The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The years since I’d met Peter had been the best years of my life, but the last year or so had been the best of the best. Peter had always doted on me, but in the years after we’d met, he’d often invited college boys over for private hypnosis sessions. At first, I’d been worried that he might be sleeping with them behind my back, but my jealousy had faded over time.

When we’d bought this house, however, Peter had suggested the possibility of renting out rooms. Even after seven years of unwaveringly faithful monogamy, that suggestion had caused a major surge in jealousy on my part. Peter hadn’t seemed like he was in any hurry, though, and as before, my jealousy eventually subsided. Even after the first guy, Timmy, had moved in, I’d had no concerns about Peter cheating on me at all. Sure, I often saw Peter torturing him or fucking him or whatever, but those were all just hypnotic fantasies in Timmy’s mind; they weren’t real.

Now, I was living in a house with three permanent tenants—Timmy, Kevin, and Cameron—with Kevin’s brother, Mitch, spending so much time here nowadays that I almost thought of him as a tenant as well. Besides them, Peter maintained a steady stream of extracurricular clients, though fewer of them than in the early years. Where before he’d had one over almost every night, sometimes a few on weekends, there had only been one this weekend and none at all tonight.

It had always seemed a bit odd to me that not only were they all guys, but every last one of them—even the straight ones—had gay hypnosis fantasies. I supposed every psychologist had their specialty areas, though, and it made sense that guys who were seeking that sort of thing would gravitate towards him.

Tonight, everyone in the house except for Peter was sitting around the living room naked. Peter appeared to be naked to me as well, though I knew he wasn’t—he was much too professional to ever truly be naked around the people he hypnotized. The problem was that I only ever saw his subjects’ fantasies, so I could never be sure of exactly what was going on in reality. For all I knew, maybe everybody was wearing clothes right now, even me. Hell, I wasn’t even sure whose fantasy this was. He was a fan of orgies, whoever it was, which probably meant it was Timmy or maybe Mitch.

In the fantasy, at least at the moment, Cameron appeared to be on his knees cleaning off Peter’s hard cock after Peter had fucked every last one of us. Peter had tossed his bathrobe towards my side of the couch earlier, making himself look like he was hard and ready to fuck, but I suspected that in reality, he was just sitting there in his clothes, calmly giving Cameron suggestions of what to fantasize about. I would’ve lost my shit if I’d thought it was anything other than a fantasy…sucking Peter off was my job and mine alone!

When the doorbell went off and the FBI announced that they were looking for Peter, I was completely bewildered. What the hell was going on? Why would the FBI be here for him? It must’ve had something to do with one of his clients. Looking over towards Peter, though, I realized that there was something more going on. He was visibly shaken. Whatever they were here for, Peter thought he himself was in trouble.

Unsure what else to do and still grappling with the reality of what was happening, I urgently motioned everyone upstairs to get dressed while I covered myself with Peter’s bathrobe. Calling out to the agents outside, I slowly and somewhat noisily went to answer the door, so they knew I was coming and wouldn’t barge in. As the boys ran upstairs to their rooms, I started to unlock the door, taking my time turning the handle to make sure they were all out of sight. I wasn’t sure what the FBI would see once they opened the door, but it probably wouldn’t be good if they thought they were seeing a bunch of naked young guys running around.

“Peter’s just upstairs”, I informed them. “He’ll be down in a moment. Can I help you, officers?”, I asked. I saw one of the officers back up slightly to keep an eye on the upstairs windows, and I rather suspected one or more were heading around the other side of the house, if they weren’t there already, to make sure nobody left that way. Whatever this was, they were taking it very seriously.

While I was still talking with them, trying to stall as much as I could without being too obvious, Peter came back out of the bedroom buttoning up a long shirt that extended down over his mid-section. He announced who he was as he walked, slowing as he approached the door, knowing full well that he shouldn’t make any potentially threatening movements. Reading him the charges as one of the other agents cuffed him, the FBI walked him out the door into the night. I tried to follow, but the officers barred my way out until they were certain they had things under control, so with their permission, I took the opportunity to go put on something more than Peter’s bathrobe.

Even once I was allowed outside, I could only look at Peter through the car window. I wasn’t allowed to talk to him at all. What was I supposed to do? I knew I should do something, but with Peter having become my Master nearly a year ago, I’d stopped making most of the decisions in our relationship and just did whatever he told me to. Now, he couldn’t tell me anything! About the best I got out of him through the window were soothing motions, but he still looked worried…and guilty as fuck!

I wandered around in a daze, frequently returning to the car where Peter was, somehow hoping he could tell me what to do, but of course, he couldn’t. They drove away with him not long after, so I started making my way back towards the house, feeling lost and bewildered. What the fuck had just happened?

I noticed with some surprise that Timmy was taking charge of the situation, at least as much as he could. I supposed if anyone were going to, it would be him. I’d never been good at taking charge, whereas Timmy had always had a naturally assertive personality, despite how young he was. That made me feel at least a little bit better. He would know what to do, I was sure. Indeed, while I was still wandering around in a haze of uncertainty, occasionally aware of one of the guys trying to approach and console me, Timmy had somehow gotten a lawyer to come over. I could see him interacting with her, his entire body projecting a calm certainty that he was in charge, at least when it came to the five of us remaining, and that he knew what to do.

Once the FBI were gone, everyone gathered just inside the front door. Nobody said anything at first, and before I could even try to stop it from happening, I felt something rising up my chest. I let out an incoherent wail as I burst into tears.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, sitting in a ball in the corner. I was too caught up in my feelings to notice who it was, but I felt someone sit down beside me and pull my head onto their shoulder. They were speaking soothing words to me, rubbing my head like Peter often did. It didn’t help much, but I didn’t resist, either. Reaching out, I grabbed the only thing I could reach, their knee, and hugged it into my chest.

It took a long time, but eventually the soothing voice and the hand movements had an effect. It didn’t make me feel as relaxed as when Peter rubbed my head, but it was at least somewhat calming. It was Kevin’s voice, I realized, though I had little more awareness of him than knowing who he was and that I never wanted to let go of his knee.

At some point, Kevin stopped talking to me briefly, and I had a vague sense of someone else nearby that I hadn’t had in a while. I thought Kevin and I must have been left alone up until then, and I was relieved that the others had given us some privacy. I barely even wanted to share my grief with Kevin, much less everybody else in the house. Soon, the sense of someone else being there went away and Kevin’s voice resumed, relaxing me towards sleep. While it was a fitful doze at best, it was still better than bawling my eyes out.

I regained awareness several times as the two of us sat in the front hallway, but each time, Kevin’s voice soothed me back to sleep. I’d always recognized a certain indefinable similarity between us, one that sometimes made me feel jealous when Peter was around both of us, but for the first time, I began to feel close to Kevin, and knew that I could turn to him if ever I needed to.

“Let’s get you up to bed”, he said at one point after one of my longer periods of dozing. I didn’t want to move, but I couldn’t argue with the idea. Maybe in the morning, I’d be able to look at things more clearly.

I was completely out of it, standing woodenly in the bedroom as Kevin stripped me out of my clothes for bed. I didn’t even lift my feet so that he could remove my socks and pants until he asked me to. While I’d calmed down a lot since Peter had first been arrested, I couldn’t stop mulling everything over. What had Peter done? Or had he done anything at all? The FBI obviously thought he had. From the look I’d seen on his face, so did Peter, although for him, it was more like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar than true guilt at whatever he might’ve done.

The charges made no sense at all: abduction, rape, a bunch of other nonsense charges I couldn’t even remember, and…impeding an officer? What did they think Peter had done—kidnapped an FBI officer and raped him? That was preposterous! The only FBI officer we even knew was Nick, who came and left whenever he felt like it and did whatever he felt like doing while he was here. I was sure Peter couldn’t possibly be guilty of any of the charges, much less all of them, but the image of his face when the FBI had pounded on the door was stuck in my head.

I sat woodenly on the bed at Kevin’s prompting, comforted by the feel of his hand rubbing my head as he whispered to me to go to sleep. My sleep was fitful and a few times I could hear others restlessly moving around the house as well, but I slept through the entire night.

The next afternoon, I tried to visit Peter, but I was denied. Peter and I had never seen the need to get married, and federal prisons only allowed visitation for common-law spouses if the state they were in recognized the marriage. Frustratingly, that wasn’t the case for us. I tried arguing with the guard, but he was completely unbothered by anything I said. When I got back home several hours after I’d left, I told Timmy of the problem. Strangely, considering he was so much younger than I was, I really looked up to him. And since he’d already dealt with the lawyer, I felt certain that he’d know what to do in this case as well. Unfortunately, it turned out that there was little he could do, nor could Peter’s lawyer.

With everything going on, I had to take a few days off of my job, and eventually I just submitted my resignation altogether. I was in no shape to focus on work right now, and between Peter’s investments and Cameron’s generosity with paying for Peter’s legal costs, income wasn’t a priority right now. I still had to work a few of my last shifts, but the staff at the hospital were understanding and arranged for other people to cover most of them.

It was a couple of weeks before the paperwork for me to see Peter was all approved. Timmy had also been approved for some reason, so when I told everyone the good news that I could see Peter now, Timmy said he would be coming with me. The two us drove down together that weekend.

My first thought on seeing Peter was that he looked haggard. Already, prison was taking its toll on him. One of the first things Peter said was to warn us that our conversations were recorded, and not to say anything that could possibly be misunderstood. Oddly enough, he was looking primarily towards Timmy when he said that instead of me. After that, we moved on to generalities like how we were all doing.

While I put on a brave face for him, the truth was that I was doing awful! My conviction that he’d done something wrong was growing the longer I was away from him. At times during my first visit, especially when Peter and Timmy had been talking, I’d gotten a sense that Peter was hiding something…even that he was conniving with Timmy, of all things! In what way, I wasn’t sure, but it definitely seemed like there was a lot of doublespeak in their conversation. That, of course, was ridiculous! Peter was one of the most honest, trustworthy men I’d ever known, with Timmy not far behind. I just couldn’t imagine that either of them was being dishonest in any way, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Over the course of the next month or so, I continued to visit Peter most weekends, with the sole exception of the weekend that I worked my final shift. Prison clearly wasn’t being kind to him. He seemed much warier and more distrusting each time I saw him. He wasn’t the kindly partner I’d known these past eight years, but rather, someone who increasingly seemed like he was up to something. It made it difficult for me to trust him as I once had, though I was reluctant to admit that to anyone. I felt guilty that I could feel that way about the man who’d shared every aspect of my life for nearly ten years. He was the same man I’d always known, wasn’t he? So, why did he seem so untrustworthy now?

