The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

8.

The first commandment of telling a story is: Something needs to happen.

Jump to the part where something new happened.

I was so happy being there. I couldn’t get out on the field to practice with the team yet, but now I could practice with them in the mental exercises. The efficiency expert, Doc, had been working with me in private catch-up sessions.

The team ran through drills and plays and games on the field, sun glinting off the sweat that covered their bare chests and backs as they worked hard, and I watched from the sidelines with my shirt off too. Even Coach—he had been wearing a tee-shirt with the word SUBMIT in huge block letters across the front earlier, and he had pulled off his shirt along with the rest of team. They were all so focused. I was so focused. We were one team, one commitment.

Coach blew the whistle for us to head back to the field house. It might seem like that would have snapped us out of our focused state of mind, but it didn’t. If anything, it made me feel even more focused and committed.

This was going to be the first time I did the mental training alongside the team. Doc had decided I was caught up and ready to join them. I climbed to my feet. By now I was good enough on my crutches that I could pretty much keep up with them as they jogged into the field house.

They were jogging back to the locker room, and I was following, a little slower because of my crutches. They were yelling and hollering and elbowing each other and horsing around. Like I said, they were focused on the field, but now we were all looking forward to getting back to the locker room for the mental training, and we were all riding high.

Coach stopped us before we got there. He aimed us at the chin-up bars. We knew the drill. My buddy Jake was one of the first. Two sets of bars, two guys at a time. Jake was one of the first two to hit the bars and start pumping out chin-ups.

I watched his body rise and fall through his chin-ups. I saw it beginning to happen. When his chin touched the bar the first time—perfect form—his eyes began to glaze. His body descended. His body rose, pulled by pumping biceps. Each time, as his chin nudged the bar, his expression smoothed a bit more, going slack.

This ritual was part of his trigger. Our trigger. I’m not sure how I knew that. All I knew was, this was the first step. He had been trained to do chin-ups on command. We all had. Each one helped him relax and slide again into the state of mind where mental training occurred. I thought I saw evidence of his cock rising. Hardening. Stiffening. A lump in his crotch through his jockstrap and shorts. This was part of his trigger too. Chin-ups made him horny, and the horniness helped him relax. It helped him feel good. It encouraged him to slip deeper, deeper.

He was cycling through his chin-ups, slow and steady, slow and steady. By the time he reached the last one, he was deeply focused and ready for the mental training.

Oh, man, I loved the look of his body, all long, sleek muscles and smooth skin. He was well-trained. I envied his commitment too. This was what Coach had told us to do, so we had to do it. After his final chin-up, Jake’s body dropped down from the chinning bar, and he walked forward so the next guy could take his place. Jake’s expression was completely vacant, eyes half-closed. I could tell he loved being this relaxed and committed to the team. He never resisted it.

Neither did I. So a few guys later, when Coach called out, “Next!” and the pressure of his fingertips in the small of my back encouraged me gently forward, I hobbled my way under the bar. My body was tingling already, cock hardening already. I felt feeling the sweet downward tug in my head already.

Lex and Martin, on either side of me. I handed Coach my crutches. Lex and Martin put their hands on my sides, and they lifted me. Warm, strong hands. I couldn’t jump enough to grab the bar with my leg in a cast, so they lifted me, so I could do the chin-ups and be focused just like them and go through the exercises with the rest of the team, and I felt so connected to them for helping me like that.

I reached and gripped the bar. Their hands fell away, and I started to pump out my set of chin-ups that let me feel that same delicious, downward tug, like sleep, slow and irresistible, so familiar, pulling me to the same intensely relaxed place in the back of my head, thoughts drifting, where I felt nearly asleep but focused at the same time, so focused. My body, so limp except for my arms and chest pulling me up, then lowering me down, down, deeper, down. My cock, so hard, so deliciously hard under my shorts and jockstrap, feeling so good, spreading such a good feeling all through my body, making me want to relax and enjoy this even more. So hard to think—don’t bother—just follow the exercise—whole body tingling.

Their hands met my torso at the end of my set. I let go of the bar and they lowered me, practically like I was floating down. That’s how it felt. My arms settled around their shoulders. They supported me in place of my crutches as we headed through the double doors into the locker room, to sit on the benches and listen raptly as we went through the mental training exercises.

This was my first time to go through the exercises with the whole team instead of just with Doc. Coach stood up in front of all of us, and he guided us through it, the process of taking what the chin-ups started and making it deeper, stronger, more absolute. I couldn’t stop it. I was well-trained. I was disciplined. I was one of the team.

He turned on this laser pointer. You know the type—one of those little pen-like things people use in presentations and stuff; and when you turn them on, they make this really bright spot of crimson light on the wall, and sometimes, like this one, they swipe the little spot in a tight, fast circle to really home your attention in. Coach was telling us to look into the circling light, to look into the light. This was different for me. Doc never used a laser light with me. He always just told me to focus my attention on something, and I would. I guess the team needed a more specific focus.

Already, Jake was sitting there, head bowed forward, eyes closed, arms and shoulders hanging limp. What a fucking over-achiever! He slipped under so smoothly and easily. He was more than just the team captain—he was our role model. Everyone wanted to be like Jake.

Coach was telling us to relax, to feel ourselves returning to the peaceful training state of mind. “The idea is for you to relax, deeply. Watch the light flowing around and feel the sensation of relaxation, having it fill your mind as the light spins further, faster, deeper into your mind. Relaxation filling you as you look into the light. Feeling the relaxation flowing over you, sinking deeper and deeper into it, letting it sink deeper into you, and watching yet relaxing deeply with the light, letting it take you deeper into the flow. More relaxed, more aroused, peaceful now, as you relax more deeply, calm and aroused, peaceful, deep. Just allow yourself to enjoy it now. So relaxed ...”

He’s hypnotizing us, I realized, Coach is hypnotizing us. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure that out. But I didn’t care. It wasn’t just us team members, either. The more he talked, guiding us, the more it seemed to affect him too. His voice was slowing, thickening, as if he was sliding under too. Maybe he was. Maybe he though he was immune and didn’t even realize everything he said was hitting him too.

Doc was moving among us. Coach said Doc might be touching us, adjusting our posture, showing us how to sit to relax more. He said there was this primitive, primal part of the body, connected directly to the sleep centers of the brain, and Doc might touch us there to help us relax so deeply.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Doc in motion. He would come up behind the guys sitting on the benches, and he would pause by them for a moment, one after another. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but it must have been working—when he moved on, the guys always seemed more slumped, more relaxed.

