Beauty in the Beast
by Chester and Wrestlr
Disclaimer: There’s sex, hypnosis, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor perversions in this. If you don’t like that sort of thing, go elsewhere.
Copyright © 1999 by Chester and Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of “Adult Verification”) is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can’t use this without the express permission of (and payment to) the authors. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.
Comments to Chester (chester44@iname.com) and Wrestlr (wrestlr@iname.com)
Beauty in the Beast
Part 1. Day 1.
| Ron | Brock |
| It had been a long time in coming. But now his fantasy was coming true. He took a deep breath before he opened the door to his “dream” man. | It had taken me long enough to get to this point. Too late to turn back now. I knocked on his door and waited. God, I hoped I didn’t blow this. |
| Two years before Ron had started talking to Brock on the internet. At that time Brock was just beginning his second year of college. How did it start? He had to think to remember. Ah, yes. Brock had seen his ad on one of the message boards—“Hypnotist, looking for gay man to work with increasing athletic ability,” or something like that. Ron received a message from Brock and that began a lengthy, two-year, almost daily correspondence. | When it started, I was a sophomore, on the wrestling team, and in over my head: being in the closet, the demands of college and athletics, it was all a big spiral sucking at me. I was afraid I’d get cut from the team and lose my scholarship, or else flunk out and have to quit the team. I saw his ad on a gay Internet message board, offering to hypnotize athletes and help them increase their performance. I figured what the hell, and I sent him a message. |
| Their “relationship” was different from the beginning. Ron found the young man who was twenty-five years his junior quite mature, witty, intelligent and possessing a remarkable writing style. From the beginning he knew this was no ordinary individual. Brock was an athlete and he was gay. He dealt with it well, deciding that it would not profit him to come out while he was in college, so he had a few long- and short- term “affairs” but was mostly content to jack off and sublimate his urges on the internet. He wrote short stories and chatted on IRC. | Ron wasn’t what I expected. He wrote back, I wrote back, and almost immediately we were hitting it off. He was older than me, but I didn’t care. I mean—I was looking for someone with his kind of experience, right? He was charming and smart and fun to talk to. Our mail messages were more like a conversation. We had a lot of common ground; we both had an interest in hypnosis, and we both wrote stories about it for the Internet. Ron didn’t mind that I was inexperienced, still in the closet, and I didn’t mind his smoking fetish. |
| Furthermore, Brock was certainly well-read and intelligent. His interest was in hypnosis both in a “professional” and sexual sense. He first wanted to know how he could better his athletic ability as a wrestler. Were there any keys that could be pushed that would bring him to a higher level of concentration and performance? Their early discussions centered around books Brock had read and stories of Ron’s experiments with hypnosis. | Like I said, I was looking for experience, and Ron had it. He used hypnosis almost every day in his job, and a lot of his subjects were athletes. He seemed like just what I was looking for. I started asking him if hypnosis could really help me improve as an athlete, how one went about it. Ron told me about a few jocks he had helped. He knew what he was talking about. He seemed like he could deliver the goods. |
| From the beginning Ron had been truthful. At this age in life he saw no reason to lie and he articulated carefully his interest in Brock. He first of all, wanted to help Brock achieve what he wanted in his sport. That had, in fact, been the original intent. Then Brock had sent him a picture. Ron found the man quite attractive, possessing most of the qualities that turned on his fuses, in fact. So secondly, Ron had wanted to use hypnosis and experiment with the sexual things. Because of his age, and because he had been cut of so many times before when guys found out his age, he doubted his own attractiveness. | It took him a long time to tell me his real name. I never pushed Ron to reveal more than he wanted. I was in the closet—I could respect that. He seemed pretty eager to help me, and his certainty that hypnosis would help was contagious. He seemed to like me, and truth was, I liked him too. I knew Ron was older, but he never described himself, and I never asked. I figured he’d tell me when he told me. So I guess I was just kind of flirting with Ron when I sent him a picture of myself. I’m a good-looking guy, and my picture—well, it seemed to get his motor running in a whole new way, and I found that kind of flattering. |