Things at home weren’t going any better. Timmy was now the de facto head of the house, and he tried to maintain order, but the reality was that he was only nineteen and had no idea how that was done. Things were much too chaotic for my liking, and it made me snippy, especially with him. I no longer trusted him the way I once had, either, though I was hard-pressed to say what had changed. Apart from the occasional time he went with me to visit Peter, he seemed like the same Timmy he’d always been…and yet not. It was a conscious effort to remember that he was a good person. In the visits with Peter, though, I had the increasing sense that something was very, very wrong.

I tried going to see Peter on my own, but that didn’t work out any better. When it was just the two of us, he seemed very distant, almost aloof. It was almost like he didn’t know how to talk to me. I tried to put it down to the fact that we couldn’t be intimate, but it seemed more than that. I also found myself lost in thought sometimes while I was visiting him—not about anything related to our conversation, but completely random thoughts unrelated to anything. Bizarrely, I also kept getting flashes of his hard cock going through my head as we spoke, again at totally random times, sometimes even in mid-sentence.

The worst thing of all was that with both Peter and Timmy becoming more distant, I felt like I had nobody to turn to at all! Nobody except Kevin. While we’d always gotten along well enough, I’d never felt all that close to Kevin before Peter’s arrest. That sense of him being some kind of competition had faded almost completely, probably at least partly because Peter was no longer around. Kevin had long had fantasies about my partner—oddly sexual fantasies, considering that he was supposedly asexual—but I always tried to remind myself that that’s all they were.

Somehow, with Peter gone and the jealousy no longer an issue, Kevin and I had bonded. I wasn’t sure quite when or how it had happened. On the worst nights, he even slept with me, rubbing my head and encouraging me to relax and sleep, much like Peter often did. He was nowhere near as good at getting me to nod off as Peter was, but it helped. Sometimes, he even encouraged me to masturbate, which was strange coming from him. He had no interest in it himself, of course, but he’d keep rubbing my head, encouraging me to put all my confusion and distrust into what I was doing and let it all out when I came. The release he gave me helped me to feel closer to Peter at first, but as the weeks wore on, even those nights became less and less effective.

I hardly ever visited Peter now. His trial would be in a few weeks, but I was no longer sure I wanted him home. I simply didn’t trust him anymore. I knew I should, and subconsciously a part of me really wanted to, but I couldn’t do it.

I missed him terribly, especially having him inside of me—man, he had a beautiful cock—but I also missed watching and participating in the boys’ various fantasies. If nothing else, their fantasies were the only time I got to top anymore.

People often fantasized about having a big cock or they admired guys that had one, but they just had no idea of the difficulties of it. There was the day-to-day stuff, of course, like dealing with it dipping into the toilet water, or having people stare at your crotch, but easily the most frustrating thing about being so well endowed was that most bottoms turned me down. Peter’s subjects didn’t usually have that problem, though, since they weren’t actually getting fucked. I still had to be careful if they were new subjects, of course, since they were often still inexperienced in their fantasies, but the more experienced ones like Timmy could take it every bit as hard as I gave it in their fantasies, which felt as orgasmic for me in fantasy as it did in reality. It felt so good, in fact, that some of those hypnotic fantasies had become my masturbation fantasies the nights Kevin encouraged me to do that, though I usually imagined the guys involved being older. Besides the boys being too young for me, I was much too faithful to Peter to ever let those fantasies become a reality. It was increasingly loyalty for loyalty’s sake rather than love, or at least that’s what it felt like some days.

These days, the mix of feelings whenever I thought of Peter for any reason were becoming increasingly confusing, but unquestionably negative overall, so it came as almost a relief when Allison, the lawyer working on Peter’s case, called Timmy to let him know that Peter had been injured and that his trial would have to be delayed. They couldn’t wait too long, thanks to speedy trial laws, but she said the new date would probably be towards the end of the six-month limit, just due to the volume of cases before the courts right now. More importantly to me, though, Peter was now in solitary, which meant that I didn’t have to visit him for the time being and could maybe sort out what I was feeling about him. I never even asked what had happened to him, though I heard enough details when the others were talking to figure out most of it.

I could tell that my various housemates were worried about me, but I was becoming increasingly suspicious of—and hostile towards—all of them without entirely understanding why. I wasn’t even sure when it had started, but my impressions of all of them had been changing over the last little while.

Timmy was the worst of the lot for me. I was becoming more and more convinced that he was a con artist, often lying to me, and I hated people like that! He was a highly deceptive individual, and I wanted nothing to do with him if I could help it. Even at the best of times, I thought of him as a manipulative little bastard.

Cameron was nice enough, but I was becoming more jealous of just how well-endowed he was. He was the only person I’d ever met who was even more hung than I was. If anything, I should’ve commiserated with him about the challenges of it, but I just couldn’t get close to someone who worshipped Peter as much as he did. Hell, his response to Peter’s absence was to get a full-torso tattoo dedicated to my partner! I knew Cameron thought of Peter like a father, but a tattoo dedicated to him, especially one that large, seemed a bit much. He’d already gotten the outline done, with more appointments coming up to fill in the detail and coloring. Every time I saw his tattoo, it made me think of Cameron’s massive dick. It was hard not to since part of the webbing in the tattoo was a not-so-subtle P with an arrow at the base pointing down to Cameron’s crotch. The meaning was all too clear: Cameron’s cock belonged to Peter. The very idea enraged me—nobody was allowed to have Peter but me!

As for Kevin, while I felt closer to him than anyone, the anger I felt towards Timmy and Cameron was affecting my view of Kevin as well. I tried to keep it under control, since I knew Kevin wouldn’t understand—hell, I didn’t entirely understand it myself—but despite my best efforts, I was frequently short-tempered with him.

Contrary to what I’d hoped, my break from seeing Peter didn’t seem to help much at all. Things really came to a head the day that the prison psychologist showed up at our door. I’d been out doing the groceries at the time, but when I got home and was introduced to the stranger in my house, I saw red. I didn’t understand why immediately, but I was completely enraged by his presence, and ordered him to leave before I called the cops on him.

In the minutes after he left, I tried to get a grip on myself and figure out what it was about him that had made me fly into such a rage. The fact that he was here to interview people that knew Peter wasn’t entirely a surprise. Nor was I even all that bothered that he was trying to put Peter behind bars permanently. What was bothering me, I realized, was the person himself—his face, in particular. He’d been a young psychologist, probably the youngest I’d ever met. He struck me as someone who might well have graduated only days ago. He’d been about my age, give or take a couple of years. That bothered me. It confused me…profoundly. In fact, there wasn’t even a word for what it did to me.

The more I thought about it, the more I understood the problem, though I was loath to believe it. The psychologist who’d been here had been my age. Peter was my age. Peter was a psychologist. My brain drew back all of a sudden. No! I didn’t want to know this. I wasn’t supposed to think this. It was…wrong!

The psychologist who’d been here had been my age. Peter was my age. Peter was a psychologist. Peter had been practicing psychology since before I’d met him. But Peter was my age. No!

Peter was my age. Peter was an experienced psychologist. No!

Peter was…Peter was…Peter was old! My age! N— Not…no!

Peter. Was. Old!

I grappled with the idea. He couldn’t be old. I’d known him for almost nine years. Surely, I would’ve noticed before now. I didn’t want to believe he could be old. He was my age! But he was also old! Those two things couldn’t be true simultaneously. He was either one or the other. Even after everything I’d been through the past few months, I wanted to believe he’d never lied to me, that I could trust him. But…he was older than I was…a lot older. No! He was my age.

It was a struggle, one that I faced alone. For several days, the contradiction tore at me. Kevin and Timmy tried to help, but they couldn’t know what I was thinking and neither of them came close to consoling me in any way. Even Cameron came out of his room one time—naked, his hard cock bouncing back and forth, with cum splattered all over his tattooed chest—after I’d been ranting at Timmy for having mentioned Peter’s name. “What the fuck is going on?”, he asked. “You ruined my org— Oh, shit. What happened?”, he said, suddenly concerned as he saw the look on my face.

Nobody understood what I was going through right now. Timmy probably knew something was up beyond me just being pissy. Of course he would, come to think of it, he was a liar and a cheat. People like him knew when you were vulnerable. He pretended that he was genuinely concerned, but there was also a level of fear as he looked at me. A similar fear to what I’d seen in Peter’s eyes when he was arrested. I hated him! He was a bad person and he knew it. The others tried to help as best they could, but there was nothing they could do.

I started crying angry tears and stormed off to my bedroom so that I could be alone. I was vaguely aware of Kevin coming in not long after, but he remained silent, merely rubbing my head like he often did in an attempt to calm me down. To my surprise, it worked, though I woke once again after what felt like only a few seconds. “What did you say?”, I asked Kevin accusingly.

“What do you mean, what did I say? You were sleeping—I didn’t say anything”, he insisted. I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. I had a clear memory of Kevin’s voice, though not his words, but dreams could be vivid like that, especially the ones you had when you were just falling asleep.

“You were talking just now, and something you said woke me up”, I asserted.

“Honestly, Jeff, I wasn’t. Or if I was, I wasn’t aware of it. I was kind of dozing off myself when you jerked awake, so maybe I muttered something without realizing it.” He seemed innocent enough, but I’d stopped trusting anyone in the house like I once had, even Kevin. “Maybe it was just a nightmare or something, either for you or for me. I dunno, man.”

After that, everyone was looking at me with concern almost all of the time. I often went out to the garden, just to get away from it all—the azaleas were looking lovely this year. Naturally, Timmy was the worst of the lot. He gave me the impression he thought he was the head of the household now, and that it was his job to take care of everyone else. On some level, I actually thought of him as such, just because I knew he was more dominant than I was and good at taking charge, but at the same time, he was nineteen to my thirty and he was evil. There was no way I could see some demonic teen as the head of the household!

Nevertheless, he took it upon himself to try to check in with me a couple of days later. Looking unsure of himself—an unusual sight, to say the least—he slid from his end of the couch down to mine and asked me how things were going. I gave him side-eye and didn’t respond at all until he started rubbing my head. A part of me resented his touch, but I couldn’t fight the relaxation that came over me. When he repeated his question, I told him very simply that I was feeling bitchy and irritated that everyone kept looking at me funny, which was true enough, though it didn’t cover everything. It was having trouble thinking straight right now.

Sensing my need for a bit of space, Timmy encouraged me to relax, massaging my crotch as he did. His touch felt out of place…unwanted. Why did it feel so odd? It was nothing he hadn’t fantasized about before, although it had been a while now that I thought about it. The last time Timmy had fantasized about me was before Peter had left.

