Although it depicts fundamentally consensual acts, this is a work of erotic fiction. Real hypnokink involves negotiation, ongoing and active consent, and emotional intimacy. Find more of Lord Dash's work at @LordDash00.
My Freshman Master — Chapter 1
I was a senior at a small liberal arts college in New England.
It was a gorgeous campus filled with 5-story tall trees nestled along a beautiful mountainside. It sat on more than 50 acres next to the river that flowed to the north. Bucolic hills stretch on for as far as the eye could see and lead up to a ridge at the end of the property with an amazing view of the ravine.
We weren’t supposed to go there, but there was a history of people dropping acid and hiking out there — about a 2 mile hike — to watch the sunset.
But that’s not really what this is about.
This is the story of how I became a slave. A slave to a freshman.
I was captain of the tennis team. A jock, by all means, but I was very out (as gay).
It was which was fairly accepted by the other jocks at the school. Of course, bros will be bros, but I never experienced that much homophobia. I mean, most of the guys on the tennis team were straight, but it wasn’t like the rugby team or the soccer teams who were all straight guys. Tennis is, after all, just a little bit gay.
I was out when I got to college— which always sets a specific tone when you get to a liberal arts college like this one. I was well-respected among my peers. Although I had a short-lived boyfriend in high school, we broke up before going to college because we decided that we didn’t want to have the hang-ups of a long-distance relationship.
There had been a handful of guys I’d hooked up with back home in Chicago (where I grew up). But to be honest, there weren’t too many. Most of the gay guys at the school weren’t out, or if they were, were hopelessly impossible to talk to. I guess they weren’t ready for relationships and TBH, I wasn’t really ready for one either.
I knew I was at least a little bit kinky because I had hooked up with two dom tops while I was back at home in Chicago. They were older men — one in his thirties and the other in his forties I think.
Although I didn’t exactly seek out older guys (old enough to be my dad), I didn’t think it was strange or weird or anything. In fact, I sort of liked hooking up with older guys— not that I really have a daddy thing— but older guys just seemed more experienced and like they knew what they wanted, which is something I appreciated in both tops and bottoms.
One of them tied me up in several different positions and played with my cock and balls until I shot my load all over him. The other one whipped and caned me— an experience I’ll never forget— but honestly, one I might not seek out again. They were both very respectful, and we negotiated our scenes well beforehand. Both of them had boyfriends their age (or older, maybe?) who weren’t kinky, and so our fun was confined to a handful of NSA sessions. I guess I was experimenting.
In college, I was vers— at least so I said on Grindr— and it wasn’t dishonest. All of the guys my age I hooked up with wanted me to top them. I was hot and horny and fairly confident in my sexuality, so I obliged them— gladly— but often they would pretend not to know me if they saw me the next day around campus, which always made me feel somehow regretful that I’d fucked them at all.
I didn’t really want a boyfriend, but I did like the attention, and I didn’t feel shame about what we had done, so I never really understood why they did. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
The first time I met Adrien was a frosh orientation. I was one of the orientation leaders— which basically means a upper classman who babysits the freshmen for the day with “welcome to college” ice breakers and games. It’s actually lots of fun, and was one of the highlights of my entering college, so I got involved in the organizing committee who runs the thing.
Adrien had dark curly hair. He was skinny and small— maybe 5′8— but made friends easily. Adrien wasn’t actually in my orientation group —thankfully, because I did think he was cute— and I didn’t want our first interaction to be one of me in a position of authority over him. (Not that the leaders of the frosh orientation had any real power, but you know— the perception of it.)
He was in my friend Scott’s group, and I only met him briefly during lunch.
The next time I saw him was in the library. He was sitting quietly reading, a tall, skinny, unassuming kid with glasses. He was undeniably cute, but more in an ‘adorable dork’ kind of way than in a ‘hot’ kind of way. I was on the second floor making some photocopies.
He noticed I had a copy of a Men’s Health— the typical soft-core porn for workout bros you can get at the convenience store— along with a stack of books for class.
He looked at me, glanced down at the bodybuilding magazine, and said with a wry smile, “Easy reading?”
I chuckled and said, “Yeah I guess it is.” I paused sheepishly and thought, who is this kid to judge my desire to work out and get bigger? He was a scrawny little frosh with no muscles and dorky glasses.
“I want to bulk up.” I retorted firmly, with conviction.
He looked my body up and down, which suddenly made me feel very aroused, and I immediately a vision of myself fully naked before him flashed through my mind.
I knew I already had a hot body, but at 21 I felt like I could be king of the world! Why not put on muscle? I knew those men’s fitness mags were soft-porn, but they weren’t embarrassing to be seen with— I mean, if you were a 21 y/o who worked out—I already went to the gym fairly regularly and carried around protein shakes. I guess I bought the mags for inspiration.