| So, it was more than pleasant when Brock reported that age was not necessarily a factor for him. The overall relationship and compatibility mattered most. | He got worried that he was “too old.” Bullshit. He never told me his age, or even what he looked like, but I didn’t care. He had the hypnosis experience, and I liked him. That was enough. |
| The other truths were about Ron’s fetishes. Obviously hypnosis was one of them and they had many, many conversations which dealt with power and control—something that Brock did not want to lose because of his strong athletic training. The control that Ron wanted was not of the sadomasochistic type, though. It was just a turn-on for him being the control figure in a hypnotic “relationship”. That didn’t mean to say he couldn’t get into a little of the dominant if the scene called for it; he could, but it wasn’t necessary to get him turned on. | Okay, I admit, I was a nervous. Ron really did have a lot of skill as a hypnotist, from what he told me, and I didn’t want to get in over my head here too, not with the rest of my life spiraling out of control. We talked a lot about control, the different kinds of it. A lot of what you hear about hypnosis is about “losing control,” and that shit scared me—as an athlete I heard “stay in control, stay in control” from the coaches every day. Ron seemed open to what I had to say. He agreed a collaborative “coaching” approach might work best instead. |
| The other was more unusual, though. Brock had been aware of this fetish because when Ron told him he wrote stories of hypnosis and Brock said he had read most of them, Ron knew that the fetish would be evident. It was the smoking fetish. For some reason making and/or watching a guy smoke (an attractive guy—usually a jock or someone who you wouldn’t think smoked) was a major turn-on for Ron. Who can explain fetishes? Some go for socks, or ankles, or whips! Ron’s was smoking. Ron’s stories used this fetish in some form in all of them. | The other thing that worried me was his smoking fetish. Ron was up-front about using hypnotic commands sometimes to make guys start smoking—I mean, how could he not be up-front about it, since it was in nearly every hypnosis story he wrote? I didn’t understand why he found smoking sexy—as far as I knew, it smelled bad and hurt your body. But I guess we all have our quirks, right? I wasn’t too eager to have him exercising this particular fetish on me if we ever did go further with this hypnosis stuff than just swapping email. |
| They talked about it from the start. Brock had never smoked cigarettes, had no interest in it and the closest he ever got to it was some occasional pot he had smoked. But Brock knew that it was Ron’s turn on, so he would tease him and make comments at the end of each letter about “starting to smoke” or “lighting up.” And these did make Ron hard! | I told Ron this too. I’d never smoked cigarettes or cigars—the closest I ever came was smoking pot with friends sometimes, and even those times were few and far between. I’m not a prude. I just don’t like smoking. But that didn’t stop me from flirting with Ron by ending my email messages with cracks like, “Hey, dude, got a light?” He seemed to get a kick out of them. |
| And now, after two years of talking they had become intellectual friends, at least, and now before beginning his last year of school Brock was coming to visit. Brock lived quite a distance away from Ron so he planned to stay a week. Ron had invited him to stay. | Senior year, I decided, fuck it. If hypnosis was going to help, I’d better try it soon, and I figured Ron would be open to the idea, even if he lived a thousand miles away. So I hinted I’d be open to an invitation. Sure enough, he invited me up for a week. |
| Ron opened the front door. Standing there, a big smile on his face, was Brock—in the flesh. It was an awkward moment, really, since they had never seen one another, yet knew each other intimately. Brock’s smile changed into a hello, Ron’s into a welcome, and Brock entered the house for his week’s stay. | So there I was, standing on his front porch, about to meet a guy I felt I knew pretty well but had no idea what he looked like. I had this big shit-eating grin on my face, just in case. Turns out I didn’t need it. When he opened the door, I thought, Not bad, not bad at all. I can work with this. I said hello and he invited me in. |