As I relaxed further, he started stroking me to full hardness, eventually pushing my cock out of the way with one hand while he smacked my balls repeatedly with the other. It should have been painful—it was painful—but I was so relaxed that I didn’t really care. Bracing my cock with his arm so he could use that same hand to hold my balls in place, he got quite firm after that, squeezing and slapping my balls around like they were some kind of toys. No matter how much it hurt, I stayed relaxed with my legs spread open for him.

He repeatedly encouraged me to relax as he worked, occasionally asking how I felt or about other things going on in my life. A part of me sensed that he was working up to something with his questions, but nothing really mattered, given how peaceful I felt right now. It was a welcome break—focusing on the pain and letting it not hurt me really took my mind off my troubles.

Then, Timmy made the mistake of asking about what was bothering me. For a moment, I felt like I had a child smacking my balls and I almost smacked him back! He was a child, both mentally and physically, at least compared to me. Apologizing, Timmy moved a hand back to my head, encouraging me to relax once more.

He kept up the ball squeezing, but this time, he also kept his hand on my head. It helped for a little while, though I was more wary now, despite how zoned out I was. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Timmy asked how I felt about Peter. This time, I did react physically, pushing him away and registering a look of shock on his face before I felt his hand almost smack my head as he started rubbing it yet again.

Having learned his lesson, Timmy stopped asking questions this time and encouraged me to relax and go to sleep for a little while. I was twitchy as fuck and had an extremely hard time relaxing with him there, but eventually, I managed to get in a short nap. Disturbingly, when I woke up, Timmy was still sitting next to me, almost hovering over me. I didn’t stay long enough to figure out why he was there. I didn’t want that little creep anywhere near me!

Despite how bad things had gotten, Kevin and I did manage to patch up our relationship a little bit. It took me a while to understand what had changed, but eventually I realized that he’d stopped talking to me about Peter at all. He never asked how I was doing, other than the casual conversation sort of thing, he never mentioned Peter’s name around me, none of that. I could almost delude myself that, like me, he didn’t want Peter to come home. I sometimes caught him talking to Timmy or Cameron about how much he missed Peter, but he avoided that topic with me entirely. It helped.

Timmy, still trying to be the paternal figure in the house, kept trying to console me or check on me, but it mostly just pissed me off. At some point, I’d realized that he was using the head rubs to not just relax me, but to actually try to hypnotize me like he hypnotized so many other guys in his and Peter’s lives. It made sense that he would, given how manipulative and deceitful he was. If I needed proof of it, I got it in spades one evening when Timmy started rubbing my head while I was lying on the couch watching television.

After a few minutes of me not feeling anywhere near as relaxed from the head rub as I usually would, he started telling me to relax and allow myself to go deeper into my trance, listening only to his voice. I think even he knew that something was wrong, because he didn’t seem quite as confident as he usually did. When he tried to get me to talk about Peter, I decided I’d had enough.

“Fuck! Off!”, I shouted, barely restraining myself from backhanding him. “Don’t you ever try that again!” I glared pure malice at him, then stormed off to the bedroom.

Things didn’t get any better once I was there. As often happened, I’d reverted temporarily to thinking of Peter as being roughly my age. That was my default belief—something I’d known for close to a decade. Looking at a picture of the two of us on my dresser, I was once again reminded of the fact that Peter was old. That pissed me off even further, creating a deep-seated confusion that I couldn’t deal with. Peter and I had been the same age when we’d taken the picture, but in it, he looked about fifteen years older than I was now, never mind how much younger I’d been then.

As broken as I already was, the next revelation hit me like a cinder block to the head. Peter was older. I didn’t believe Peter was older. I wanted desperately to believe that Peter was my age. But he was definitely older. Dylan hypnotized people to believe things that weren’t real. Timmy hypnotized people to believe things that weren’t real. Timmy’s father, Carl, hypnotized people to believe things that weren’t real. Peter— NO! DON’T THINK ABOUT THIS! My mind shied away from the horrifying idea. Relax, ignore discrepancies.

My attention wandered and I almost fell asleep before my eyes wandered over the photo of me and Peter once again. Peter was old! Peter should be my age, but he wasn’t. I hated that. Peter was the one who’d taught the others how to hypnotize people to believe things that weren’t real. They were all con artists, especially Timmy. He made people believe things that weren’t real, using them for his own gain. NO!

Lying back in bed, I started to cry. Why was I so upset?

I did fall asleep then, exhausted from all emotional turmoil I’d been through since Peter had been arrested. It had been a difficult time for me, especially with realizing that he wasn’t my age like I’d always thought. Wait, he wasn’t? In my dreams, he was my age, as he’d always been. Those were good dreams, and I took refuge in those dreams, being with Peter the way we’d always been. It was a blessed relief compared to the last few months!

Then I dreamt about a vacation to Malibu Peter and I had gone on, where the picture on my dresser had been taken, in fact. The two of us had been lying there watching guys go by. I occasionally admired one of them, but I kept it to myself, not wanting to be disrespectful of Peter, since I knew he was the jealous type, just like I was. In my dream, however, Peter had been commenting on every hot twink that came into view. I knew that he didn’t really mean what he was saying—he was only into guys our own age, of course—he was just making fun of those older pervs who were into guys who were barely even legal.

But was he, though? He’d seemed pretty serious about it, and he just went on and on and on. He really liked the guys he was commenting on. There was a parade of dozens of them in my dream—hundreds—thousands! They just kept going by, and Peter kept commenting about how hot they all were, whether their cocks were big enough for him, how much he wanted to fuck them all. Some of them, he actually had, at least in their fantasies. I knew that because I recognized them. Timmy featured prominently, as did David, who I hadn’t seen in nearly a year now. Kevin also popped into my dream briefly, but I kind of liked Kevin, so I let that one pass. He wasn’t as important as the parade of guys that I’d seen and often forgotten over the past nine years, all of whom Peter had eyed hungrily.

As the guys continued to file past—each of them stopping in front of Peter, stripping, then showing off their bodies to him—Peter got older. He’d been my age when the dream had started, but now, he was well into his thirties and aging faster the longer I watched. He had to be in his forties now, his hair showing the clear beginnings of going grey. His fifties weren’t kind to him, with his whole body going grey, even his skin, and his eyes becoming sunken. And still the twinks stopped to let him admire their bodies.

Within moments, he was positively decrepit. He must’ve been in his nineties now, palsied, shaking, standing only with the aid of a walker, but still he was being approached by guys in their teens and twenties. Guys who were unquestionably hot, but so much younger than he was that I could only think of the age difference as an abomination. Hell, it had been an abomination when he was in his forties—as he was now, I realized in a moment of lucidity, though I quickly slipped back into the dream.

I continued to watch, my disgust changing to horror as Peter’s skin started flaking off. He was decaying, just like a time lapse corpse in any of a dozen nature documentaries. He was dead, but the twinks kept coming. Peter was dead, but everyone still showed themselves off for him!

I sat up abruptly, my eyes immediately going to the picture of us in Malibu. There was no question that he was older than me now. He had been when the picture had been taken, and he was now. Noooo…don’t…think…. Stop! Stop listening to the voice in my head. Think! Think about Peter! Incongruently, an image of his hard cock flashed through my thoughts. Fuck, he had a beautiful cock! It was gone in an instant, though. All thoughts of Peter almost went with it, but I couldn’t ignore the picture. Yes! Yes, think about Peter! No, not his cock…think about Peter in the picture. Think about what’s wrong with him.

It was a struggle. I really had to force myself to the inevitable conclusion. It wasn’t just that Peter was old that bothered me, at least not for the moment, it was that I’d believed he wasn’t for the first nine years of our relationship. There was only one possible explanation for it, though I still didn’t want to believe it, even now. Not that! Definitely not that!

What “that” was was only a hazy impression in my mind at the moment, not an actual word, but it was the same “that” as when I’d met Peter in the first place. I’d met him, and within weeks, I’d moved in with him, cutting off nearly all ties to my former life.

It was too upsetting to think about.

Setting aside whatever it was I’d been puzzling through, I went downstairs, only to be bombarded by the sight of three naked, barely legal twinks. Well, okay, Cameron was in his early twenties, if I recalled correctly, but the other two were both nineteen, I was sure of that. I supposed that wasn’t quite “barely legal”, but it was close enough in my books. Why in the hell were they naked, anyway? It seemed like they were almost always naked or wearing very revealing outfits. Even as I thought it, though, I realized that I’d answered my own question. They were always that way, just as I usually was, and that was perfectly normal.

“Peter’s got a new trial date”, Timmy informed me. “About a month and a half from now.” I didn’t respond, just taking the information in and filing it away in the back of my head. I didn’t want to think about Peter this soon after thinking about barely legal twinks. That was upsetting. Somewhere deep inside, I even knew why it was upsetting, but I didn’t want to think about all that right now. It was just easier if I pretended there was nothing unusual happening. It was safer if I didn’t even look at the young guys living in my house right now, so I turned around and went back to the bedroom. Why did I feel like a prisoner in my own bedroom, all of a sudden?

I wanted to go do some more gardening, which usually helped me relax and zone out—I needed to stop thinking about troubling things—but it was nine o’clock and night and piss-pouring rain outside, so that would’ve been a little ridiculous. Peter hypnotized younger guys. The thought was there and gone again in a flash, but it disturbed the tiny bit of peace that just imagining myself gardening had given me.

Having noticed that I’d come downstairs and then immediately returned to my bedroom after hearing the news about Peter, Kevin came to check up on me. He was, unfortunately, naked, but better him than either of the others. I relaxed as he started rubbing my head, my cock stiffening in anticipation. There was no hiding a hard dick as massive as mine, but I didn’t need to around Kevin—one of the reasons I felt so relaxed around him.

Unlike when I was around the others, I never saw any fantasies when it was just me and Kevin. At one point, I’d thought all the nudity was a fantasy, but apparently, the guys just liked not wearing any clothes around the house. Peter. I shook the annoying and somewhat disjointed thought away, gripping Kevin’s arm until it was gone.

I couldn’t even remember cumming, but I knew I had at some point because it made me pleasantly lethargic. More than that, though, I felt relieved, like all the anger I’d been experiencing had at least temporarily left my body. I realized it was Kevin leaving that had woken me up, and I was now lying in darkness trying to get back to sleep. Kevin shares Peter’s bedroom sometimes. NO! STOP IT! I’m the only one who shares Peter’s bedroom…I know that! Despite how jolting the thought was, I fell asleep, almost as if someone had given me a general anesthetic.

