The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

27

Daniel and I, we were in the kitchen. It was my turn to load the dishwasher, and that’s what I was doing. He was getting himself a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. All he had on was this pair of old boxer shorts, and it was like I couldn’t take my eyes off his body. I’d been fighting a hard-on all night, trying to keep him from seeing it. His cock made a nice lump, moving around behind the front of his boxers, and I kept wondering what it looked like hard, whether it looked like it did in my dream the other night. But, as I kept reminding myself, that was just a dream.

For someone who was never around the apartment very much, he’d sure been hanging around the last couple of days. He was usually over at his girlfriend’s place most nights, but I think they were having some trouble. Ever since Doc started teaching us how to really hypnotize ourselves, it was like Daniel and I both spent a lot more time at home, practicing. I know I was.

Daniel patted my shoulder as he slid past my ass toward the kitchen door. “Hey,” he said, pausing at the doorway. “We got any more matches?”

“Cigarette lighter,” I said. “On the nightstand by my bed.” Neither of us smoked, so we both knew what he needed it for—Doc had told us to practice self-hypnosis with candles at home.

“Thanks, bro,” he said, and disappeared into the hallway beyond.

A little while later, I’m walking down that same hallway on my way to the bathroom. Daniel’s door is open just a crack. His light is off, but there’s a flickering glow against the far wall. I put my eyes in the gap and see ... one lit candle on his nightstand, Daniel sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes half-closed and all dreamy, the light glowing across his velvet-smooth skin and muscles.

Daniel looked like he was in the early stages of a trance. His eyelids were fluttering, and he was breathing deeply and slowly, almost like he was dozing off. I remembered a couple of things from books that I had read, about how to help a subject move from sleep into a trance, and I figured they might work.

The secret, according to the books, was to go slowly. Give the person time to get used to your presence. Find the rapport. I stood in the doorway a while. Maybe subconsciously, some part of Daniel was probably aware of me being there. I stood there to give him time to get accustomed to me. Several minutes. Then I eased the door open. More waiting. Then I was standing by the bed. Then I started talking to him, using something like the inductions Doc used, since I thought they might seem familiar to Daniel’s subconscious mind. “That’s right,” I whispered, soft and slow. “Relax ... Focus ... No distractions ...”

Then I was sitting on the bed next to him—not too close though. His eyes flickered but he didn’t break out of his trance. I figured he was ready. I kept up my induction, telling him to relax, feel himself going back to that familiar hypnotic peace Doc had showed him how to enjoy. His eyelids started drooping down lower.

“That’s it,” I whispered, moving from an induction to a deepening exercise. “Just like in class. Relax. Feel all the tension starting to melt away. Feel it melting and turning to liquid. Feel it breaking up and starting to flow like water.” I put my finger on the warm skin of his back, between his shoulder blades. “Feel my finger? It helps all the tension in the muscles around it melt and become liquid. Feel the tension flowing toward my finger. Feel it clustering around my finger and leaving the other muscles limp and relaxed.” I felt his muscles tense under my finger, so I knew it was working. I moved my finger over onto his shoulder blade. “Feel the tension flowing. Feel it follow my finger. When the tension moves on, it leaves your muscles feeling so tired, so relaxed.”

As I moved my finger across his shoulder blade and up to the cords of muscles on the top edge of his shoulder, I could feel the flesh bunch under my finger. I continued, “That’s it. Feel the tension breaking up, flowing, following my finger. Flowing, flowing like water. Following my finger as it moves down your arm”—and I pulled my finger down across his bicep—“filling your arm, making it stiffen. Stiffer than it’s ever been before. Stiff and rigid from all that tension. Too stiff to bend, no matter how you try. So stiff, you can’t bend it at all.”

I felt Daniel’s bare arm stiffen. It trembled a little as he tried to move it, unsuccessfully. It was working!

“That’s okay—you can stop trying to move it now,” I said, and his arm went still. I ran my finger back up toward his shoulder. “All that tension is flowing again, following my finger. Flowing. Leaving all your muscles so limp and loose as it passes, helping the feeling of hypnotic peace spread throughout your body.” I kept up my quiet speech as I eased my fingertip down his wide, rounded pectoral, feeling it flex with tension, then slowly go limp as my finger passed on down, down his ribs, onto his abs, which tightened until they felt like a washboard under my touch.

I had intended to run my finger down his hip, down his thigh and his leg, all the way down to his foot. There, I was going to have him feel the tension drain out through the bottom of his foot, leaving him limp and deeply in his trance. That was what I had intended to do. But when my finger reached the waistband of his boxers, bringing along that stiffness down into his hip and groin, something started happening, and I guess I was a dumb-ass for not realizing it would happen. The fabric in the front of his boxers started to move. He was getting hard—all that stiffness was making his cock stiffen.

So all of a sudden, I got a new idea. I put my other hand on his shoulder and eased his torso back, until he was lying back on his bed. “That’s right,” I murmured. “All that tension is filling your cock, making it harden. Making it harder than it’s ever been before. So erect. So hard. There’s only one way to release all this tension when your cock gets this hard, isn’t there?”

I leaned forward and opened the snaps on the front of his boxers. I peeled back the flaps of flimsy fabric and exposed his swollen cock. It practically shone in the candlelight, with a little pearl of precum sparkling at its tip.

I wrapped my hand around it, tested its heft. It looked exactly like it had in my dream: hard, large, dangerous, and inescapably beautiful. I stroked it gently, chanting about how this was the only way to release all that tension, how every stroke brought him deeper into that wonderful state of hypnotic peace where he could let go and relax completely.

