The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sal woke the next morning to find Zaid curled up behind him, his smooth, tight body spooning him warmly. It almost seemed a shame to wake him, the young boy seemed so perfectly at peace, but Sal was a man of habit and required his luxuries, so with a gentle kiss on the lips, he stirred Zaid from his slumber and sent him downstairs to get things prepared with Rodrigo.

This next day proceeded much as the day before, with Zaid learning more of the cleaning regimen, completing his workout, and helping to prepare a well-cooked meal to present his master in the evening.

As the two curled back up in Salman’s bed that night, the man urged the boy to continue the next leg of his tale:

As I’ve already explained, Master Rod had found his way into my head by making it my ultimate fantasy to be hypnotized by him again—again and again—and humiliated in ever worsening scenarios. It wasn’t until quite some time that he would finally satisfy this desire of mine, and as painful as it had been to wait, I have to admit the experience was worth it.

I didn’t remember a thing after going back under in the back of the club. I would imagine I was spirited away to Master Rodney’s car by him and his assistant, Scott, who had already fucked me that night after the campus show, and had been busy helping clean up the stage and manage the crowd after the end of Master Rodney’s act. Generally, Master Rod kept one hypnotized assistant in his thrall at a time, both as a lover and to bring around the country with him, helping to organize and set up his shows, as well as pinch-hitting when there were too few men in the crowd or Master Rod needed a ringer. Scott was a special case, however, as he had willingly assented to become Master Rod’s slave—but that’s another story for another time. Suffice to say, Scott’s tenure as Master Rod’s assistant was drawing to a close, and I was to become his replacement.

Master Rod quickly began showing me the ropes of his routine, and frequently hypnotized me to assist with my knowledge retention, even though I was already a fast learner. Scott was also eager to instruct, at Master Rod’s command, and showed me how to listen for certain cues, work the playlist for his music, and so on. Within a few months, I was an old hand at assisting Master Rod, and it wasn’t long after that he finally said his goodbyes to Scott, after one wild final show, which Scott, himself a hypnotist in training, had helped run, while I proved myself behind the scenes.

With Scott out of the way, I was more than happy to bask in Master Rod’s affection, and while my nights being hypnotized and fucked by him were wonderful, I couldn’t help but be jealous as I followed him around for show after show, watching all the handsome guys sink into submission and make fools of themselves at his command. Master Rod’s control of them was so total that I was in awe, and while I had beautiful memories of our night in public back at school, I couldn’t help but desire—with all my being—to add to my mental reservoir.

The time finally came during one of Master Rod’s shows at a southern fair. Now, fair performances are generally pretty tame and all-ages, but the Massegua County Fair was famous for its Blue ’Til 2 tent, which was 18+ and ran more risqué acts from 9 until the fair closed at 2 AM. The tent was enclosed for privacy, and some of the acts got pretty raunchy, with a couple dirty comedians, a “hillbilly burlesque show,” and Master Rod’s Adult Show as the midnight attraction. This was one of the fair’s highlights and Master Rod had never failed to drum up attendance, so I guess he must’ve simply been struck by the desire to see me once again hypnotized—in public, I mean—when he told me to take a seat in the audience and volunteer. My heart was pounding in my chest—I couldn’t believe after all these months I was finally going to be back onstage. Master Rod usually had quite a lot of fun at these Adult Shows, and by midnight it was a rowdy crowd, so I was sure he would provide some wonderful abuse.

Sneaking out the back of the tent and wending my way around the side, I presented my ID at the door and gained admittance with the rest of the throng, taking a seat as close as I could while taking into account my ability to dash up to the stage as quickly as possible. The wait for the show was one of nervous excitement. It was weird, since you’d think I would have been blasé about the whole thing by then, having already witnessed countless performances from behind the scenes, but the prospect of being in front of an audience, finally living out my fantasy that I had been nurturing for months, left me feeling butterflies. While I knew almost all Master Rod’s routines by heart, the anticipation of getting to perform them myself, as well as having no idea which ones I would be subjected to, thrilled me.

For that matter, it wasn’t just that I didn’t know which routines I’d be performing, but whom I’d be performing them with. The entire tent was crowded with people, plenty old and unattractive, but plenty as well around my age. There were several pretty girls sitting relatively close, and to a certain extent I wished I still had my prior interest in them, but by this point I only lived for the thought of who I might be made to perform with. A couple of the women had a pair of guys in cowboy hats accompanying them, and they seemed like just Master Rod’s type. I secretly hoped at least one person like that might end up onstage with me.

The show was running behind, I presumed because Master Rod was having to conscript one of the fair workers to assist with some of his bigger cues, which should have been my responsibility. The majority of the show Master Rod could handle by himself if necessary, using a cued playlist and remote control he kept in his pocket, but there were some bigger flourishes that, without my assistance, he would have to either cut or find someone to take care of. Part of me couldn’t help but be concerned for the performance, but I reminded myself I had been instructed to participate and leave all that up to Master Rod. My job tonight was simply to relax and follow instructions.

The show finally began around 12:10, and an emcee came out and introduced Master Rod, who started going into his opening. By this point, a couple of young guys who looked barely older than 18 had sat down beside me, and I leaned in and asked the closest one if he’d ever been hypnotized. “Nah, man, I’m just here to watch,” he said, sounding annoyed to be bothered.

“It’s really wild if you wanna try. I recommend it,” I offered. Neither of the two seemed receptive, but I couldn’t help but want to get as many handsome young men up onstage as possible. I suppose Master Rod put that thought in my head too.

“—so, anyone who’s interested in giving it a try, come on up! I don’t ask twice…” Master Rod finished, and immediately a number of people began rushing for the stage. For me it was like the starting gun in a race—I was up out of my seat, pushing past the guys next to me and dashing along the side of the tent as quickly as I could. I knew, of course, that even if somehow I didn’t make it, I could still go under in the audience and Master Rod would bring me up—certainly no point wasting me if I wasn’t helping behind the scenes—but I wanted the full experience, which included sinking into trance in front of an awestruck crowd, barely able to control its amazement.