Finally, the next morning, my brain faced the reality that I’d been doing my best to avoid for so long. It had almost become habit to look at Peter in our Malibu picture now, reminding myself every day that something was desperately wrong. As I did so again today, I once more experienced the now-familiar realization that Peter was old, but another thought came along with it: Peter hypnotized me to believe he was my age.

NO! Peter never hypnotized me, only his clients and the occasional extracurricular. Well, except the first time I met him, of course. Peter hypnotized me then. And he never stopped, my mind added before I could suppress the idea. “FUCK OFF! I DON’T WANT THAT THOUGHT!”, I mentally shouted back at the thought.

And the occasional extracurricular, my mind intruded again, continuing as if I hadn’t just yelled at it. The parade of extracurriculars, just like in the dream, my brain added. Peter is old! The image of him decaying and blowing away went through my head again.

Don’t think about things. Don’t think about anything. Peace. Tranquility. Denial. Bargain. If I don’t think about anything at all, I don’t have to think about the bad things.

Kevin came in to check on me again, this time fully dressed. Everyone in the house was dressed, he assured me. It was better that way. I didn’t have to think about…things. We talked for a while as he rubbed my head, encouraging me to maintain my newfound state of equilibrium. It was easiest to follow his advice. I’m not going crazy, I told myself, I just go a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes. I giggled hysterically at the movie reference, feeling that I’d developed a whole new understanding of the phrase. I wouldn’t go crazy if I just followed Kevin’s advice.

And things were good. All was good. I didn’t think about things, and things didn’t bother me. The world seemed dull and lifeless, like someone had turned down the color, but that was still better than what had come before. I could deal with lifeless, just as long as I didn’t have to deal with life.

Somewhere along the way, I started to think I should leave Peter. I’d be better off without him. Peter was a bad person...with the most amazing cock in the world! I loved how his cock looked when it was hard and wanted to get into me. But no, leaving would involve thinking about things. I didn’t want to think about things right now…not any of the things. Except maybe Peter’s cock…he had such a nice cock! I could leave tomorrow, maybe, if I really had to. Today wasn’t a good day to do anything dramatic. With that decided, I could stop thinking about it entirely.

My life continued in much the same way for the next month and a half, with me constantly struggling to balance on the razor’s edge between sanity and insanity. I spent most of my time in the bedroom, leaving it only to eat and do whatever else I needed to do around the house. I was grateful that I had access to a bathroom without having to leave the bedroom, since it meant I almost never had to interact with anyone. Kevin intruded on my solitude on a regular basis, but even on my worst days, I couldn’t turn him away. In a way, I felt like he was the only thing keeping me even remotely sane at this point.

At last, the day of Peter’s trial arrived. I’d told the others in no uncertain terms that I’d be going to the trial, ignoring their tacit concerns about my mental health. Peter was guilty of something, I was certain of it, but would they find him guilty of what he was accused of? I didn’t know if I could stay sane if he were released. I didn’t know if I could stay sane if he weren’t.

When Timmy and I left the house that day, I felt like I would never be coming back. I struggled hard not to think about anything, but today of all days, I was failing more than I was succeeding. Peter had hypnotized a father and son to have incestuous sex with each other and with him. I pushed the thoughts away, but they came back regularly. That was probably the only thing that made the two-hour drive with the demon-twink bearable. Peter had hypnotized me to think he was my age. Peter had hypnotized me to think he was monogamous rather than fucking every god-damned twink he met! No, stop thinking about that shit! No, do think about that shit! Today, I had to. Whatever happened, I had to know.

If Peter were found guilty, I never wanted to come back to a house populated entirely with other guys he’d fucked. I could picture his dick entering each and every one of them, and I was convinced now that it wasn’t anyone’s fantasy, as I’d believed until recently. Even now, my brain was trying to convince me that it actually was just their fantasies—nothing to worry about—despite the logical absurdity of mentally experiencing other people’s fantasies.

If Peter were found innocent, he’d be free to go. I couldn’t be around him if that happened. I was certain that he’d try to hypnotize me again—the thought came more easily to me now—and I didn’t know if I’d be able to resist. Until he’d gotten himself arrested, he’d apparently been hypnotizing me every day, likely several times a day, for the nine years we’d been together. I suspected I’d go under at the drop of a hat for him, even if I’d successfully fended off Timmy’s despicable attempts to do so. I cowered as far to my side of the car as I could. I hated him so much, but more than that, I was afraid of him. At some level, I still knew it was irrational, but it was becoming easier to think of him as an actual demon.

No matter what happened today, I had to leave. I wasn’t sure how I’d support myself, considering that I wasn’t working anymore and had nowhere else to go, but that was a problem for later. A rape crisis center of some kind, maybe? After a fashion, I’d been willing—there would be no signs of rape—but that’s what he’d done to me all these years, in his own way. There was also the other way out. I wasn’t sure if that was something that I was ready to consider, but it wasn’t entirely off the table, either.

When we got to the courthouse, I decided it was best to relieve myself before we headed in. In the back of my mind, I was aware that Timmy had stood guard outside the bathroom while I was in there. Little fuck probably wanted to make sure I didn’t escape. An image of Timmy naked and hard flashed through my head. His penis was…not right. It seemed somehow malignant in my mind. I hated Timmy for who he was in his own right, but even more for how much he reminded me of Peter. Peter had a beautiful cock…but he too was evil! That last bit, at least, was entirely rational, I was certain.

I felt an odd sense of calm come over me as Timmy and I made our way to the courtroom. Whatever happened today, things would not be what they had been for the past five and a half months. This wasn’t a widely publicized case, so there was no difficulty finding seats in the gallery, but I chose to sit at the back to be as far away from Peter and as close to an escape route as I could. Timmy sat next to me. There were a few others there—anyone was allowed to watch a court proceeding, after all—but the only others in the room that I recognized were Peter’s legal team.

My heart leapt as Peter was brought into the courtroom. I hadn’t been to see him in a couple of months. If I’d needed a reminder that he was old, this was it. As always, he looked calm and confident, but prison was never easy on a person and Peter had clearly been no exception. Or maybe it hadn’t affected him all that badly after all…I couldn’t even be sure. In my mind, I still sometimes thought of him as being my age and seeing him as an older guy was a renewed shock. Emotionally, I was all over the place. There was a momentary urge to worship and submit to him, even seeing him as he was now, but it was instantly replaced by absolute hatred as I remembered everything else about him, followed by a blank stare as I found comfort once more in distancing myself from what was happening.

Peter scanned the room before he sat, looking to see who all was here. Despite the fact that there were only a handful of people in the gallery, it took him a moment to spot me. He actually saw Timmy first, and only then did he notice me, partly hidden behind some other person two rows in front of me. I didn’t meet his eyes, I just continued to stare vacantly in his general direction. I experienced the barest hint of satisfaction as Peter’s face fell. Whatever he saw in me, he was no longer the confident, cocky man he’d been just moments ago.

The trial got started not long after, though I barely even noticed it. I stayed pleasantly zoned out until the prosecutor started presenting evidence. The arresting agent, whom I hadn’t seen since that night oh so long ago, presented her evidence on what had led to her suspicions and what she’d done about it. The defense objected to the bugging of Peter’s session, but after a bit of back and forth, the judge ruled it admissible. It seemed like a distant, inconsequential thing to me, even now.

The recording itself was very damning. Knowing Nick and Lucas personally, I recognized their voices easily, as well as Peter’s, of course. The audio was muffled, but give or take some areas of unintelligibility, it portrayed a fairly typical scene for Peter and his subjects. Primarily, it consisted of Nick and Peter taking turns on Lucas’ ass and mouth, followed by Nick and Lucas happily cleaning Peter off after he was done with them. The jury was clearly outraged by what they heard, several looking sickened, and I thought that the case might well be over with right then and there. But, of course, there was more evidence to be presented, and the defense still had to have their turn.

Apart from the recording, the rest of the evidence was circumstantial, though the prosecutor made a good case out of it despite that. He brought up Peter’s sexuality and promiscuity before we’d met. He spun the fact that Peter was living in an all-male household with young males who were all highly attractive. Along with statements from a few of our more conservative neighbors, he made our house sound more like a den of iniquity.

The prosecution then spoke about Peter’s early involvement in the BDSM community, something even I hadn’t been aware of, including affidavits from a few exes who stated that he had always been exclusively dominant and that he had suggested using hypnosis on them.

Peter’s professional endeavors were called into question as well, with the prosecution talking about how he’d taken an interest in hypnosis early in his career and focused much of it on that particular skill, despite the veneer of being a trauma counsellor. Several people had provided the prosecution with details of cases where Peter had failed to help them with their trauma or had only succeeded with the use of hypnosis.

To me, it seemed certain that Peter would be behind bars for the rest of his life, given what I’d heard, or maybe even getting the electric chair from what I saw on the jury’s faces. I wasn’t even sure if we still used that in our state, but the jury didn’t look like they cared. They were clearly appalled by what they’d heard.

Then, the defense neatly dismantled most of the case. They didn’t present their evidence in the same order as the prosecution had. They instead started with the trivial and easily dismissed items.

Peter’s failure rate with trauma patients was verifiably less than others in the same or similar positions—particularly notable was his success rate when hypnosis was involved.

His involvement in the BDSM community was easily removed from consideration as well, with the defense citing a recent study that over a third of all Americans got into kink at some level, nearly half of whom were dominant. His interest in hypnosis was less common, but hardly unheard of. In and of itself, it had no bearing on the case, Allison argued.

Before continuing, we recessed for lunch. Peter was escorted out of court by a US Marshal, then escorted back in once the recess was over. That was when the defense team really hit their stride.

Someone working with Allison did most of the work. They started gently, almost contemptibly dismissing Peter’s sexual orientation and promiscuity as largely hearsay or completely irrelevant. Everyone knew that the big piece of evidence was the recording, though, and the defense had clearly saved that for last.

To begin to address that, written testimony was provided from several of the correctional officers at the prison Peter had been incarcerated in, saying that despite having been told to watch out for it, they’d seen no evidence of Peter putting anyone into a hypnotic trance, nor had they seen any evidence of unusual behavior from inmates or other staff who worked with Peter.

An expert witness then testified as to the problems with the recording, stating that there were large gaps in it where we couldn’t hear what had been said. The defense suggested that, despite how the recording sounded, what was mostly missing was the key parts of the session, where Peter was being quieter, and therefore couldn’t be heard. In those missing parts, they asserted, Peter had been counselling the father and son. Nick and Lucas had supposedly experienced misplaced feelings of incestuous love towards one another arising from the trauma of having lost Lucas’ mother at a key time in his development. It wasn’t unusual for a family to become close during times of stress, sometimes even displaying inappropriate feelings or reactions as a result, they claimed. Supposedly, Peter had been walking them through these feelings, helping father and son to get over their inappropriate desires by taking the daring approach of having them imagine that that’s what was actually happening.