I stroked it slowly, gently. The shape of it fascinated me. I bent forward, telling myself it was for a better look in the dim light. His cock looked delicious. I found myself wanting to taste it. I wanted to lick that drop of precum off and lick his cock like a popsicle.

As I was bending even closer, my mouth unconsciously opening, I felt his cock jump in my hand. No time for what I had planned. “That’s it, Daniel,” I told him. “Feel yourself getting ready to cum and shoot all that tension out of your body. Ready to release it. Ready to relax and sink deeper into hypnotic peace. Ready? Release it, Daniel. Cum! Shoot that load!”

And then Daniel was cumming, rope after rope of spunk spitting out, then arcing down to splatter against his belly. After five or six initial spurts, his cum kept coming, flowing out of the red-angry head of his cock and flowing hot down my hand like lava.

When he was finished, drained of sperm and stiffness, Daniel looked like he was deeply asleep, totally peaceful, totally relaxed now. I whispered to him to concentrate on making the changes he needed to make now that he was in a deep, suggestible state. While he slept, I climbed up on my knees beside him on the bed. I pawed open my jeans. My cock was just as hard as his had been, and I needed release myself—badly, immediately. I did the only thing I knew would help: I jacked off. In less than ten strokes, I was there, cumming, shooting, my jizm jumping out over his chest and abs and raining down on him, mingling with his own.

When I sat back, spent, panting, I couldn’t stop grinning. I put my cock away and fastened up my jeans again. Daniel had slept through it all. I took a tissue from the box by his bed—then several more. We’d both shot a lot of cum, and it took a lot of tissues to mop it up. I patched his boxers back together over his sagging dick, whispered to him to forget that I had been there, and sneaked out, feeling ecstatic and light.

30

I woke up. Flat on my back. In bed. In Daniel’s bedroom. A warm body curled up along side of me: Daniel, with one arm thrown proprietarily across my chest. He was still asleep, smiling slightly as he dreamed.

I yawned. The motion of the sheet against my morning erection told me I was naked. Daniel stirred slightly, pressing his hard-on against my hip—okay, so he was naked too.

My whole body had that fucked-out feeling. You know—the one you get after a vigorous night of fucking, when your body still remembers how hard you came and is letting you know that it’s maybe a little tired out but wouldn’t mind another orgasm like that last one. I couldn’t remember meeting a chick last night or having sex with her, though. In fact, all I remembered was going to class as usual, and Doc talking to us as he began his induction. Then, the next thing I remembered was waking up.

The strange thing was, my butt felt kind of sore. Plus, I was in bed with Daniel. That made me feel kind of like “Ew, yuck!” inside. But then, I felt my mental filters moving in around my thoughts, numbing the part of me that was freaking out. I felt them calming and protecting me, and I knew everything was just fine, just the way it should be. It seemed kind of odd at first for my filters to be kicking in, since I wasn’t at practice or at a match or in the gym, but the filters took care of that too. Everything was perfectly normal. Daniel was my teammate and my roommate and my friend. Everything was all right.

I slid out from under his arm, slipped out of bed. Daniel squirmed a little but didn’t wake up. That was good, I thought, safely behind my filters, after last night. He needed his rest. I eased myself out of his bedroom and went to take a shower before my morning class.

37

“I want to tell you another story,” Doc said to us as he began the class. “Marco, this might be especially interesting for you, since you play soccer. A soccer coach at a school where I once taught contacted me about a goalie that was not even trying to block shots on the field. For four or five practice games in a row, he was just very sluggish on the field and hadn’t managed to block even one shot.”

I was catching on. See, Doc was using these stories to set up an expectation in us that being hypnotized and having these filters was a good thing—something that would benefit us and something we’d want. He was using these stories to help overcome any subconscious resistance we might have.

Doc continued, “I set up an appointment with the player. Under hypnosis, I asked him what was bothering him, and he said that during the month before, his parents had started a painful divorce. What bothered him most was that his dad had said, ‘You and your damned soccer—that’s what’s breaking us up.’ So, subconsciously, he decided that if he didn’t do well on the soccer field, maybe his parents wouldn’t divorce and might get back together.

“Now that the player and I had made this discovery, I talked him through some of the best pointers about soccer, how it’s a mental game, with staggering odds of 9 to 1 against each shot at the goal, and therefore, since it is so easy to miss a shot, you need to get over that feeling so that you can learn from your mistakes and get immediately better. My explanation of the game was intended to recruit his subconscious mind to help aid his thinking process during the game, as he had to decide how to block each shot and how to move to make it happen.

“He proved to be an excellent subject, capable of entering a very deep and cooperative level of hypnosis. When I was helping the player create his filters, I had him imagine a mental ‘garbage can.’ I had him return to the scene with his father and hold it vividly in his mind. Then I asked him to throw it away, just drop it into the garbage can. Then I worked with him to use his filters to shut that memory out so that it would never bother him again. From the next game on, he blocked nearly every shot the opposing teams made, and he blocked well. At the end of the season, his coach called to thank me for my help, though he did not know about the hypnosis. All the coach knew was that somehow with my help this player had snapped out of his slump and overcome his problem.

“I continued to work with the soccer player throughout the rest of his seasons on the college team, working on his filters and refining them. We worked on both their focus and their duration, and he very quickly developed them to a point where he could call them into place at will or with just a quick cue from me; and he often kept them in place for several days at a time, both on and off the field, as he rehearsed game play scenarios in his head. The results were outstanding. With this player’s effort and improved ability, his team made it to the playoffs, where he performed very well. And after the playoff game, he performed even better. Yes, even better indeed.” Doc smiled, as if remembering something special.

