The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

At five minutes before three the next day, Tuesday, I knocked on his door. From inside, that same deep voice: “Yes?”

I opened the door a crack and stuck my head in. He was sitting behind his desk, facing me. “Hi, I’m Jeremy? We have a meeting at three o’clock?”

“Oh, yes!” He got up, coming around the desk. “Come in, Jeremy, come in.” He introduced himself—“Call me Doc; all my friends do”—and ushered me into this big chair by his desk.

His office was in the underground floor, so there were no windows. Just lots and lots of bookcases, stained a warm cherry color, and hundreds of books and journals. Lamps, some tasteful knickknacks. It looked more like a study in someone’s home than a faculty office.

Doc himself looked kind of young for being a professor—mid-thirties, I’d say—and he had a friendly, open manner. He had a good build, like he was a former athlete himself and still kept in shape. He didn’t sit back behind the desk. He sat on one corner, kind of facing me.

I was looking over a few of the titles on his shelves. A lot of them were books on hypnosis. “What’s up with this stuff?” I asked, gesturing at the books.

“Don’t laugh. Hypnosis is a respected tool. I do a lot of research into it.”

“Yeah? I think it’s a lot of hooey.”

“No, it’s not like what you’ve seen in bad science-fiction movies. It’s very effective and very real. In fact, Athletes have used it for some time now to improve concentration and sports performance.” He started by telling me about his background. He’s worked with a lot of Olympians, just like Coach Tucker said, a lot of names I recognized, and a lot of medalists. He’d decided he was ready for a change of pace, so he had just taken this teaching joke, which he was enjoying a lot. He did miss some of the traveling he did when he was working with professional and competitive athletes. He started pointing out a lot of things on his shelf, telling me where he’d gotten them, and who he’d been working with at the time.

“And this piece ...” He picked up a statue of carved wood from the opposite corner of his desk. “This is my favorite of all. It’s from Africa.” A stylized statue of a man. A little over twelve inches tall, maybe, by five or six inches wide and six inches deep. The man had his knees bent, body hunched a little. His body was stained deep, brown, nearly black. At his waist, a loincloth was painted brick-red. The loincloth was split in two, and from the divide rose a large phallus, carved erect and curving upward, like the cocks on some of those Greek statues of satyrs. At least four inches long—definitely not proportional. The figure’s torso was bare. Its face featured a mouth held in a perfect ring, a pair of large, dark jewels for eyes, upswept hair tinted faintly with dark cyan.

That cock alone would have made it obscene in any other setting. But here, in this office, with these rich woods and books all around, it seemed to fit right in.

Doc held it on his thigh, facing it toward me. “It’s a rare piece, a statue of Ashibo, a trickster god. He’s the god of mischief and luck, games of chance, and surprisingly, also the god of agriculture and fertility. I guess that’s why his has this huge hard on.” We both kind of chuckled at that. “Mischief, luck, agriculture, and fertility ... that’s some combination, huh?”

“I guess maybe it’s because having good crops and fertility are kind of luck of the draw?”

He looked at me like I’d just said something really smart, like he was impressed. “Why, that’s right. That’s exactly how the legends describe it.”

I figured he’d put the statue away now, but he wasn’t quite through. He was holding upright with one hand, kind of stroking the back of its head and neck with the other, which seemed kind of odd to me.

“The eyes, though, those are the really special part of this little guy. They’re a special gemstone found only in a few places in Africa. A tribal shaman blessed before it was given to me. There’s a special spell on these special stones. If you believe in that sort of thing. Either way, it’s a very special piece. Look closer and you can see the intricacies in the cut of the stone eyes.”

I looked closer. They did seem to be really detailed.

“See how they catch the light?” he said. “It’s almost like there’s a special light inside them, just waiting to get out. Look closer. Can you see the way they catch the light?”

As I looked into those dark gems while he spoke in that low rhythm like a quiet melody, it seemed I really could see little flecks of light in them. Bluish shards of light. Small and deep inside them. And the more he gently stroked the back of the idol’s head, the more he talked to me in that low monotone, the more I looked, the more it seemed I really could see lights inside those gems, flickers getting brighter and closer to the surface, more pronounced. My eyes were getting tired but I couldn’t seem to look away. Or maybe I didn’t really want to. My body felt both too heavy to move and feather-light, almost floating. The light was almost a steady glow now, light blue, shining just for me and getting brighter the more I stared. His words were kind of slipping away from me—I couldn’t quite seem to catch back up to what he was saying as the warm, lulling melody of his voice rolled over me. So eventually I stopped trying to grasp what he was saying to me, just surren! dered and let go.