Doc made an arc toward the front, up where Coach and his laser pointer were Then he was sliding up behind Coach, and his voice fell in with Coach’s, reciting the induction along with him, perfect unison. And then his one hand came around Coach’s arm and gently took the laser pointer from him, and Doc’s other hand came up and touched Coach behind the ear, and Coach’s voice faded into a low groan, and Coach’s head wilted forward, and Doc’s voice went on alone as he eased Coach’s limp body down and off to the side and sat him down on the bench.

Doc kept up the cadence, guiding us down, down, as he continued his arc to the other side of the room, moving along the row of benches and the rest of the guys, heading my way. From the corner of my eye, another guy, then another, and then I felt the heat of Doc’s body glide up behind me. His hand turned my head a little, and I felt his fingers probe behind my ear, pressing gently, firmly. Part of me knew that was the spot Coach had told us about, the sleep spot. My eyes began to close, and my body went slack. I felt myself slide directly into the training state as easily as the rest of them.

When Doc snapped his fingers, we all opened our eyes. I wouldn’t say I felt completely awake, but my eyes were open and I was looking around, moving around—we all were.

The team was squirming around on the benches as we tugged off our shoes and socks and shin guards. Yeah, the other players were hurrying to hit the showers. Even Coach was getting naked with us, and he used to shower instead in this little bathroom off his office. I was kind of holding back. I tried to fight it—don’t ask me why—but my hands kept finding and pulling off what little clothing I had on. Except for the cast on my leg, I was naked too.

I was sitting on the bench. Jake and Martin were beside me. They knelt by my broken leg. Jake lifted it gently while Martin slid a plastic garbage bag—you know, the tall kitchen kind—over my foot and up my leg. He tied it off around my thigh. I felt so happy. With this bag to protect my cast, I could join the rest of the guys in the shower. They were making it possible for me to join in, and in that moment I felt so connected to them and happy.

My arms around their shoulders. Their arms around my waist. Helping me walk to the showers. My cock was hard, achingly hard. Theirs too. So hard, pointing the way.

Some of the guys moved and freed up a shower head for us, and we moved under the spray. Water wet us, making our bodies slip across one another. Jake slipped away from us, then returned a moment later with soap, two bars. I balanced mostly on my good leg as Jake soaped the front half of my body, and Martin the back half, being careful not to rock me off balance. Soaping me, washing me, all of us grinning. It felt so sweet and sensual, made me relax even more. Around us, the other guys were in pairs and quartets, washing each other too. Buddies and teammates taking good care of each other.

Jake’s soapy hand casually brushed my hard-on as he washed my hip. His hand ran between my thighs, under my balls. You might have thought I wouldn’t like the idea of getting hypnotized, getting naked, getting hard in front of the other guys and maybe having one of them touch my hard cock. But my body was like, Cool—I’m so gonna get laid! And that pretty much overruled every objection my mind could come up with.

Martin guided my body back against the wall for support, and I settled against it. Jake’s hand followed me, wrapping finally around my cock. Both of them kneeling in front of me, staring at my cock. Jake’s slick hand sliding up and down on my shaft. One of Martin’s hands caressing the thigh of my good leg, as his other pressed its way up and down the muscles of my abs and chest, half stroking, half holding my body in place.

Around us, other guys touching each other, pumping, jerking, worshipping each others’ hard cocks with hands and mouths.

I looked back down at my cock in time to see Martin’s mouth kiss it for the first time. That struck me as funny, and I giggled a little, even as this jolt of pleasure from where his lips touched my cock head went cart-wheeling through my head. His mouth was opening and taking it in, forming a warm, wet velvety vice around it. Sucking me so sweetly, slowly, slowly. I’d only gotten a few blowjobs before, but something in the back of my head buzzed that this was the best ever—no outsider was ever going to make me feel this good. Martin licking my shaft. Kissing the head. Sucking me. Easing me along, nursing me toward orgasm, toward release, toward a more relaxed place where the all members of the team and I were one. It couldn’t get any better than this.

Jake stroked Martin’s back at first, then he curled up on the floor, with his head in Martin’s lap, sucking him, as Jake jerked himself off. This all felt perfectly natural, all inhibitions gone. Not thinking. Just feeling. Feeling really good! So natural to make each other feel this wonderful. I had a second to wonder if Jake sucked cock as well as Martin, before Martin did this thing with his tongue that sent another snag of pleasure through me, obliterating every thought again.

Martin came first. I felt it in the sudden tension in his hands and in his mouth, squeezing my cock as his ecstasy rang through him. I looked down and saw his cum leaking from Jake’s mouth, already being washed away by the shower spray.

Man, that looked so fucking hot, and it tipped me over the edge, and I shot hard, shot my load, shot into Martin’s mouth and throat, feeding him all the weeks-worth of cum that had backed up in my balls. Release so sweet and complete, shooting until there was nothing left, nothing except this peacefully intimate feeling of oneness with the whole damn team.

Around us, guys were starting to join us, cumming too, shooting in their partners’ hands and mouths, shooting against their partners’ cheeks and chests and legs. Coach and Martin and Lex and all the rest. Cumming. Filling the air with their gasps and groans and grunts and sighs and their little cries and the smell of their semen, as the spray washed away everything, washed us clean of all embarrassment and inhibitions. Nothing left but the joy of being together like this.

Jake was one of the last ones. He sat up beside me with his legs stretched out and jagged himself off quickly and efficiently. His body was beautiful, and his cock was beautiful, that body I had seen so many times before in the locker room and in the frat house, and that cock, now hard, and I didn’t see any reason to hide my staring. I reached out and put my hand on his head, his wet hair. He looked up at me, and our eyes met, and he gave me this sexy, lopsided grin. Almost immediately, he was bucking and gasping He kept his eyes locked on mine as he shot his spunk, and I saw the first wad hit his cheek before the shower spray began to rinse it away. He beamed at me happily, and I grinned back.

All I could think was, I can’t wait to get this cast off so I can try sucking my teammates myself.

9.

Your subconscious is always trying to communicate, always trying to make contract. Problem is, it doesn’t use words—it doesn’t know any words. Instead, it shows you things, and you have to find your way back along the thread of association: Like: “See this blue? What does it remind you of?”