| It didn’t take long for the awkwardness to go away and since both were eager to try out “hypnosis,” they talked for about an hour and then settled into it. Ron took Brock upstairs to his den, a comfortable room with a day bed, a desk, many bookcases and an easy chair. He asked Brock to take the easy chair which he did. He explained to Brock, though he knew he didn’t have to, exactly what he was going to do, and that if Brock felt at all uncomfortable, he should feel free to tell him. | He showed me around and we started to feel a lot more comfortable with each other. We clicked in person as well as we did in email. We’d talked about it all before, in hypothetical terms, but now we were talking about what we were going to do in specifics. Ron took me upstairs to this huge room, almost like a library, full of books and mementos and all this big overstuffed furniture. I had a seat in an old easy chair—very comfy. Ron kept asking if I had any misgivings, but I said, no, I was fine with it. |
| Ron took Brock through a traditional induction, using a lot of visualization which he knew Brock enjoyed. He took his time because he knew there was a lot of it, but also because he wanted Brock to trust him and to find the experience relaxing and pleasant. After about an hour, Brock’s eyes were closed and the tell-tale signs of flickering eyes gave away some depth. Ron had told Brock that he would see a number that would indicate the depth of his sleep and they would keep working till they got Brock very deep. | I’m a pretty visual person, so we decided to try some simple guided visualization. It took a while, I guess—hey, I’d never done this before—but Ron was patient and persistent. At first, I was nervous. Then I started to get into it, started to relax. It got kind of boring after a while, and I felt myself starting to drift off. I tried to stay awake, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I was just kind of floating, like in the morning when you’re half-asleep, not really awake yet. |
| The number could be anything. What mattered was the increasing amount of the number indicating the depth of the subject. Despite his many reservations in his letters about his fear of losing control, Brock was proving to be a good subject. Ron took the approach of a coach and used the word “coach” many times, even calling himself a coach, because he knew that athletes place great trust in their coaches and are trained to do exactly what the coach asks, whether or not they totally agree with it. | I started picturing this number in my head and I tried to say it out loud but I’m not really sure if I did. I felt really relaxed and really good. I was just floating, weightless, in this gray place. This voice kept reaching me—I knew it was Coach’s voice. I couldn’t quite hold on to what he was saying, but it made me feel good to listen. I trusted the coach, trusted his voice, and I felt myself slipping further down into this gray place. Coach knew best; all I had to do was let go and let him run the show. |
| Finally all the usual tests were showing that Brock was under quite deeply. He was responding to questions but in that tone that indicated he was not all there. Ron then went through a number of regression experiences—taking Brock back to his tenth Christmas, to his first day at school, to his high school graduation. | All I had to go was hold on to Coach’s voice. It kept floating down to me, asking me questions. I tried to answer, but I felt so limp and relaxed that I could barely make my body work. I was having these weird dreams, like I was really young again, a kid—only they weren’t exactly dreams. They were more like I really was a kid again. |
| Then came the first real test. He brought him back to a high school wrestling meet where he first wrestled a boy he had been physically attracted to. Ron knew the story from his email description of the event. He used words to bring Brock back to the event again and questioned Brock all along. But now it was time to change the event. “You are wrestling with him and you feel the heaviness of his body on you and the feel of the lycra against you. You feel yourself getting hard”—he was!