“Jeremy? Wake up, Jeremy.”

I opened my eyes. My whole body felt relaxed and very heavy, like I’d been deeply asleep. Real lethargic and spent, the way I feel after a long nap or a really good orgasm. I looked up at Doc. All I wanted was to close my eyes again, but he touched my arm, said, “Come on, Jeremy. How do you feel?”

I blinked, took a deep breath to clear my thoughts. My head felt cottony but everything was coming more into focus now. “I feel pretty good,” I replied, which was true. I felt incredibly good.

“Jeremy, do you know what just happened?”

“Uh, you hypnotized me?”

“That’s right, Jeremy. You’re a pretty good subject. I think, if you keep working with me like you just did, we can have your problems licked in no time.”

“Like in two weeks?” I asked, remembering what Coach Tucker had said.

“Might take longer than that to get you where you want to be, but I think we can have you well on the road to success by them. Don’t worry—I’ll tell Coach Tucker everything went fine this time.”

“Cool, Doc. Thanks.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time, okay?”

“Tomorrow?”

“One session isn’t going to cure you. Hypnosis isn’t a magic bullet. It works best with repetition. We barely even scratched the surface today.”

“Okay.” I felt kind of uncertain about this, and he could hear it in my voice. “Okay,” I said more definitely. “Tomorrow. Same time.”

That was Tuesday. We had a session each day the rest of that week, even Saturday and Sunday. I was starting to like Doc. He was really personable and pretty cool. He seemed to like me too. I really felt this great trust for him—somehow I knew, deep inside, that all I had to do was cooperate and trust him, and he would do everything he could to help me get back on track and back in Coach Tucker’s good graces. Doc and I spent a lot of time talking after our sessions, not as faculty-student, or even counselor-patient, just as friend to friend. I told him all about my life and what I was going through and what was really throwing me off. I even told him I thought I was gay, which was the big secret I never had told anyone else before. I even told him about the big crush I had on my roommate Clay. Doc took it in stride, like he already knew. He didn’t seem phased by it at all, just asked me how I felt about it and how I was dealing with it. Like I said, pretty cool.!

After our Sunday session, I spent most of the evening in the library, doing research for a paper. The paper wasn’t due until later in the week, but it just felt right to get some of the research done ahead of time. Usually in the library my mind wanders and sometimes I sneak off to the men’s room on the third floor in hopes of finding some guy to suck me off. This time, though, I stayed focused and on track. I stayed until the library was about to close, around midnight, got a lot of work done.

I suppose it happened like this. Doc would have knocked on my door at the dorm. My roommate Clay opened the door. Doc explained he was a friend of mine and could he come in and leave something for me. Clay would have said sure and let him in. Doc would have shown him that statue and started talking about its eyes, talking in that mellow monotone he always used during the induction. Clay would have fallen under the spell of those eyes before he knew what was happening.

When I got back to my dorm room, opened the door quietly in case Clay was asleep, the first thing I saw was Clay flat on his back on his bed, with nothing on except a pair of white briefs. His eyes were closed like he was asleep. Except that he was laid out on top of his sheets rather than under them, that seemed pretty much like every other night since we’d started rooming together freshman year.

As I continued to push the door open, I saw Doc standing at the foot of Clay’s bed, that little statue in his hand. “Come in, Jeremy,” he said. I shut the door behind me. He was smiling at me. Doc said, “Ashibo is watching: relax.”

I felt this sudden ... I don’t know exactly how to describe it. Like a sense of peace. It flowed over me and I felt myself relax, letting go of all the tension and tiredness of the day. My eyelids were drooping. My backpack strap slipped from my limp fingers to plop softly on the floor by my foot. I felt pleasantly stoned and all open inside.

“Relax ...” Doc said again. “That’s it. Good boy, Jeremy. Look into Ashibo’s eyes—you can see his light very easily now, can’t you?”

My head felt all sluggish, like it had been stuffed with cotton to make my thoughts slow down. My eyes were drawn to the idol’s, which shining with that bright blue light that I knew so well now, could see so easily now.

Doc was saying something to me, but I couldn’t make out his words—all my attention was locked on the gemstone eyes. All I knew was that brilliant blue blast of the statue’s gaze, which was wiping my head free of all thoughts, and this sense of easy peace that filled me. I knew Clay was there for me, that Doc had done this for me, had made it okay, that I could now do what I’d dreamed of since I’d first met Clay and it would all be all right. I could do what I wanted and Clay would never know. It would be okay.