“He’s a professional player now,” Doc said. “Turned pro right after college. I hear from him frequently, and he’s doing great. His playing skills continue to increase with every game, thanks to his improved concentration. He tells me he can keep his filters in place for days at a time. Sometimes, he tells me, he thinks he wants them to be permanent, so they can help him in other areas of his life. Marco, do you think you’d like that?”

Marco turned his head toward Doc, kind of sluggishly. “Uh ...” he began, “... I guess.”

“You guess? Yes, or no. Simple as that, Marco.”

“Uhm, yes.”

“Then ...” Doc clamped his hand firmly down on Marco’s forehead. He passed it down over Marco’s face. “...sleep.”

Marco’s eyes were closed when Doc’s hand finished passing over them, and his head tipped slowly forward.

“Cameron, what about you?”

Cameron grinned, looking a little groggy already. “Shit, yeah!”

“Good answer. Good enthusiasm.” Doc passed his face over Cameron’s and commanded him, “Sleep.”

“Daryl, Tony, what about you two?”

Daryl: “Yessir.”

Tony: “Okay.”

Do reached out and passed a hand over each guy’s face at the same time. “Sleep,” he said.

“Daniel, Luke, what will it be, guys?”

He didn’t even wait for us to reply. He was reaching out, covering our faces with his palms, and ordering us, “Sleep,” and I couldn’t stop my eyes from closing.

“That’s it,” Doc was saying. “Let it happen at the rate you’re most comfortable with. Let your conscious mind slowly engage, becoming more and more aware of your surroundings, but keeping your subconscious mind active and your filters in place.”

I blinked. We weren’t in the classroom anymore. It was night—we were outside under the stars and a cloudless sky. Walking—we were walking up to a large house. In the dark, I made out the fraternity letters on the front, over the door: the same letters that were on Isaac’s tattoo.

Doc opened the front door. “Take it easy. Step right inside. Once you’ve grown accustomed to your filters being in place twenty-four hours a day, once they’ve become fully integrated into your psyche and fully a part of you, all of this will be much easier.”

We filed in. I don’t know about the others, but I felt ... kind of focused and distracted at the same time. Really focused on what Doc was saying, but also really distant from what was going on. It felt kind of like sleepwalking in a way.

There were a few guys milling around. They were all shirtless. A couple had on shorts. One had on jeans, and one was in his briefs.

“A bare chest is something of the dress code around here, after hours,” Doc said as he shut the door behind us. He swept his hand around as he led us deeper into the house. “See all these men? They’re all members of the most exclusive fraternity on campus. They’ve all been introduced to the benefits of mental filters. The only real difference between them and you is that they’ve been working with me longer. Their filters are fully integrated into their minds—you might say there’s no difference between their conscious and unconscious minds now. That’s why they look and act more naturally, even though they’re in a deeply focused state. They’re no longer guys who play sports with filters that kick in when they start to train or compete. Whereas you are players using filters, they are athletes who are in ‘filter mode’ constantly, living their sport.”

Doc grinned like he knew a secret. “Now, some of you might be remembering that Isaac is a member of this fraternity, and that’s true. I confess, part of the reason I was able to hypnotize him so easily in our early class demonstrations was because in a lot of ways, Isaac was already hypnotized. His filters keep him extremely focused and also very susceptible to my suggestions. Isn’t that right, Isaac?”

Isaac was grinning. “That’s right.” He pulled off his tee-shirt and tossed it across the back of a couch.

“Follow me, gentlemen.” Doc led us down a hall. The door we were passing must have been the bathroom, because this guy came out just as we were passing.

“Hey, Doc,” the guy said, grinning.

“Good evening, Erik.”

Erik must have just taken a shower, because all he has on is this green towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair is still damp, a few beads of water still dotting one shoulder too. Some part of me recognized him. Erik was on the football team. Right now, though, I was focused on his form. The towel was riding low on his hips, showing off his long, lean, muscular torso. Not a hair on his chest above the navel. And it was a wide, nicely developed chest, showing the results of his time in the gym, on top of his deep-cut abs. Erik was very cute, with classic looks and an easy smile. Light brown hair, cut very short, and hazel eyes.

Doc said, “Erik, I wonder if you would mind doing me a favor?”

“Sure, Doc. Whatcha need?”

“Tell me, Erik, how long have we known each other?”

“Uhm ... three and a half years—ever since I was a freshman.”

“And we’ve been working together with hypnosis for quite a while then, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, Erik, are your filters engaged right now?”

“Sure are, Doc.”

“Then I wonder if you’d mind helping me with a little demonstration? I’d like to demonstrate how mental filters take advantage of the principles of psycho-sexual control. All right?”

“Sure. Whatcha got in mind?”

“Everything I suggest to you becomes something of a command, doesn’t it.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Erik, you’re a hot young man. Young men have needs, don’t they? Sexual needs, And since I haven’t had time yet to lead the frat through our nightly exercises, your needs haven’t been met yet today, have they? In fact, I’m betting you’re probably very horny about now, aren’t you? You’re probably getting hard right now, aren’t you?”

Erik leaned back against the door frame. “Yeah, I guess I am kind of horny.” He groped the growing rise in the front of his towel.

“Erik, what I want you to do is easy, and you’re going to enjoy it. I want you to jack off for us.”

Erik grinned and closed his eyes. “Mmmm ... sure thing, Doc.” He pulled away the towel, revealing an uncut cock that was rapidly growing longer and thicker. Yeah, that was a nice piece of meat. Long. Sleek as a missile. Erik started stroking his rod with his left hand, and his right sprawled across his chest and tweaked his left nipple.

