The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Salman and the boy slept until nearly eleven before the master awakened, summoning Rodrigo and instructing him to teach his new charge how to properly prepare a breakfast and wait on his master. In the meantime, Sal retired to his shower, enjoying the patter of warm water on his flesh.

Downstairs, the master enjoyed a delicious, multi-course breakfast hand-served to him by his new slave, while Rodrigo waited patiently, glassy-eyed, for instructions. Afterward, Sal retired to his study to get some work done, while the boys bussed his dishes and prepared their own meal, a subsistence diet composed of a thin, vitamin-infused gruel Sal had calculated would build muscle and maintain healthy nutrition.

In the evening, the master was served another fine meal by his boys before retiring to watch television as they finished their chores. Normally, Salman would have enjoyed himself before the TV longer, but tonight he was far more interested in continuing to spy on the predilections of his acquaintance Rod. He’d been awaiting the next chapter of Zaid’s story all day.

Having had Rodrigo prepare things in the bedroom, Sal took his new pet to his chambers, once again pummeling his young ass as he this time convinced the boy he was back in the pussy-eating contest from the first time he met Master Rod, using Rodrigo’s perfectly sculpted posterior as a prop in his play.

Once again, after blowing his first load of the evening, Salman curled up with his boy and told him to finish his story. Tentatively, he planned to commence his brainwashing tomorrow after work, though he did expect it to be a process now lasting several days.

Sighing with a mixture of contentment and fear, Zaid curled up beside his master, who was idly playing with his large cock and balls, and began the next chapter of his tale…

As you’ll remember, Master Rod said I would become obsessed with his show following our encounter, and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble believing that happened big-time—probably more than even he would have expected.

I felt like shit that morning when I woke up—unsurprising, I guess, since I’d really only gotten about two hours’ sleep, though of course I had no idea—and it was a struggle to get through the day’s activities, which included fitness tests and a math placement. I found it nearly impossible to concentrate, not just because I was so tired, but also because I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened at the show. For some reason, even though my memories were hazy, I was desperate to know more—obsessed with finding out not just everything I had done, but everything that people could be made to do in Master Rod’s shows. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about that feeling of being controlled, and how exciting I found it.

When I got back to the dorms that evening, even though I was dog-tired, I found myself immediately hopping on my laptop since Ronnie was out, and logging onto Master Rod’s website. I scrolled past all the photos I had checked out the night before, which were sexy but old news, and dashed down to that link I remembered at the bottom of the page. I needed to see what it was all about.

“College / Comedy Club Adult Shows.” I guess I’d already been in one. But I needed to see more—needed to see what he’d made other guys do, needed to see what he did at the clubs, if it was different. I clicked the link and it asked “Are you over 18?” and I clicked “Yes,” mind and body aching to get to the next page as quickly as possible.

“For those looking for some naughty fun for their event, Rodney Field also offers his trademark X-TRA NAUGHTY ADULT SHOW, able to be tailored specifically to the needs of your occasion. Available in flavors from a just-naughty-enough PG-13 to Rod’s famous XXX-travaganza, Master Hypnotist Rodney Field has exactly what’s required to meet your needs—all delivered in good fun and without (too much) embarrassment for the participants! Check out a selection of photos to get just a glimpse at Rod’s patented evening of zany hypnotic action!”

My hands were quivering. Fuck. That had been me. I’d been used like that—and all I wanted was to be used again, and worse. I scrolled down.

The first photo showed a young guy in nothing but a bra, panties and a blonde wig clutching the microphone and looking like he was singing passionately. The caption below read “(He thinks he’s Madonna).” Despite how out-of-date everything in the picture looked, it couldn’t help but turn me on. I couldn’t imagine how humiliating it would be to be stripped down like that, made to perform as whoever—maybe someone a bit more modern. I looked at the row of participants behind the guy, all smiling and laughing incredulously, and all I could think was how lucky he had been to be selected out of all of them.

Below that, there was another photo of a line of volunteers, each with big cucumbers and, in one case, a long tan dildo pressed to their lips. Below, it just said “Legalize it—with HYPNOSIS,” which helped me figure out everyone must’ve thought they were smoking weed.

Underneath, there was a photo of the same line of participants, all of whom had their lips wrapped around the cucumbers and dildo now, and clearly looked like they were giving blowjobs. “More than one way to smoke a joint,” it said, which I didn’t quite understand.

Below that, there was a picture from what looked like a comedy club. All the girls onstage were asleep in their line of chairs, but all the guys had gotten up and were turned around, with their pants down and their butts exposed. “Spring Break—Moons over Miami,” read the caption, and my heart was thundering so hard in my chest I felt like I was about to die. All I could imagine was Master Rodney touching me, turning around and feeling compelled to expose myself to everyone at his command. It seemed so degrading, and I wanted it more than anything!

Beneath that was a picture of three women all wearing their bras outside their shirts. A part of me found that hot since at least one of the women was pretty, though another part of me just wanted to experience Master Rod making me do the same thing with my underwear—or hell, even one of their bras!

Below that, there were a few photos from different shows, all captioned the same: “All shows end with Rod’s famous Full Monty climax!!” Most of the photos showed a stage full of guys in their underwear gyrating—nothing too different from what I’d been a part of myself, though it excited me all over again seeing it from the other side—yet the final picture tantalizingly displayed a row of guys facing away from the audience, fully naked, and holding what appeared to be hats in front of their junk, though as I said, they were turned away so it was hard to see. Nevertheless, my heart was pounding: all I wanted was to be made to go further, to strip down all the way, as far as I could and then some—an absolute slave to Master Rod!