I could barely believe my ears, and the jury was just as incredulous about the idea as I was. What was more shocking, though, was when they started calling witnesses to back up the claim. First was the prison psychologist, who had started out putting together a case for the prosecution but had eventually come to the realization that his case supported the defense instead.

He talked about interviewing Peter in prison, how they’d had professional talks and that he’d found Peter to be completely lucid and lacking any undue sexual aggression. He showed his initial interview questions, which demonstrated a slight tendency towards dominance, but nothing more than a typical community leader would. He also claimed to have reviewed audio tapes which discussed Peter’s treatment plan with Nick and Lucas, which the defense introduced as evidence. Sure enough, I could hear Peter’s voice discussing their diagnosis in a very professional, non-judgmental manner.

To anyone else, the psychologist’s testimony probably appeared normal, but something about it struck me as not quite right. He made eye contact with Peter a little too often, I noticed, with just a hint of a smile sometimes. Even if someone else had noticed, they probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but after nine years, I was too used to seeing how much Peter’s subjects adored him, especially since I’d been one of them. Damn, I wanted to be on my knees in front of him again! Fuck off, brain!

Sure enough, when the psychologist stood up after finishing his testimony, I noticed that he had a surprisingly rounded midsection and he was walking a bit stiffly. I was puzzled for a moment, since I’d been expecting a rather pronounced protrusion, but as he moved, I realized what it was I was seeing: the psychiatrist was wearing a sports cup! I strongly suspected that he had a rather painful erection underneath it right now. Of course, most of the people in the courtroom would be completely unaware of that.

The pièce de résistance, however, was when Nick and Lucas themselves were called in. They openly admitted their inappropriate attraction to one another and spoke at length about how Peter had really helped them through it. They had no such feelings anymore, of course, and as a result of Peter’s help, they had been able to resume a normal, healthy, father-son relationship, realizing that they’d never actually had those feeling for one another at all, but that they had merely thought they had due to their combined trauma.

To confirm that this wasn’t just some kind of three-way relationship with Peter, as the original recording made it sound, written and oral testimony was then provided by several friends of Nick and Lucas, saying that they’d noticed signs of something wrong until a few months ago, but that now, there had been a significant change in activity and overall happiness in both father and son, and that they seemed more like their former selves.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing at first, but then I noticed something I hadn’t before: Timmy had an erection. Suddenly, I understood. Between the psychiatrist being under Peter’s control, and Nick and Lucas being under Timmy’s, most or all of the defense had been fabricated. I was outraged but not surprised. They tried to appear impassive, but it was obvious from the looks on several jury members’ faces that they were now in doubt about what all they’d heard today. Others simply appeared stunned.

Having understood what was really going on, I barely even registered the final witness, a psychologist who testified that while there was a lot that wasn’t known about hypnosis, it had long since been proven that what the prosecution was suggesting wasn’t even possible. He told the court that from the moment Peter had started treating Nick and Lucas, there had only been two possibilities: treating them successfully or failing. Sex coerced via hypnosis? “Utterly ridiculous!”, he’d stated emphatically. Clearly, he was a moron.

It was a little after two o’clock when each side finished their closing arguments and the court was recessed so the jury could deliberate. I wasn’t entirely sure what was normal for a case like this, but the jury came back in just under two hours.

“On the charge of bla bla bla…” Whatever, I don’t care…just get to the guilty/not guilty part! “Not guilty!” My heart started beating a thousand times a minute. I got tunnel vision—all I could see was the jury foreperson now, though she was suddenly even more washed out and dull looking than before, almost black and white. Peter was evil, and he was gonna get off! Mmmm…I loved it when Peter got off. His cum tasted so good sliding down my throat!

“Not guilty!” The words hammered at me again. I had to escape! Couldn’t escape Peter, though. Never escape him. Didn’t even want to. Had to. “Not guilty!” Another blow to my mind. Run! There were more of those hammer blows, but I lost track of how many. There was a sense of jubilation from somewhere around me as the last “not guilty” struck home, but it wasn’t from me. It could never be from me. All I knew was that I had to get out of there! Not even caring if the proceedings were actually over with or not, I got up and left.

The bright daylight struck me as I made my way outdoors, all but blinding me. It was tempting to just run straight away from the courthouse and not stop until I fell over in exhaustion, but some shred of self-preservation told me that that was a bad idea. If nothing else, I was likely to run out into traffic and get myself killed. Better to stay somewhere safe. Peter was safe. Peter was evil. Peter was a fucking prick. Peter…fucking…beautiful prick! No, Peter was insane! I had to keep my mind on that.

I headed towards the back of the courthouse, away from traffic, where I knew I’d be safer. Yes, this was a good choice of places to go. It was comfortable, familiar, exactly where I wanted to run to! It was also Timmy’s car, I realized. Fuck!

Heading towards the front of the courthouse, I veered off slightly, figuring I’d make my way down the sidewalk instead of just wandering straight out into traffic. I didn’t really like the direction I was going, though. Backtracking, I wandered around the parking lot, looking for a better way to get out. Stopping to gather my thoughts, I leaned against the nearest car. It was a good car, one that felt comfortable to rest against. Cock! Peter’s cock! I didn’t ever want to be without it again. He was a fucking monster!

When I saw Timmy and Peter approaching from the front of the courthouse, I knew I had to leave before they caught me…here…yet again at Timmy’s car, I realized. Fuck!

I headed away from the two of them for maybe ten feet when I realized that I was walking towards a cliff face. That was an appealing option! NO! No, I was not gonna let that prick be the end of my life! Figuring that anything was better than that, I did a one-eighty and stopped in confusion when I realized that I was walking straight towards Peter and Timmy. Once again, I was back at Timmy’s car. I broke into tears, simultaneously staring daggers at Peter. The rest of the world was gone now. Peter was my world. He was so beautiful! Murder might be a good option, seeing as I apparently couldn’t leave him. Yes, that was increasingly appealing. A chance to get my hands on him one last time, then all my problems would be gone. I imagined squishing his junk in my hands, hearing him scream, begging me to stop. His almost fifty-year-old junk. The problem with that plan was that I wasn’t sure whether I’d pulverize his junk or pull it out and get on my knees for him right in the middle of the parking lot. My thoughts were…chaotic…for want of a better word.

“You’re fucking old!”, I screamed as he and Timmy approached the car. Old? He was fucking ancient! Before I even realized I was doing it, my right hand took Peter full across the face, moving almost faster than the human eye could see. There was a satisfying look of shock on the old prick’s face, but to my supreme frustration, the little fucker stood straight back up, staring at me calmly. Distantly, I registered the look on his face and realized he was trying to figure out just what I knew, or what my mental state was, maybe. Yes, that was it, he was assessing me psychologically…now, of all times!

“You’re old, you’re a fucking pervert, and I hate you!”, I roared. “You’ve made my life a gigantic lie for the last nine years! At least, I think you have. I don’t even fucking know what’s real anymore! Have you been generously giving your time to boys who like fantasies, or have you been sticking your dick inside every fucking guy in sight, letting me think we were monogamous the whole time? Oh, and doing it both behind my back and right in front of me! Were we ever even a real couple or was I just a hot fuck with a big cock to you? We all know how much you like those!”

I was starting to attract attention now. I’d noticed while I was ranting that a couple walking to their car near the front of the courthouse had stopped and to see what was happening; they’d continued on after only a brief pause, though. Now, there was someone in a shirt and a tie openly keeping an eye on us from a window on the third floor.

“Hell, I can’t even be sure who fucked who when, now”, I continued only slightly more quietly. The little fucker deserved every bit of attention I drew down on him—no question—but for me, this was personal…private. I hated people intruding on my private rage and grief. “And making me your fucking slave? What the ever-loving hell? And if all that wasn’t bad enough, you, you…you did whatever you fucking did. I don’t even wanna believe you did it. Seeing other people’s fantasies? That’s…that’s not possible. Seeing you as my age? Even more ridiculous!”, I sneered, feeling an unwarranted satisfaction at the petty insult.

Peter opened his mouth to reply.

“Don’t! Just fucking don’t! I don’t want to hear any more of your fucking lies, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear the truth! So, you just keep your fucking mouth shut! And—so help me god—if you even think the word ‘relax’, I’ll…I’ll…. Just don’t!” I wasn’t speaking entirely rationally right now, but I could see that I’d gotten the message across. That was what was important. Incongruously, I also realized how fond of the word “fucking” I was when I was angry. It was such a good fucking word!

I started crying again as I thought hard about what he must have done to me. I still didn’t want to think it, but what other choice was there? “You hypnotized me”, I whispered. “My whole life with you has been a lie…hasn’t it?” Even now, I wasn’t entirely certain.

“How did you know you’d been hypnotized?”, Timmy asked unexpectedly, drawing my wrath down on him.

“And you knew! You…participated!”, I accused. Demonic fucking con artist. He was worse than Peter! No, that wasn’t right, he’d been coached by Peter! What kind of monster did that make Peter?

“That’s my fault too, Jeff”, Peter intercepted the accusation. “Don’t blame him for what I did.”

“I knew because you were old!”, I said, returning my attention to Peter. An image of his hard cock flashed through my mind yet again, but at least for the moment, the intrusion of that thought was distant, manageable. Getting out everything I’d been bottling up for the past several months was probably helping. “It was the fourth or fifth time I visited you, I think, maybe a bit longer than that. I looked at you, and I thought prison had aged you, because you looked much older than I remembered. The next morning, when I woke up, I saw that photo of us on the beach, the one where you’re in that red bathing suit…and you were old, even then. That’s when I started to see the lie. It took a while before I saw it completely, but that was the start”, I explained, my voice alternately quiet, then overly loud, often catching as I choked back tears.

“Most of the time, I’d forget about it again by the end of the day, sometimes a lot sooner, but nearly every morning, I’d wake up and see that picture, and you were old once again.”

“So, why are you here?”, Peter asked quietly after a moment.

“Well now, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?”, I shouted at him. “I left you! I’ve been leaving you every day for the last month. I left you when I left the house this morning. I left you again when I saw you in the courtroom. I didn’t even care whether you were innocent or guilty anymore. I just wanted to see you either going back to jail and knowing you’d never see me again or, better still, being set free and knowing you’d never see me again! So, more than ever, I left you when I walked out of that fucking courtroom!