While Erik stroked, Doc said, “Psycho-sexual control is a very basic tactic, and it’s also very effective—especially on young men around college age. They tend to be hopped up on hormones and very horny all the time. Take control of their ability of find sexual release, and you take control of fundamental parts of their psyches. They learn, sometimes subconsciously, to do whatever is required to get off. That’s why there’s a sexual component to my mental filters. The link to the sex drive makes the filters an incredibly powerful mental force. Take a fraternity full of healthy, horny young athletes, install mental filters that are linked to their sexual energies, and you’ve got a system that becomes stronger and more sexually charged every time they kick in.”

What Doc was saying about psycho-sexual control, and the kind of control he was demonstrating over Erik—that kind of bothered me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that. I signed on for a mental edge in wrestling, not to be manipulated like someone’s sex toy. I felt myself starting to try to snap out of it, but ... well, I couldn’t. But the longer I watched, the more I fought that feeling.

Erik moaned. His hand was pumping so fast it was a blur. “Oh, man,” he gasped.

“Feel good, Erik?”

“Yeah, man!”

“Hey, Doc,” someone else said from behind us.

“Hello, Flash,” Doc said, turning to the new guy. Flash. Football and baseball star. Black jeans. Bare chest thick with brown hair. He had a big build, with massively muscled arms and pecs. Blue eyes. A tattoo of an ocean scene with porpoises on his right bicep. Very good-looking, like he just crawled off a clothing advertisement, with a shy, “aw shucks” country-boy personality.

“What’s going on?” Flash asked. He peered around us and grinned. “Oh, is he at it again? Hey, Erik, whatcha doing there, boy? Jacking off again?”

Doc said, “Looks that way. In fact, I wonder if you’re horny too, Flash? Aren’t you? Wouldn’t you like to help him out?”

Flash smirked broadly and said, “Sure, Doc.” He pushed through us.

As Flash started to pass Doc, Doc put his palm on Flash’s forehead. “Sleep,” he ordered as he pulled his hand down Flash’s face. Flash stalled, and his head fell forward. “Strip,” Doc said, and Flash pealed off his black jeans, then his powder-blue boxers. Naked, he had an impressive body. His hard-on stuck directly out in front of him. Seven inches long, it looked like, and very thick. Uncut too.

“Flash, blow him,” Doc said, and Flash sank to his knees in front of Erik. Erik turned his heavy-lidded eyes toward Flash; his hand slowed on his cock and then pulled back. As Flash’s mouth slid over Erik’s cock, Doc slid his hand down Erik’s face and told him, “Sleep.” Erik’s head sagged forward, eyes closed.

“Take control of the sex drive,” Doc said to us as Flash bobbed on Erik’s erection, “and you take control of the mind.” Doc surveyed the scene he had created for us. “Flash,” he said, “jack yourself off, please.”

Flash moaned, and his hand found his cock and started stroking.

To us again, Doc said, “Any questions?”

We of course weren’t really in a questioning mode.

“Didn’t think so,” Doc said smugly. “Take control of the sex drive, use it to energize the mental filters, and the result is a kind of control too enjoyable and seductive to be resisted.” He turned to Erik and Flash and told them, “Cum now. Cum, boys.” Flash fell back onto his heels, body spasming. His cum shot up in long arcs. Erik trembled, and his load came out in easy pulses, dripping into the floor at his feet.

“Erik, Flash, get your things and I’ll see you downstairs later with the rest of the brothers.” Like somnambulists, Erik collected his towel, and Flash retrieved his boxers and jeans. They padded off, not caring that they were naked.

“Gentlemen, come along.” We followed him.

We ended up back at the main room, where we came in. “Gentlemen, I offer you a choice. Join the brotherhood and accept my control. The benefits will be better than you imagine. Prestige here on campus. Success on and off the field. Sex regularly and without complications. And after you graduate, fame, fortune, vision, focus. The future is yours. Or, you can back out, go back to your lives the way they were before. In time, without reinforcement, your mental filters will fade. Maybe you’ll achieve the same things, but you’ll have to work a lot harder for them. The choice is simple.” He gestured at a nearby table along one wall. On it were six neatly folded jockstraps—white with the fraternity letters across the pouch in blue. “Join. Or ...” He gestured toward the door. “The decision is yours.”

Cameron walked over to the table. He fingered one of the jockstraps. Then he took off his shirt, shoes, pants, and briefs. He pulled on the jock strap. From somewhere, a small crowd of fraternity brothers was gathering around us. When the elastic waistband of the jock slapped tight against Cameron’s tight stomach, several of them started whistling and yelling and howling.

Then Daniel went up to the table. And Tony. And Daryl. And Marco. They stripped down and slipped on the jock straps, and the noise of the brothers was now nearly deafening.

I didn’t move. Something wasn’t right. It was hard to push back the filters, but I was trying. Something ... just felt wrong.

Doc called over the din, “Luke?” I didn’t move. “No? Well, then, awaken.” He snapped his fingers and I felt the filter fade. “Erik, show Luke to the door, please.” And Erik had me by the arm, hustling me to the front door.

To the frat members, Doc was saying, “Brothers, I present your new pledge class.” And the cheering mass of brothers swarmed in on Daniel and the others, hollering, hoisting them into the air, hauling them on a sea of shoulders to a door that led downward to the basement.

In seconds, the room emptied of everyone except just Doc, Erik, and me. And Erik shut the door in my face.

39

Daniel didn’t come home at all that weekend. Or, more accurately, he came home Saturday afternoon while I was out and cleaned out most of his clothes and some personal stuff. Probably he moved into the frat house. Somehow, I couldn’t make myself tell anybody anything about it.