I licked my lips, having reached the end of the page aside from a big, flashing “Book Now!” button that I was desperate to click. But what would I do? Throw a private show in my dorm just so I could get hypnotized again? It was then that I noticed one of the tabs at the top of the page: “Upcoming Shows.” Fuck. Of course. Master Rod was a performer. He must have a ton of shows coming up. I wondered if it might be possible to find one somewhere close.

Clicking the link, I was taken to a small list of venues outlining Master Rod’s schedule over the next few months. There was a gap over the next week or so, but given that it stretched a couple weeks back, too, I suspected college shows weren’t listed since they were generally not open to the public. After that, the shows moved into the neighboring state, which was just as well, because I couldn’t see myself actually hunting this guy down again just to get hypnotized—could I?

Nevertheless, I clicked some of the links to venue pages, perusing them wistfully. Some mentioned an upcoming hypnotist, some didn’t, and while I couldn’t believe I was doing it, I actually sat there and imagined what it would be like to be inside these places, back up in that line of chairs. My dick was throbbing.

Finally, after closing one of the links and scrolling back up the page, my eyes alit on an item I’d missed: a show coming up in about four weeks at a club in Barnstow. At 35 miles away, it wasn’t exactly a hop, skip and a jump, and it was hard to believe I could make it there by bus, even with a start time as late as nine. Besides, the club was 21+ and I was just a freshman. I shook my head, trying to put it out of my mind. There was no way I was going there. That was insane. I couldn’t even figure out why I suddenly had this obsession with hypnotism. Why on earth did I want to be embarrassed and humiliated?

It was then that I noticed, in small gray letters at the upper right corner of the site, a link reading “Special User / Admin.” What could be back there? Just HTML and coding shit, obviously, yet with a trembling hand I found myself clicking. I was taken to a plain white page with a “Password” prompt and blinking cursor. As stupid as the idea seemed, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try, and I just typed out the first thing that came into my mind. To my shock, it worked.

“Congrats on discovering ‘The Back End,’” it said. “Below you will find a selection of some of the best and naughtiest private photos and clips from Rod’s adult shows.” Beneath was a tight close-up of another guy exposing his ass, with a few out-of-focus sleeping people visible in the background. This seemed typical of Master Rod’s sense of humor.

Directly beneath, two guys wearing only boxer shorts were humping a third dude dressed in clothes that looked a decade or more out-of-date. Both appeared to be using whipped cream bottles as you would a cock, and the guy—already splattered with cream—was laughing as thick white jets flew through the air. In the next photo, the clothed guy was missing, while one of the other two had his ass in the air, a thick pile of cream sprayed on top of his boxers while the second guy was shoving his face in, looking like he was trying to scarf down the whole thing.

Fucking shit. I almost felt like I was going to throw up, though I didn’t know if it was from nervousness or excitement. Or… Or what? I imagined doing all these things with Ronnie—Master Rod making me stick my ass out and hump a guy and eat whipped cream off my friend’s butt. Why on earth did I want to do that? I certainly wasn’t attracted to Ronnie, yet in that moment, all I wanted was for Master Rod to do this to me and more. It almost made me cry thinking about how easy he’d gone on us in the show last night. I’d had a chance to experience this, and for some reason he’d held back?

My cock was straining so hard in my pants I finally relented and unzipped, letting it out of its tight casing. I was well aware Ronnie could walk in at any moment, that I had no privacy in this dorm, but I just had to let out the tension. I decided if he did come in, I could cram my dick back in my pants and slam the computer shut—not very subtle, but by that point I was beyond reason.

Below was a photo of a guy wearing a hat that looked like a giant penis, along with nothing else but for a pair of banana-hammock briefs. Master Rod was shaking the guy’s hand and he had his eyes closed and was making this gigantic O-face while touching the hat, and you could tell by the bulge in his undies that he was really aroused.

Beneath that, there was a photo of three guys seated lengthwise down the stage in their underwear, each holding a beer bottle between their legs. In front of them, three more guys, also in undies, were kneeling, and each guy in a chair had his hand on the back of one of their heads, guiding them down as they swallowed the bottlenecks to the hilt.

Beneath that, there were photos of three guys squeezed into a tiny kiddie pool, again stripped to their underwear and scrubbing each other with loofas, all while kissing each other’s necks and earlobes.

Further down, there was a young guy, underwear again, seated cross-legged onstage next to another guy—underwear too—who was completely passed out and asleep. The first guy had one of the second guy’s legs in his lap, while the second leg was bent, and he had the guy’s bare foot pressed to his lips and cheek like a telephone. Master Rod was stooping down holding his mic, though the young guy looked pretty spaced out. A caption below said, “Operator, I need help finding the source of this terrible smell!”

Below that was another captioned photo, this one of a scrawny guy, completely naked—like dick and balls out and everything—except for a pair of underwear on his head, screaming into Master Rodney’s mic. The caption underneath said: “WHERE’S MY UNDERWEAR!!”

My stomach churned. I couldn’t believe these photos confirmed what the one on the other page had suggested: Master Rod really made guys strip all the way at some of his shows! I imagined myself standing up there, naked in front of everyone, desperate to the point of rage to find underwear I had no idea was right on top of my head. I couldn’t imagine that it was possible to be that deep in Master Rod’s power, yet based on these pictures—not to mention my time last night—I was sure it was. My cock was weeping into my hand, precum sending my foreskin sliding back and forth across my dick-head with lightning rapidity. I wanted to cry my cock was throbbing so hard.

The next photo featured the same guys from the last page, the strippers with their backs exposed. This time, they were turned all the way around, proudly flinging the hats into the audience. You could see all their dicks and balls.