Jump to the night of the party.

The bass thumpa-thumpa of disco music was already pounding in our gums. Stepping inside the main room of the frat house, we were instantly swallowed by the shoulder-to-shoulder throng that clogged the front of the house. The party theme was Studio 54, and the living room had been transformed into a poor man’s disco. Half the shirtless dancers were wearing neon-colored wigs, and some old Warhol film was being projected across the ceiling, shaggy-headed sylphs staggering and jerking across the frame. I scanned the room for Nathan.

Part of me wondered why there were no chicks here, only guys, and then I felt that part of me curl up in the back of my head and go to sleep, where it wouldn’t bother me anymore.

One of our pledges, shirtless, all wiry muscles, in a fluorescent orange afro wig—he shoved a tray of Jell-O shots in our faces. Shane took one, shot it, and handed the other to me. “What’s in this,” Shane asked Orange Wig

“X, sir,” he shouted back, winking to let us know he was only kidding, before vanishing onto the adjacent dance floor.

Shane grinned at me. “Whatever,” he said. “If I wake up cuddling against you in bed and stroking your hair, that freak is going up in front of the Disciplinary Council!”

“Whatever,” I yelled over the music. “Let’s find Nathan.”

Shane pointed. “Look at that honey with the blond hair over there. She’s hot.”

I looked and thought, She? Nothing that way but shaggy Day-Glo wigs and bare male torsos.

Then I saw him.

Houston, we have a problem. He wasn’t part of my fraternity. Definitely a party-crasher because no way would I have invited him. He was some kind of half-dance on the other side of the room with some of his cronies. Halsey. He and his cronies—Max, Chris, two other guys—were some of the few guys here with their shirts on. He was dancing with Jane, who was probably the only female at the party.

Shane said “she,” so at first I thought he was talking about Jane. But Jane didn’t have blond hair—Halsey did.

I said, “You said the blond one, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane said, nodding.

Okay, so he was definitely talking about Halsey, my arch-nemesis. Funny thing was, I was looking at Halsey too, not at Jane like I used to.

Shane said, “She is so fucking hot! I know who I’m going to fuck tonight. Think Doc would approve of her?”

But still, this was fucking Halsey, of all people. I had to put a stop to this purely on philosophical grounds. I scowled at Shane and said, “Shane, dude ... that’s a man.”

“Really? How can you be sure?”

“You mean, you can’t tell the difference?”

He shrugged. “Well, usually I can figure it out once I get them naked.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely sure he was joking. Just to be sure, I said, “Uhm, Shane, in case you can’t tell, I’m a guy.”

Maybe, I thought, that’s how the mental exercises work—substitute some new thing to be desired. Guys for girls, discipline for any other goal, the team for everything. Plug all the mind’s hot wires in to it and let ‘er rip. We met him halfway by being willing.

Shane looked at me. “Oh.” But he couldn’t keep back a grin any longer and gave me a “just kidding” punch in the arm.

I protested, “Ow!” For a geek, Shane was pretty strong. I rubbed my arm. “Forget about the blond,” I complained. “We’re supposed to be looking for Nathan.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shane said, not pleased to have been reminded of our obligation. He spotted something else across the crowded dance floor. “I don’t see him, but there’s your roommate. He’s out on the dance floor bumping and grinding with some kid.”

“Jake? Who’s he with?” I asked before I could stop myself. I peered but couldn’t find Jake among the mass of men.

“Someone who doesn’t know any better, I’ll bet. Someone young. Maybe he’s a freshman.” Shane said “freshman” like it was a bad thing, another tease. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Jake is pornstar-hot, and I’m jealous as shit that you get to room with him, but Doc or no Doc, excuse me for asking if someone who sleeps with that many people doesn’t have something he’s trying to prove.”

I tried to shut out the image of Jake naked in the showers after practice, reaching for me. I tried to divert Shane by joking it off. “You’ll have to take that up with Jake. Maybe you can interview him for our school paper ‘Jake: The Man, the Penis, and the Doormats He Rubs It On.’”

Shane smirked and said, “I know from personal experience he does more than rub.”

I glared at him, feeling ... jealousy? Where the fuck was Nathan?

Out of the corner of my eye, the part that was keeping Danger, Will Robinson tabs on Halsey and company, I saw Nathan. Shirtless. Bright blue fright wig. Carrying high a tray full of shot glasses filled with something. He joined Halsey’s little band of scandalized party-crashers and said something, all smiles. He made sure everyone got a glass. I was pretty sure those shots were laced with something special. Halsey’s friends eyed the glasses suspiciously. Nathan said something else, probably a challenge, and Halsey’s crew chugged whatever was in the cups, making faces. Nathan congratulated Halsey with a slap on the back and withdrew, disappeared back into the crowd.

I pushed my way further into the room, skirting Halsey’s crew. No sign of Nathan in the kitchen, so I edged into the hallway, narrowing my eyes against the flashing strobe to make out the wild forms on the dance floor. Lots of tossing heads, but none of them belonged to Nathan.

Then my eyes found Jake and his prize.

He was dancing halfway across the room, and his partner was a sleek, handsome blond boy who clung to Jake’s muscular frame as if Jake were a life preserver. A short neon-green wig perched haphazardly on half the boy’s skull, almost ready to slide off. It was the dude I’d seen him with at the library. Taylor. Their slow, swaying embrace was completely out of synch with the urgent disco beat. Jake wore his usual baseball cap, with the bill shading his eyes from the strobe light, but I could make out his slight, suggestive smile, directed now at me. It was a smile that implied I’d been watching Jake for hours, and in a way maybe I had. Jake was not shirtless—he wore a tight sweater that accentuated the swells of his chest. Most people went weak in the knees, much like his current dance partner, when Jake looked their way, and I steeled myself against the jumping of my heart as his hand rose and he aimed a slight wave my way.

I saw Jake’s other arm was plastered between his body and the shirtless boy’s, and I knew it wasn’t alcohol that had turned this boy into a limp noodle in Jake’s embrace. Jake’s hand had disappeared into the unbuttoned, distended waistline of the boy’s jeans. The boy was rocking up on his toes, his mouth searching for Jake’s, before his intended kiss became a defeated gasp against Jake’s cheek.

Shane appeared with Nathan, sans wig now, at my side. “Hey,” Nathan shouted into my ear through the music. “So what did I miss?”