I kept feeling my filters trying to take hold again. They had gotten pretty strong, I guess, ‘cause I was used to just letting them kick in when they needed to and do what they wanted to. Now it was taking pretty much a constant struggle to keep them back. It was like trying to fight off a headache or something, and I was afraid to let up for a moment, or sleep, or watch TV—hell, I was even afraid to jack off—all because I was afraid that, next time, I might not be able to make them let go.

Monday, at wrestling practice, Daryl and Daniel were both there. They had these placid little smiles, like they were slightly amused by something only they knew. I said hey, and they said hey back, but they were both pretty aloof. Was that what the filters looked like from the outside? When Daniel and Daryl stripped down, I noticed they were wearing their fraternity jocks, and they pulled their singlets on over them.

As for me? Well, I hadn’t slept much that weekend, and my head was pretty fried. I physically couldn’t stay awake much longer. It showed in my expression and the bags under my eyes. It showed in the way I dragged myself into my singlet and out onto the mats. As usual, when I stepped onto the mats, I felt my filters try to kick in, and I had to concentrate pretty much everything I had on staying awake and awake and pushing them back.

I had gone by the frat house yesterday—Sunday afternoon. That was the day after most of Daniel’s stuff disappeared. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, or what I could do. I guess I just wanted to—oh, screw it. Who knows what the hell was going through my head at the time?

Anyway, I was hearing sounds of activity around back of the frat house, so I headed around back there. A huge back yard, all surrounded by a ten-foot high privacy fence. I guess someone likes privacy.

I found a small tree and I managed to climb up high enough to see over the fence. Daniel, Daryl, and the others—plus a couple of other guys I didn’t recognize—were out back. Doing yard work in nothing but those jockstraps with the frat letters on them. You know—racking leaves, trimming some bushes, hauling limbs and piling them. Yard work. It looked pretty much like the standard embarrassing stuff frats make their pledges do.

Daniel was cutting back limbs on this bush on the other side of the yard. He had his back to me, so there’s no way he could have seen me. One of the brothers walked up to him. Like all the rest of the brothers, this one didn’t have a shirt on, but there’s nothing too weird about that when you’re working outside in the yard under the hot sun. He put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder blade as he told him something. A pretty everyday gesture, I guess, but there was something ... I dunno—something kind of sensual about it, like they were more than just friends. Especially when he started rubbing his hand across Daniel’s shoulder that way. Fraternities are supposed to be about brotherhood and stuff, but this seemed kind of like a twisted version. I was thinking I’d never fuck with my brother like that!

When Daniel turned to say something back to the brother, I saw his distracted expression. Yeah, there was something going on. I just didn’t know why, or what to do about it. All I knew to do was to climb down out of that damn tree and sneak off before someone saw me. I mean, I didn’t even know who I was supposed to go to for help. Maybe one of those cult deprogrammers? Well, they don’t list in the Yellow Pages around here. (I checked.) And I sure wasn’t about to confront Doc directly about it. I was out of my element here, and I knew it.

So, Monday. Wrestling practice. Daniel and Daryl are there like always. They both smile and nod a greeting but that’s about it. They don’t avoid me but they keep to themselves; and I don’t go up to talk to them because I have no clue what to say. What was I supposed to say? “Hi, did you know Doc has hypnotized you and is making you do things you probably wouldn’t want to if you ever stopped to think about it?” I mean, give me a fucking break, okay?

I guess it’s true you can’t hypnotize people and make them do things that are against their nature. But maybe you can work them up to it in small steps. Convince them a little at a time. Almost like seducing them into it. Maybe there was something to that “psycho-sexual control” stuff Doc had been talking about.

Coach noticed me dragging my ass all through practice, and he really crawled me about it. Chewed me a whole new asshole about how I needed to start taking care of myself and not stay out all night so I looked like something the cat dragged in. He even asked me if I was doing drugs! Fuck! I told him no, that I’d just been up all weekend cramming for a big exam, and not to worry ‘cause the exam had been earlier that day, and how I was sure gonna get a good night’s sleep that night—yes, sir—yes, sir—yes, I hear you, sir!

So he made me run extra laps after practice, I guess to make sure the message sank in. Shit, that was the worst part. Running laps is boring, and it’s easy to let your mind wander, and I knew if I let my concentration slip for a second, I might be a goner.

So I’m really a hurt puppy when I’m heading back to the gym to shower and change back into my street clothes. There’s this door you have to go through—you walk past the mats, and through that door to the hall that takes you to the locker room—and that’s where Daniel and Daryl were waiting.

“Hey, Luke, buddy!” Daniel said when he saw me coming, and he’s coming over all smiles and hand out like he wants to be friendly, Daryl trailing right behind him and grinning just as big.

“Dude,” Daniel said, sounding all cocky. There’s nothing in his voice to show what’s going on in his head except a slight slowness where his filters were working on him. “Dude, what’ wrong? You look pretty rough.” He yanked his hand and popped me one in the chest. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make me take a step back. “What’s the matter Luke? Haven’t you been sleeping at night?” And he poked me again, circling me and popping me in the chest again.

He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was trying to herd me.

My foot hit the edge of the wrestling mats, and I really had to concentrate.

“Doesn’t he look rough to you, Daryl? He looks pretty stressed-out to me,” Daniel said, coming on strong, trying to intimidate me. “You know, when I’m stressed, there’s nothing like some exercise to help me get to sleep.”

“Look, Daniel,” I said, “I don’t want any trouble.” I was trying to look around for some help out of the corners of my eyes, without taking my eyes off Daniel. Where the hell was the Coach?