The seats at either end of the stage were already starting to fill, but I made a dash for the center and managed to grab one of the last available chairs. After that, stragglers started lining up in a row behind us. I couldn’t believe my luck. As the middle seats were most visible, Master Rod generally picked these participants for his wildest and most attention-grabbing routines. Not that I had much to worry about as I already had an ace up my sleeve being so deeply under his control, but I hoped this would only make it easier for him to do his worst on me, to the crowd’s delight.

The last stragglers were getting settled behind us as I surveyed my surroundings. Next to me was a kind of fat, middle-aged guy in a trucker’s hat, and on the other side a lady who appeared to be in her mid- to late-30s, and might’ve been a passable end-of-night consolation prize if I’d had some really thick beer goggles on. I figured if Master was going to have me cuddling up with anyone, it would probably be the trucker, and as gross as that seemed, I could only imagine it would get a huge laugh, and that made me excited. All I wanted was to humiliate myself for the crowd.

Standing at the front of the stage, Master began his usual induction, telling us to stare up at the lights and let our eyes water, and it had me vividly flashing back to the first time I’d been hypnotized—an event of now-legendary stature in my mind—and I felt that familiar tiredness already beginning to overcome me, just like so many nights in private. Staring at the bright lights, my eyes began to burn and water, and I was only vaguely aware that my body had started hunching forward, abs so relaxed I was barely able to keep myself upright. I have no idea what was the last number I heard Master Rod say, but in almost no time I heard him snapping his fingers and felt myself come to my senses, sprawled out on the stage, with an empty chair on either side of me. I looked around, blinking groggily—had it already begun? Were we in the middle of the show?

Master instructed everyone to grab a chair, either scoot down or come around to the front. As I climbed back in my seat, I noticed a couple middle-aged women past a few empty chairs to my left who I think had come together. Almost immediately a couple young men sat between us, the one nearest me a guy about my age, a dude in jeans and a black-and-green-checked flannel button-up, and the guy next to him looking a few years older, wearing cargo shorts and a wifebeater with an unbuttoned overshirt. To my right, a young woman had sat down, and next to her was a sturdy young guy in his late 20s wearing a well-fitted pair of jeans and a tight, long-sleeved tee, probably nearly 6′5″ and built like a brick shithouse. I scanned up and down the row of participants as best I could. It looked like there was one middle-aged Latino dude toward the far left, but other than that, I was the only other brown guy up here. I tried not to think about it, though in some strange way, I felt like it drew more attention to me, which turned me on all the more.

Down from around the back row of chairs, I finally noticed one of the young cowboy-hat guys rounding the row and taking one of the last seats in line. My heart skipped a beat—for some reason, I was really excited to see him get hypnotized, as I knew Master Rod loved playing with “types,” and this guy was definitely that. He was tall too, like Brick Shithouse, and had a checked blue-and-white shirt, halfway unbuttoned to show his smooth chest, tucked into a pair of dusty jeans.

“All right, folks, let’s get to know some of our volunteers,” said Master, starting at the far left of the row. He asked the middle-aged Latino guy his name and the guy said “Jorge,” and Master had him knocked out again with the mere flick of his wrist—a simple tap on the forehead. He continued down the line, getting everyone’s names and knocking them out again, and I felt the butterflies back in my stomach—unlike the first time, I knew I was going down like a ton of bricks.

The two women I’d noticed initially were named Marcy and Ella, and Master Rod managed to knock out Marcy, though Ella defected and ended up getting sent back to her seat in the audience. Master had the rest of us scoot down to fill her chair.

The next guy in line, in the cargo shorts, was named Tony, and he too went down like a sack of rags, with his cousin, Marco, following swiftly behind. My stomach lurched. It was my turn.

“And what’s your name?” asked Master Rod, and I looked up at him blinking, on some level truly lost in my fantasy and feeling like this was the first time we’d ever met.

“Zaid,” I gulped, quivering with anticipation for that sweet touch that would send me down…

“You look nervous, Zaid. Are you afraid to be hypnotized?”

I shook my head no, though I was still quivering. Part of me loved him toying with me like this, drawing it out, while part of me couldn’t wait to collapse onto the young man beside me, which I knew was Master Rodney’s gameplan.

“Well, just relax,” he said, tapping me on the forehead, and I felt my eyes roll up, body swooning onto Marco.

The rest of the introduction passed in a blur, as I simply focused on relaxing and sinking deeper into the guy beside me. The fabric on his back felt nice, a warm, wonderful place to rest my head, and my lips parted softly, a little drop of drool rolling onto Marco’s back that I hoped no one would notice.

Eventually, Master started his usual patter, one I had been through before, about it first getting hotter and hotter, then colder and colder up onstage. When I went up, I had resolved to do as much as I could to make Master’s show an entertaining one, though now that I was under, I was no longer thinking about that, and was acting on autopilot. Ironically, whereas before I’d been quite happily planning to strip all the way to my underwear even at this early stage, lost in the fantasy, once I’d peeled off my shirt, I just started fanning myself, and it didn’t occur to me to remove my pants.

When Master mentioned it was getting cold, I turned to the left and tried to cuddle with Marco, just purely by instinct, though I think on some level I knew it always got more laughs when guys cuddled together. The old me, back before college, probably would’ve preferred to turn to the right, but that version of myself was long-gone by now, and I wrapped my arms tightly around Marco, pressing into his familiar and comforting back. The flannel of his shirt felt so warm and nice against my cheek and chest—I wished it was swaddling my entire body!

When Master snapped his fingers, we all came to our senses, and I looked around as shocked as anyone to find myself cuddling another dude. My face flushed hot as I recognized the peals of audience laughter, and I tried to look out at them, though most were rendered an indistinguishable blur by the lights. Nevertheless, as embarrassed as I was, I was also thrilled to be here, finally living out my fantasy again. I hoped Master would let me do this over and over!

As I learned in my first show, and at the comedy club, the next routine was generally the 69, or a modification thereof. Master led into this by razzing a couple guys who’d been cuddling, particularly if they seemed like they might have some prior acquaintance. Of course, Tony and Marco, as a pair of handsome young men I knew were just Master’s type, would normally have been prime candidates, but it was already public knowledge they were related, and as much as Master would’ve liked that, he knew it was a line he couldn’t get away with crossing. He’d have to save that for later, in private, if possible—and based on experience, I knew he was quite adept at contriving such scenarios.