Doc lowered the statue. He was standing very close to me now, his free hand cupping the back of my neck and stroking it gently like he always did the idol’s. It felt great, and I accepted this gesture too. He was smiling, looking directly into my eyes. I felt such love and gratitude for him—he was giving me such a great freedom, such a great gift.

“Enjoy,” Doc said, and stepped back, away from me, away from the bed and Clay.

I looked at Clay, smoothed across his bed, waiting for me, just waiting for me. He was nude except for his white briefs, which silhouetted but did not hide his hard-on. Clay is on the swim team—he’s a diver and a damn good one—and he had this trim, sleek, muscular body, perfect definition. Solid pectorals with oblong little nipples. Twenty years old, same as me. He’s tall, his body completely hairless. His face is classically handsome, perfect skin, strong jaw. Wavy brown hair cut very short. His eyes are brown too, but right now they were closed, locked in slumber.

My eyes zeroed in on that tent in his briefs, the tube reclining across his left hip. Clay and I had both always had jocks’ casualness about being undressed in our room; I’d seen his cock before, sometimes even hard first thing in the morning or when he kicked off the covers. It was really nice, thick, long, and I had this ancient hunger for it. I knelt beside his narrow bed. I pulled the elastic waistband down, tucked it under his balls. His cock was fully hard; he must have been having an incredibly sexy dream.

I bent over him. Guided the tip of his dick up and kissed it. Ran my tongue around the head. He was uncut, but he kept himself clean. His cock was thick, longer than average but not the biggest I’d ever sucked. Still, it stretched my jaw.

This cock belonged to a man who was physically perfect, and I wanted to enjoy this. I sucked it slow and nice, transmitting all the love I felt for him into his cock through my tongue and lips. I felt so relaxed and calm, not at all afraid of Clay waking up. And I wasn’t afraid to let Doc see me doing this to my best friend either. He had given me such a gift, and I was giving the gift of pleasure to Clay. I heard the door ease open, Doc step out into the hall, close it, leaving me alone with Clay.

Was Clay even aware I was there? Or did he just thing was a really hot dream? I nursed myself on Clay’s fine cock. I managed to fumble my jeans open, get them down around my knees so I could jerk myself off with one hand while I slipped my other hand between Clay’s thighs to probe at his asshole with a finger.

It was over too soon. Clay started to cum, and I took it deep in my throat, swallowed as best I could. The taste of his salty, bitter load pushed me over the brink, and I shot my wad too.

When I was finally spent, I fell back. I still felt that relaxed way, but I was getting so sweetly sleepy. I pulled Clay’s briefs back into place, stumbled the rest of the way out of my clothed, tumbled onto my bed, and was out like a light.

Next morning, Clay didn’t act any different. If he remembered, which I doubted, he didn’t let on at all. If he remembered, maybe he just thought it was a dream. I was kind of doubting it had really happened myself, though I knew it had. I mean, Clay was one hundred percent straight—this couldn’t have happened, right? But that morning he’d been laying there on top of the covers in just his white, white briefs, just like I remembered. Maybe that part had been right and I’d just dreamed the rest, about Doc and the blowjob?

Anyway, that afternoon, in Doc’s office, after I’d gotten all embarrassed about it trying to thank him, when we started the session, it was like I’d passed some barrier inside myself. When he started the induction and those eyes started glowing, they blazed like never before. I slipped under easier, seemed like, and faster. Deeper too.

Doc’s voice roused me gently. “Jeremy, wake up.”

I sat up—we’d moved from that chair to this overstuffed sofa—and flexed my arms and chest. My shirt was off, which somehow seemed right, and I liked the way my body felt. As I swung my bare feet over the side of the sofa, Doc was asking me how I felt, what I remembered, the usual stuff. My body felt relaxed and tired, like I’d just cum hard, but also buzzed, really alive. I felt really good and told him so.

He was staring directly at me, smiling gently. I’m a good-looking guy and I’ve got a hot body, and I know it. I like being looked at but there was something more going on here. I could feel it. An eagerness in my skin. A tingling in my cock and balls.

“Jeremy,” he said softly in that low musical voice, making my name sound like distant thunder. In my head were answering waves, inevitable as a tide, and I wanted to submerge myself under them. “I think you’ve come a long way in the last couple of days, and I think you’re nearly ready for the next step, don’t you?”

I loved the way his voice rolled over me, caressing my bare chest, my nipples. I liked the way he was looking at me, smiling at me. I wanted ... I don’t know what. I was horny as hell, and hard, and I needed bad to get off.