“But instead of disappearing from your life for good, I’m fucking here!”, I said, gesturing angrily at my feet. “I’m here, by the car, waiting for you…because I can’t fucking leave! And…”, I took a shuddering breath. “And the worst—the absolute worst—is that I don’t know if that’s you…or if it’s me.” I broke down completely at that point, finished berating him now by virtue of the fact that I could no longer form words through my sobbing.

Peter tactfully remained silent, although I could see him still probing me with his eyes. “So, where does that leave us?”, he said, some unknown time later. The guy was gone from the window now, though I noticed the blinds move at one point. He was still checking up on us to make sure things weren’t getting out of hand.

“Like I fucking know! No, never mind, I do know!”, I said, feeling the edges of my sanity fraying. “It leaves us right fucking here!”, I chortled, motioning at the same spot on the ground as I had earlier. “At this rate, we’re still going to be here ten years from now!” It was pure comedic gold!

“But we can’t fucking stay here forever, can we?”, I accused, my momentary humor changing to animosity in a flash. Reaching out, I grabbed Peter with both hands and slammed him against the car. “Not a fucking word out of you or I will break your fucking jaw!”, I threatened, yanking him away from the car again and all but throwing him out of my way. “After nine glorious fucking years, I know you, Peter! And what I know is that you’re like the scorpion in that stupid story about the fox crossing the river. You can’t help yourself! But, so help me god, if you do that right now, your jaw will be the least of your problems, you deceitful fucking prick!”

Suddenly, I realized why I’d really been so upset at Timmy all these months. It wasn’t Timmy I was angry with at all, or at least not mostly. Peter had been out of reach, so I’d vented on Timmy instead. Timmy was a deceitful prick in his own right, absolutely, but Peter had said one thing that had been true: that was his fault, not Timmy’s. With that realization, the borderline idea that he was demonic in some way lost its edge. It wasn’t gone, but I could see now that it was, and always had been, an irrational thought.

Without another word, I got in the back seat of the car and stared hard at the floor, ignoring Peter and Timmy completely. Symbolically, I also locked the rear doors on both sides, though being Timmy’s car, I knew that wouldn’t actually accomplish anything useful.

I was only barely even aware of it when the two of them got in the front and Timmy started driving, but as we turned out of the courthouse and onto the road, Peter spoke, his voice consuming my attention in the otherwise deathly silence. I tensed, imagining myself breaking his neck entirely if he said the wrong thing, my tension turning to shaking when I recognized the simple truth that I might actually be willing to do that.

“I’m forty-seven”, Peter said in a quiet voice that was simultaneously emotionless yet filled with such a deep emotion that he couldn’t express it. “I turned thirty-eight just after we met, but I hypnotized you to believe that I was your age and that you were topping me almost as often as I was topping you. You’ve never actually fucked me at all and only occasionally been inside my mouth. I can’t even come close to deep-throating you like you remember me doing; you’re much too big for that. I don’t hypnotize and fuck every guy I see, but more than you know and far more than you would be comfortable with. Most are guys you wouldn’t approve of me sleeping with because they’re half my age or less. They’re all tested for STIs before they get anywhere near my dick, or if I can’t, I wear a condom. Some are just random, one-off fucks, but I care for all of the boys that are with me long-term, each in their own way. But you’re not just another one of my boys, Jeff. As depraved as this will sound to you right now, I love you! I can’t say that about any of the other guys I’ve hypnotized, though I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t close with one or two of them.”

Peter stopped there, giving what he’d said time to sink in. What he’d said had had the ring of truth, but it also sounded utterly ridiculous. He hypnotized guys like me and thought it was anything even remotely resembling love? He had the most fucked up sense of love I’d ever heard of!

And I’d never actually fucked him? That made no sense at all! I loved fucking him, even though I hadn’t done so since becoming his slave. Good slave! Best slave! Peter’s cock is fucking beautiful…and delicious! Even inside my ass it’s delicious! Fuck off, brain! It was easier for me to believe that Peter had fucked younger guys right in front of me without me complaining than it was for me to believe that I’d never fucked him. The memories were so vivid! Maybe too vivid, though, now that I thought about it some more. How could I possibly remember what my cock had looked like entering his ass when we’d done it in complete darkness a lot of the time? Yet, each and every time, I had a near-perfect recall of how turned on I was seeing my giant cock split his ass open. Come to think of it, each and every time felt almost exactly the same. What the fuck? No way! It couldn’t have. He couldn’t have. Couldn’t have hypnotized me to imagine it all. I had been inside of him…I must’ve been! Whole life’s a lie. No! But even if…did I care? Peter is Top, Peter is Dom, Peter is Master…Peter is God! Peter is a deceptive, manipulative bastard who took over my whole life! Was that so bad? Yes! No. He…he… such a beautiful cock! Too old…but not! My mind just kept going in circles, not only irrational most of the time, but often even incoherent.

He seemed hesitant to leave me when we got to the prison parking lot. “Just go!”, I told him in exasperation. Not my place to tell him what to do. Fuck him! Peter had a pained look at my distress. Good! Let the fucker suffer! I felt bad that I was hurting him. I wanted to give him everything. I hated him. “I’m obviously not going to go anywhere”, I said, with a maniacal sneer.

“It’s not you physically leaving that I’m worried about right now”, he answered.

Mentally, he meant? I supposed he had reason to, at that. My brain was fried, now more than ever. “There”, I said, handing him my phone, “now you’ve got a phone and so does he”, I nodded towards Timmy. “He can call you if I go any more nuts than I already am”, I told him in a combative tone. I didn’t bother to unlock my phone. Never mind that Peter would only ever need to answer a call, the simple truth was that Peter knew all my passwords because they were all passwords that he’d told me to use. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time; I almost didn’t think anything of it now. Peter had really done a number on me!

“Keep an eye on him”, Peter whispered to Timmy, as though he thought I couldn’t hear him. I supposed maybe he didn’t care if I did, though it was hard to wrap my mind around him actually being as concerned about me as that implied. Maybe he was just afraid I’d get out and tell someone. My eyes automatically tracked Peter’s mid-section as he walked around the front of the car towards the prison entrance.

To his credit, or maybe just because he was so hopelessly submissive to Peter, Timmy did exactly what he’d been told to, staring at me in the rear-view mirror. One or the other of us broke eye contact once in a while, but we always found ourselves back staring at one another within seconds. I wasn’t even sure why I was doing so, apart from the fact that it was hard to look away from someone who kept staring at you. It was easier to think straight now that Peter was gone, though even the realization of that made me think of how much I loved obeying that fucking sociopath.

“I’m sorry”, I said suddenly. “I hate you, and have hated you for several months now, but I know it’s not your fault. I’ve been lashing out at you for everything because he wasn’t here to blame.”

“I’m not entirely innocent, either”, Timmy replied after a prolonged pause, obviously having carefully considered what to say. “He brings something out in me…a need to dominate…and to submit. It was always there, I guess, but I was too afraid to let myself think about it. He just…he makes it more, and I can’t ignore it now. I don’t even want to. If it makes you feel better, I feel nervous as fuck having him back too. The difference between us is that I know I’ll feel better about having him back by the time he’s done with me, soon after we get home, I imagine. You, well…not so much, I’m guessing.”

Timmy wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t deny that there was a part of me that wanted to go under again too. Both of us were silent for a couple of minutes as I pondered that contradiction.

“He really does love you, you know.” Timmy said nothing further, but his statement seemed to hang in the air between us.

“I know”, I said after a while. That also hung in the air before I continued, though not quite as long.

“I’ve been with him for nine years, and in that time, I’ve picked up a few things about hypnosis. You can’t not pick things up about hypnosis when you’re living with him. Someone with his skill can make you feel infatuated, but it can’t create love out of nowhere. I hate him more than I have the words for right now, but I have loved him. I don’t think I could have done that unless I felt the same coming from him.”

I saw Peter in the distance, coming out of the prison entrance. “He’s going to do…the scorpion thing—Christ, I still don’t even want to think he’s doing it, but you know what I mean—he’s going to, isn’t he?”, I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes”, Timmy said simply. After a moment, he continued. “And you need him to, I think. I don’t know what’s up with you, exactly, but I know you’re…more than just pissed at what’s been done to you. You’re…I dunno…but I think you need to see Peter…as in, professionally.”

“You’re not wrong there. Even I can see it. We might as well get it over with, then. Better that than this. When he gets back, I fell asleep, you understand?”, I asked, the two of us sharing as long of a glance as we dared with Peter moving ever closer.

“You fell asleep”, Timmy nodded, and I closed my eyes. Shortly after that, I heard him roll down his window and I could hear movements—probably some kind of silent exchange. To my surprise, Peter sat back in the front after he’d put a few things in the trunk. I’d been sure he would sit in the back seat and try to hypnotize me.

Timmy was obviously as surprised as I was. “You’re not going to hypnotize him?”, he whispered. If I’d actually been asleep, I probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“Not until he’s ready. We’ll talk later; for now, let him rest. I imagine the last several months have been difficult for him.” So, Peter had some sense of morality or at least decency after all. I ended up genuinely falling asleep as I pondered whether it was reassuring that he did or whether it was deranged that he did the things he did despite his apparent compassion. The next thing I knew, we were coming to a stop. It was somewhat dark, I thought, though my eyes were still closed.

“I assume you’re going to want some time alone with me soon”, I heard Timmy ask quietly.

“Yeah”, Peter replied. “I figure I’ll get Jeff settled in and make sure he’s okay, at least for the moment. I’d been planning on taking you out to that bench by the river where we first met, as a form of…nostalgia, let’s say, but…”

“In other words, you wanted me thinking of being put under the first time, to help me right along as you put me under for the…errr…second first time”, Timmy filled in. The two of them really were peas in a pod. Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that I’d taken everything out on Timmy.

“I figured you’d clue in”, Peter chuckled. “Anyway, with him as he is, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him alone for long right now, so we’ll have to settle for the house. I can tell you have your own worries, and I’m not really surprised, but we’ll talk more about that later.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I had something planned to welcome you home as well.” I could hear the amusement in Timmy’s voice, though I didn’t understand what it was about. “I…errrm…put it off for the same reasons.”

“Hiding things from me? That’s a new trick. We’ll work on that!”, Peter and Timmy both laughed, though Timmy’s was noticeably on edge.

“Not really, but…well…we’ll talk. There’s just so much to catch you up on!”, Timmy sighed. “I’ve been keeping a journal, kind of like the subject profiles I usually send you, but I’m sure there’s a ton of stuff I missed.”

