The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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 () and Wrestlr ()

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Beauty in the Beast

Part 4. Day 2 (Afternoon).

Ron Brock
Ron was outside, putting out the garbage, Brock was finishing the lunch dishes. Ron needed a moment to himself to think. The role-playing that had gone on a few hours before really scared him. It scared him that Brock became Brick so effortlessly, seamlessly and totally. He had never worked with anyone that had gone so deep as to really seem to become another person. It was like something out of “The Three Faces of Eve.” He made my favorite for lunch, and I tore into it. Man, was I hungry! Most of the morning was a blur—I dismissed it as being in a strange place, getting to know Ron in person. Somehow, the gaps didn’t seem to bother me. Ron had been a little jumpy at lunch, but what did I know? Although we’d “met” by email two years before, we’d known each other in person only about twenty-four hours. Maybe Ron was just naturally jumpy sometimes?
Had he created a schizophrenia in Brock? Or was Brock just a good role-player? Or maybe he was hiding something, something he was afraid I would find out about?
He was also scared because he had enjoyed it. He never thought of himself as a person who could get turned on by violent behavior, but when Brick had come at him with the knife after making him cum, sucking on his cock, and, arm locked around his neck, threatening him if he didn’t give him money—he was scared shitless—and hard as a rock. He had to mumble the words “Coach wants you,” and they came out in a squeaky, breathy grunt. Right then, it didn’t really bother me. I liked Ron and wanted him to like me. I figured we’d have to take things slow and easy, get used to each other. By the end of the week, it might be different, but for now I was willing to let him set the pace. I had come to him to see if hypnosis could make me a better wrestler, improve my athletic performance. If nothing else, maybe I’d get more confidence out of this week, thanks to hypnosis.
He looked through the kitchen window and saw Brock wiping the last of the plates and smiled at him. Now he was beautiful, slightly shy, but very witty, where before he had been cruel, violent, and hard. Brock smiled back and waved. He was determined he wouldn’t go that route again. Maybe he would reinforce more how he was like Coach Bradley and explore that a little. I started in on the dishes while he took the garbage out. Seemed only fair, since he’d cooked such a great lunch. Saw Ron watching me through the kitchen window. He smiled; I waved back. He looked a little worried. Probably he was getting nervous again about the big difference in our ages, which seemed to occupy him a lot. I didn’t care; he reminded me a lot of Coach Bradley, and I found him sexy.
He strolled into the kitchen and asked Brock if there were anything he wanted to do that afternoon. Would he like to see the town at all? Take in a movie? Anything? Brock said what he really needed was to go out and run. Did Ron want to come? Ron smiled a little at the double entendre, probably not meant, and said he could never keep up with Brock, so go ahead and maybe they would walk down by the river a little later so that Ron could get in his walking exercise too. Ron came slinking in like an old tomcat and asked if I wanted to do the tourist thing and see the city, or see a movie? What I really wanted was go running—hadn’t been in two days now and I was getting antsy. “You want to ... cum too?” I asked, and he puckered like he couldn’t believe I was actually flirting with him. He begged off, said maybe later we could go for a walk by the river after dinner. Sounded good. I figured a walk along the river might be kinda romantic.
Brock went upstairs and changed, coming down dressed to run. While he was gone for his run, Ron cleaned up a little and reread a section in one of his books on erotic hypnosis, in preparation for later that night. After reading a bit, he dozed off on the couch. I dashed upstairs and changed into a pair of really snug gym shorts and my running shoes. No shirt. When I came back downstairs, Ron had disappeared somewhere. Too bad—I wanted to see his reaction to all this skin I was showing. I wanted to make his jaw really drop!
Brock finished his run and saw that Ron had fallen asleep. He went upstairs and showered, later coming down quietly so he wouldn’t awaken Ron. An hour and a half later, when I got back, I found Ron asleep in that library—he called it his den—but I didn’t wake him.
In the foyer on a clothes rack, as he was passing by, he saw a really neat black leather jacket. He couldn’t imagine this “biker’s jacket” belonged to Ron. Maybe he didn’t know him as well as he thought. I headed upstairs to shower. I passed by this rack and saw this primo leather jacket. Black. Tough. Well, well! I wouldn’t have guessed Ron went in for that biker kind of thing. He obviously has some secrets.
He picked up the coat, careful not to make any noise and brought it to the hall mirror to try on and see how he looked in it. I quietly slipped the jacket off the rack—didn’t want to wake Ron. I was sweaty, should have showered first, but I wanted to try it on.