His voice was more than the mere whisper of sound. “You’re ready, Jeremy. All you have to do is take the next step. You’re ready to get rid of everything that has held you back, ready to love yourself, enjoy yourself, please yourself.”

When he said “enjoy yourself,” I felt ... I felt this jolt of pure pleasure shoot through me, and my cock turned harder than steel, harder than it had ever been before. I needed to jack off bad.

He pronounced the words clearly. “Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself.”

I couldn’t help myself and I didn’t care who was watching.

He said it again, “Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself.”

I had to jack off then and there or I was going to bust. I opened my jeans, shoved them to my knees. My cock practically jumped into my hand as I reached for it and started to jerk off. I should have been embarrassed at doing this in front of him, should have excused myself and gone to the nearest bathroom. But I had to get off right then. I didn’t feel ashamed at all—I was having a ball! All I felt was the urgency of my hand moving on my cock, the ecstasy of his eyes on me; all I felt was this growing pressure inside and the need for release. Waves of bliss started in my balls and cock, rippled outward, washing out everything that had held me back, obliterating me with rapture. I arched my back and shot and shot and shot, spurting cum all over my chest and belly.

When I finally fell back on the sofa, spent and panting, he just gave me a smile. I smiled back, a little sheepishly. He handed me a little hand towel to wipe up with. I didn’t feel even vaguely embarrassed by what I’d just done. I felt great, and I was especially pleased Doc seemed to like the show so much. I cleaned up my cum and got my pants back up. I pulled on my shirt, my socks, my shoes. We talked for a while, like usual, but not about what had just happened. He seemed really pleased with me, with my progress. He told me he’d told Coach Tucker that too, that morning when Coach had called for a status report.

I jumped off the sofa and threw my arms around Doc, hugged him tight, thanked him. That feeling I’d had all last week that he would do everything he could to help me had been right. When I pulled back, Doc’s eyes were clouded with something that I couldn’t read. I kind of sensed we felt this same chemistry. I was still too spent from my killer orgasm to get hard, but I definitely felt something there.

Doc changed the subject.

On the Monday my suspension expired, instead of our session, Doc went with me to see Coach at the gym. Doc showed up in short—first time I’d seen him in shorts—and I noticed he had a fine pair of legs. I was in shorts and a tee-shirt myself. I had my singlet with me, but Coach Tucker was skeptical, wanted to talk with Doc before he would let me dress out. He and Doc went into his office, and I watched my teammates warming up, starting practice, tried to ignore them when them glanced my way with expressions like they were glad they weren’t on the sidelines in my shoes.

Coach stuck his head out and said, “Okay, Jeremy, suit up.”

Man, I never hit the locker room and changed faster in my life!

I was into my singlet and back on the mats practically before Coach shut the door.

Coach had me warm up and stretch, then told me to join Doc and him in one of the smaller private session rooms while the assistant coaches ran the rest of the team through their paces.

Coach called Kirk in to join us too. Uh, oh. That was not good. Kirk was damn good, maybe the best in the state, and he’d had a major mad-on for me since grabbed his balls and squeezed during a practice session a few weeks before. Okay, so it was totally wrong of me to have done that, but I wanted to win even if I had to hurt him, and I didn’t apologize after, which just made it all worse. Coach had stopped our match and blessed me out big time, which just meant Kirk never got revenge by busting my ass on the mat.

Looked like now he was going to get his shot.

Coach told Kirk to make me show him what I had—he was making no bones about expecting Kirk to whip my ass. To me, Coach just said I better be good and better not try anything even close to funny.

I guess I was really showing how nervous I was. Doc came up to me, put his hands on my shoulders, told me it was going to be okay. Looking him square in the eye, I felt calmer, a little. “Take a deep breath with me,” he said, and inhaled. I did too, and held it a second until he exhaled. It seemed to help, and I tried hard to give him a little grin which he returned as a big smile and a pat on my shoulder.

I took the mat with Kirk. Kirk’s face was impassive, but his eyes said he was going to pull out all the stops to cream my ass and enjoy doing it. Kirk’s a cute guy, tight build with sleek, hard muscles, brown-eyed, close-cropped dark blond hair, a little bit of darker chest hair in an inverted triangle. I’d have been glad to tangle with him sometime in bed; I even used to have a little crush on him. But on the mats we both knew he wasn’t going to let me enjoy this the least bit.

When Coach called it and Kirk came at me like an engine of pure animal aggression, something felt different for me. It was like I was someplace different in my head, someplace other than where I usually was when I was concentrating on winning. Everything seemed effortless. Kirk would make a move, and I had him blocked before I even realized what he was trying. Like my body had taken over and was wrestling on its own. Kirk would try for this really punishing headlock he liked, and I’d have him shut out before he could even get in on me. I wasn’t giving him any openings at all.