The next most obvious move, I supposed, would have been to choose me and Marco, since we were strangers and had already gotten quite touchy-feely—me with my shirt off, even! But, even as I was realizing my shirt was on the ground and reached down to pick it up, I supposed Master probably wouldn’t opt for that either, since, first, he had already seen me do this routine, and, second, he was probably waiting to use me for the moon. At least, that’s what I hoped, since Master knew it was one of my biggest fantasies and something I had been dreaming about constantly. I pulled my t-shirt back on as I waited to see where things might go.

There was one other tweak on this routine I was aware of, which Master used in a pinch when none of the guys were cuddling or in a pair that was suitable. In this case, I proved to be correct, as he strode down the row to Jorge, holding out his microphone and asking if he’d been feeling hot.

“Shit, man, I don’t know what was goin’ on. These lights are outta control…” chuckled the guy. He was pulling a t-shirt on too—a tight black one with some elaborate logo on the front—and from the looks of his body, which was beefy but not quite fat, he was probably what Master Rod would have called a “daddy” or “papi”—even with the man being a good 20 years his junior! This was a type of guy that sometimes did it for Master and sometimes not—really depended on the looks and personality—but he must’ve seen something in him to be choosing him for the first routine. I watched in fascination, almost clinically, even through the haze of my hypnosis. It was always interesting to analyze what Master did.

“You’re not hot anymore though, right?” he asked.

“Nah, man, now I feel fiiine…” the guy slurred, still blissed out on trance.

“Good, sleep,” said Master, tapping him firmly on the forehead. Jorge keeled over into the young woman beside him, mouth hanging open, as she stared at him, giggling nervously.

“This is for my main man Jorge,” Master said, laying a hand on the sleeping papi’s shoulder. “You’re about to experience a whole different kind of hot. Because when you awaken, the temperature will indeed be back to normal. However, whenever you hear this piece of music…” Master stopped, and this was normally the place I myself would have turned on that song “Feelin’ Hot Hot Hot,” which was the cue for this alternate command. Of course, in this instance, Master turned it on himself—or maybe one of the volunteers from the carnival—and let it play 10 or 15 seconds before shutting it off.

“Whenever you hear that piece of music,” Master continued, “you’re going to realize a couple of things. Number One: You are fucking horny.” Master paused here, as that line always drew big laughs and gasps from the crowd. “Number Two: You are now the proud owner of a brand new, extra-super-sensitive… vagina.” Again, a pause for another round of laughter. The whole thing had been precisely calibrated over the years to escalate perfectly. “And finally, Number Three: You’re so goddamn horny, you’re gonna play with that vagina and you don’t care who sees it!” One more pause for laughter. Then a bit of housekeeping: “Now, whenever you want to play with yourself, you realize your pants are already off and you can touch yourself however you like, but you will want to rub yourself and you’re gonna really enjoy it, and be very vocal about that fact. At the count of three, horny as hell whenever you hear that piece of music… One… two… three…” Master snapped and immediately the track started up again.

Me mind on fire…

Me soul on fire

Feelin’ hot hot hot!

Jorge’s eyes popped open and he looked around deviously, then immediately spread his legs and started rubbing two fingers on the crotch of his jeans. “Ooooooh… ooooooh…” he started groaning instantly, screwing his face up and closing his eyes while digging even deeper into his nutsack. “Yeahhhh… ohhhh…” he reached up and even started twisting one of his nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt, which elicited a round of disbelieving gasps and laughter from the crowd. Master carefully held the microphone to Jorge’s lips as he continued groaning, leaning back in his chair and rapidly fingering himself like a chick in a porn video. Finally, after about 20 seconds, the music stopped and Jorge returned to his senses, opening his eyes and noticing Master looking down at him.

“Jorge, what are you doing?”

“Hey, I don’t know, I just feel good…” he laughed, still sounding blissed, and the entire audience laughed too.

“Well, try to keep it down, huh? I’m doing a show here…”

“Yeah, sorry, man, sorry—”

Ole, ole! Ole, ole!

And instantly he was back at it, twisting his nipple and fingering his taint while the crowd cheered. After another 15 or 20 seconds, Master cut the music again, and the two went through one more round of patter.

“How about a big hand for Jorge?” Master concluded, and the crowd went wild, cheering and applauding.

“And you know, we’re just getting started,” Master added, eliciting another round of cheers.

“Sleep,” he said, tapping the woman next to Jorge and sending her melting onto the side of the guy next to her, an older gentleman who seemed to enjoy it.

“What do you say we kick it up a notch?” Master asked the crowd, eliciting a fresh round of cheers as he continued down the row.

“I’m speaking to you now only if I tapped you on the forehead,” he began, smoothly clicking his tongue and tapping the lady sitting right next to me as well, sending her eyes rolling back and body collapsing against Brick Shithouse next to her. A chuckle rippled through the crowd at Master’s showmanship.

“That’s right, just the two young women who are asleep right now. Any time throughout the rest of the evening that you hear me say the phrase ‘Good Time…’” This was another of Master’s standards when he did an adult show. I knew exactly what was coming…

“Yes, any time I happen to use the phrase ‘Good Time,’ you two will realize that, indeed, you are having the BEST time here tonight at the fair, and you’ll feel so excited, you’ll just want to hop out of your chairs and FLASH the audience.” There were some audible gasps and a ton of men—particularly ones who’d been here before and probably specifically came for it—cheered. “That’s right. And be sure to pull up your bras, too, if you have them on—you really wanna flash them. That’s whenever I say the words ‘Good Time.’ Wide awake at the count of one… two… three,” Master snapped smoothly, and the women rose back up in their seats as though awaking from a nap.