“Who said anything about trouble? We’re buds, Luke. Tell you what—want to go a couple of falls? I bet some wrestling would help ya clear your head. How about it?”

“I don’t think so—”

“Oh, come on—just a couple of rounds. I promise to go easy on ya.”

‘No, I—”

“C’mon, Luke. What’s the worst that could happen? You afraid I might be better than you? C’mon, Luke.”

Daryl chimed in with, “Yeah, c’mon, Luke.”

Then Daniel’s lunging at me, all smooth moves and an easy laugh, and we hit the mat, squirming and struggling, wrestling and grappling for position and control. This is all a game to him, but it’s more to me. Like I said before, Daniel is physically bigger and weighs more than I, but I’m faster and probably have the better technique. In a fair fight, I hold my own.

This isn’t a fair fight. I could feel my filters trying to kick in, trying to guide me and tell me what to do, just like they’re supposed to, but I’m fighting them off as much as I’m fighting off Daniel. He’s trying every trick he can to make me lose my concentration—tickling, pinching, poking, all while we’re struggling for holds and trying to block or break before the other gets an advantage. Daniel is also nowhere near as exhausted as I am. I’m running on pure adrenaline now.

Daniel’s got me on the defensive. He’s gotten behind me—got his legs around my waist in a scissors, trying to shut down my lower body. No problem—I can break this—I just have to do it before he attacks my upper body, and I figure I’ve got a couple of seconds. But I don’t. Daniel didn’t go after my arms like I was thinking he would. He wasn’t going for a pin—he had whole different kind of victory in mind.

He slapped one arm around my skull and forehead, tugging my head up and back. His other arms snaked around my neck and chin, clamping down hard. I know this hold, and it’s not legal—it’s the sleeper hold. Okay, I thought, I can break this.

I’m going for it, and suddenly there were two other hands, grabbing my wrists and trapping them. Fuck—I’d forgotten about Daryl.

Daniel’s hot and ragged breath was sliding across my ear. He murmured, “Whassa matter, Luke? It’s just your ol’ friends Daryl and Daniel trying to help ya get some sleep. Don’t you wanna sleep?”

The sleeper hold works by cutting off the blood to your brain, and it doesn’t take long at all sometimes. Especially when you’re already half-dead. Okay, I was in trouble and I knew it, and I was tempted to let my filters take charge just to see if they could get me out of this—figured it might be worth the risk.

Daniel voice in my ear, soft and low like a lover’s: “Rockabye, baby ... in the treetop ...”

I tried to struggle—I really did—but nothing was working right. I couldn’t make my fingers or my legs do what I wanted them to do.

“When the wind blows ... the cradle will rock ...”

This was like some twisted joke, singing someone a lullaby when they’re trapped in a sleeper hold.

“When the bough breaks ... the cradle will fall ...”

I couldn’t think straight any more. Couldn’t keep my eyes open. My body—the parts I could still feel—were turning into limp, dead weight.

“And down will come Lukie ...”

The world was going gray as I blacked out, and the last thing I head was Daniel whispering, “... cradle and all ...”

40

I woke up. Not all the way—I could feel my filters clamped firmly in place—but enough that I knew what’s going on again. I had no clue how long I’d been out of it. I had the vague sense that I hadn’t really been unconscious the whole time. I seemed to remember vaguely that Doc had me in a trance; I remembered his voice hazily.

In my head. questions like, How long ...—firmly, smoothly, my filters shifted it to the background where it was no longer important. And, Where am ...—the question faded.

Right then, I wasn’t sure where I was at first. I was blindfolded. I was naked. Sitting in a chair, with my hands tied behind it and my ankles tied to the legs. I felt the ropes being released, and then someone pulled off the blindfold. I blinked, looked around.

A basement—probably of the frat house. There were guys to my right, guys to my left. Shirtless—all of them. Isaac and Erik and Flash and some of the other guys I recognized from the fraternity. Doc over there to one side. There was Daniel, with Daryl and Cameron and Marco and Tony, in their pledge jockstraps with the fraternity letters on the front. Daniel and the pledges had that faraway look in their eyes—their filters were not as integrated into their psyches as the brothers’, not as much a natural part of them yet. My filters were letting me know everything I needed to know—I was safe in the frat house, among my friends and classmates. Everything else was unimportant.

A sea of men. They parted. A pathway between the two groups. A table. Something on it. Something small and white. My filters let me know exactly what to do.

“Do it,” the men were chanting. “Do it. Do it. Do it.”

I knew exactly what I needed to do. I stood up. Being naked didn’t bother me. I walked down that little gap between them. On the table was a neatly folded jockstrap. Basic white. The fraternity letters emblazoned in blue on the pouch. I reached out and picked it up.

“Do it,” the men were chanting as they closed in around me. “Do it. Do it. Do it.”

I looked around. Something in me wanted to be part of what they were, to have the same success and vouchsafed futures waiting for them. I knew what to do. The fabric felt good in my hands, like a handful of security and trust. I opened the folded jockstrap out.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Their chanting was louder, unrelenting as a heartbeat.

I bent forward. First one foot, then the other, and I stood up, pulling the jockstrap snugly into place. And I felt my filters clamp down tighter than ever around my consciousness—perfect, seamless, permanent.

The crowd of men and skin swirled around me, cheering and slapping my back and butt, welcoming me as their newest pledge.