“Not much. Lots of bad dancing. Way too many guys in Muppet-colored wigs. But you’re just in time to watch Jake reel in tonight’s catch.”

“That guy?” Nathan observed when he caught sight of them. But he didn’t seem too surprised. “Oh, yeah. Doc told me about him—said his father is the Dean of Student Records or something. Doc wants him real bad. He’s made him, like, a special project or something.”

Which got me wondering why Doc would be so interested in this Taylor guy. For that matter, why would Jake be so interested in Taylor. It had been days since I saw them together in the library, and like I said, Jake almost never boffed the same person twice. Maybe Jake was interested because Doc was interested?

Shane half-hollered in my ear over the music, “You’re not into Jake that way, are you? Trust me—falling in love with Jake would be a big mistake. I know from personal experience: that boy’s a predator masquerading as a pussycat. And the things that come out of his mouth? They even made me blush.”

Cue this sudden memory. Jake and me in the showers with the team, messing around after another great practice, Jake and me collapsing, panting, against the wet tile, with my just-came dick popping out of his ass. He laughed and said, “Dang, I haven’t been fucked like that since I was an altar boy!” Which I thought meant we shared something special.

End memory. Back to now. Jake with his hand down some other boy’s pants

I felt another pang of that feeling, like jealousy. That’s when I realized—as much as I maybe thought I wanted it, I would never have Jake all to myself. Doc had other plans, and Jake just wasn’t made that way anyway. He was pure seduction on two legs, always moving on to the next opportunity, and I’d already been seduced. Past-tense. I sucked it up and pushed the pain out of my heart. I’d have to be happy with just what I could get.

Hey, love hurts. It’s in all the songs. Look it up.

Jake was heading our way. Probably he was on his way to our room, but since Shane, Nathan, and I were hovering near the hallway, his path led him directly toward us.

“Hey, guys,” Jake said as he passed us, leading the shirtless boy, jeans still open, by the hand. This close, I could see the boy’s dazed expression—no doubt Jake had put his lips close to the boy’s ear on the dance floor and talked him through one of the visualization exercises from our mental training, to help him feel all relaxed and cooperative like this. Jake jerked his head back at the boy. “This is Tyler,” he said.

“Taylor,” the boy mock-protested happily, voice thick and dreamy.

“Condoms in the nightstand drawer,” I said, forcing myself to grin.

Jake returned my grin, only his was genuine, and he winked and said, “Thanks,” as he pushed past us and disappeared down the dark hallway toward our room, drawing the boy along behind him.

10.

Do you remember who taught you what beauty is?

Jump to later that same night.

Very late. The house was mostly quiet by then. Debris from the party scattered everywhere. A couple of guys passed out in the living room, draped over furniture. A few drunken revelers still in motion out back in the yard; they were just shapes I glimpsed through the window in the darkness beyond—who knows what they were up to. No sign of Halsey and company. No sign of the visiting brothers either—where had Shane and Nathan gotten off to?

I went first to the bathroom to pee. That faraway, dreamy feeling clung to me like a fog. While I was standing at the urinal, I heard soft laughter in the hallway outside. A man’s voice in a low, conspiratorial tone as he passed the bathroom door. Another man’s subdued laughter followed, growing softer as they moved down the hallway.

Quiet had settled over the frat house. Most of the brothers were locked in sleep. I wasn’t far from it myself. Felt like I was about to slip into sleep at any moment and just drift away into dreamland. No noises from any of the rooms I passed. At the door of my own room, the room I shared with Jake, I could barely bring more than three fingers to the knob, letting them rest there. So difficult to think. So easy to just let things happen the way they were meant to.

Jake had left the party with that guy, Taylor, hours ago. Were they in our room together? Normally, Jake or I would hang something from the doorknob if we brought someone back, but the doorknob was bare. Maybe they had finished and gone by now.

Taylor wasn’t part of our team. He had joined the football team instead. Halsey and his cronies ruled the football squad. Taylor was technically the enemy. Jake was a seduction weapon: irresistible, inevitable, waiting only to be aimed and fired. Doc must have had him going after Taylor for a reason.

I opened the door. Night had fallen heavily against the opposite windows, a determined force. The little gooseneck lamp on Jake’s desk spilled light over a boy’s naked back. So hard to think of his name. Taylor? His head was pinned sideways to the pillow by Jake’s hand. His mouth was open in a silent gasp of passion. Jake was a dark shadow above him, hips pistoning slowly, methodically.

I gently pushed the door closed behind me.

And Jake was telling Taylor, Relax.

Jake was saying to him, Focus.

Silently, I crossed to my desk chair and turned it around, legs scraping slightly across the floor. Neither of them seemed to notice me. Taylor’s eyes were open but glazed, faraway. At first, his smile looked like a leer I watched Jake turn him over, on his back, legs bent up in the air, Jake’s head sliding under them. As my body sank down into my chair, Jake pushed aside Taylor’s balls to get at the asshole hidden underneath them. His tongue didn’t stop its shadowed rise and fall. As I watched, as if spellbound, at first the only sounds were their breaths, swelling and draining their chests.

Jake was whispering, Enjoy.

Jake was murmuring, Surrender to the feeling.

All I could think about was how good it would feel to pump out a load of cum. Now here it was, sex, right in front of me, and my body responded with a monumental hard-on.

Part of me wanted to leave, to let my roommate have his private time. But part of me refused to rise from my chair. That part was supposed to win—I knew it. I was supposed to be here, watching Jake mount Taylor again and slowly, slowly re-insert his cock in Taylor’s ready ass. I was supposed to see this, the gentle motion of Jake’s hips. Somewhere, somehow, I knew I had been told to do this.

Jake was telling Taylor, Drift peacefully.

Jake was saying, Let go.

I watched them fuck. Jake leaned over Taylor, holding on with one weight-bearing hand on the bed beside Taylor’s shoulder, the other caressing the back of Taylor’s head and neck. When Jake released his grip on the back of Taylor’s head and extended his hand toward me, smiling, the gesture summoned up not only lust in me, but submission. Submission to the part that was supposed to win, the part that wanted to follow orders. The part that wanted to be just like Jake. This was the last of my reserve crumbling.

Commitment. No turning back. Every life moves toward, then radiates from, a single moment in time. I rose and crossed the invisible dividing line that had once separated our sides of the room.

11.

How do you cope with the overwhelming force that is your life?