Ron awoke to a rag of some sort being stuffed in his mouth. His hands had been bound together, and so must his legs because he found himself unable to move. The hand over his eyes and forehead lifted and he saw Brock standing above him in the same leather jacket as before. Brock picked up a bottle of beer he had placed on the table and took a long swig, drinking half the bottle in one series of gulps. “Hey, old man, how do you like that?” He tilted the beer enough that an unsteady stream splashed down on his face and down his front shirt. Brock-or Brick—laughed. So there I am in this ol’ fag’s house again. Found him dead to the world in this big ol’ room with lotsa books. Who the hell wastes time reading all’a them books, huh? He’s an easy mark, ‘n he din’t even know ol’ Brick was there ‘til I stuffed this ol’ sock in his mouth to keep him from yellin’. By then I’d gotten his hands and ankles tied up. Din’t figure he’d mind—fags like that kinda shit. Anyway, he weren’t none too happy, which made me laugh. Nothing he could do. I took a hit off my beer, then tipped the bottle to dribble some on his face. “Like it, ol’ man?”
Both panic and arousal came at the same instant. Brick’s hands reached down to Ron’s hardening cock and grabbed the pants and cock together. “Looks like you are really getting off on this, old man!” He squeezed hard. “Like it? Eh? Whaddya say?” This ol’ fag was getting’ hard up. Yeh, he liked it just like that. I grabbed his cock through his pants ‘n squeezed, justa show him who’s boss. I kept my voice tough. “Getting’ off on this, ol’ man? Huh? Ya like it, doncha? Say ya like it.”
Ron could say nothing. The rag stuffed in his mouth was preventing any sound. Then it hit him. How was he to get Brock back if he couldn’t say the magic words! Brick was still roughly massaging his now hard cock. He can’t talk or nothing, not with that gag in his cocksuckin’ mouth, but he could moan just fine, ‘n that told me all I was needin’ to hear. Can’t rape the willing, right? He was likin’ it too much, ya ask me.
“How do you like that, cocksucker. You really do, don’t you. Eh?” He slapped Ron in the face. Again. Again. Each time a little harder. Ron’s face stung. “I think you owe me, motherfucker! Whadaya say to that?” Time ta show this fag who’s boss. “Like it, cocksucker? Like bein’ tied up like that?” I slapped him a coupla times, just to show I meant business. “I think ya owe me big-time, faggot. Whaddya think’a that?”
Brick finished his beer and went out to the kitchen to get another one. My beer was empty but what the hell? He had lots more in the ‘fridge.
On his way back he grabbed a cigarette from the counter, lit it, inhaled with it still in his mouth, and let out a large stream of smoke. He came over to Ron, whose eyes were becoming more and more panic-stricken. While I was getting anotha beer, I found me some smokes there on the counter. My brand too—how ‘bout that? Lit one up. Yeh, that’s better! Beer ‘n a smoke ... hit the spot. Life just don’t get no better, ‘m I right?
The mixture of fear and sexual stimulation, particularly now that Brick was smoking, was becoming overwhelming for Ron. He was both repulsed by it and attracted to it. But the beast inside him was winning. His cock was throbbing to get out of its imprisoning pants. Figured it was ‘bout time to shake this ol’ guy up some more. Guys like this ... shit, they always think just ‘cause I do it with ‘em f’r money that I must be queer for ‘em or something. I ain’t no fag, man. No fuckin’ way! I just do it ‘cause I got the goods ‘n it’s easy jing. Real easy.
Brick came over and bent low over Ron’s face with a wicked grin. He blew smoke in Ron’s face and flicked the cigarette ash on him as he again grabbed Ron’s hardness and tightened in on it. Ron began to squirm with pain as Brick put more and more pressure on his balls. But the sight of this cigarette-dangling face over him was too much. He came, even while the pressure from Ron’s hand was causing him great pain. You shoulda seen him, lying there all tied up with this sock stuffed in his mouth. His ol’ eyes were wide as saucers, ‘n he looked like he was ‘bout to piss his pants. But he was hard, real hard. I grabbed it through his pants ‘n gave it this slow ... tight ... squeeze ‘n blew my smoke in his face, just’ta show I was the one in control. Fag lost it right then, ‘n he came in his pants like a baby.
Brick laughed when he felt the wetness coming through the material of the pants. “What a fucking cocksucker you are! I knew you wanted to be treated this way!” God, I laughed ‘n laughed at his tired ol’ ass! “What the fuck, cocksucker? That’s it? That’s all there is? I knew you liked it rough. You ol’ fags always do.”