Beneath that, there was a close shot of one more guy—topless, that was all you could see—and a guy who I guessed was from the audience, since he was actually dressed, standing in front of him. The guy was bent over and had his pants pulled down so half his crack was exposed, and he was laughing and pressing a hand to his face in disbelief. Meanwhile, Master Rod leaned in from the side, holding up a microphone to the hypnotized guy while with his other hand he held up a bright red rose next to the audience guy’s butt. The hypnotized dude had his eyes closed and nose pressed deep in the other guy’s crack, a beatific smile plastered on his lips.

“Ah, fuck,” I sobbed, eyes slamming shut, an explosion of images racing through my mind: my eyes closed, naked on stage, nose in Ronnie’s crack—no, better still, a stranger’s—that baseball guy—no, the fat one!

My taint spasmed and a geyser of cum erupted from my penis. I felt some hit my chin, hot and wet, and knew more had splattered up the front of my desk, maybe even on my computer, I didn’t care. I imagined I was onstage, Master Rodney hovering behind me, fingers waving on either side of my head like a hypnotist in a cartoon, as I sat there whacking off in front of everyone under his control. If the people wanted to see me cum, I would cum, at Master Rod’s command—and with that thought, I felt my balls contract again, another hot jet of sperm pulsing against the front of my desk and dripping onto my jeans. I imagined Master Rod commanding me to rise, still wriggling his fingers like a cartoon supervillain, and telling me to cluck around like an orgasming chicken—my current act of submission mixed with the most classic and humiliating hypnosis routine of all. “Cuck-cuck-cuck-cawww,” I groaned quietly, imagining myself strutting around the stage, fists balled under my armpits, clucking and ejaculating like a moron. Another torrent of cum flowed forth, boiling over like lava and rolling down the side of my hand all over my pants. I sat there panting and almost sobbing, still frenetically cranking, and the thought of being left for the rest of the night, back to the audience with my pants down, mooning, caused one last sputter of jizz to leap out of my cock and down my leg. I collapsed back, spent, and it took a few minutes before I was able to collect myself, grab a towel, and begin cleaning up my things.

It took me a while to clean up the mess I’d made. My cum had gotten everywhere. My pants were splattered with it, from several directions, and I shucked them off and tossed them in the hamper. I wiped down the desk and even a spot on the wall, from that first volley that hit me on the chin. Then my poor laptop, which had almost gotten soaked. Thankfully, little had landed on the actual keys, and I could wipe away the drops on the screen with ease. The stuff that landed on the keyboard I had to daub with a tissue. It took some time but I got it done. After I’d finished cleaning up the mess and pulled on some track pants, without even thinking about it, I idly texted “Done” to a number I didn’t recognize.

I was already beginning to contemplate going back for more when Ronnie walked in. I had no idea where he had been for the last hour, as he usually got home earlier, but I didn’t care. For some reason all I could think about was getting hypnotized.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Nights were often sleepless, and days moved by in a haze. Ronnie and I fell into a rhythm, where it always seemed to take him longer to get back from class than expected. This was good, as it afforded me time for private browsing. I had viewed most of the photos on Master Rod’s secret page, but there were a number of videos at the bottom—mostly of the same incidents from the photos—that I watched on subsequent visits and couldn’t get out of my head. All I wanted was to be onstage with them.

The obsession was like an itch—impossible not to scratch, yet it just got worse each time. It wasn’t like when I’d think about girls. Before when I would jerk off, it was because I got so horny, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. Now it was like I always had the idea rattling around my brain. Thinking about getting hypnotized just made me want to think about it more, and each new idea, photo or scenario I encountered added further fuel to the fire. After an hour of imagining being hypnotized, all I knew how to do was imagine being hypnotized—and that just made me want to imagine being hypnotized all the more.

In the evenings, when Ronnie was home, I would sneak off to the shared bathroom down the hall and try to pound one out in private. It was annoying trying to hide it, with people occasionally coming in and out despite the late hour, but I hated the thought of being discovered. I would look at the photos on Master Rob’s website on my phone, or just imagine being the one in them myself. Usually, I could cum in no time. But it just made me want to imagine it more.

I began scouring the internet for other photos of Master Rod’s shows and found some good ones, though none quite so good as behind the private wall. The obsession had started to affect my studies—I’d placed a level lower in math than I knew I should’ve, just because I’d been out so late the night before and couldn’t concentrate on the placement exam—and things only got worse as the semester progressed. I was still keeping afloat pulling Cs, but just barely, and it was all I could do to concentrate in class five minutes before I started daydreaming.

As the day grew closer of Master Rod’s show in Barnstow, the idea of somehow attending kept creeping into my mind more and more. At the beginning of the semester, I told myself no way in hell was I going to take a couple bus lines to the middle of nowhere, to a place I couldn’t get in, but as the day approached, all I could think about was trying to find some way to do it, even if I was underage. If I were just able to see things again in person, maybe I could get it out of my head. I was like an addict, telling myself whatever I needed to justify my indulgence.

The day came, and the only thing I could think to try was messaging Master Rod himself to see if he could find a way to get me in. I knew I had kept that number around for the purpose of safety—in case I experienced any side effects from the hypnosis—but I reasoned it couldn’t hurt to ask. Maybe he’d be flattered I remembered him.

“You probably don’t remember me, but my name is Zaid and I was a volunteer in one of your shows. Wondering if there’s any way you could help me get in to see you tonight. I’m under drinking age, but I’m very curious about hypnosis and would love to see it again up close.”

To my surprise, Master Rod responded right away, and said that if I’d text him when I reached the club, he’d make sure I could get in. With that settled, I immediately began researching bus routes to Barnstow, already resolved that class wouldn’t be happening today. It wasn’t the first time I’d cut in the last month to indulge my private fantasies, but I’d never had as good a reason as this.