“And let’s see, who else have we got here…?” Master mused, continuing along. My heart was thumping in my chest and the butterflies were back. Moons usually followed the titty flash. I hoped to god Master would choose me for this. I wanted it so badly. And I wondered—if anyone—who else he would pick. It was generally a pair of guys, and there was usually a careful logic to it. Aside from special exceptions like the club show I’d attended, where the whole point was to humiliate Tom, generally Master Rod didn’t pick guys with tucked-in shirts, because it involved too much re-tucking and belt buckling every time they wanted to get their pants in order—that, or they spent the rest of the show looking disheveled with a rumpled, untucked shirt. Long shirts were similarly out, as they could hang too low and obscure the buttocks. For that reason, I had imagined Tony was safe, since he had the long, free-flowing button-up, but now that he’d shed it in the Hot routine and was wearing just a wifebeater, all bets were off—and he was definitely the type of guy Master liked to pick on. The old guy was out—some straight ’tists who didn’t care might pick a guy like that, but Master, not least because he was enjoying it on a private level, was concerned with looks, and also pointed out—rightly—that with a fit guy you had a far better chance of landing someone who was uninhibited about exposing himself. Cowboy was in good shape and fit the bill perfectly, and I knew Master loved messing with macho types, but his shirt was tucked too. That left Brick Shithouse. It seemed like a possibility. Probably him or one of the guys next to me, if anybody. Master usually liked to make two guys moon, just in case one wasn’t as deep and turned out reticent. That way, he could usually get at least one, and sometimes that spurred along the other, due to social compliance.

To my surprise, Master had already reached the end of the row and slickly slid his hand against Cowboy’s forehead, tugging it back and sending him sprawling back into his chair, out like a light. That was a surprise. I waited nervously, almost panting with anticipation, for him to start back toward me and knock me out, but instead he started speaking:

“Just the gentleman I’m touching, nod your head if you have a cell phone in your pocket.” Cowboy nodded. “Good. Now, when you awaken, for the rest of the show, whenever I ask if you have to make a call, you’ll immediately get out your phone, call one of your friends—someone with a good sense of humor—and tell them one thing: ‘Today, I got so goddamn horny, I let the bull ride me! Yee-haw!’ Then immediately hang up and forget you ever did so!” Master waited for the next round of laughter to die down. “You’ll ignore all incoming calls and messages, only wanting to phone your friends and tell them the good news whenever I ask if you need to make a call. Wide awake at the count of three, two, one…” Snap.

“Now come on, folks, are you having a Good Time or what?” Master Rod asked, eliciting another thunderous round of applause as the women he had hypnotized earlier rose out of their chairs and unleashed their tits. The girl sitting next to me was just wearing a tube top, so it was easy for her to pull it down and make sure everyone could see everything. As I stared at her boobs, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d worn it on purpose. That’s why I’d thrown on a pair of joggers: super easy to flash and pull back in place, they were basically the crème de la crème of mooning attire.

As the girls sat back down, Master knocked out another woman—slightly older—sitting next to Cowboy, and started giving her instructions about sneezing every time she heard the word “pepper.” Midway through, however, he stopped and asked Cowboy if he needed to make a call, and the handsome young man quickly pulled a phone out of his shirt pocket and started dialing as Master finished with his commands. By the time he had finished instructing the woman, Cowboy had reached his friend, and Master directed the microphone back to him:

“Hey Dave? This is Travis,” he said in a throaty drawl. “Yeah, hi man. Look, I just wanted to call and tell you, today I was gettin’ so horny, I let my bull ride me. Yee-haw!” Travis pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it quizzically, then laughed and shook his head, hanging it up. The audience was rolling in the aisles.

Master patted Travis condescendingly on the shoulder, then started back down the aisle. I was getting nervous now, though also kind of excited. The pepper command was something new, as was the one with the telephone. Somehow, despite my months with Master, I didn’t seem to be familiar with this script, if he was even going by one. I wondered what he had in store for me. Up until now I’d been hoping for specific routines, but it suddenly seemed all bets were off. He could do anything. My heart thundered at how helpless I felt. I really was at Master’s mercy, totally subject to whatever degradation he-

As Master passed behind me, I heard him click his tongue and felt his hand brush the side of my head, causing me to collapse like a ragdoll onto Marco. I could hear the audience tittering in the distance, but I just focused on breathing, steady, in and out, through my half-open mouth. My eyes jittered under their lids—sign of a deep trance, Master said—and I felt the guy next to me shifting uncomfortably, not accustomed to being a human pillow.

“Oh, what the hell,” I heard Master say, and shuffle off. A second or two later, I heard that same tongue-click, and knew someone else was collapsing down with me. Even in my sleep, I wondered who it was, and what we would be made to do together.

“Just the gentleman I’m touching now… and… now,” he said, as I felt his firm, comforting grip on my shoulder. I loved when Master touched me while I was under—it made it feel like his words were pouring straight into my brain.

“For the rest of the evening, whenever you hear me say ‘Massegua County Fair,’ you two are gonna have the sudden, uncontrollable desire to stand up out of your chair…” Even in my trance, my heart skipped a beat. This was the intro! He was really gonna do it!

“…stand up out of your chair,” he repeated over the roar of the crowd, “turn around, drop your drawers and moon this entire audience.” I was vaguely aware of peals of laughter rippling through the crowd, but I just kept relaxing into Marco, mouth agape. “You two came here to get rowdy, and every time you hear me say the name of this fair, that’s all you’re gonna want to do—stand up, go to the front of this stage, and moon this whole audience—give ’em a nice, long, four- or five-second moon. At the count of three, wide awake with no recollection—one, two, three.”

Snap. I blinked my eyes, drawing a breath and rising up off Marco. Part of me knew I’d just been under, but somehow it faded like a dream. I looked around, back and forth between the flasher on my right and the young guy on my left—probably just about my age, barely 18 or 19. Both of them were giving me odd looks. Finally, I just raised my eyebrows at Marco, mouthing, “What?”

“Hey, what’s your name again?” Master asked. Marco provided it.

“And you’re in from out of town, right?” Marco nodded.

“You have a cell phone or a camera on you, Marco? Taking lots of pictures?”

Again, Marco nodded.

“Good, sleep,” said Master, clamping a hand on the back of the boy’s head, and sending his lanky form collapsing into his cousin. “Let’s give him a few more souvenirs,” Master grinned. I stared at the helpless young man in fascination, wondering what Master’s plan was. On the other side of him, Tony seemed to be doing the same.

“Now Marco, there’s one reason and one reason alone you came to the Massegua County Fair—” Master began.