“No worries, I’m sure you’ve covered the important bits. For now, let’s get Jeff inside and hopefully settled in a bit. Like I said, I’m pretty much playing this by ear, so I don’t know what’s going to happen. If I’m not down in ten or fifteen minutes, you guys go ahead with dinner. You, in particular, have a long night ahead of you.” Peter’s tone was much more sober now. “For that matter, I probably do too, but I guess we’ll see.”

“Yeah, you probably do”, I agreed, ending my pretense of being asleep. Timmy and Peter exchanged glances and, at a nod from Peter, Timmy left the car and went inside, popping the trunk before he got out, so Peter could get his stuff.

“How are you doing?”, Peter asked.

“Lousy”, I replied. “But better than at the courthouse, I guess.” I waited for Peter to say something else, but he seemed content to sit in the car forever, from all appearances. Even as chaotic as my thinking had become lately, I recognized the tactic. He was waiting for me, knowing full well that I would say something more, eventually. While I took my own sweet time doing so, I ultimately gave him what he wanted.

“I didn’t expect to be coming back here…one way or the other. You…understand?”, I asked him flatly.

“I do”, he responded quietly.

“I don’t know how I feel being back. And…you!”, I said, as if that were an accusation in its own right. “I keep thinking…things. Different things. Like, every minute. One minute, I hate you, and I see the monster you are. The next, I’m imagining myself as your slave again or whatever. And…it’s fucked up, but even when I hate you—even outside the courthouse when I was ready to tear your head off—I felt better…more lucid…just from having you near.”

“Mmmm…difficulty sleeping?”, he asked. It seemed like a non-sequitur at first until I realized that I’d just unintentionally listed some of the symptoms I’d been experiencing, and now he was digging for more as he tried to diagnose me.

“Yes. Hardly sleeping at all. It’s hard to think straight a lot of the time”, I told him.

“How hard? Do you find yourself thinking things that you know can’t be real…whether you know it at the time or only realize it afterwards?” I hesitated but nodded slowly. I knew Timmy wasn’t a demon now, but there had been times when I hadn’t been so sure. “What about believing things you didn’t used to?”

“Like the fact that your boyfriend is twenty years older than you and has been hypnotizing you the whole time you’ve been together?”, I shot back, venom dripping from every word. Apparently, my emotions were still a bit turbulent.

“Fair enough”, he said, dropping his gaze momentarily. “You’re fairly obviously depressed at the moment. Do you also have episodes of extreme excitement or high creativity? An eagerness to do things?”

“Mania? I’ve been with you for nine years, Peter. I know the basic words by now!”, I told him impatiently. “No.”

“Unusual suspiciousness?”

“Yeah, probably. I…I’ve been rough on Timmy the last few months. Some deservedly, but some probably not. I don’t really trust anyone in the house now, to be honest.” I thought I saw where he was going with this, but I was no expert, so I let him continue without jumping ahead.

“You mentioned that your thoughts were chaotic, alternating between two disparate opinions. Do you also find yourself having random thoughts that have nothing to do with what’s going on at all?”, he asked next.

“Yes”, I admitted, an image of Peter’s hard cock materializing in my head as if summoned by his words. Thinking about his cock was far from the only time I’d experienced an unexpected image or thought lately, but it was easily the most common.

“Okay, I think I’m getting a fairly good picture now”, he nodded. “What about socializing? Have you been talking to our tenants much? Having meals with them? Or even with your friends…anyone outside the house?”

“No. Keeping to myself, mostly. Like…a lot. And don’t call them tenants. They’re your fucking fucktoys.” This time, he didn’t drop his gaze, though he didn’t seem offended at my belligerence.

“Blackouts or fainting? Coordination problems or tripping for no apparent reason?”, he asked.

“What? No, none of that.” That was the first thing he’d asked so far that I hadn’t been expecting at all, and it reminded me that he actually was a professional and knew a lot more than I did. Was he thinking I had brain damage? Or maybe some kind of a stroke?

“And has all of this been coming and going, or fairly steady?”

“Coming and going, I guess. I mean, I’ve been pretty shitty overall since the day they arrested you, but sometimes I’m more lucid and aware, sometimes less, though I don’t always realize that at the time. What are you thinking?”, I asked, sensing that he was fairly certain now that he knew what was going on.

“Well, you’ve clearly been having what are known as psychotic episodes”, Peter told me.

“Wait, you’re saying I’m a psychopath?”, I asked him incredulously.

“I thought you said you knew the basic words!”, he smiled, though his amusement was short-lived. “A psychotic episode occurs when you become at least partially disconnected from reality. I’ll need to ask our…well, ‘my fucktoys’, if you insist…to get an idea of the timeline and if they were seeing symptoms you weren’t aware of, but it seems likely given the circumstances and what you’ve said that it was brought on by the stress of the situation you were in. You were used to being hypnotized several times a day and allowing that to shape your reality. Suddenly, that was gone, I was gone, your entirely life changed in minutes as a result, and both reality and fantasy begin to intrude as you tried to make sense of everything and cope with your new reality.

“Often, once the stressors are removed, the episodes will stop happening, though that’s not guaranteed. This could also be a precursor to schizophrenia, though that usually comes on more gradually and mildly. Epilepsy can also sometimes produce effects like this, but you would likely be showing other symptoms, like blackouts or coordination problems, which you said you weren’t. There are a whole host of other things that could be causing this, but while I’m not a medical doctor, my knowledge of both you and of psychology says that most of them are unlikely”, he finished.

“You don’t seem entirely sure of that”, I prompted.

“Well, your description of symptoms coming and going is a little unusual. With trauma, typically you would work your way through it and come out of the psychotic episode, often quite quickly. Once that’s done, it’s uncommon for it to repeat, though it’s not unheard of by any means, so it could be nothing more than that. Usually, when that’s the case, the recovery in between episodes is near total, which isn’t what you seem to be describing. That’s part of why I want to talk to the boys”, Peter explained. “It’s also possible that this has been one protracted episode, with periods where symptoms have been increasing or receding.”

“Right. So, saying it is the trauma, which makes a lot of sense, what do we do?”

“If it is the trauma, then working through it is the first step. As much as you hate me right now, just the fact that I’m back may help, and I’ll work with you to help you get back to baseline. Once your life has some semblance of normalcy, we’ll reassess.” I admired Peter’s professionalism.

“Normalcy. Right”, I drawled, my admiration short-lived as I realized that he himself was the cause of the trauma I’d experienced.

“That, of course, is the problem. To be honest, you were my first very long-term subject, and I made a few poor decisions and outright mistakes with you. Everything seemed okay, though, so I made the additional mistake of thinking that nothing needed to change”, Peter admitted. “In my defense, maybe nothing did, at least as things were six months ago. That’s no longer the case. I won’t deny that I’m going to try to hypnotize you again at some point. Honestly, at this point, even ignoring my own interests, I think it’s your best option. You need to be brought closer to how things were before to re-establish that sense of normalcy I mentioned. How you respond, or even if you respond to being hypnotized—Timmy indicated to me a few months ago that there were problems there—anyway, your response will help me figure out where to go from there. It’s going to be a long road, no matter what, but I’ll do what I can to make things better for you as quickly as possible.”

“Not yet!” I yelped, not sure if he meant he was going to get started right away. He didn’t seem like he’d been about to, looking at his body language, but I couldn’t deny that my fear of him doing it was through the roof right now. “Before you…” I stopped, trying to convey with my eyes what I was hesitant to say in words. I was holding myself together by my fingernails. “No lies!”, I ordered, reiterating my sentiments from the courthouse.

“No, no lies. Never again”, Peter agreed. “I can see now that that wasn’t a good way to go with you. Before we move on to anything else, there’s something I want you to understand. Although it’s a somewhat unusual presentation, I believe you have what’s called ‘brief psychotic disorder’. If it is, it’s entirely treatable with various forms of cognitive therapy and other interventions. But if I’m wrong about that, you will need to see a psychiatrist for a full workup. And you will see one, any consequences to me be damned.”

The two of us sat in silence for a long time after that. I said nothing, not quite sure how I felt about his apparent willingness to sacrifice himself for me. Could I even believe it? How could Peter be so controlling, yet also be so willing to put his entire way of life on the line for me, one of the people he controlled?

“Shall we go inside?”, he asked quietly.

I sat still for some time before I nodded, not sure I was ready, but knowing we couldn’t sit here forever. At the thought, I had a flash of the two of us sitting in Timmy’s car for the rest of our lives, similar to the one I’d had at the courthouse. I knew the idea was ridiculous, but the humor I felt at it was…not healthy. I wanted to giggle forever, but I knew I wouldn’t, and I didn’t trust what the giggling would turn into. It had happened a couple of times over the last few months, often ending up with me lashing out at someone over the least little infraction. “Yeah, sooner rather than later, I think”, I responded belatedly to his question.

The door to the house was my next hurdle. When I got to it, I found I couldn’t make myself step through it. I’d expected to never be inside this house again! Peter had gone in ahead of me, but he turned to usher me inside and immediately noticed my distress. At the sound of the door, Timmy also looked down the hallway from the kitchen to make sure everything was okay.

Peter waited, his face and body language patiently trying to coax me inside. Realizing that there was an issue, Timmy intervened. “Kevin”, he called quietly, looking in the general direction of the stove. “Go—I’ll handle dinner.”

Kevin looked to see what was happening. Once he realized, he approached rapidly, pulling me into a hug without even asking. “It’s okay”, he soothed. “Don’t rush it. I’m here.” Peter observed our interaction silently, obviously puzzled that Kevin was the one coming to the rescue here. I hesitated, still wary of trusting anyone, but hugged Kevin back. Nevertheless, I remained in the garage, though I was feeling more relaxed now that there was someone other than Peter to provide support.

We stood together for a minute or two, Kevin rubbing my back and repeating his reassurances. “I can do this”, I said, more to convince myself than anything. I pulled Kevin along with me as I finally stepped inside. It was awkward stepping through the doorframe with our arms still around each other, but we muddled our way in. After a last squeeze, I let him go. “Thank you!”, I whispered for his ears alone.

I had a bad moment when, after a moment’s restraint, Kevin immediately nuzzled under Peter’s arm. “You don’t know how much of a relief it is to have you home!”, he told Peter quietly. Oddly, that was exactly the look on his face, too. He was clearly happy just to have Peter home, but even more prominently, there was a profound look of some burden being taken off his shoulders.