By the time I arrived, it was just past 8:30 and the dark evening was drizzling softly. Walking the several blocks from my bus stop, I texted Master Rod that I had almost arrived. Getting off the bus, I realized to my dismay that the line stopped running at 10:30, but I didn’t care. I’d sleep on a park bench if I had to. I needed to see the show.

Master Rod told me to come around the back of the club and he’d let me in. Welcoming me, he informed a bouncer that I was a protégé, and provided a wrist band so I could move about freely, though told me not to order any drinks: he didn’t want to draw attention if I got carded.

Heading out front, I found a comedy club-cum-bar, dimly lit with the stage illuminated by harsh lighting. The crowd was fairly sparse, I imagined because of the rain, and I took a seat at a small table toward the back, so as not to draw attention. Master Rod had explained that under no circumstances was I to volunteer, as, again, he didn’t want to draw any attention to my presence, and while I desperately wanted to be hypnotized, I knew I had to respect his wishes. While I knew watching the show without participating would drive my libido wild, it was still better than nothing. I was so happy I’d mustered up the courage to text him.

A few minutes after nine, the stage lights dimmed and an emcee came out, introducing a local comic as a warmup. I tapped my foot impatiently through his set, just wanting the show to get on the road. In the meantime, I scanned the crowd, wondering who would be lucky enough to be selected.

At around 9:30, the comic wrapped up and handed things back to the emcee, who passed them over to Master Rod. He took the stage with as much aplomb as he had back at school, and called for volunteers. It was all I could do to restrain myself as I watched the curious saunter up.

Master Rod went through a standard induction like he had at my show, and while it was tempting to stare at the lights and follow along, somehow, the words he had spoken to me before helped me resist. Instead, I focused on watching several guys onstage slowly begin slumping over, their eyes fluttering and bodies melting into relaxed concentration. How I envied them.

When Master Rod woke up the group, he dismissed some of the participants, their trance having apparently not gone deep enough, and he was left with an unusually small allotment: just five girls and three guys. Despite the fact that a couple of the girls were pretty, I nevertheless cursed that there were so few males. For some reason, it was just easier to identify with them. I couldn’t get into things watching Master Rod hypnotize a woman.

One of the guys, a preppy frat dude named Tom seemed to be an excellent subject, and Master Rod was able to re-induce him with a single, sharp tug of the hand. The audience gasped and clapped as Tom collapsed, and Master Rod woke him again soon, after telling him that every time Master Rod said the word “hypnosis,” Tom would think someone had stuck a finger up his ass.

This was just the beginning of the part where I began to get green with envy, and I sat in rapt attention listening to Master Rod give his introductory speech. Every time he said the special word, Tom would leap up in his chair and give the stink-eye to everyone around him, and it was all I could do not to do the same—I sat there imagining a finger sliding up my ass every time I heard the word, and subconsciously I found myself pressing back on it.

As the show went on, Master brought everyone back under. He played some of his usual tricks, like he had during my performance, which began with telling everyone it was getting progressively colder. It was strange watching this from the other side, sitting amongst a crowd of onlookers all laughing as the guys and girls onstage huddled together for warmth. If I tried hard, I could remember me and Ronnie doing this, yet part of me also felt like I was experiencing it for the first time, and I was jealous of the guys onstage—all conveniently moved into a group—made to huddle together. Of course, I knew the audience was laughing hardest at them because they were men, and that only made me want to do it with them even more.

When Master Rod woke everyone up, he asked the other two guys, since they had been huddling tightest, if they knew each other, and they said they did. Turns out they had all come with the same large office party, which was celebrating one of their birthdays. One guy—the birthday boy—was named Shawn, and the other Juan. Master Rod asked if they were close at the office, and they said they were—cubicle mates who sat together in the same department—and Master Rod put them both under and said they were about to give “close” a whole new meaning.

He instructed the two that whenever they heard the phrase “Birthday Boy,” Juan was going to get up and give his friend a lap dance, and Shawn was going to think it was from the sexiest woman he had ever seen. I realized this was similar to the instruction Master had given Ronnie and me the month prior, and I would eventually learn that in fact a 69 was standard, and Master Rod had altered it in this instance to suit the occasion.

After Master woke the two up, it wasn’t long before he dropped the phrase “Birthday Boy,” and true to his instructions, Juan leapt out of his chair and started gyrating on top of his friend, slowly unbuttoning and peeling off his shirt in time with the music that started playing.

When Master Rod finally snapped and said “Wide awake,” of course the two were embarrassed, but before Juan could even begin grabbing his shirt off the floor, Master Rod dropped the phrase “Birthday Boy” again and the two were right back at it. I marveled watching Shawn, a handsome guy in his mid-20s with a fantastic shock of wavy brown hair—probably a huge lady-killer around the office—grinning ear to ear as his friend gyrated in his lap, biting his lower lip sexily while rubbing crotches. Juan peeled off his undershirt this time and started flexing before Master Rod woke them again, Juan diving back into his seat in embarrassment while Shawn shook his head in his hand, laughing and playing the good sport.

Putting Juan back under, Master Rod informed him that whatever he took off for the rest of the show he wouldn’t remember removing, then woke him up and left him sitting there topless, dress shirt and wifebeater lying ignored by his feet as the bright lights onstage highlighted his muscular frame. Again, I imagined what it would be like to be up there myself—tricked into believing I was clothed as I gradually peeled off article after article of clothing, giving a lap dance to someone I normally would’ve had zero interest in. Part of me wanted to kill Juan I was so jealous, and it was doubly frustrating seeing how few guys were onstage—Master could’ve used another male, particularly one as malleable as me.

The next command was a dud for me but went over great with the crowd—Master knocked out a couple of the girls and said that since this was a special night it called for some celebration, and whenever they heard the words “Good Time” they’d want to stand up out of their chairs and pop their tops for everyone. This drew some wild applause from the crowd, but while I could imagine myself hopping up and flashing my scrawny chest, it didn’t seem to have quite the same humiliating impact.