Suddenly, I was seized by the strangest and most overwhelming desire to show everyone my butt! Despite the fact Master was right in the middle of speaking, I found myself nearly leaping out of my chair, turning around, and bending over. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my track pants, I slid them down, enjoying the feeling of the cool night air against my cheeks.

In the back of my mind, I was thrilling to the sound of the crowd’s laughter, knowing beyond a doubt that it was finally for me. Yet strangely, despite the fact this had been all I could think about for the last several months, in the moment, I was far more focused on doing as I’d been instructed than enjoying myself. It was almost like this was second-nature to me—I knew I’d been waiting for a phrase, but if you’d asked me to tell you what, I couldn’t have done so to save my life. However, the second Master said the name of the fair, I was leaping out of my chair just like you kick when the doctor hits your knee—it was that much of a reflex.

Swiveling side-to-side to give everyone a full view, I stayed like this for a good five seconds, as instructed, then stood, hiked my pants up and turned around to sit down. As I did, I noticed Brick Shithouse a couple chairs over, buckling his belt with an intense amount of focus and doing the same thing. Damn. I would’ve bet money on Master picking Tony once he’d lost his overshirt, as he was exactly the type of young guy Master usually went for, but there must’ve been something about BSH that caught his fancy. Whatever the case, I felt confident if I hadn’t been up here, he would’ve been mooning right alongside Tony—or maybe Marco!

“Now as I said,” Master continued, waiting for the laughter to die down, “there’s one reason alone you come to the Massegua County Fair, and that’s to have a Good Time—”

Before I knew it, I was out of my seat again, and the lady next to me and the guy next to her were rising too. I took a couple steps forward and turned, just in time to catch the woman beside me pulling down her tube top and flashing her boobs. Next to her, Brick Shithouse was turning around, unbuckling his belt, and pulling his pants down to show off one hell of a well-rounded ass. Now, even not being gay, by this point I could tell a good ass when I’d see it, and it was clear this guy was hitting the gym regularly. I slid my pants down too and rotated back and forth, trying to give people an eyeful. It felt so good and freeing to moon.

“And the way you like to have a Good Time—” Master was almost shouting to Marco over the roar of laughter and cheers. The lady in between me and BSH hopped up and flashed her tits again, just as I was pulling my pants up.

“The way you like to have a Good Time at the Massegua County Fair,” Master continued again, and me, the girl, and BSH, all about to sit down, turned around again, the girl once more flashing her boobs as me and BSH turned around and unleashed our buns.

“The way you do that—” I could see Master giving his instructions to the slumped-over Marco as I turned, and even caught a glimpse of his cousin looking on in a spaced-out awe that seemed unique to the hypnotized, “The way you like to do that, is you looove to take pictures… of butts!” The crowd roared as I pulled my pants up, marching back to my chair and sitting down. Over to the side, Brick Shithouse was still hiking his jeans over his ass, once again fixing his belt.

“And you know that the best place at the fair to see butts is at this hypnosis show!” Again, the crowd laughed uproariously. I felt so wonderfully exposed under the harsh stage lights. I couldn’t wait for Master to say again whatever it was that made me make them laugh.

“So, for the rest of the performance, you’re going to be very attentive, and whenever you see a butt, you’re gonna try to snap some photos as a keepsake. It doesn’t matter whose butt, you’re gonna love to take photos of butts for the rest of this performance. At the count of one, two, and… three,” Master snapped, and Marco rose in his seat, looking dazed.

“And who were you again?” Master asked his cousin.

“Tony,” Tony said, sounding frightened. I imagined seeing what just happened to his cousin, he was starting to feel they’d gotten in over their heads.

Master made that click again and tapped him on the forehead, and Tony sprawled back against the girl sitting to the left of him. “What do you say, folks? Should we show Tony a Good Time at the Massegua County Fair?” Master asked.

Again, I was straight up out of my seat. These people thought they were having fun now? Wait ’til they saw what I had in store for them!

Marching to the front of the stage, I turned around, bent over, and gave the whole tent a nice long view of my brown buns. That girl beside me was flashing again, and next to her I saw Brick Shithouse marching up and unbuckling his belt. Somehow, I just knew he was gonna moon too, and sure enough, he stopped right beside me, turned around, and gave the whole audience an eyeful. Somehow, I felt this deep sense of solidarity with him—no one else here knew how to have quite as much fun as we did, and I felt a total sense of camaraderie with my fellow mooner.

As Tits Girl sat down, I noticed that guy from the other side of me, Marco, rising out of his chair, pulling his phone from his pocket, and darting to the front of the stage. It didn’t really matter to me what he was doing, and I started pulling my pants back up and marching toward my chair just as he got there. The crowd was still laughing as I took my seat, and I turned to see him snapping a photo as BSH pulled up his pants. Weird. He must’ve thought he was a photographer.

“Yes, Tony,” Master continued to his newest victim, “One of your favorite things about the Massegua County Fair is the charity auction—”

Again, I found myself rising, marching forward, pulling my pants down and mooning. You might think it would’ve gotten boring doing this over and over, but for some reason it didn’t. Every time I heard Master say the name of the fair, I just wanted to moon more and more, and it was the most exciting, funniest thing I could think of. Strangely, I couldn’t even remember a few minutes before, when I had been desperately waiting on pins and needles to receive this command. I imagine if Master had told me to moo like a cow or do a jig, my enthusiasm after receiving the instruction would have been just the same—in fact, I know so, since he gave me both those commands, and many others, in shows to come.

Little Marco was more on the ball this time, and I was vaguely, peripherally aware of him scampering around me and BSH, snapping photos. Somehow, though, it didn’t register what the photos were—there was no sense of my privacy being violated. I was just focused on mooning, and enjoying once again giving everyone a view of my backside, just like the stud next to me.

“And in fact,” Master continued with Tony, who I could still see slumped over from my position facing backwards, “this year, you came prepared with donations of your own—the clothes on your back. You know you’re one of the most finely dressed guys at the Massegua County Fair—”

I was just about to pull my pants up when I heard those words and it was right back down with them. BSH did likewise, rotating his hips to give everyone a nice view, while Marco continued snapping photos.