—“and suddenly you are aware that Jeff is hard, too. You can feel his hardness pressing down on you and that is making you even harder.” (Up to now the event really happened as such). “You are alone in the shower room now after the event. You waited to take a shower because you were unable to totally rid yourself of the boner. You feel the water coming down over your face. So good. So refreshing.” | I settled into this-well, I guess it was a dream. It was my old high school. Wrestling practice. Coach was giving me some last-minute pointers before I went up against Jeff. He was a year older than me, and this was going to be tough. Jeff was a cute fucker, and he gave me this sexy-goofy smile as we squared off. He looked at me with those green-blue eyes, and man, I started to spring a rod right there. When we were wrestling, body to body, straining, I threw a full rod. He did too—I felt it press up against me as we struggled, and that made me even harder. Afterward, I hung around, wasting time over this and that until I thought the rest of the team had left. My boner had never completely gone down. My jockstrap hid it, but there was no way I could shower until the others had gone. That shower felt damn good, rinsing away my worries, making me a little hard again. |
| Ron arose and moved behind Brock. “Suddenly you feel hands on your neck and back. You tense up, but it feels very good.” Ron’s hands were reaching over the chair and down onto Brock’s shoulders and back.” You stand up very straight and slowly look around. But before you do you feel the lips on your neck and someone’s hands on the side of your head running through your hair. You catch an odor—it’s unmistakable is the odor of Jeff that you still remember from wrestling him. He pulls you up and around toward him and you smell his breath and feel the touch of his lips against yours.” | I had my face to the wall as I soaped my chest. Suddenly, hands on my neck and shoulders, kneading. I froze. It felt good but-panic, that’s what I was feeling. I looked over my shoulder. His hair in my face, and lips against my neck. I inhaled; I knew this smell—I remembered it from wrestling Jeff. Oh, God, I thought, is this really happening? He turned me around, gave me that grin again. My cock was rigid; he had to know that. Oh, God, I thought again, as he leaned in close, pulled me closer. I smelled mint on his breath. He kissed me, and somehow I overcame my fear to kiss back. |
| Ron was standing directly in front of Brock and his lips gently touched Brock’s. Brock’s mouth opened to greet the kiss and their tongues sought each other out. Jeff began to speak. | His tongue wrestled against mine. His hands wandered over my biceps and shoulders. I let my hands rest on his hips, tentative, barely believing this was real. |
| “I wanted you so badly. It was torture out there on the mats.” They kissed again. “Did you want me?” | He said he wanted me. I couldn’t believe my ears. I kissed him again. “Did you want me?” he asked. |
| “Yes. So much.” | “Yeah,” I said, “so much.” |
| “I want to hold you tight and touch every part of you.” Brock shivered as Jeff’s hands reached under his shirt and rubbed against his chest. Soon he felt Jeff’s lips on his nipples and they got so hard and sensitive. | He said he wanted to hold me, touch me all over. His hands ran across my chest, and I shuddered. He bent down, and his tongue flicked at my nipple, followed by his soft lips. My nipples hardened and I shuddered again. |
| Jeff reached down and felt Brock’s hard cock, rubbing hard against it as he kissed his nipples. Brock was throbbing with hardness. | His hand slid down my tight belly, wrapped itself around my aching cock. He flicked his thumb over the sensitive head as he licked my nipple. |
| “I think I hear someone coming. We’ll continue this some other time.” And Jeff pushed Brock back into the chair and even with Brock’s eyes closed, Jeff could see the disappointment. | He jerked away. “I hear someone coming,” he said. “Some other time.” He pushed me away and I tried to hold on, but my arms were limp and I sank back into that weightless place. |
| “And how did this make you feel, Brock?” | Coach’s voice drifted to me, asking how that made me feel. |
| “I want him. So badly.” | “I wanted him—so badly.” |
| “Just relax now, Brock, and go even deeper. Hearing the sound of my voice makes you feel so relaxed and happy, and you want to go deeper and deeper. You know that the deeper you go the more you will be able to improve yourself and be a better athlete. That’s what I’m coaching you for. Deeper and deeper. In fact, I want you to call me ‘Coach.’ Can you do that from now on?” | “Just relax,” Coach’s voice told me, and as I listened I felt so relaxed, so happy. So pleasant to just float deeper into that weightless place. Coach was guiding me, helping me become a better athlete. I trusted him completely. Coach would never let me down. I let his voice guide me deeper. So easy just to float, to drift. “I want you to call me ‘Coach,’” his voice said. “Can you do that?” |
| “Yes—Coach. Whatever you say.” | “Yeah—Coach—whatever you say.” |
| Ron smiled. | I drifted. |