I flipped him back, dropped him into a pocket, nearly had him before he figured out what was going on and wiggled free. Again and again I had him on the defensive, which seemed to worry him. Me, I felt real objective about everything, like I was watching this on television while my body responded automatically. I could feel how hard he was straining against me, the sweat and skin-friction of his body against mine, but this time nothing was distracting me. I was major focused!

I had Kirk pinned hard, waiting helplessly for Coach to count off the take-down. Coach Tucker slapped the mat, and I let Kirk up, sat back to catch my breath. My head was starting to clear.

Coach and Doc were conferring over against the wall, and I was trying hard to make out what they were whispering. I was catching bits of Doc telling the Coach that hypnosis could really help athletes with their mental game, help them focus and respond quicker—that, yes, others might benefit from similar training too.

Kirk distracted me when he offered me his hand. “Damn good match, Jeremy. How’d you get so good so fast?”

I said, “Thanks. I been putting in a lot of practice while I was gone.” Not entirely a lie.

Coach looked annoyed to catch me trying to overhead. “Thanks, Kirk. You can go join the rest now.” To me: “Jeremy, We’re going to my office to talk this over. I want you to go change back into you street clothes and then wait outside. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

So I changed, then sat around and watched the team practice. Wished I was out there with them. Wished Doc and Coach Tucker would finish already and let me know something. What was needing all this big discussion anyway?

I hovered around Coach’s office door, but I heard jack. Just a little bit of voices here and there, mostly Doc’s, like they were talking low to keep from being overheard. What exactly was going on in there anyway?

Finally, Coach stuck his head out and called me in.

“Okay, Jeremy, this is the bottom line,” he said. “Probation. One more fuck-up and you’re off the team. But for now, get your ass here tomorrow and dress out.”

“I’m still on the team?”

“Yes. Probation, though, Jeremy, and I mean it. One more screw-up and not all the special training will change my mind. But yes, you’re still on the team.”

I roared, ”YEAAAAAAH!“

Coach: “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to practice.”

“Thanks, Coach! You won’t regret this. I promise!” I held out my hand to shake.

“I better not.” He gave my hand a quick shake, then walked out, shut the door behind him.

I grabbed Doc’s arm, whooped again as loud as I could, right in his face. “You did it, man! You kept me on the team just like you said!”

He gave me a grin and a cuff upside my head. “Nah. You did it. I just helped you get started.”

“Hey, thanks, man. I mean it! Thanks.”

“Come on. This calls for a celebration. I live just off campus, and I’ve got some beer chilling in the ‘fridge.”

“Cool!”

I knew I shouldn’t be drinking the day before practice, but this was time for jubilation, and besides, one beer surely wouldn’t hurt.

It was a short walk, just as he said, and he tossed me a beer soon as we walked in. My brand, too. One for himself. We saluted each other with them, took deep swallows. I nursed mine as he showed me around. Nice place—warm and comfortable, just like his office.

The basement he had redone into a personal gym, and he had a lot of equipment down there, nice equipment. I said something about having meant to hit the gym that day, and he came back with an offer of working out there. Before I could answer, he started taking off his shirt.

No shit Doc had worked with athletes. He was no slouch himself. When he stripped off his shirt, I saw the results of a hell of a lot of exercise. He had a really fine body. I got my shirt off too. He was checking me out and not caring if I saw. So I flexed my chest and arms a little, making it look like I was loosening up. We both had fine bodies. I checked out his chest, his legs and ass in those shorts, and it felt good to show off my chest for him. I started to get a little hard in my snug shorts too, but I didn’t care if he saw or not; I mean, the man had watched me jack off, so I didn’t have much modesty around him.

When we hit the weights, he blasted me through a workout from hell. He pushed me hard. In that low, rolling voice, he encouraged, cajoled, sweet-talked me through heavier weights, more reps. He always seemed to stand where I could keep my eyes on him. Sometimes out eyes would lock and I’d get to feeling a little lightheaded. I just wanted to keep looking in his eyes and keep moving. I was really aware of how much I owed him—I’d have lost my place on the team, my scholarship, everything, if not for him—and I wanted to push myself harder to please him.

Doc had me exhausted and soaked in sweat by the time he finally declared we’d had enough and let us start some cool-down stretching. Man, I have a fine body and I work out a lot, but Doc nearly killed me out there.

I sat on the bench and wiped the sweat off my forehead with my discarded shirt. “I’m going to be sore as fuck tomorrow,” I said, panting.