Before waking the girls up, however, Master Rod then made some joke about being “equal opportunity” and went and knocked out Tom, telling him that every time he heard the phrase “Birthday Boy” (there went Juan again), he would get so jealous no one was paying attention to him that he would stand up and…

I had no idea what the conclusion to this was, as Master leaned in and whispered directly in Tom’s ear, but Tom nodded, and I waited with bated breath to see what would happen. Waking everyone up again (including Juan, who rushed back to his seat sans socks and shoes and with his fly open), Master Rod asked if everyone was having a Good Time, and, before you knew it, the two girls were up out of their seats and flashing their tits to the cheering crowd. Normally I would’ve been thrilled to see such a spectacle, but at the moment, I was waiting in breathless anticipation to see what would happen to Tom.

Asking once more if Shawn was having a “Good Time” (and waiting for the cheers to die down after the women did their routine), Master Rod added, “Good. Because I want there to be lots of skin on display for the Birthday Boy.”

Well, once again, Juan leapt out of his seat and into his friend’s lap, quickly peeling down his dress slacks to reveal a tight pair of designer briefs underneath. Yet my attention was glued to Tom, heart turning cartwheels as I waited to see what would happen.

Looking back and forth between Juan and the crowd in disgust, Tom finally rose out of his chair, turned around and…

Holy shit. Could this be it?? Was I really going to see what hadn’t even been featured in the videos on Master Rod’s website?

Sure enough, the frat boy fumbled with his belt, bent over and slid the waistband of his khakis down past the pale globes of his ass, swiveling his hips to undulate them back and forth under the stage lights. The crowd erupted in cheers as simultaneously Juan slid his pants all the way down to his ankles, stepping out of them and wrapping an arm around his friend, gyrating sexily in his lap. After five or six seconds, Tom pulled his pants up and sat back down, tucking in his checked button-up and re-buckling his belt before he plopped back into his seat. Master snapped next to Juan and Shawn again, sending Juan diving back into his chair and Shawn convulsing in fits of laughter as he once again realized what had happened.

Fireworks were going off in my mind, threatening to engulf me in sensory overload. It was enough to see Juan stripped to his undies—just as I had been a month prior, and just as I wanted to be again, as often as possible—but I had been dreaming almost nonstop of being made to moon. To finally see it in the flesh—to watch the command instilled, secretly, as a surprise, and hear the audience erupt in cheers and applause as the surprise was revealed—nearly drove me to frenzy. It was everything I’d dreamed about and more—so wonderfully degrading, so perfectly humiliating—and I would’ve rushed off to the bathroom in a heartbeat to whack off, if I hadn’t known I’d miss a second of whatever else was going to go down.

“Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” asked Master Rod, proffering his microphone to Tom.

“They’re not paying attention to me,” Tom sulked, like a petulant child.

“Aw, are you jealous you’re not the Birthday Boy?” Master Rod cooed, and once again Juan rose out of his chair—in just his underwear this time—and began bumping and grinding on his willing friend. Of course, Tom immediately stood, turned around, undid his fresh tuck and unleashed his buns again, to rapturous applause.

It was just as Tom was sitting back down that Juan turned around, sitting backwards in Shawn’s lap and grinding his nearly-bare ass on the crotch of his slacks. Rising up, he reached down sensually and hooked a finger in the fold of his fly—almost by accident, it appeared—then began sliding down his undies. A flash of pube appeared as Master Rod rushed over to his side, yelling “Sleep! Sleep!” and snapping his fingers, sending Juan collapsing back into his friend’s lap. Wiping fake sweat from his brow, Master Rod pressed a finger onto Juan’s forehead, instructing, “You will continue to dance for the rest of the evening, but refrain from removing your underwear, whenever you hear me say the phrase… ‘Birthday Boy.’”

With a snap of Master Rod’s fingers, Juan woke from his stupor and slid back into his chair, apparently done with his dance for now, while Tom, with a theatrical sigh, stood again, turned around, and once more gave the audience a view of his toned posterior. Gesturing theatrically, Master Rod called out, “Come on, folks, are we having a Good Time tonight or what?” and quickly had the two women flashing as Tom sat down again.

Putting the group back under, Master Rod next ran them through a series of familiar exercises I had seen in other photos and videos of his show. One routine—a tweak on an old standard—had each of the participants taking a bite out of a “pleasure apple,” with each mouthful giving them fresh waves of orgasmic bliss. Never mind that the “fruit” looked just like an onion—all the participants agreed it was delicious and uniquely refreshing, with Juan in particular offering indisputable proof.

Afterward, Master Rod sent Tom backstage, while he instructed two of the other girls that they would make out whenever a certain piece of music played. He also told Shawn and Juan they were Hustler supermodels and would crawl down on the stage and scissor whenever they heard a different piece of music.

After a few run-throughs on the lesbian kiss and “Good Time” routines, Master Rod got Shawn and Juan cuddling when their song came on, and left them vigorously scissoring and rubbing each other’s crotches for a while. Waking the two officemates back up, Master Rod sent them scurrying to their seats in embarrassment, as he called into the mic, “How about a little encore, folks? One, two, three…!”