Postscript

It’s been a year and a half since Daniel and I were been initiated into the frat, and we’ve never looked back. Now we’re walking across campus, across the quad at noon, with my dad and my younger brother Teddy. Summer semester. Teddy graduated from high school this past May, and he’s here visiting campus. He was a track star in high school, and he’s got that sleek runner’s body. He’s got a scholarship waiting if he decides to come to college here. He’s got another possible scholarship at another university too, and he has to decide which one to take. That’s why he’s here—to check out the campus. As for Dad, he’s been to campus a few times but not recently. It’s an hour’s drive to get here—not bad but not something that happens a lot. Plus, he doesn’t get out much not that he’s single again. He’s finally been dating some now, but he says he doesn’t get out much socially, and I don’t think he’s gotten laid in a while either.

Daniel and I are walking toward the Psych building. Teddy and Dad are following behind us. Daniel and I are in our usual fraternity uniform—snug white tee-shirts with the frat letters across the chest, white shorts, sneakers with no socks, to show off our matching fraternity tattoos, low on the outside of our right legs, just above the ankle. Dad gave me a lot of shit at first about the tattoo, but I just filtered it out. He calmed down after a couple of hours. I mean, I’m an adult, and a frat tattoo is something a lot of guys get. He had to admit I was a lot more focused now, a lot more mature. He said joining the frat was the best thing that had happened to me—said it settled me down and made a man out of me. That made me smile, ‘cause he had no idea.

My filters have been in place full-time ever since that night, and they’re only getting stronger, more a part of me, every day. By now, there’s pretty much no situation they can’t get me through.

Right now, we’re taking Dad and Teddy to meet Doc. Doc’s my faculty advisor now, and he and Teddy are gonna talk about the school, the track program, and maybe joining the frat.

Teddy has just turned 18, and he’s the usual bundle of teenage hormones. I remember what it was like for me when I was 18; that was before Doc was around to make sure I—we—got some action regularly. It must be hell to be that horny and not know where your next release is coming from.

Teddy is trying to act cool about everything—the campus, going off to college—but I can tell he’s kind of freaked about it. He keeps trying to pretend he’s not ogling the sunbathing chicks who are ogling Daniel and me. Daniel and I, we’re not paying any attention to them, really—they’re mostly getting filtered out.

Some sunbathing chick calls my name and waves. She takes a moment to register on me, and then the memory comes. She’s this girl Doc had me dating last semester. Her father runs a major investment company, and one of my frat brothers who was graduating needed to get a job there. Doc had me sleeping with her so her father would hire him—part of Doc’s program to get us promoted into positions of leadership once we graduate. Then, a couple of weeks after my frat brother got hired, Doc told me to dump her, and I did. She wasn’t much good in bed anyway. But now she’s waving and yelling my name, and I wave back because you never know when you might need her connections or something. I can tell Teddy is pretty impressed that all the hot chicks seem to know me. This chick waves me over but I pretend not to notice, and Daniel and me, we just keep walking.

We’re cruising forward along the sidewalk, like sharks, thrusting with a cool, leisurely muscularity through a school of fish that parts respectfully around us. The world is ours, and we will conquer it. Yeah, we’re well-known on campus—we’re some of the best-looking guys on campus, and everyone knows us as star athletes and the leaders of the primo frat. We rule this campus. We owe it all to Doc.

So we lead the way to Doc’s office, and Daniel knocks on the door. Doc calls out for us to come in, and we do.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says, getting up and coming around his desk. “You must be Luke’s father,” and he offers his hand.

“Hi. Call me Matt,” my dad says, and they shake hands.

“Your Luke here is a great guy. You must be very proud of him,” Doc says, as he shakes Dad’s hand, keeping up the eye contact. “And you,” he says, turning to Teddy, “must be the little brother I’ve heard so much about?”

“Hey,” Teddy says, noncommittally as they shake hands.

“You don’t look so little to me,” Doc says, looking him right in the eye. “In fact, you look like a very handsome young man to me.” Doc turns and heads back to his seat behind his desk. “Matt, Teddy, why don’t you sit down? Daniel, Luke, would you mind waiting out in the hall. I’d like to talk to Matt and Teddy privately for a few minutes.”

So Daniel and I look at each other and grin, and we go out to wait in the hallway, closing the door behind us. Waiting is easy—we just stand there, hands clasped behind our backs, and we know we’re supposed to go deeply into our heads, focusing and letting our filters close down tighter over our heads. For the next while, we’re lost in our training scenarios, the ones Doc has us run through every day. It’s a lot like self-hypnosis, and it makes waiting easy ‘cause we don’t notice the passage of time.

Doc snaps his fingers, and I blink. “Gentlemen,” he says to us, “you can come in now. They’re ready for you.” Daniel and I exchange grins, and we follow Doc back into his office.

Dad and Teddy are still sitting in their chairs. Their heads are slumped forward a little, like they’ve dozed off. They each have one hand hovering in the air, indicating their trances, and the other hand hanging limply at their sides.

Doc says, “Luke, why don’t you take care of Teddy. Daniel, would you take care of Matt, please?” And we know exactly what to do. It’s crystal-clear.

My little brother Teddy is slouched down in his chair, legs stretched forward. I’m suddenly struck by what a hot-looking guy he is. Looks a lot like me. I kneel between his spread knees. He’s wearing a fashionable tee-shirt and baggy shorts. There’s an erection lolling inside those shorts. I open them. I’m pulling down the front of his white boxer-briefs when, over my shoulder, Doc whispers, “Our little Teddy tells me he’s a virgin. Why don’t you make his first time special.”

I grin, and slide down the front my brother’s underwear to expose his half-hard cherry cock. Looks like “our little Teddy” isn’t so little after all. Takes after his brother. I glance over at my Dad, where Daniel is bobbing mouth-first on his cock. Hmm, looks like big dicks run in the family.

There was a time when this might have been a definite gross-out to me, a real turn-off. But since initiation it’s been like second nature. Doc has really opened my eyes to a lot of things.