Doc was standing very close to me. “I think you’ll feel just fine tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

He slipped his hand around the back of my neck, started stroking it like he had that night, like he did the little statue. It felt good, helped me let go of some tension stored there and in my shoulders. It made me roll my head to look up at him. My eyes locked on him as he smiled down at me. I smiled a little back. I felt all blank inside. Relaxed. Heavy and limp, except for my cock, which was hardening slowly. Waiting. I felt such love for him. I owed him so much.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just look into my eyes, Jeremy.” I couldn’t look away, couldn’t move. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. “You’ve had a hard, stressful day. It’s time to relax. Let yourself relax, Jeremy. Let yourself go back to that very cooperative place inside you like so much. Ashibo is watching: relax.”

This calmness began spreading through me, like before, obliterating every thought in its path. I felt myself open up to him.

“Jeremy, you’re feeling pretty good right now, aren’t you?”

“... yes ...”

“I want to make you feel even better, Jeremy. It’s time. Are you ready? Will you let me make you feel even better than ever before?”

“... yes ...”

“Good boy, Jeremy.”

He helped me stand, guided me by my bare arm back upstairs. As I walked, my snug shorts rubbed my hard dick, sending more pleasure into the vagueness that filled my head.

Led me to his bedroom. He stared deeply into my eyes, deeply into my mind, the very core of me. He smiled, and that made me happy. He stripped off his shoes, socks, shorts, jockstrap. “You’re such a good boy, Jeremy, such a very good boy. Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

He stripped me. My cock was fully hard, straining, demanding release. He led me to the bed. His eyes had stolen my initiative; I let him take the lead and obeyed every instruction he gave.

We sucked each other. Every now and then he would repeat those words, “Ashibo is watching: relax,” and I would reel further into that wonderfully relaxed space I was feeling.

I came hard. He swallowed.

He wasn’t through. He had me on my back, ankles on his shoulders. He was easing his condom-coated cock into my lubricated and well-fingered virgin asshole. I felt so relaxed and open, wanting more than anything to have him inside my body as well as my head. He had a nice cock, larger than most but not as big as mine, and he was going slow and easy since I’d never been fucked in the ass before. Pretty soon he had it all in me, and after giving me a second to get used to it he picked up this slow, steady rhythm. Throughout, our eyes stayed locked together, and I felt such trust, openness, love for him. I belonged to him.

His cock was hitting a magic place inside me, and I was hard again. He bent forward and kissed me hard. I felt his whole body shudder over and over as he came inside me. The pressure of his body leaning down on mine, of his shooting cock against my prostate, brought me off and I shot a second load.

When I awoke the next morning, I was naked, on my side with my raging piss hard-on, in his bed. I felt him snuggled close behind me, his chest pressed to my back, body contoured to mind down to our tangled legs.

Before last night, all I’d known of gay sex was quickie blowjobs in rest rooms and occasional handjobs. Now, his morning erection jammed up along the crack of my ass brought back a whole new dimension. I wanted to stay and luxuriate in what he made me feel, but I had to piss, and I had class in half an hour. I slipped out of bed and, after peeing and standing at the foot of his bed watching him sleep a while, I dressed and slipped out of his house.

That afternoon, I suited up and had a damn good practice. Doc had helped me become pretty much unbeatable. Coach was really impressed.

Coach called an end to practice a little early, told us to gather in the locker room for a special meeting.

We filed in. Most of us got to sit on the benches, but there wasn’t enough bench space for all twenty-four of us, so a few had to park their asses on the floor. Over there someone had set up a little projector of some kind, aimed more or less a this tall, narrow stand against the wall in front of us.

Coach Tucker came in, followed by ... Doc. I was kind of surprised to see Doc there. He gave me a wink on the sly but otherwise seemed to barely know me. What was going on here?

Coach Tucker introduced Doc as a specialist in sports psychology. A couple of the guys murmured among themselves, and Coach called for their attention.

“Men, Doc here has a program he wants to share with us. He’s helped world-famous athletes reach their full potential, and now he wants to help each of you become the best you can be. This is no magic bullet, but it had been used over and over again in major training camps and it does work.”

I figured out what Coach was leading up to. Apparently, Coach and Doc had decided that what worked so well for me would work for the entire team. I wondered if Coach knew what I knew about Doc’s methods.

“I don’t want to hear any lip, guys. We’re going to work with the doctor here over the next several days to help you get the most out of his program, and anyone who gives him any trouble—any trouble at all—will get extra laps, so you’d better behave like adults and do exactly what he says.” He stared down the line of guys, daring them to cross him. Finding no opposition, Coach turned and said, “Doc, if you’re ready for them, they’re ready for you.” Coach let the Doc take center-stage and went over to stand by the projector.