Jump to the part the next morning where I rolled over and peered at the clock.

I’d woken up five minutes early. I stretched luxuriously in the morning light slipping under the blinds. Reached out my sleep-numbed hand—pat, pat—and managed to slap down the alarm button on my third try. Whap! No annoying buzzer today.

Today—today—I had the sense that something was going to be different today. I was going to be different today. I rolled onto my back and felt my morning hard-on rub deliciously against the sheet as it lolled across my hip, blood-gorged and feeling good. I pushed back the sheet, enjoying the feel of it. Yeah, I was starting to understand now—sleeping naked had a lot of advantages. This was the only way to greet the new day!

I couldn’t take my eyes off of my rod. I ran my fingertips gently up and down the length of it. I have a nice, long cock, and it gets really hard, and it rewarded me with these little ripples of pleasure that ran all through my body.

“Mmm,” Jake mumbled drowsily from the next bed. Taylor was still sacked, sleeping soundly on the narrow mattress beside him. Jake looked across Taylor’s back at my woody. His eyes were masked like night that morning. But he grinned and murmured, “That looks nice. Like a penis, only smaller.”

“Fuck you,” I teased back, waggling my substantial hard-on at him.

“Well, maybe ... But you better buy me dinner first.”

I chuckled, too horny to really get into repartee this early in the morning

Jake said, “Need a hand with that?”

I looked over at Jake as he climbed up from his mattress, gloriously hard too, cock pointing almost straight up, and I remembered what I had been seduced into. I smiled. “A hand isn’t exactly what I have in mind,” I growled, an invitation.

And then he was climbing onto my bed—his mouth and stubble beard nuzzling my eager hardness, and his tongue gliding over it like silk, then slowly swallowing it, and his hips cantilevering toward my head, and his fingertips, palm down, running down his abs to the base of his cock, turning it downward, so it fit into my upturned mouth. I savored the feeling of his mouth sucking me, and I sucked him.

And, as Taylor in the next bed officially woke up and rolled wide-eyed onto his side to watch us blow each other, I thought, Doc is really onto something with this teammates-helping-teammates thing.

And, in the seconds before I came, came hard, into his mouth, I thought, Maybe settling for what I can get of Jake will work out just fine.

12.

Plot requires having someone to blame, and telling a story always works best when we have a bogeyman. People need a villain they can believe in. Otherwise, it’s just Us versus Us.

Jump to that Saturday, a few days after I got my cast off. I went for a jog. It was too soon to go too far, or too fast, so mostly I was kind of half-trotting, half-limping along to get my leg used to running again, but it felt good to be out and moving. I definitely wasn’t ready to play soccer again just yet, though.

My leg got tired pretty quickly—it hadn’t been exerted like this in several weeks. I stuck pretty close to the field house, just in case.

So I’d run as far as I could, and then I was bent over, hands on my knees, breath puffing, feeling the exhausted burn in my leg already starting to subside.

A familiar voice, chillingly sarcastic and confident as a snake cornering a mouse: “Hiya, Kip.”

I snapped my head up. Two feet away, also bent over and facing me, was Halsey. Dang!—I hadn’t heard him come up. He was coated in sweat, panting—must have been out running too. Tousled hair. Wearing his familiar uniform of running shoes, sweatpants, and no shirt. Chest and shoulders shining with sweat.

I froze. I stared at him a second. He was grinning at me, that familiar half-smile, half-sneer I told you about. I didn’t know how to react. He bounced his eyebrows up and down, teasing me, still grinning, and I decided—hoped—it was mostly just a smile.

Halsey was a football player. I was a soccer player with a bum leg. He was higher on the pecking order, and right then he was also stronger and more capable. If he started a fight, I’d probably lose.

“Hi,” I said, noncommittally, hoping he’d move on.

“I’m surprised you’re jogging. Aren’t you supposed to be in a cast?”

I straightened up. “Just got it off a couple days ago. Don’t tell anyone—girls love a guy in a cast, and I need all the help I can get.”

He chuckled. “Good one, Kip.” He stood up too, hands on his hips, flexing his spine almost like he was displaying himself. I caught myself wondering what his pecs would feel like, before I remembered there was a good chance he was about to use them to beat the living crap out of me.

“So ... you still on the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get to play again soon. Trying to build my leg back up.”

“You dig it? Jogging, I mean?” Halsey said.

“Uh ... yeah,” I said as I sniffed and wiped a sweat droplet off my nose.

I was pretty sure Halsey was still mad about catching me staring at Jane again a while back, so why was he acting all casual and friendly? And the soccer team’s surprise victory against our arch-rival earlier that week made the front page of the campus paper, which meant for the first time in as long as I could remember, the headline wasn’t about the football team—that probably wasn’t helping the situation here either.

So I decided to take the bull, so to speak, by the horns. “Wha—what’s going on here, Halsey? Why are you all of a sudden talking to me?”

Still with that confident sneer-smile, he drawled, “Aw, hell, man, I’m just making conversation. I can’t be a jerk all the time, y’know? I figured, ‘What the hell, Kip’s okay. I dunno about the rest of the soccer team, but Kip’s awright.’”

I was still suspicious, but I said, “Uhm, thanks. I’m flattered, man.”

Footsteps from behind me, and Halsey nodded his head in greeting, so I turned. Jogging up from behind me came Chris.

Halsey was grinning and pointed a thumb at me. “’I’m flattered,’ he says—what a card!” As if Chris had overheard the whole thing. Maybe he had.

Chris, panting, joined our cozy little conversation as if he’d been invited. He was wearing the same outfit as Halsey: running shoes, same team sweatpants, and no shirt. Did these guys plan to go outside wearing matching outfits? Points off for dressing alike, boys—definitely a fashion faux pas.

Oh, and in case you’re keeping count, I was now outnumbered two to one.

Chris, though, was making a big deal of being casual around me. To Halsey, he said, “You mean Kip here wasn’t bowled over by your famous sparkling personality?”

And as if on cue, from another angle, here came their third musketeer, Max. You guessed it—same sweats-and-no-shirt uniform as the other two, only his sweats were a little older and faded. What a rebel.

“How’s it going, Kip?” Max panted with a chuckle as he sidled up into our little group and parked his comradely elbow on Halsey’s bare shoulder.

“Hey,” I said back, very aware that it was now three to one. And that there was no one else around. Not that anyone was likely to help me anyway

“We do this every day,” Max said, apparently talking about jogging. “How come we’ve never seen you here before?”