Instead of the piece of Hustler music, however, a different piano number started to play, and the audience laughed and applauded as out from behind the curtain bounded Tom, dressed in nothing more than a tutu and skintight leggings. Bounding around the stage in time with the music, Tom left everyone—not just the audience, but even Shawn, Juan, and the women—in fits of laughter, making a complete fool of himself. When the music finally stopped and Tom seemed to regain his senses, eyes darting around in panic, Master Rod was quick with a quip to Shawn of “Bet you’re glad that’s not you, huh, Birthday Boy?”, which immediately had Tom turning around, bending his tutu-ed ass over, and pulling his skin-tight leggings and boxer-briefs under his butt. Of course, Shawn didn’t have much time to laugh, as he was too busy enjoying Juan rubbing his (nonexistent) tits in his face. The lesbian make-out music played one more time as Master Rod asked if we weren’t having a Good Time, and then everyone got put back to sleep again.

Asking the crowd that had come with Shawn and Juan if they wanted an extra keepsake of the evening, Master Rod again got a thunderous round of cheers, and so he woke everyone up and instructed Shawn, Juan and Tom to all pull their chairs forward and for Shawn and Tom to switch seats. After the two obliged, Master Rod knocked out Juan and Shawn, then asked the still-awake Tom if he didn’t want to get a little revenge on his neighbor for stealing all the attention. Tom nodded deviously, and Master said he must really have it in for the Birthday Boy, eliciting one more appearance of Tom’s firm, smooth backside. Commanding him to stand still and freeze, Master next laid his hands on Shawn and Juan, giving them their instructions:

When they next awakened, Juan would turn to his immediate right, and Shawn would turn to his immediate left. Each would see the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and without a second’s hesitation, lean in and give her a deep, wet kiss on the cheek. Urging the pair’s officemates to come forward with their cameras, Master Rod woke the two white-collar drones, and was rewarded with a simultaneous smooch on either side of Tom’s well-rounded posterior.

Knocking the two out again as their coworkers clapped, delighted with the blackmail material, Master Rod informed the participants he would awaken them for the last time, after providing a few special commands. All the girls would now have orgasms via handshake for the rest of the evening, for as long as they stayed in the bar, while Shawn and Juan would only be able to drink beer by giving head to the bottle before every sip. Juan would also continue to believe he was fully clothed until he left the building, while Shawn would yell out “It’s my birthday, fuck me in the ass!” every time he heard his name. As for Tom, he would be busy calling everyone he knew telling them he had a gerbil stuck up his butt. In addition, when Master Rod said it was time for an “Encore,” the three would rush to the stage, convinced they were male strippers. With that, Master Rod awakened the participants, and everyone collected their things, with the exception of Juan, whose clothes were kindly gathered by one of his office-mates.

Quivering with nervous excitement, I waited while Master Rod ran through some quick post-show spiel, about how he hoped the audience had enjoyed the evening and to take time to shake the hands of all the female volunteers. After about two minutes of that, as well as directing everyone to his website, Master Rod once more said he hoped everyone had had a fun evening and was ready for an “Encore.”

As he did, a thumping beat began to play over the loudspeakers and he stepped to the side as the three male participants rushed to the stage. My heart had been in my throat this whole time, wondering if they would really obey and how far Master Rod would let things go. I could vaguely remember stripping myself the month before, and was deeply jealous of the three guys onstage getting to peel off in front of this laughing, applauding crowd. Part of me wondered if I couldn’t just rush up with them, pretend I’d gone under in the audience, but again Master Rod’s words about being discrete kept me from going along with it. He had done me a huge favor by getting me in the club, and the least I could do was respect his wishes.

Juan made it to the stage first, followed shortly by Shawn. Juan was really into it, apparently spurred on by already being 90% naked, and rushed to the center of the stage, shaking his tight package with gusto under the hot stage lights. Shawn stayed slightly behind him, slowly undoing his tie and peeling off his dress shirt, as in from the side bounded Tom, still in his tutu and leggings, but not for long. Dashing in alongside Juan, Tom veritably ripped his way out of the cheap unitard, sending it and the tutu to the stage in a small pink heap. Immediately he began bumping and grinding like a professional exotic dancer, turning around to shake his ass for the cheering crowd as everyone laughed and took photos.

At last peeling off his shirt and unbuttoning his slacks, Shawn seemed to be slightly coming out of it. He just kept laughing and shaking his head, hands on his half-open fly, seeming reticent to go all the way.

No such problem with Juan and Tom, however, who were locked at the front of the stage in a dance-off. Tom seemed determined to be the winner, however, and it wasn’t long before he was turning his back to the audience, sliding his hands down his toned sides and pulling down his boxer briefs, providing one more view of his buns. As the crowd roared, he dropped them all the way around his ankles, swiveled and started gyrating like crazy, his hefty dick and balls bouncing around all over the place.

By this point Shawn had been seized by uncontrollable fits of laughter, while Juan seemed like he was trying to keep up though not quite ready to take the plunge, turning his back to the audience and sliding his tight undies up and down his bubble butt while shaking it. Master let Tom go for a good 20 or 30 seconds before signaling to cut the music, the song stopping instantly and the house lights coming back up. Both Tom and Juan froze in panic, then darted behind the chairs at the back of the stage, Juan quickly pulling his undies back over his ass. Shawn just kept laughing, shaking his head and pulling his pants back up.

I sat in my chair feeling like I was about to puke, excitement, envy and a modicum of terror fighting a battle royale in my gut. As hot as it had been thinking back on my own barely-remembered striptease, imagining myself going all the way was another thing entirely. The looks on Tom’s and Juan’s faces had said it all—they were completely under Master Rod’s control, helpless to resist his commands, to debase and humiliate themselves for the crowd’s enjoyment, and they’d loved every second. In that instant, I knew for certain I had to have what they had. I had to speak to Master Rod.

Juan and Tom were still gathering their things as I made my way past the performing area and into the backstage, catching Master Rod’s eye as he was coming down the hall. “What can I do for you?” he asked warmly.