I changed the subject quickly to make it more formal. I was into him; he was cute in a nerdy way, but alarmingly confident, which was sexy. But I was a senior, and he was a freshman, and I wanted to maintain the upper hand— I didn’t want to let on that I liked him.
I told him I was the captain of the tennis team, was a biology major, and was gay.
He was bi, had a girlfriend back home. They were ‘on break’ with so he could be unattached in college. Undeclared major, of course, as he was a freshman.
It was surprisingly easy to talk with Adrien. He had an easy feeling about him.
The next time I saw Adrien was in the multipurpose room of my dorm, which was odd because it was already three weeks into the school year, and I didn’t remember seeing him in my dorm before that, but it turned out he was on the west wing of the ground floor.
He was sitting with a group of freshmen in a small group of chairs. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to them, but I could see he was the only one talking. He spoke in a very quiet voice, and the other four just sat there listening. I think it had something to do with ancient Roman civilization or something — it looked sort of like it was a study group for a class. But they didn’t have any notebooks or books with them, so I wasn’t sure.
I’m walking through the multipurpose room to get to the laundry room.
Even though I could go back to my room while the machine ran, I liked sitting in the laundry room while the laundry was running — which meant waiting through the wash cycle, moving the clothes to the dyer, and waiting for them to dry. I usually bring a book and just sit and read. I know some people trust that no one will steal their clothes and just set a time, but I kind of just like the humming of the room— sets my mind at ease.
I had just finished loading, closed the door, and started the machine. I turned around, and Adrien had come into the room. He was standing looking right at me — I didn’t see him there until I turned around (he must have just come in).
Only slightly startled, I stammered, “oh hi A—” but I struggled over his name Adrien— which I knew — but was strangely not quite on the tip of my tongue. I did manage to say the first syllable (“A—“) before he interrupted me.
“Did you hear our conversation just now?” He looked just a little nervous. Not upset, just forceful, and like what he was saying was very important to him. It didn’t make any sense to me — of course, I didn’t care what they were doing, they were all freshman, and I only had a small crush on him. I walked through the room for 30 seconds while carrying my laundry. I mean, I wouldn’t presume to go out of my way to listen in about what five freshmen are doing sitting around talking on a random evening.
“What? No. What do you mean.”
“Did you overhear what my friends and I were discussing just now?”
“No, I mean, what are you doing? It looked like a study session or something.” (There were not any books out, so what I said wasn’t consistent with what I saw— I was just kind of being nice, like making up an excuse for him.)
Adrien paused a moment, thinking about what I had said. A calm look came over his face, like he had figured something out. “Yes, that’s what it was: a study group.”
“A study group,” I repeated, positively and reassuringly. I had no idea why he was concerned about what I thought of his study group, and I just wanted to make him happy and believe that I agreed with him enough to not argue about it— certainly, it wasn’t a battle worth picking or fighting over. (I certainly didn’t care.)
“Let’s meet up again. What are you doing at this time tomorrow?”
“Oh,” I said, a little startled. “I’ve got an afternoon class on Fridays,” I said.
“What time is it over?” he asked.
“6,” I answered.
“Come to the mess hall lounge after class, I’ve got something you might be interested in.”
“What is it?” I asked quizzically.
“Just a little group experiment. You will come by at 6:15,” he said, and just like that, he was off. Something about the way he had told me, “You will come by at 6:15,” had sort of felt like — I don’t know— it was like his words formed this bubble in the air and somehow had implanted themselves right in my brain. Like, I didn’t see myself doing anything else after he said it.
I usually work out after class, but when he said it to me, I realized the workout could wait until later and would meet him at 6:15 in the mess hall lounge in the dorm.
“Sure,” I said, not sure why exactly I wanted to give up my Friday late afternoon for this kid’s experiment. Still, we had a remarkably good conversation — he was very easy to talk to — and I figured I might as well find out what this was all about.
I got out of class at 6 and contemplated going back to my room to change. It would be ok if I were a little late. The angel & devil on my shoulder had a little argument. I pictured myself going back, hitting the showing, and unwinding a little bit (maybe jacking off quickly if Todd— my roommate— wasn’t there). I could do it all and get back to the lounge by 6:30, or 6:40 at the latest.
Then I sighed and remembered how enthusiastic he was about me being there at 6:15. I always underestimate my time, I reminded myself, and likely if I went back to change, I wouldn’t get there until 6:40 realistically. And that was 25 minutes after he told me to be there, so I figured it would be best to just go directly from class.
With this 35 seconds of mental juggling, I just took a deep breath and headed over to the lounge right from class, getting there at 6:10.
A singular chair set up in the middle in a semi-circle of chairs —maybe 8 or 9?— but Adrien was the only one there. He was sitting in the center of the semi-circle of chairs.
“Hi, so glad you could make it.” He said. “Have a seat,” pointing to the chair in the middle.
“Here? Is it just the two of us? Why all these chairs? You said group?”
“I did, but it’s just the two of us tonight.” He explained.