Ron shook his head no and tried to make an intelligible sound, but the mouth rag made it impossible. He’s a-floppin’ his head like a catfish ‘n crying ‘n tryin’ ta say som’thin’ that just came out moans.
Brick grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up to a sitting position. “Now I want to know where you keep your money, and I want to know fast. If we have to we’ll take you to a bank machine—but I’m sure a cocksucker like you doesn’t trust a bank and keeps money around somewhere. Isn’t that right, cocksucker?” He took a last long drag of his cigarette and put it out on the back of Ron’s hand. He screamed, but it was soundless. Tears formed in his eyes. I pulled him so he he’s sittin’ up. “Listen up ‘n listen good,” I tol’ him. You got som’thin’ I want, ‘n yer gonna pay up, got it?” He was a-cryin’ ‘n a-moanin’ som’thin’ fierce. “I want all the money ya got, fag, and if we have’ta we’ll get it outta yer bank machine too. Got it?” He din’t say nothin’ so’s I had’ta learn him a lesson. I took a last hit off’a my smoke, ‘n then I snubbed it out on the backa his hand. Shoulda heard him a-moanin’!
Brick untied his feet and pushed him up the stairs to his bedroom. “We’ll start here, motherfucker! Shake your head if I am getting warm.” Had’ta untie his feet so he could walk, ‘n I shoved him upstairs. Bedroom’s good a place to start as any. “Am I getting’ warm, faggot?”
He started to go through the room, emptying out drawers, pushing over lamps, in an attempt to find any money. All the while he guzzled his beer. Finally, he got to a closet and when the clothes were pushed aside he found a safe. Drawers, knick-knack shit—man, I went through it all, dumpin’ shit on the floor, ‘n all I found was just a little jewelry. Then I got over to his closet, ‘n when I shoved his clothes aside—well, well, well, what we got here? A little safe.
“Now we’re talking, cocksucker. Let’s get this thing open!” Paydirt! “That’s more like it! What’s the combination, faggot?”
He took a final swig of his beer, threw the bottle on the bed, and came over to Ron. I emptied my beer ‘n tossed the bottle on the bed. I strutted my stuff over to him.
“One scream and you are dead, motherfucker!” He pulled the rag from Ron’s mouth. “I’m takin’ yer gag off, so’s ya can tell me the combination. One scream, ‘n yer so dead. Y’hear?”
Ron was crying. “Coach wants you,” he moaned. Yanked out the gag, ‘n he says, “Coach wants you.”
Brick stopped in his tracks, then as if in slow motion, dropped to the floor. Brock was back. All’a sudden, I feel ... doped up or som’thin’. Nothing works right, ‘n I feel myself slippin’ away.
Ron surveyed the damage, his eyes still stinging, his face hot. This had gone too far—both their beasts had emerged. How was he going to explain this to Brock? Young, beautiful Brock, whom he loved—what had he done to him? I found myself floating in that gray weightless place, waiting, waiting for the Coach’s voice to come to me. It felt so pleasant just to drift here, with no worries, and let Coach tell me what to do. He’d never let me down.
Ron spoke to Brock and brought him to the gentle place, floating. He managed to free his hands and started to pick up the mess in the room as he continued to talk gently, reinforcing the good things he had worked on to improve Brock athletically. Coach started giving me instructions, telling me really important things that were going to help me be a winner on the mats. It felt good to listen and let his words flow through me. All I had to do was listen and drift in this pleasant gray place.
Finally, he told Brock to go with Jeff and to finally make love to him. He led Brock to the spare bedroom where very slowly, very sensually he reinforced all the things he loved about Brock and gave him the consummation he had always wanted since that first wrestling match with Jeff. He made love to Brock slowly, intensely, and Brock reacted to it with a quiet passion, deeply felt and long in coming. At the end, he told Brock to sleep and dream about Jeff. He finished cleaning up the mess before Brock would wake and see it. Coach led me to a bedroom. I opened my eyes, and there was Jeff. Coach had given his approval, and Jeff was waiting for me. We undressed each other slowly, kissing, touching, exploring each other’s secret places. Jeff lay me down on the bed and we made love to each other the way I had always wanted to. No rush, no worries. We had all the time in the world. Later, when we had spent all of our energy, Coach’s voice led me into a deep, pleasant sleep, and I dreamed of Jeff and what we’d done all over again.