“Please, sir, I have to speak with you,” I stammered, shaking. I felt like there was something more I should say, but what could I possibly spit out? That I’d spent the last month growing obsessed with being hypnotized and humiliated for Master Rod’s enjoyment? That all I’d been able to do for the last four weeks was jack off thinking about some dude in his 60s making me cluck like a chicken? This guy was a professional entertainer. He would laugh me out of the room. Yet, I knew I had to speak with him—to beg him to put me back under.

“Come in. We should be able to get some quiet in here,” he said, opening the door to a dressing room that was basically a glorified broom closet. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe he’d granted me an audience.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a small folded futon that looked more like a removable car seat. Nevertheless, I sat, and he took his place in a chair before a small mirror.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, eyes glinting mischievously. I realize now that was because he was viewing me like prey in a trap—he knew exactly why I was here because he had planned every movement—but at the time I had no idea.

“I… your show…” I struggled to articulate. “I’m so fascinated by hypnosis… Watching… what you do…”

“Ah, I’ve scored another convert. This happens from time to time. Some handsome young men like you just seem to take to the subject—”

“It’s more than that. Sir,” I interrupted, not even bothering to interrogate why he’d called me “handsome.” “I mean, I don’t just want to learn how to do it. Or to watch. I need to feel it again, what it’s like to be—”

A knock at the door interrupted me.

“Come in,” called Master Rod, and the door opened to reveal Tom standing there, back in his khakis and boat shoes, shirt on but unbuttoned, with a phone in his hand.

“Come in,” said Master Rod again, adding, “Lock the door behind you.”

Tom turned and locked the door, then stood there, looking dazed. He glanced down at his phone.

“No need to call anyone about the gerbil. Turn the phone off and put it in your pocket.”

Tom obediently turned off the phone, blinking and sliding it away. He looked up, dazed. I couldn’t believe he was standing before me—the star of the show. I had so many things I wanted to ask him. It was like being in the presence of a celebrity.

“Tom, this is Zaid. He was watching in the audience. He’s quite curious about hypnosis.”

Tom just stared at me, looking totally out of it.

“Why don’t you sit down next to Zaid, Tom, and I can put you back into trance?” Master offered, as casually as if he was offering a cup of tea. Tom obediently squeezed beside me, staring back at Master Rod. I couldn’t believe I was sitting right next to him. I imagined we were together in the line of chairs. Maybe Master could make us perform an encore.

“That’s a boy, Tom,” said master, extending his thumb and two fingers pressed together. “Now look right here—and sleep,” he commanded, snapping. Tom’s eyes instantly closed and it was like the downward motion of the snap pulled him forward, collapsing into his own lap.

“Tom made quite a nuisance of himself at one of my college shows,” explained Master. “I decided it would be only fitting if he came to provide a more compliant volunteer tonight.

“And as for you,” he continued, “I know you’ve been dreaming of being hypnotized for a month now, so why don’t you just sit back in your seat and take a deeeep breath for me?”

I couldn’t believe it! How had Master known I’d been dreaming of this? Was he psychic?

But at the moment it didn’t matter. I would’ve done anything to sink into trance for him, no matter what his intentions. I immediately sat back against the lumpy off-purple couch and drew a deep breath, as commanded. I could feel it already—eyes growing heavy. Instinctively I looked up, knowing to watch for their inevitable slide downward—it was all part of the process. Master leaned forward, grabbed my left hand and tugged it gently—“And down you go.” My eyes fluttered shut and I melted on top of Tom, savoring the sensation of his warm, gentle breaths rippling through his strong back. I had finally done it. I was once again hypnotized.

Master spent quite some time taking Tom and me into even deeper trance, making us repeat endlessly that we were hypnotized and obedient. Then Master asked me a strange question, which I nevertheless felt compelled to answer—was I a virgin? I had no inhibitions responding, that I had only made love a few times, to a girlfriend in high school, and Master told me I was going to get to make love to her again.

Instructing me to open my eyes but remain in trance, Master directed my attention to Tom, who was now on his knees on the floor in front of me, unbuttoned shirt hanging down, slacks around his ankles with his butt in the air. I’d seen a lot of Tom’s ass tonight, and while I recognized it through the strange fog clouding my vision, for some reason, I also felt sure it was my girlfriend from high school’s pussy. For some reason, I was hornier than I had been in a long time—even more so than all the whacking off about hypnosis—and I wanted to stick myself in worse than anything.

I felt the vaguest feeling of surprise through the dissociative haze, looking down and realizing that my pants were missing, my long dark cock at full mast and already leaking precum. What had Master done to me that I was already so horny? It didn’t matter, because I knew I needed to bust a nut. Squeezing a small dollop of lube into my left palm, Master watched as I rubbed it around the glistening head of my cock, leaving it slick and viscous. Falling to my knees and crawling forward, I put a hand on each of Tom’s butt cheeks and pulled them to the side, exposing the wet pink pussy within. Reaching down, Master gently smeared a dollop of lube against the pulsating hole, which seemed to be crying out for me to enter.

I blinked lazily, feeling like I’d just smoked a hundred joints, staring at something totally recognizable—a butthole—and convincing myself it was a pussy. Pushing myself forward, I felt the warm orifice give way, swallowing my cock like a hungry mouth. I pushed in further. It was a viselike grip. Not that I had a ton of experience, but this sure was the tightest pussy I’d ever fucked.

With time, it relaxed and loosened a little, and between the lube and some determination, I eventually settled into a rhythm, sliding in and out of the tight pink hole again and again, back and forth. Once the animal rhythm took over, it was easier to let myself be subsumed, to lose myself in the pulsating curves of flesh across Tom’s back, imagining whatever I wanted—my old girlfriend, getting hypnotized, anything.

It wasn’t long before I let out a soft moan and found myself spurting into Tom, a sense of gentle relief and sleepiness immediately beginning to spread through my body like a wave of fog.