I sat sheepishly, looking around at the empty room. I thought it was a group experiment, but it was just me.
“I’m glad you came, although I knew you would.”
“You knew I would?” I asked, a bit taken aback.
“Well, you agreed to yesterday,” he said. “Besides, you said you wanted help to bulk up consistently.”
“I said that?”
“Well, you were reading Men’s Health.”
“Oh yeah. I’m captain of the tennis team; we practice four times per week.”
“I know.” He said.
“But yeah, I want to get to the weight room more regularly. I mean, I just need to find the time.”
“Well, that’s what this experiment will help you with,” he assured me. “It cannot change the dynamics of time — that is a universal constant—but it will help you remain focused so we’ll be able to pick a consistent time for you to go hit the weights every day.”
I thought about it for a second.
“Yeah, ok. I’ll give it a try.” I said.
He took out a small chain necklace with a pendant attached — a crystal-like one you find at a shop.
“Look at this.” He said. As soon as he said it, somehow, my eyes were transfixed.
“Good.” He said approvingly. “Now look at it up here.” He held the pendant in front of my face and swung it back and forth.
“Good, he said. Just look at the Asrati stone. It has a very specific power. Just look at it swing back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“That’s right. Very good, Jimmy.”
“I…” I started to correct him because he had called me ‘Jimmy’ and I had introduced myself as James. But somehow, just as quickly as I had the thought, I figured if he wanted to call me Jimmy, it was fine.
“Just stare at the Asrati stone and let yourself relax. Relax. Relax…” As it said I felt the whole room spin, sort of like I was getting dizzy.
“Imagine you are on the top of a staircase. There are ten stairs. Each time I count down, you will get sleepier, more relaxed, and more willing. More willing and more relaxed and sleepier and ready to obey my commands.”
“10… you are feeling awake but very relaxed.”
“9… going down now.”
“8… further down. So relaxed and obedient.”
“7… just watch the stone swing back and forth. Back and forth. Very good.”
“6… your eyelids are very heavy you just want to let go and go to sleep.”
“5…”
“4…”
“3…”
“2…”
“1…. Sleep”
And just like that, I was out. I don’t remember much more, except the afternoon he transformed me into his servant. I remember there was a lot of repetition in his hypnosis style— a lot of saying the same thing over and over. He would make a proclamation, and I would repeat whatever he said, but switching the third person to the first person and the first person to the third person.
“When I give you an order, you will obey it immediately.”
“When you give me an order, I will obey it immediately,” I would hear myself say in monotone, distant and foggy. It was like I was watching myself from above but couldn’t participate consciously.
“When I snap my fingers, you will fall into servant mode, ready to obey.”
“When you snap your fingers, I will fall into servant mode, ready to obey,” I repeated back to him. I understand the assignment now.
I was tranced out— a rush of endorphins filled my head. It was so relaxing.
“Now, the first thing you will do is confess to me your sexual fantasies. I need to know when you jack off, what you jack off thinking about, and we need to control that immediately.”
“Uhh…” I stammered. Thinking about explaining to this freshman my jack-off fantasies— let alone letting him control them— suddenly made me come out of the trace for a moment. Well, I might be okay with letting him control them, but I certainly wasn’t expecting the question. And I rarely talked about them with anyone, let alone a younger freshman, so I didn’t have the vocabulary. So I sort of stammered through it.
“I jack off maybe a couple times a day.” I blurted out, confused, but woke up from the trance, and it seemed annoyed by the question.
“Jimmy.” He said. “Relax. Focus. Just listen to my voice. Everything will be OK. Just take a deep breath and explain it succinctly to me. It’s OK if you can’t explain it perfectly; just do your best.”
I did as he commanded. I took three deep breaths in, actually, and began to relax again.
I proceeded, in a somewhat stumbled and humiliated way, to explain my intermittent and late-night jackoff habit. That I would think about powerful men, about them making decisions for me, about being their sex slave, about being tied up and whipped and fucked, and things I didn’t even know because I was very young and didn’t know all of the things a Master could do to his slave. I knew about such relationships but never really encountered a M/s relationship. All of the play, I had been very one-off, and generally with men I respected but didn’t feel romantic with.
About not caring what they wanted or when or whatever— just this deep longing to worship them and their Alpha energy.
“Good.” He said. “This is fine.”
“Now, I control your orgasms from this point forward. If you begin to get hard, you will immediately remember this command and stop jacking off without my permission.”
It was a tough one. I thought momentarily, I’m giving this much control over to a freshman. But then I said it:
“You control my orgasm from this moment forward.” I stammered slightly because I realized I had said it differently than what he said. “… from this point” I corrected myself.
A pause.
“If I begin to get hard, I will immediately remember this command and stop jacking off without permission.” I managed to blurt out awkwardly.
And then I knew it; it was complete. With me having repeated the command, it was sealed: I somehow felt it. I wouldn’t resist anymore, nor would I want to. I was his and this just made sense now.