“—and you know the greatest gift you could give any charity is the clothes off your back. So, from now on, whenever I mention the Charity Auction, you’re gonna get so excited you’re going to give me a new article of clothing each and every time, immediately forgetting it’s gone the second you hand it over. Nod if you understand.” Tony nodded. I stood and pulled my pants up. I couldn’t believe Master was gonna get this handsome young man to strip in front of a crowded tent. Of course, I’d seen it plenty of times before—even done it myself—but somehow his astonishing level of control never ceased to amaze me. Honestly, I’d have been jealous if I weren’t having so much fun.

The show continued like that for a while, with Master assigning a few more of the women commands and constantly dropping the phrases “Good Time,” “Massegua County Fair,” and “Charity Auction” until poor Tony was sitting there—oblivious—in nothing but his boxers and anyone in the front row could have produced an artist’s sketch of me and BSH’s butts. Master also made sure to ask Cowboy Travis several more times whether he had any phone calls to make and played “Hot Hot Hot” to ensure Jorge continued giving everyone a show. As a finale, Master even got BSH down on his hands and knees and convinced him he was a bucking bronco, then made Travis ride him. Travis did a pretty good job, only getting thrown whenever Master mentioned the Massegua County Fair, which sent both him and me (and Marco!) rushing to the front of the stage.

After that, Master put everyone back to sleep, and I once again relished the feeling of relaxing into Marco as he relaxed into Tony. Master’s words poured into me, and he said he was about to bring out a few of his special “Pleasure Apples,” a magic fruit that grew only in his backyard and which would give you an instant orgasm with every bite. Inside I winced a bit, familiar with this routine and realizing I was about to eat a raw onion, yet the moment Master snapped his fingers, my eyes popped open and I sat up in my chair, and it was like I’d forgotten all about it. Suddenly I was starving and whatever Master Rod had to offer sounded good!

Master Rod started passing out his apples, giving one to Travis, one to BSH, and one to the girl next to Tony, and telling them to pass them to the left and share. Travis was first, tearing a huge bite out of his and leaning back in his seat, yelling and panting and even doffing his hat to fan himself, which got a huge rise out of the crowd. BSH wasn’t far behind, and leaned back and started bucking his hips with his first bite. Having crossed back to Travis, Master leaned in and asked if he was enjoying his apple, and he groaned “Aw hell yeah,” which had everyone laughing their asses off. Master then said it was so good that didn’t he want to call a friend about it? And Travis nodded “Yeah” again and pulled his cell phone, taking another huge bite and convulsing all over.

“Now, this may sound weird, but over the years I’ve learned these things taste twice as good if you just put some pepper on it,” Master said, and suddenly the woman next to Travis let out a loud “AHH-CHOO!!” and suddenly the old guy and the girl seated next to Tony started moaning and screaming themselves—the girl even doubly loud because she was already eating the “apple.” “I also heard that if you’re already having an orgasm when you bite it, the Pleasure Apple makes you squirt,” said Master, adding, “particularly when you put some Pepper on it.”

“AHH-CHOO!!!”

The old man and the woman started screaming again, with the woman even bucking her hips at the audience like she was spraying, causing them to laugh and scream with delight.

“Yeah, man, I- AW, FUUUCK,” Travis groaned, bucking his hips and taking another bite of apple as he groaned into his cellphone. Master stood diligently holding the microphone up to his mouth.

“Yeah man, today I got so horny—shit!—I’m so goddamn horny, I’m gonna let the bull ride me! YEE-HAW!!” Travis yelled, dropping his phone straight to the ground.

“All right, guys, all right,” said Master, once the raucous laughter of the crowd lowered a little. “Pass them along. You don’t wanna hog it.”

This whole time, Brick Shithouse had been rubbing his crotch obscenely, and he reluctantly handed the “apple” along, passing it to the lady next to me. Travis and the other woman reluctantly did likewise.

The lady next to me started moaning and rubbing herself the second she bit into hers as well, and whatever little fragment of my old sexuality was still in me stared in wonder, thinking how hot it was to watch her writhe under Master’s control. I couldn’t decide if I was more jealous of him or her, though. (Oh, who was I kidding?)

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves, because I want all my volunteers to have a Good Time,” said Master, and suddenly this lady and the one next to Jorge were rising out of their seats and popping their tops. Obviously, it was Master’s intention to really make the woman next to me put on a show, and she did, yanking her top down and collapsing to her knees as she took another bite of the apple. She knelt there, chowing down on the apple and squeezing her boob with her left hand as the crowd went berserk.

“All right, pass them along, pass them along,” said Master, adding, “And just tell me if you want any Pepper.”

“Oooooohaw-CHOO!!” the lady next to Travis groan-sneezed as she chewed, and suddenly the old guy was screaming his lungs out and shaking his hips.

“Pass them along, pass them along,” Master reminded again, and my neighbor slowly crawled over to me, tits still hanging out, and handed me the object.

I scrutinized it for a second—there weren’t a ton of areas left that weren’t already covered in bite marks, and it seemed strange that it was white. I’d never seen a white apple before, though then again, I’d never seen a Pleasure Apple before, either.

Sinking my teeth into one of the few unmolested spaces, I immediately felt the promised pleasure hit me like an orgasmic wave, causing my abs to contract and my body to almost double over in ecstasy. “Uuugh!” I grunted, shakily masticating. I felt the acrid taste of raw onion flood my palate, and yet, it was somehow like I was impervious to it—like when you skin your knee playing sports but don’t really notice during the game. I groaned again and went in for another bite, rubbing my free hand all over my body. Fuck, this was too good.

