. I reached around, pulling at him, trying to pull his thrusts deeper inside me. The three of us were in perfect synch, unrelenting. I felt my jizm boiling in my balls.

Beside me, Cameron sighed, and his cum spurted out, landing on my thigh and Tony’s shoulder. “Oh, man!” Tony exclaimed, his mouth coming off my cock. He looked down at his beating hand, and suddenly rope after rope of white spunk shot out, mixing with the water coming down all around us. His body jerked and convulsed as he rode through an intense orgasm.

Marco pulled out of my ass, and I missed the feel of his cock immediately. He worked his cock frantically. He gave this little cry from deep in his throat, and I felt his hot cum sprinkling across my back and buttocks.

Tony, still kneeling, was back on my cock, jacking it insistently, and I couldn’t hold out. My orgasm started spreading through me like a haze, and suddenly it was igniting every nerve, burning through me. My spunk fired across his cheek and shoulder. He milked it all out of me, and I sank back, drained and dazed, into Marco’s arms. He kissed my neck and held me until I could stand again.

“Oh, man,” I swore, in spite of myself. Tony headed over to where Daryl, Isaac, and Daniel were fucking, wanting a piece of their action. Marco patted my ass and turned back under his shower to clean off the spunk, and I did the same.

12

So I’m in bed with this chick. I can’t remember her name. She’s hot and I’m into her, but she’s nothing special, you know? Just some chick I picked up at this party and brought back to my place.

And we’re naked and in my bed. The lights are out. We’ve been through all the preliminaries, where we do all that kissing stuff, and I lick her nipples, and she blows me a while, and I eat out her pussy—which she fucking loved, lemme tell you. We’re naked, and we’re fucking, and I’m really getting into the groove—you know how it is once you hit that rhythm and your head can go other places while your body does its job on auto-pilot. She’s totally into me ‘cause I’m this big star on the wrestling team and I’m really hot. And she’s on her back with her legs wrapped around my waist, and I’m coming up off my knees, my body suspended over her, and my hand by her shoulders to anchor me to the bed. And I’m humping and pumping, really letting her have it like a pile-driver. She’s giving it back to me with a pussy that’s clamped around me tight and matching me stroke for stroke. And she’s shouting, “Oh, yes! Oh, Luke! Fuck me, Luke! Fuck me harder! Harder!” And I’m giving her exact! ly what she’s asking for. I love it when chicks yell my name when I fuck them.

I’ve got my head back and my eyes closed, focused entirely on what I’m feeling, feeling something kind of odd in the back of my mind. And when I look down, it’s like I can’t recognize her anymore. It’s not her under me. I’m pumping away at her snatch, but it’s weird—it’s like she’s someone else. I’m looking down at her, and it’s dark, with only some street light coming in around the edge of the curtain, so it’s hard to tell, but it’s like she’s not even a woman.

He’s tossing his head side to side, and it’s like it’s Daniel under me, and he’s grinning at me like he’s loving it, and he’s saying, “Oh, yeah, dude! Fuck me! That’s right! Fuck me with that big dick, man!” And I’m pumping away at him, really jamming my dick in, then hauling it out and jamming it in again, over and over, as fast as I can bear, and he has his legs wrapped around me like a vice, heels digging into my back to urge me deeper, his ass clamped around my cock like it’s gonna snap my wood off at the root.

Daniel starts moaning and twisting around even more, like he’s having some kind of seizure. And his hard cock between us, starts firing off wad after wad of cum across his belly and pectorals. And then I’m cumming too, in hard, fast bolts that feel like hand grenades going off inside me. And I’m spurting my load deep inside, filling the condom I’m wearing, until I have nothing left to spurt out. I’m spent, like never before, and when I’m finally finished, I roll off and collapse on the bed beside my partner, and I’m too exhausted to move, and I just lay there with my arm over my eyes while I try to catch my breath.

And she gives me a little kiss, and I feel the bed move as she climbs out, and I hear her getting dressed.

“Well,” she says, standing in my bedroom door when she’s ready to leave. “I left my number there by your clock. Call me, okay? That Danielle is one lucky girl.”

And I look up at her and say, “Huh?” ‘Cause I don’t know anyone named “Danielle.”

“Danielle,” she says again. “You called me Danielle when you were cumming. Is that your ex-girlfriend or something?”

“Uhm, yeah,” I say, sinking back into the bed. “Listen, you better go. I need some sleep before class tomorrow. Can you let yourself out?”

“That’s cool,” she says, and “see ya,” and then she’s gone.

And I lay there thinking, Danielle? And I know sometimes your fantasies go to some pretty strange places when you’re not expecting it, but where the fuck did that idea of me fucking Daniel come from? And why did it seem so real, more like a memory than a fantasy?