“Thanks, Coach Tucker. Hi, guys. Yes, it’s true, I have a program that can help you become even better than you already are. It’s a program based on hypnosis—”

Doc was interrupted by a few snickers up and down the line of jocks. “No, no,” he said to Coach Tucker when Coach looked ready to yell at the disrupters, “that’s a very valid reaction.” He turned back to us. “But it’s also an uninformed one. Hypnosis is both very real and very effective. Athletes have used it for a long time to improve concentration and performance. The ancient Greeks discovered hypnosis, and it has become a really important part of many training programs.” He told us about a few big names who credited hypnosis with turning them into major players. “Take for example wrestling. What if you could use hypnosis to train your unconscious mind to make split-second decisions much more efficiently than your conscious mind? Hypnosis can help your unconscious mind to relax completely and respond to beneficial suggestions without the normal screening process of your conscious mind. Say you’re on the mat with an opponent. He’s going for a hold and! you notice he’s starting to put pressure on you in a way that will force you into a vulnerable position. By the time your conscious mind reads his hold and decides how to get out of it, he’s already dropping you in right where he wants you and it’s too late. But what if instead you’ve trained your unconscious mind to recognize and react to a situation like this. When your opponent goes for a hold you go immediately into a defense and stop him. Sounds too good to be true?” He paused to survey our expressions. “Well, it isn’t—not at all. Hypnosis can really help you reach the top, in sports and in academics. What do you say we give it a try, men?”

Someone called out, “What if I can’t be hypnotized?”

Doc was ready for this question: “Everyone says that. My methods are effective even on people who usually don’t respond to normal induction procedures.”

He reached inside his satchel. He pulled out that statue with its obscene erection. “Gentlemen, meet Ashibo.” The guys snickered nervously at it. Doc placed the statue on the little platform. “Ashibo is here to give you a target for focusing. Some of the things we’re about to do may seem a little silly, but there’s a good reason for all of it. If you follow my program exactly, you can train your unconscious mind to make split-second reactions, which in turn will help you become the best wrestlers you can be.”

Doc paused and looked us over again. “Any of you think this is stupid or not want to be here? Any of you not want to be a winner?”

With Coach Tucker right there, no one dared raise his hand.

“Let’s get started, then. I want to start with a relaxation exercise to help your unconscious mind absorb and respond to suggestions. I think you’ll enjoy it, so just settle back and let it happen.” Doc nodded to Coach Tucker, who flicked off the overhead light switch and turned on the projector, which threw a small pool of brilliant white light at the statue of Ashibo.

The doctor’s voice smoothed out into that murmurous monotone. “I want all of you to focus your attention on that statue. Look at its eyes. Gaze at its eyes, and do not break your focus. See how its eyes catch the light? Don’t let anything distract you from focusing on the eyes and listening to my voice. If anything tries to distract you, let that distraction slide easily into the background, and return your focus to my voice.”

I kept my eyes closed, kept running a song through my head to keep my mind off his induction. I wanted to stay awake, see what Doc had in mind here.

Doc was droning on. “Now that you’ve been gazing at the eyes for a while, you’re probably starting to notice how they catch the light, the way they seem to glow if you look really close. Look deeper into them. See the light? It seems to get brighter and clearer the deeper you look.”

I let Doc drone on a little longer. I peeked aside at my teammates. They were sitting with these slack, dazed expressions, just staring at the statue. Even Coach.

As I kind of glanced around, trying to keep Doc from seeing I wasn’t falling under, I caught the statue out of the corner of my eyes. Its eyes were a steady blue glow, and they drew my gaze like an irresistible magnet. Doc had trained me well. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t fight his induction now.

“Just relax,” he was saying. “Take a deep breath ... and exhale. Feel all that tension leaving your body. Another deep breath ... hold it. Now exhale. Feel all the tension washing away. Relaxing your shoulders, neck, your whole body. Just letting go, eyes tired, relaxed, heavy ... You’re probably noticing your eyes are tired. You want to close them, and you may close them at any time. Of course, you can always open them again if you want, but you’ll find you relax deeper if you leave them closed. As your eyes close, it will become easier and easier for you to relax. As you listen to my voice, all the worries and tensions will leave your body and you will totally relax. It feels really good to relax ...”

Doc’s induction droned on. Despite my best efforts, I was slipping deeply into sleep, just like all those times in his office. It felt great, and I stopped fighting and let go, let myself slip away.