“You know, I just really believe in rewarding my volunteers, and that’s why I always make sure to bring a big bushel of Pleasure Apples to the Massegua County Fair…” Master mused, and suddenly, no matter how great I felt, I realized I just had to moon this audience! Rising out of my chair, I staggered forward a couple steps; turned around; gave my track pants a firm yank right in the center with my free hand, to make sure the waistband made it past my glutes; and crunched down on another huge bite of my apple, which sent me collapsing to my knees and tumbling forward, bare ass sticking straight up in the air. I started moaning and air-humping as I chewed, and the crowd was going nuts, though I barely noticed. Unfortunately, the apple slid out of my hand and under the chair across the dirty floor, and just as I was looking up to try and find it, I felt Master snap firmly next to my temple, whispering, “Sleep now, deep sleep,” and instantly I melted to the ground, rolling diagonally to the side with my butt still facing the audience, which was laughing uproariously.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, passed out with my butt exposed, but I felt wonderful. I simply relaxed and breathed steadily, taking myself deeper. I heard Master say “Massegua County Fair” a few more times, and vaguely heard what sounded like laughter and applause, which must’ve meant Brick Shithouse was once again putting on a show, but I just focused on going deeper. When Master said “sleep,” you slept, and continued to do so until spoken to again, directly.

When Master next told me to open my eyes, I blinked to awareness passed out on the stage, right where I’d left myself, but suddenly much more aware, like waking up after a night of drinking with a lot more clarity about where you were than when you lay down. Half rolling over, I noticed the back of my pants were around the middle of my thighs, leaving my ass hanging out. Feeling my cheeks (on my face) instantly start to burn, I yanked my waistband up, becoming aware of uproarious laughter echoing from the darkness in front of me.

“Rise and shine,” I heard a familiar voice say, and I looked up to see Master, haloed in the stage lights. He was extending a hand. I took it and he helped me up.

“You wanna take your seat, Zaid?”

I nodded, dazed. Where was I supposed to be?

The line of chairs spread out in front of me. Everyone was passed out, slumped all over each other or simply forward, arms hanging down. At one end of the row, Jorge had his pants around his ankles, and the lady beside him was slumped against him. The old guy had his fly undone, and Tony and Marco were slumped over together, Marco face-planted straight into his cousin’s crotch, with Tony, still wearing nothing but his boxers, slumped on top of him. Next to them was an empty chair, and on the other side of it, that woman who kept flashing everyone. She was leaning over onto Brick Shithouse, whose pants were still undone and half open, and her left tit was hanging out.

Dutifully I marched to my chair and plopped down, glad to know where I belonged.

“Can you do me a favor and keep your pants on, Zaid? These people are getting pretty tired of seeing your ass,” Master said. The crowd guffawed.

I nodded, sheepish but confused. Why had they been seeing my ass? Why did I wake up half-naked on the ground?

“Sleep,” said Master, grabbing me by the shoulder and tugging roughly down, and once again I collapsed, out like a light.

I lay there patiently as Master went around doling out assignments to the participants. Somehow, I was aware of him speaking without really following the words; I knew exactly how to focus on the ones that applied to me. As always, I focused on my breathing, going down, relaxing deeper, just as I’d been instructed. Ironically, these times when I was “out” were probably the times I was most aware. When I was “awake,” I was hyper-focused on, either consciously or subconsciously, waiting for and carrying out Master Rod’s next command; when I was under, I had time to reflect on everything I’d done, and everything I hoped would happen. As I lay there, head between my knees, it occurred to me again that my dream had finally come true—Master Rod had made me moon, in front of hundreds of people, all of them laughing hysterically. It was my fantasy come to life, and yet, in the moment, I’d barely even been thinking about it: all I wanted was to obey my trigger, and it wasn’t even like a fetish anymore—it just felt natural! It was only now, as I rested and reflected, that I was truly aware of the laughter of the audience, the idea of what I’d been doing—that I’d been standing up here, totally zonked under Master Rod’s control, exposing and making a fool of myself for everyone’s amusement. I imagined what my parents would think, how mortified they’d be if they saw me like this, and ironically it was then, of all times, that my dick began to stiffen, stretching the black fabric of my joggers against my thigh.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder and all my focus snapped back—there was no other thought in the world except what Master Rod had to say. He leaned in close and whispered:

“When I awaken you, you’re going to get up and go backstage with Marco. You’re going to show him where the tutus are and help him put one on, then put one on yourself. Afterward, you are going to re-hypnotize him and give him the address of my website. Make sure he knows to visit it the second he gets home, and to text me his number as soon as possible. Give him all the standard instructions. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded. This was a standard ploy of Master Rod’s, and he’d been using it since long before me and even Scott, when he didn’t want to risk spending the time giving the instructions to set his trap or just wanted to have them reinforced with a difficult subject. He would use the intended target for the ballet routine, send them backstage to get dressed, and have his assistant give them their instructions where no one would be the wiser. Even under trance, I knew this routine like the back of my hand, and it would be simple to effectuate. Somehow, I didn’t stop to think that Master had selected me to do the ballet routine as well; that just seemed to float by my conscious mind.

“…and three, wide awake,” I heard Master snap, and I rose in my seat, blinking my eyes. I stood, realizing I had someplace to be, and I noticed Marco next to me was standing too. Not wanting to give away that I was Master’s assistant, I simply marched offstage without helping him, though I noted nevertheless that Marco was following close behind. We slipped behind the curtain as the “Hot Hot Hot” music started to play, and uproarious laughter again filled the tent.

In the relative calm and dark backstage, I led Marco to the large plastic tub where Master kept his props—exactly where we’d left it from the PG shows earlier. There were dildos, a small grocery bag full of white onions, tubes of lipstick, a rubber chicken from some long-ago routine I had never once seen him actually perform—ah, there they were! Stuffed at the bottom like usual, I reached in and grabbed one of the cheap elastic tutus. Reaching down even further, I fished around in the tub and pulled out the other, setting it on top for now.

I still had that kind of trance haze going on, but it was cut by the focus I had on a specific task. Grabbing Marco by the shoulder and turning him toward me—he looked really spaced out—I handed him the tutu, making sure it was right-side up, and said, “Step into this; make sure it’s pulled up to your waist.”

Seeming dazed, he grabbed it from me, lowering it to the ground and stepping inside the ring, slowly, as if sleepwalking. He pulled it up as I started stepping into mine, and we finished about the same time. I made sure the elastic band was snug around my waist, then did the same for him. The tutus fit, even though we were both scrawny.

“Look in my eyes,” I said, grabbing his shoulder again and beginning to recite on autopilot. “Deeper. Focus only on the deepest depths of my eyes. You’re deeply hypnotized, aren’t you?”