Master pushed me back gently and out of Tom, telling me to sit back on the couch, and I did so—bare-assed—as Master crouched before me, asking if I didn’t want to see Tom hypnotized. Despite the fact I’d just busted an enormous nut, I nodded beatifically. That was all I wanted to do ever again—see people hypnotized and be hypnotized.

Master instructed Tom to rise to a kneeling position, and I watched impassively as Master had him close his eyes. His whole body seemed to melt like butter, like it was on the verge of falling over, supported only by Master’s firm hand on his shoulder and another finger pressing against his temple. Master informed Tom that when his eyes opened, he was going to show him a series of lollipops, and Tom was going to enjoy licking and sucking the lollipops. Tom nodded, his eyes jittering beneath their lids, deep in trance.

When Master snapped his fingers, Tom opened his eyes and immediately set upon my deflated cock like a vacuum, sucking and licking with zero inhibition. Once Master was sure I was perfectly clean, he told me to relax and continue enjoying the show, as he sat back and pulled out his own cock, which Tom immediately fell to sucking.

Now, I’d never had any interest in seeing a guy get sucked off before, but somehow, in the state I was in, I seemed to be viewing it as purely academic, and I watched in fascination as Master exerted his control. It seemed incredible to me that Tom could be so deeply hypnotized that he—presumably straight as an arrow—would suck cock like an absolute slut.

It wasn’t long before Master was pulling out and blowing a wet load all over Tom’s face, which he ordered him to wipe off and consume as he sat down. As Tom joined me back on the couch, I stared over at him, marveling as I watched him scrape up the cum and plop it stoically in his mouth. It wasn’t even like he was into it—he was just doing it. My god was he hypnotized!

Master asked if I wanted to watch him finish his business with Tom, and I said—mumbled, really—that I did. Once Tom’s face was clean, Master reinduced him, and gave him instructions that he was to continue monitoring his website, and to attend any further shows in Barnstow or a few other places within a nearby radius whenever he saw Master was performing. Master said that Tom was absolutely fascinated with hypnosis, obsessed with going under, and that he would take any and every opportunity he could to come humiliate himself in the future.

Tom nodded obediently, and then Master snapped his fingers and awakened him, thanking him for coming and wishing him a safe ride home. Tom muttered his thanks, shaking Master’s hand, and I watched dully as he exited, part of me wishing I could be so lucky to be hypnotized and commanded to volunteer for the rest of my life.

It was at this moment that Master turned to me, and I felt my heart jump—ever so slightly, even through the haze of trance—as our gazes connected.

“You liked what you saw tonight, didn’t you?” he asked. I nodded.

“What if I told you I would let you come with me. You could assist with my performances, even volunteer in far-off places where no one would recognize you. Would you like that?” I nodded again.

My god. As zen as I was feeling at the moment, I still couldn’t believe this was happening. Was Master really asking this? Asking me to run away with him?

“Did you tell anyone you were coming?” he asked. I shook my head.

“No one knows you’re here?” I shook my head again.

“And if you disappeared, do you think anyone would be able to find you?” I shook my head once more.

“That’s a good boy. Now, do you wish to join me an—” I was already nodding. It didn’t matter the requirements. It didn’t matter the rules or restrictions. It didn’t matter leaving behind my friends and family, or the worry they’d feel or the tears they’d shed. I was going to get hypnotized. I was going to spend my days getting hypnotized and watching others get hypnotized, assisting my Master, a master hypnotist, as he hypnotized and hypnotized. Nothing else mattered. I could simply disappear. Disappear into that dream for the rest of my life.

“Good boy. Focus your mind on committing to serving me completely. Once you do, you can slip back into trance—” I wasn’t even sure if he said anything more. Instantly I felt my eyes begin to flutter, sliding down, that peaceful warmth of focus and sleep enveloping me, muscles melting, naked body sliding down to rest softly on the couch.

“Mmm, fuck, is this hot,” whispered Sal throatily, as the young boy’s story reached its conclusion. “I didn’t know you could top too. I love the thought of your scrawny ass ramrodding that jock.”

“I can do anything you like, if you hypnotize me to,” said Zaid. He didn’t mean to be coquettish: it was just the truth.

“I always wondered how Rod took control of his boys. Never thought I’d hear the tale from their side.”

“I’ve never felt anything like it, before or since,” said Zaid, thinking back. “The degree to which he was in my head—had me thinking that I wanted more than anything desires he himself had placed there only a few weeks earlier...”

“Just wait ’til I get finished with you…” smiled Sal. A chill ran down Zaid’s spine. As he reminisced, it was easy to get lost in the memories, even somehow forget the fact that they were stories of his own violation—to return to that headspace where he thought everything in them was what he wanted. But Sal’s comment brought back the cold reality of his dilemma, and renewed his drive to extricate himself .

“Master Rodney had me do many things over the years…” he proffered, hoping his captor might take the bait.

“In this house he’s Rod to you. Remember that outside the bounds of your stories,” Sal spoke firmly. Zaid resolved his best to break himself of his now years-established habit—he definitely didn’t want to incur his captor’s ire.

“But what I couldn’t help but wonder…” Sal continued, reflecting back on the boy’s story, “Was where Tom came from. What’s the background there?”

“That’s a great story,” Zaid smiled, glad he’d found something else to draw the man’s interest.

Sal patted him on the cheek. “Let’s save it for tomorrow. After all that I’ve gotta get my rocks off. And then we have to get to bed. Lie back and close your eyes: you’re about to become the world’s greatest top.”

Zaid did as he was told, and felt the man’s finger press against his forehead. His entire body seemed to melt into the pillow, and he exhaled, the rest of the night dissipating with the soft current of his breath.