Once Cameron and Kevin’s brother, Mitch, had also welcomed Peter back, he and I made our way up to our bedroom. I had a similar but less intense problem there. It wasn’t so much the doorway that was the issue as it was that the entire bedroom felt surreal, especially with Peter in it. He hadn’t been in this bedroom with me for nearly six months! It no longer felt like the refuge it had been.

While Peter got changed and relieved himself, I sat on the bed, staring apathetically at the picture of us in Malibu once again. When Peter came out of the bathroom, I started comparing the picture with how he looked now. Already in the picture he looked a lot older than me, but looking at him as he walked towards me, I could easily see that he was much older now. It had been about eight years or so since then, after all.

“What are you feeling?”, Peter asked, taking a seat beside me. I tensed slightly as he put his arm around my shoulders so he could look at the picture with me.

“Nothing. Except…you’re old. You’re so fucking old!” I knew Peter didn’t like talking about his age, though I was no longer sure if that was because he felt old or because he didn’t want me thinking about it.

“It’s not nothing, Jeff. I know you may think you feel nothing, but the stress in your voice says otherwise. It’s a self-defense mechanism. Talk to me. Don’t hold back”, Peter urged. I didn’t even know where to begin. I mean, how much more did he want? I’d told him he was old and how betrayed I felt already when we were at the courthouse. “Talk to me about Malibu”, he said, seeing that my gaze had instinctively settled on the picture that bothered me so much. “What are your favorite memories of when we were there?”

Not expecting the question, for a few seconds I couldn’t think of anything that we’d done at all. In the end, I just started talking about the picture itself and when it had been taken. It had been taken by a random gay couple who’d been near us on the beach, clearly admiring some of the same guys we’d been. That had led to a casual discussion and, once they were comfortable, they’d asked us to take a picture of them with their camera, then we’d flipped and gotten them to take a picture of us with ours…typical tourist crap.

“They were probably thinking we were Daddy and boy or something, weren’t they?”, I accused at one point.

“Probably. Does that bother you?”, Peter asked.

“Yes, it bothers me!”, I replied indignantly.

“Alright, let’s talk about that, then”, he suggested.

Now that I was starting to get into the memory, it was a little easier to remember details and talk to Peter about why it bothered me. He massaged my shoulder as I spoke, occasionally prompting me for more details.

“It means you’re a lot older, which I find just totally creepy, and it at least suggests that I’m submissive to you. Our whole relationship has been based on…”, I trailed off, realizing that what I thought our whole relationship was based on was completely wrong. “Well, at least at first, I thought our whole relationship was based on being equals. You topped me, I topped you, back and forth. Then, I became your slave, of course, like that were the most normal thing in the world”, I told him in disgust.

“In my defense, that wasn’t all my doing, though I’ll admit, a lot of it was.” He could’ve at least tried to look guilty about it, but not surprisingly, he looked proud of himself instead. “I mean, you probably never would have become a full-time slave, or even tried it for more than a scene or two, but that’s really all it took, to be honest. I need something to build on, but I’m pretty good at magnifying even the tiniest flicker of interest into something that gets me what I want. Besides, it’s not like you don’t get anything out of it…you actually do get to stick your dick in a fair number of guys, for real, even if none of them are me. I love watching a twink trying to take that monster!”

I scowled at him. He may have been a professional, but this particular session was anything but! The absolute last thing I wanted to think about was fucking some twink. That was worse for me than the idea of Peter fucking me.

The next memory from Malibu was a somewhat happier one, a romantic dinner followed by a lot of kissing in a secluded area of a nearby park. As I talked about what I remembered, Peter pulled me in for a soothing hug. As caught up in the memory as I was, I barely even noticed. It occurred to me as I spoke that my memories of that night might not match objective reality, but I decided to let it pass. It was a happy memory, and right now, that was what I needed it to be.

Afterwards, when we’d returned to the hotel, a boyish-looking porter had showed up at the door of our suite. He’d been the same one who’d brought our stuff up to our room when we’d first arrived, and he’d clearly been making eyes at Peter. Like me, Peter had no sexual interest in guys that young, or so I’d thought at the time, so I’d found the porter’s attraction to my boyfriend more amusing than threatening.

I remembered being taken aback that the twinky little shit had brazenly shown up at our hotel door, but I’d decided to let Peter deal with the twerp while I headed out to explore the city on my own for a while. With my newfound awareness that I’d been hypnotized to believe whatever Peter wanted me to, I realized what must have actually happened. Peter had dealt with the twink alright, no doubt by fucking him blind! I wanted to be angry about it, but even as I realized that I’d been hypnotized to leave Peter alone with the porter, I started to relax. I felt Peter’s hand on my head, soothing me. It was so hard to be angry with him right now! I just wanted to relax. I was relaxed…just relaxing and listening to Peter’s voice.

“Feeling a bit better now?”, he asked as his hand made its way back to my shoulder.

“More relaxed, at any rate”, I replied sleepily.

“Mmmm…I don’t doubt it”, he chuckled.

“Wait, did you…?”, the question trailed off. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Peter had an erection in his pants. “Never mind, I guess that answers my question”, I laughed, looking up at him. “Holy shit! You’re young again!” I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Are you sure? How old am I, really?”, he asked.

“Forty-seven. But…but…you’re young. I know you’re forty-seven, but I look at you and I see someone younger. You’ve got grey hair, though. That’s fucked up! It’s like…I can see someone who’s forty-seven if I try, but I just kind of think of you as being my age…maybe even a bit younger.” I felt better now than I had in a long time, and maybe a little jarred out of my negative thoughts by my surprise.

“It’s the best I could do on short notice”, Peter smiled. “Honestly, it wasn’t all that hard to get you back to thinking I was young, considering that that’s what you’ve believed for most of the last decade. In reality, you know I’m forty-seven now, and there seems little point to trying to deny it, but subconsciously, you’ll continue to think of me as somewhere around your age. There’s a bit more to it than that, of course, but that’s more of a long-term thing. In the end, your reaction to my absence has proven that it’s best to help you accept the truth of who I am rather than to have you believe a complete fabrication. It was fun while it lasted, but I should’ve fixed this particular mistake a long time ago. Better late than never, as they say.”

“So, that’s it? You just wave your magic hypnosis wand and I’m better?”, I asked. I wasn’t feeling anywhere close to normal yet, but considering what the last few months had been like, this was a big step up.

“No, not by a long shot. At least at first, the hypnosis will primarily be to help you return to a state that feels more familiar to you—not exactly what you were before, of course, but close enough for you to be comfortable. Even as talented as I am with hypnosis, it won’t fix everything on its own. You obviously have a lot of pain coming from a lot of different things, and there’s nothing magical I can do to alleviate that. We’ll simply have to talk things over as they come up.” Here, at least, Peter did actually look somewhat guilty, to my surprise. Seeing an opening, I decided to ask something that had been bugging me since the courthouse.

“You could just let me go, you know. Make it so that I can leave without all the drama. Or was that you, too? Did you make it so that I could never leave you, no matter what?”, I asked him accusingly, yet also calmly.

“No, that’s not my way”, Peter said with an unquestionable certainty. “I like boys who are addicted to being hypnotized and happy about it. Coercion isn’t my thing.” I couldn’t really argue with that. I’d never realized until now that I’d been hypnotized the whole time, but since the day I’d met Peter, I’d been infatuated with him, and abnormally eager to have sex any time he was in the mood. Not once had I felt like I was being forced to stay with someone I didn’t want to. “I can’t say why you were unable to leave, but people are complex. I imagine there were several things that went into that.

“As for why I don’t make it so that you can just leave”, Peter continued, “I don’t think that’s possible right now, if ever. The last six months have proven that you would be psychologically traumatized by my absence. More to the point, however, you’re far too susceptible to hypnosis now. I’ve been hypnotizing you, or at least triggering a heightened state of suggestibility, anywhere between a couple of times a day to a dozen or more for the last nine years, and it’s become second nature to you to go under at the drop of a hat. Even just now, after six months away from me, I was easily able to put you under again just by getting you to think of a time you’d been under before. Timmy and I haven’t talked about it specifically yet, but I’m actually shocked that you were able to resist his attempts to hypnotize you at all! Anyway, the real point here is that as much as you think I’m a pervert, there are worse perverts out there and you’re a ripe target for them. If ever things get to a point where we decide to part ways, you’ll need months of active training to resist the instinct to go under.”

I couldn’t argue with what he was saying. If I hadn’t begun to hate Timmy so much, I probably would never have even known he’d been trying to hypnotize me, and as Peter had just said, despite how much I hated him right now, it sounded like he’d put me under again with a minimum of effort on his part. I might not be as eager about being hypnotized as someone like Timmy, but I couldn’t argue that, at least from the perspective of how susceptible I was, I was more addicted than anyone. For that matter, I wasn’t even sure if it was something I wanted to fight. Life was just so much easier when I was around Peter. No decisions to make, no questioning why I wanted to do something, none of that. I just did what felt natural with no worries about whether it was the right thing to do.

I couldn’t remember falling asleep, but my head was on Peter’s shoulder when I opened my eyes and he was just pulling his hand away from rubbing my head. I smiled at him, remembering why I had once loved him and realizing that I still did. Things were far from perfect, but I trusted him to make it all better.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower!”, Peter announced. As the two of us stripped, I noticed that Peter had a full, throbbing erection. What had gotten him so excited? Guys his age tended to get turned on at the drop of a hat, though, I supposed. Wait, no, he was older than that. Whatever. He was young in terms of his dick’s needs if nothing else.

Without any hesitation at all, I got down on my knees and looked up at Peter for permission. What I got instead was Peter’s cock bashing against my face as he pried my mouth open, followed immediately by him shoving himself deep into my throat. I hadn’t been taken this way in nearly half a year, and it was phenomenal! Even as he pounded into my throat, I admired the silky smoothness of his young cock, the fresh eagerness of him as he pumped my throat as eagerly as any twenty-year-old. Sure, he was older than that in reality, but in every way that mattered, he was just a few years younger than I was…and it showed. He was very enthusiastic!

Once I’d swallowed the creamy lusciousness of Peter’s load, I bobbed back and forth very slowly, delicately tonguing his cock as he came down from his high. Sucking him off like this, while not as exciting as getting my throat pounded, was quite relaxing. I felt Peter’s hands on my head as he shampooed my hair for me. They felt so soothing! My bobbing slowed even further as his hands massaged my scalp.

Back and forth…relax. Back…relax, listen to Peter’s voice. Forth…Peter is good, being home is good. Back…Peter’s cock is fucking awesome! Forth…Peter is the best! Back…give or take some fucking around…forth…which you had to forgive in horny young guys like him…back…I was his one and only…and sleep!