“My leg has been broken,” I said flatly, immediately wondering if I owed him an explanation. “I just got the cast off.”

Chris patted me on the back. “Kip here is all right.”

“Yeah,” Max said with a snort. “Too bad about his lame friends.”

“Hey!” Halsey mock-scolded as he slapped Max’s abs playfully with the palm of his hand. “Take it easy, okay? I’d take it personally if someone started talking shit about my lame friends.” He was grinning so they’d know he was joking, and they all laughed.

“Screw you, Halsey,” Chris snorted.

“You wish,” Halsey said, goosing Chris in his bare ribs and making Chris laugh and squirm out of range. “Okay, guys, it’s time to hit the showers.”

“I’m done!” Max said.

“Me too,” Chris agreed, looking over at me and adding, “Later.”

I said back, “Later,” and then they were jogging the first of the fifty yards or so to the field house, and I was wondering if maybe I’d misread the situation and they were just being friendly after all. Heck, if they’d wanted to, they could have dragged my ass off on the other side of the field house, and it might have been Monday before anyone found me.

Then Halsey hung back, turned back to me, and yelled, “You coming?”

I debated it for a second. He nodded his head toward the field house. “Yeah,” I said. “Sure. Why not?” That last part was to convince myself. And I jogged along behind him as best I could the rest of the way to the field house.

Inside, it was deserted. It usually was, that time of day on a Saturday. Halsey and company headed straight for the locker room, jogging all the way to the last step as if that were the only gait they knew.

The locker room looked different without the soccer team’s gear strewn all over the place. Halsey and his friends—their lockers were all side by side. Somehow, that seemed fitting, though just a little too “Stepford Wives” for me, though. But they were already toeing off their shoes, peeling down their sweatpants, jock straps, and socks. Grabbing their towels. Trotting off to the showers.

The same showers where the soccer team had been learning our special kind of buddy system.

Max went in first and had his pick of the showers. He picked the one in the middle. I went to one along the same wall, a discreet two heads down from him. Chris took the shower head directly beside me, on the other side from Max, and Halsey took the one between Max and me. All those closeness kind of weirded me out, but I tried to act nonchalant. Maybe this was just the way the football team showered.

The shower spray got warm almost immediately, and I let it cascade over me.

“Man, I’m so ready to party tonight,” Max said happily.

“Big plans?” Halsey asked him, grinning too.

“Aw, I dunno,” Max smirked. “Does staying shitfaced wasted all weekend count as ‘big plans’?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Halsey leered. To me he said, “Whadya think, Kip?”

I made myself grin and said, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Halsey said, “Jane’s folks are going out of town this weekend. We have the whole place to ourselves—all weekend.” I ignored the emphasis in his voice, and I tried to ignore the image of Halsey and Jane naked and fucking like crazed weasels all weekend in every room of the house. He had something in his hand, what looked like a six-inch black tube of plastic, which he deposited on the soap dish when he reached for the soap.

Max: “You two finally going to do the deed?”

Halsey shrugged noncommittally, as if to say, What do you think. “Probably.”

That cut at me—so Halsey and Jane hadn’t done “it” yet?—but I pretended not to notice. Instead, I nodded toward the thing he had put on the soap dish and said, “Hey, man, what’s that?”

“Yeah, Halsey,” Chris chimed in, with the same confident-evil tone I knew so well. “What is that?”

“You wanna know what this is?” Halsey said, picking up the black plastic and displaying it to me. “It’s a permanent marker.”

I got this sick, sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Permanent ink,” he repeated. “You get it on your skin and it almost never comes off.

Evil chuckles. Let’s do the math: three of them, my weak leg, water-slick tile shower, and no one around to come to my rescue ... What were the odds I could outrun them? Do odds come in negative numbers?

“I don’t get it,” I said, but I was understanding too well—even before they closed in a semicircle around me.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, all right,” Max said. He was closest, and I gave him a shove, and suddenly they were all over me, grabbing my arms, squashing me face-first against the shower wall, Chris and Max pinning my arms to the wall.

I tried to pull free but couldn’t get any leverage, and my leg was already starting to throb. I shouted, “Hey! Stop it, man! C‘mon, guys!”

“Nice view, Kip,” Halsey said from behind me, and I could practically feel his eyes zeroing in on my bare ass. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Stop it, Halsey!” I snarled.

“Keep screaming, Kip,” he hissed in my ear. “The doors are locked. Nobody’s gonna be in here for hours. I made sure of it.”

“What are you doing, man?”

He snarled, “You mean, what am I gonna do? Kill you, maybe” And then his voice became a whisper in my ear: “Or ... worse.” We both knew what he meant.

“I don’t think he wants to put out for you just yet, Halsey,” Chris cackled as I struggled against his grip. “Maybe you should have taken him to dinner first.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this, Kip—it won’t hurt too much. Chris and Max wanted to kick your ass. But me?—I told them no. ‘Cause, see, I’m a nice guy. All I wanna do is write a little message back here. Just one itty ... bitty ... message.”

“Lemme go,” I shouted, struggling. “Lemme go!”

“Don’t make it any worse than it has to be,” Halsey said, and I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or snarling. “Or else I’ll let Max and Chris here get in a few good kicks. Once I write a little message back here, on your ... cute ... little ... butt.”

He knelt in front of my ass and patted one butt cheek. “Hmm ... What should we put here?”

Max said, “How about a heart with ‘Fag Boy’ in it?”

“Good idea,” Halsey said, voice so cold now it sent a chill up my spine, “but no. Hmm ... I know! I’ll write ‘Fuck My Pussy’ on his back, and then a big arrow pointing down.” Malicious laugh.

“Stop it, you guys!” I yelled. “You could get expelled for this!”

“Really?” Halsey snarled. “Football brings in a lot more money from the alums than your pussy-ass soccer team. And in case you haven’t noticed, it would be our word against yours. Three on one, ass-wipe. The dean would believe us, even if we said you did it yourself then showed it to us ‘cause you wanted us to fuck you.” I heard him pull the marker cap. “Now don’t move, or you’ll just make everything worse.”

I resigned myself to my fate and stopped trying to wriggle free. But I didn’t relax—I was gonna make a break for it the second I felt one of them loosen his grip.

Just as I felt the marker tip touch my skin, I heard bare feet behind us on the tile shower floor, and a familiar voice said, “Hi, fellas. Is this a private party?”