Right now, I’m opening my mouth. I’m pulling Teddy’s dickhead into my mouth. Running my tongue all around the head of his massive cock, tasting a little precum, slurping it up. I glanced up at Teddy’s face. It was bowed down, and his eyes were closed, like he was deeply asleep. Yeah, Doc sure knows what he’s doing, and he can be very persuasive.

I’m turning back to what I’m doing, and I’m running my lips further and further down his shaft. Teddy moans in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake up—he can’t break out of his trance, or maybe he just doesn’t want to.

His cock is long and seems endless. It keeps growing and getting longer and even harder. Teddy starts thrusting his hips faintly in his sleep, instinctively trying to fuck my mouth. His body slumps back in the chair even further, if that’s possible, as he falls deeper into that hypnotic peace that I know will soon be like second nature to him too.

My mouth is going to take my brother’s cherry and make him a man. My mouth makes love to Teddy’s cock for what seems like forever, sliding slowly up, then down on his meat. Having his cock gliding in out of my mouth makes me feel really good, so very hot, and my cock is hard as a brick in my shorts. I’m probably leaking precum too. Doc didn’t say anything about me taking my rod out, so I don’t. Anyway, I know I’ll be getting a little something later tonight when we get back to the frat house—Doc always has us take good care of each other.

I’m working my finger up underneath his balls. I can’t get to his ass very well, what with his shorts and boxer-briefs interfering, but I manage to rub my fingertip back and forth over his virgin asshole. Teddy is getting ready to shoot. I’m feeling his nuts drawing up and his cock throbbing harder and harder. The muscles in his groin are flexing as his orgasm starts rippling along every nerve. I’m slobbering all over his huge dick, ready to take all that he has to give. I can’t wait!

Teddy moans again, still locked in his daze. At that moment, he begins to shoot his load into my mouth. I’m feeling his virgin cock spitting his spunk against the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat. I’m swallowing, milking his cock, taking all the jizz he can send me.

I’m sucking on his cock while he blows his load down my throat. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. Doc has made sure of that, and I feel so grateful to him. He’s helped me help Ted feel great too, helped me make a man out of him. Ted’s body gives a final involuntary shudder as he fires his last wad of cum. I’m swallowing that too and licking his cockhead and shaft to make sure I’ve gotten it all.

Doc tells me what a good job I’ve done, and I feel like I’m glowing with pleasure. I tuck Ted’s softening cock away in his boxer-briefs and fasten his shorts again. Ted has slept right through his first sex and the loss of his virginity. Oh, well—I know there’ll be more.

I sit back on my haunches to watch Daniel finishing up with my father. Daniel has unbuttoned the bottom half of Dad’s shirt, and he’s rubbing one hand over the light hair on Dad’s tight stomach. Dad still keeps himself fit and very trim—no middle aged spread. Dad’s in his mid-forties, and he’s a really good-looking guy—movie-star handsome—and he still looks like he’s in his mid-30s. Right now, I’m seeing him, and his body, in a whole new light. Right now, he’s slouched in the chair and getting a great blowjob—Daniel has blown me more time than I can count, and I know he’s the best. The best Dad’s gotten in a long time, that’s for sure, and maybe even the best ever.

Dad’s cock is long and sleek. Daniel is nursing it slowly, gently, teasing it with little flicks of his tongue against the underside of the cock head every now and then, the way that always drives me wild, as his fingers tease through the hair around Dad’s navel, and then Daniel’s easing his mouth over the whole shaft and humming softly as he slides his head up and down on it.

Dad’s orgasm comes like an explosion. No warning. Daniel is licking around the cock head, and suddenly Dad’s dick is spewing his juice in Daniel’s face like a teenager, so fast and furious Daniel barely has time to get his mouth over the head and start swallowing. When Dad has blown the last of his load, Daniel sits back and lets Dad’s still-erect cock slip from his lips. Daniel puts Dad’s slacks back in order.

“That’s a terrific job, guys,” Doc says. “Why don’t you go back out in the hall and wait, while I finish up with Matt and Ted.” So Daniel and I climb to our feet, and we go wait in the hall.

I don’t know how much time passes—like I said, we never notice it when we’re focusing on our mental scenarios. The door to Doc’s office opens, and we start snapping out of it. Dad and Ted walk out. They turn and shake Doc’s hand.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to us,” Dad says. “I know you’ve given Ted a lot to think about.”

“Yeah,” Ted says dreamily, like he’s only half-awake. He’s grinning as he shakes Doc’s hand and looking at him like Doc is his new best friend.

“No problem,” Doc says. “Ted is a bright young man. I know he’ll make the right about which college he’s going to choose ... and about the fraternity. Won’t you, Ted?”

“Yeah!” Ted says, grinning enthusiastically.

Doc said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some other matters I need to attend to. I’m sure I’ll see the four of you back at the frat house tonight.” And Dad and Ted say their goodbyes to Doc and we head back outside, into the afternoon sun, lower now by several hours.

As we walk back to the frat house, Ted announces he has made up his mind. He’s going to take the track scholarship and enroll in this college. He’s going to pledge our frat too. That’s good news, though not unexpected.

Dad says, “You know, that Doc is a really inspirational kind of guy. I really like his style. In fact, I might start making the drive over here to visit you boys more often. Maybe I’ll even take some night classes, like Doc suggested.” He jostled Ted’s shoulders. “Think they’ll have a place for me to stay at the frat house a couple of nights a week? Think you can stand seeing the old man around the place once in a while?”

Ted says, “Yeah ... definitely.”

Daniel and I look at each other, and we smile.