Seemed like no time later when Doc clapped his hands loudly, waking us. We were all shaking our heads to clear away the cobwebs and wondering what happened. Coach seemed a little shaky too, but he flicked off the projector and turned on the overhead lights when Doc told him to.

“There,” Doc said, grinning. “That was easy, wasn’t it? That’s all for today. Back to you, Coach.”

Coach still seemed a little groggy—I was too, and I guess we all were—but he called out, “Okay, men, hit the showers and get out of here. See you all tomorrow.”

We got to our feet, got our lockers open, got out of our singlets and shit. I grabbed my towel and headed for the showers.

Since there were only ten shower heads and twenty-four of us on the team, we didn’t all shower at once. I was one of the first ones in, and I got the next to the last spot on the right. The other spots filled up pretty quickly.

I felt really good, loose, like after a nice, long nap. I soaped up. The other guys were horsing around and yelling at one another over the sound of the spray—same shit as usual. Kirk was to my left, this Russian guy Alexi to my right. I kept checking them out on the sly as I rinsed.

I heard Doc calling out something in the main part of the locker room, but I couldn’t make out what he said. Then he appeared in the entry of the shower area. He had that statue cradled in the crook of his arm. Doc yelled out over the water, “Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself.”

Where had I heard that before? Didn’t matter. Doc yelled out “Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself” again, but I was already distracted by something else.

I was getting hard. Happens sometimes to guys in the shower or on the mats. Usually we just ignore it or joke it off. But right then, I was feeling incredibly horny. I was hard and I had to get off.

Alexi and Kirk were hard too. So were the guys opposite us. I looked down and found I was already jacking off. I didn’t care who saw. Hell, these guys had all seen me naked a lot, even hard a couple of times, and I’d seen most of them in the same condition. I didn’t give a shit—I just had to get off.

Doc was standing in the entry, smiling, watching us. Everyone in the showers was hard and beating off. One of my favorite masturbation scenes come to life.

Nobody cared who saw them getting off. I paid close attention to Kirk’s cut meat, with its downward curve. He was focused on it like it was his best friend, giving it the loving attention it deserved. Looked to my like between six and seven inches.

I gave Alexi his share of looks too. Alexi was tall and twenty, same age as me, with this really cute face and smooth, muscular body that wouldn’t quit. Squared-off pecs. Brown hair and eyes. His stiff cock was average size but perfectly straight, a real beauty that pointed nearly straight up at his navel. He was entirely into his own pleasure, not even looking my way. Oh, well.

I got down to business on my own erection. It wouldn’t take me much longer, I knew. Then, I felt that rising in my balls, the heat of pleasure blanketing throughout my body. I thrust my hips forward, threw my head back, groaned loudly as I came, shooting wad after wad after wad.

Kirk hunkered down, almost squatted, and fired off a ropey load of white-hot cream onto the cool tile floor. Alexi tilted his torso back a bit; he was masturbating with short, quick stroked, using just his first two fingers and his thumb. He shot nice, runny lava on his belly and fingers. Kirk and Alexi both turned back to the water and continued their showering as if nothing had just happened, as if jerking off in the showers after practice was something we all did every day.

Spent, exhausted, I grinned at the others as they jacked—I didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious. I’d done a good job; Doc would be pleased with me; I knew it deep down inside. I rinsed myself off, went to claim my towel.

I passed by Doc on my way to my locker, and we gave each other a wink. He was roaming around, watching the rest of the team jack off in the changing area. Some of them had already cum, were heading for the showers, leaving behind puddles of spunk on the floor.

Coach Tucker was standing near my locker. He was one of the last ones still jerking off. He was naked, like most of the rest of the team, and jacking hard. He had his head tipped back, mouth open and eyes closed, lost in his own pleasure. Coach was mid-thirties. Dark, longish hair. A light sprinkling of hair across his pecs. Tall and muscular. A little tattoo of a dolphin over by the left side of his groin, where his underwear would cover it. His body was in great shape because he worked out with us. I’d seen him naked a couple of times, of course, in the showers and shit like that, but this was the first time I’d seen him hard and jacking. Average-sized cock—uncut, I think—and it sure looked like he knew how to make it feel good. As I watched, he shoved his hips forward, looked down at his cock as it started to fire droplets of cum at the floor between his spread feet.

Coach, still panting, looked up at me and grinned. I grinned back. He looked pretty pleased with himself, just like the rest of us. He milked the last drop from his cock, let it fall. He bent and retrieved his clothes, carried them in front of him as he went back through the door to his office.