They jerked around, and I jerked myself free and crab-scuttled sideways for the shower entry. On the way, I had to pass by my rescuer.

Jake. Naked except for the towel he held in his hand.

“Get the hell outta here, Jake—this doesn’t concern you,” Halsey threatened, waving the uncapped marker in Jake’s face like a knife. Was he afraid of Jake?

Should I grab my clothes and run, or stay in case Jake needed my help in a fight? I stayed.

Jake, naked, said, “Sorry, can’t do that.” There was teasing casualness in his voice, a subtle alpha-male swagger as he took two steps closer to Halsey. Jake taunted, “He’s my teammate and my frat brother, not to mention my roommate. You know—the usual ‘mess with him, mess with me’ shit.”

“Fuck you, Jake,” Halsey spat, swiping the marker an inch from Jake’s unflinching nose.

Suddenly, Jake was moving, so fast I could barely see him. Halsey grunted as Jake grabbed him, and they grappled, and a second later, when the flying limbs resolved themselves back into bodies, Jake had Halsey firmly in his grip—Halsey’s back to Jake’s chest—and Jake had a choke hold around Halsey’s neck with one arm. His other hand held the marker, pointed two inches away from Halsey’s pretty-boy nose, with Halsey holding Jake’s wrist with both hands to keep him from marring Halsey’s looks with a black marker squiggle.

“Well,” Jake said, matter-of-factly, “that was easy.”

Max and Chris just stood there, not sure what to do, looking for a sign.

Halsey was straining to push Jake’s hand and the marker away. “I don’t think you realize,” he growled, “just what kind of trouble you’re getting into, Jake. Stop fucking around with me, or I’m going to kill you.”

“I don’t see it in your eyes, Halsey,” Jake said. “I don’t see you killing anybody.”

“Look, we weren’t gonna do anything to him, okay? Not really. We were just gonna scare—“

“Well, now that it’s you and not him, I think it’s more fair. Let’s see ... You were going to write ‘My Pussy’ on his back. I like that, but I’m going to write it on your face, with an arrow going right to your cute little mouth. You like that idea? You gonna do something about it? C’mon, Halsey—I thought you said you were going to kill me.”

And then suddenly Jake was shoving Halsey at Max and Chris, who caught him as he slammed into them.

They stood there, glaring at each other, the three football players at Jake, Jake at Halsey. Halsey turned and walked slowly toward me, past me, slinking toward the shower entrance with Chris and Max in tow.

Jake challenged, “Why don’t you and your little girlfriends come back and we’re finish this up right now?”

But then we were alone. Halsey and company didn’t bother to dry off—they pulled on their sweatpants and shoes and left.

I worked on getting my composure together while Halsey and his toadies exited through the locker room doors. “Where the hell did you come from?” I asked Jake. “Uhm, not that I’m complaining or anything.”

He capped the marker and tossed it to me. He shrugged that shrug and said, “I dunno, buddy.”

13.

Inhale. Take in as much air as you can. This part of the story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, then just a bit longer. So read as fast as you can.

Jump to a little later when Jake and I got back to the frat house.

We walked in and there was Shane—jeans, no shirt—standing in the door to the basement, looking down the hall like he was waiting for somebody.

“What’s going on?” Jake asked him.

“Not much,” he said.

Nathan and a couple of our other frat brothers came down the hall. Nathan was also wearing jeans and no shirt. “These are the last of ‘em,” Nathan said.

“Hurry up,” Shane told them as he shooed the straggler brothers through the door and down into the basement. I had the impression of cowboys herding stray calves into the corral.

I said, “Uhm—”

“Sheesh,” Nathan complained, scratching absently at his nipple, “what an undisciplined bunch! You’d think that after two weeks they’d have gotten the idea—eight o’clock is training time. Is every frat at this school going to be this fucking difficult?”

I was, like, They’ve been doing this for two weeks already?

I must have looked confused, because Shane said, “Don’t worry about it. You have to stay out here. This is for beginners only, not experts like you.”

“Yeah,” Nathan chimed in with his trademark smirk. “We’re just starting them on the training mental exercises you’ve already mastered. You’d just be bored anyway.”

Then Nathan headed down the stairs into the basement, and Shane said, “Don’t worry—they’re in good hands. We’ve done this before.” He waved to us and backed in and shut the basement door on his way down.

I looked at Jake. Jake looked at me. We shrugged in unison. But I think we both already felt any concern slipping away.

We ambled back to our room. That fuzzy-headed ... loss of concern lasted a little while, but then I started snapping out of it. Jake too—I could tell.

It was Jake who looked over at me with that wicked grin and said, “You wanna ...?”

I grinned back and said, “Yeah!”

We sneaked ourselves back to the basement door. Tiptoe-tiptoe-tippy-toe—just like in cartoons but without the sound effects. I was, like, “Shh!”—and Jake couldn’t stop giggling, which got me giggling, and he went, “Shh,” back at me, and that made us giggle some more.

I mean, sure they told us to stay out, but surely they didn’t expect us to actually do what they said, did they? No way could they tell us something like this was happening with our frat brothers right below us and then expect us to not be curious, especially if Doc’s training was involved. Right?

Right. So we’re sneaking down the basement stairs. We’re not making a sound. The stairs are kind of walled off from the basement itself, so we don’t see much of anything until we get to the bottom and go around the corner.

I guess in a way it looked like some Buddhist meditation center. There spread out on the floor in front of us, kinda-sorta in rows, were our frat brothers. Some were sitting cross-legged. Some lying on their backs. Some had their shirts off, and most had their shoes off. One thing I noticed right away was how they all had their eyes closed, like they were meditating, listening to Shane talking soft and low as he paced back and forth along one wall in front of them, surveying them like a drill sergeant.

And just like Doc, Shane was saying, So easy to focus.

He was saying, No distractions, no worries.

He was saying, Exhale—Relax and sink deeper.

I gotta admit, the sight gave me a woody almost immediately. A woody from hell, too. All I wanted was to sink down on the floor next to my frat brothers and listen, just listen—

That’s when I felt Nathan come up behind me—behind and between Jake and me. I felt him put an arm around my bare shoulders, pulling Jake and I closer together, Nathan pressing half of his bare chest against my shoulder blade, leaning in between our heads, though I couldn’t take my hungry eyes off the spread in front of us. Nathan murmured so he wouldn’t disturb the scene in from of us, “You two were supposed to stay upstairs. Ah, don’t worry about it—I guess I’d be curious too if it was my fraternity. But you better go back upstairs so you don’t disturb anything. Doc’s orders, y’know? And you know how he is about his orders. He expects them to be followed.”

Nathan nudged his finger at that familiar trigger spot behind my ear. Even if I hadn’t already been feeling cooperative before, I surely was then. I felt Jake’s shoulder press against mine as he slumped my way slightly.

Nathan cooed in our ears, Relax yourselves.

He was saying, So cooperative, so ready to obey completely this time.

He was saying, Go back upstairs to your room and wait for us.

It seemed like a great idea to me, so I turned and walked quietly back up the stairs, with Jake following me. It never occurred to me to do anything else. That’s how far gone into Doc’s training I already was.

14.

Narrative is a drug. Once you start telling stories, you can’t stop. Some stories you tell and you use them up. Those kind, the drama burns off; and the more you tell them, the more they sound silly and flat. Other stories, they use you up. The more you tell them, the stronger they get. Those kind of stories only remind you how stupid you were. Are. Will always be. Telling a story is how we digest what happens to us. The stories you can’t tell, the events you can’t digest, they poison you. But the stories you can digest and tell, you can use them to take control of those past moments. You can shape them. Craft them. Use them for your own good.

Jump to later that night at the frat house.

Jake and I were in our room, just like we’d been told. It was pretty late, in fact. We were already stripped to our underwear, and all we had left to do before bed was shuck our underwear, turn out the light, and crawl between the sheets.

I was kind of sneaking looks at Jake. It struck me that I liked looking at him because he looked, well, slutty. But in a good kind of way. The kind of boy who’d been around. Who couldn’t remember whether he was Catholic. Who knew how to make you feel great in bed. Who just looked good just to look at.

Someone knocked on the door of our room. Jake opened it.

“Hey”—Nathan’s voice—“can we come in?”

Jake said, “Sure, dude,” pronouncing it almost like two words the way he always did—“du-hude”—and stepped aside.

Nathan and Shane came in, all smiles, and Shane pushed the door shut behind them.

“Hey, Kip,” Nathan said to me.

I stood up, said, “Hey,” and shook his hand.

“We were getting kind of bored and horny after the training session, so we thought it’s time to see what it is about you two that has Doc so impressed,” Nathan was saying as we all stood around, Jake and me in our underwear, Nathan and Shane shirtless in their jeans and sneakers. Nathan was looking me right in the eye, standing close, moving in closer. Was he giving his crotch a grope? “Shane here figures Doc is keeping you guys pretty well-drained, what with practice and all, but I think hot guys like you can always do with a little more. Am I right? You feel like a little late-night mental training session before bed?” I met his gaze, feeling that familiar feeling stealing over me, and I didn’t pull back. Nathan let his hand find the semi-hard cock in my underwear and gave it a gentle squeeze. “After all, we’re all on the same team, right?”

I felt myself relaxing, feeling peaceful and happy, welcoming his touch.

“Yeah,” Nathan said, “I can see Doc has got you two very well-trained.”

And he’s staring me right in the eye, grinning at me, and I’m grinning back expectantly, and his hand gives my hardening cock another soft caress, and I cup my hand over his and give it a squeeze too, and his other hand is on my shoulder, his fingertips striking my skin like hard rain., gliding up my neck toward my ear, and I put my hand on his shoulder.

And Nathan was saying to me, That’s it.

And Shane was saying to Jake, Relax.

And Nathan was saying, You’re very well-trained.

And Shane was saying to Jake, Sleep now.

And Nathan’s fingertips were sliding around my ear, zeroing in on the familiar spot, and he was saying to me—

Thu-whump!

Nathan looked over, and said, “Shit, man.”

I gradually managed to turn my head. Jake was lying out on the floor, seemingly sound asleep, Shane standing over him.

Shane shrugged and said, “Sorry—I didn’t expect him to go completely limp when he went to sleep.”

Nathan said to him, “Be more careful next time—he’s Doc’s favorite.” Then Nathan turned his attention back to me, and I stared happily into his eyes again. His hand caressing my cock made me shiver, and I did the same to his, wanting to make him feel good too.

And Nathan said to me, Focus.

And his fingers searched for that familiar trigger place behind my ear, and he was saying, Sleep now. But he missed the trigger spot, too far back, so nothing happened. Instead, I reached for his trigger place and pressed my fingertip to it firmly.

I told him, Sleep now.

Nathan blinked, surprised.

I pressed it firmly again and repeated, Sleep now.

And Nathan let his eyes close.

“Well, well,” Shane said. I looked over to see him coming my way. “Nathan always was a little too careless.”

And Shane reached for my trigger spot, and he was saying, Sleep now. So I let my eyes close too.

I let my eyes open again when Shane told me to. I was naked. I was hard. I was climbing onto the bed. Our beds, Jake’s and mine, pushed together into one. Shane lay on his back on one quarter of the space, with his knees curled up against his chest. Jake had his face between Shane’s legs—too low for a blowjob—he was licking Shane’s butt hole.

I was on all fours alongside Shane, then laying down on my side with my back to him. Nathan was in front of me. His mouth was dive-bombing onto my rod, and his own cock was coming in for a landing on my tongue. I opened my mouth-hangar wider to receive it.

You can perceive the events unfolding the way I did, like slow-motion video clips moving across the molasses that clogged my head.

Jake on his back now with his knees bent up, with Shane over him, hands anchored by Jake’s shoulders as Shane fucked him.

Nathan on his knees on the bed, with my mouth and tongue wiggle-worshipping his cock and balls.

Shane’s cock swinging overhead as he and Jake changed positions. Holy fuck!—Shane was really hung!

All I knew was we’d never done anything like this in the team showers—handjobs, sure, and some guys were daring enough to suck, but never ass-licking or ass-fucking. Through the cotton muffling my head, I thought, Where did Jake learn to do that?

Nathan reaching around to pinch gently at my nipples while his body moved behind me.

That faraway pain in my ass and the gradual realization that he was fucking me, and the warm, relaxing jolts of pleasure that the initial pain became.

My ass had been virtually cherry minutes before, and right then as the pain was already transmuting into something deeper, something better, just the way Nathan said it would, and all I could think was, Yeah, feels so good to relax ...