The boy nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You want only to please Master Rodney. You live only to please Master Rodney. When you hear the ballet music, you will bound onstage, convinced you are a dainty ballerina. You will dance and prance to your heart’s content, until the music stops, and you return to your senses.”

The boy nodded again, out of it.

“When you get home tonight, you will be obsessed with how wonderful it felt being hypnotized. You will find Master Rodney’s website and browse all the pictures on it, jealous of all the young men under hypnosis. You will get Master Rodney’s number off the website and enter it into your phone as ‘Rod H.’ You will immediately text this number to make sure it works. When you receive a reply or call from this number, you will always answer immediately and follow every instruction to the letter, with no conscious recollection you’ve done so. Nod if you understand.”

The boy nodded. Out onstage, I could hear the Hustler Models music starting again for the second time, accompanied by new peals of laughter from the crowd. Master usually only ran it twice—maybe three times if the guys were particularly hot or particularly good. Nevertheless, while the second one always ran longer than the first, it was my cue to start wrapping things up.

“Good boy. You will forget these instructions. They will remain lodged only in your subconscious. But even for the rest of the show, you will focus on how good and wonderful it feels to be hypnotized, and the seed will already be planted of your desperation to experience this feeling again. Nod if you understand.”

The boy nodded.

“Good. Now you will remain here patiently waiting for the ballet music to begin. As it does, you bound out onto the stage, truly convinced you are the world’s greatest ballerina.”

The boy nodded again, blissfully. That was the end of my standard instructions. As usual, I waited alongside the future ballet boy to make sure he went out when the time was right. In this instance, I suspected Master was stretching things to give me extra time, though I didn’t need it—I heard what sounded like yet another reprise of the Good Time and Hot Hot Hot commands.

Then, suddenly, the ballet music started, and unlike usual, a strange force seemed to overtake me. Whereas I would normally stand by jealously, watching one handsome young man or another bound out from the curtains—or perhaps give them a prod if they missed their cue—suddenly, tonight, I was one of them, and had nothing to be jealous of. The second the music began, I found myself swelling with energy, chest rising, stance swelling en pointe as I began to stride back out toward the stage. Finally passing the bounds of the curtain, I leapt like a gazelle into the spotlight, spreading my arms and dancing on tippy-toes as I tented them above my head, twirling like a graceful ballerina.

Following not far behind, Marco did the same, stopping and kicking his long legs out gracefully. As he pirouetted, I spread my arms wide, skipping to and fro to the delight of the audience. The beautiful music filled me with passion and pride, and, while I’m not 100% sure I actually thought I was a prima ballerina, I definitely knew I was trying to put on the best goddamn ballet performance in the world, and had not one shadow of doubt that I was the one to do it.

After what was probably 30 or 40 seconds but to my addled brain seemed a nearly infinite amount of time, the music stopped and I suddenly came to my senses, staring out past the blinding lights into a chortling darkness. My cheeks flushed as I panted with exertion, unsure what I’d just been doing but confident it had been embarrassing.

“What exactly are you boys up to?” Master asked, stepping forward with his trusty mic.

“I- Uh… I don’t… What am I…?” I panted, still out of breath. Somehow, I knew Master had commanded me to do something, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what.

“Care to explain yourself?” he asked Marco. The boy looked completely bewildered, and was holding a hand to his head and gripping a tuft of brown hair as though trying to drag himself back to proper consciousness.

“I… can I sit down?” he asked, sounding pathetic, like a lost child. Master patted him on the shoulder.

“Take a seat. And just try to stop interrupting my sho—”

Naturally, that was right when he started the music again, and both me and Marco immediately resumed our wild leaping, with Marco at one point diving into my arms, where I spun him around like a helicopter. I wasn’t sure if that was proper ballet or not, but it seemed better than nothing, and after all, wasn’t I the expert?

Of course, Master chose precisely this moment to stop the music again, and I immediately dropped poor Marco, who thankfully stumbled to his feet, catching himself before succumbing to a complete face-plant.

“Really, boys, come on. You’re making complete idiots out of yourselves.”

The crowd was roaring. My face burned hot again, not just with embarrassment, but frustration. What in the goddamn fuck had I been doing?

“Marco, do you mind?” Master asked, and Marco just staggered back to his chair.

“Zaid?” he followed. “You really don’t want to make an ass of yourself up here, do you?”

I shook my head no, quivering with confusion. I just wanted to sit down.

“Good. Because I never intend to make an ass out of anyone at the Massegua County Fair,” Master added.

Ha! Goddamn, these people needed a moon. I’d show him making an ass out of someone.

Turning around and bending over, I reached under my tutu and grabbed the waistband of my pants, pulling them down and sticking my ass out high, like a can-can dancer, to make sure everyone could see. In front of me, I noticed Brick Shithouse rising too, turning around, dutifully unbuckling his belt and sliding his jeans down his meaty thighs, providing a perfect complement to my display—a bit of light to go with my dark meat. Behind us, I felt Marco eagerly running around, snapping more pictures.

As usual, after a few seconds, I decided the crowd had had enough, hiked up my pants, and returned to my seat, instantly forgetting what had happened.

“Jesus, that is embarrassing,” Master Rod deadpanned. “But still not as embarrassing as this…”

Suddenly, that “Oh, my love, my darling” song started, and I watched in amazement as Tony and BSH both rose out of their chairs. Turning to face each other, their faces lit up with excitement, and they made a mad rush into each other’s arms, each wrapping the other in a tight embrace and pulling him close. Tony—still in just his underwear—only came up to about pec height on Brick Shithouse, but he rested his head there like a baby, and the two began gently swaying to the music, BSH rubbing the younger man’s hair as Tony gently caressed the muscular curves of his back.

When the music finally stopped, the two looked up and jerked away from each other, shaking their heads or throwing their arms up in frustration. This was clearly not the first time this had happened.

“Come on, lovebirds, you really need to give it a rest,” chided Master Rod, clapping a hand on the small of Brick Shithouse’s back.

“This kid keeps grabbin’ me,” protested BSH.

“Can you keep your hands off him?” Master Rod asked Tony, who was stamping around in his underwear.

“I’m not GAY!” he protested, clearly getting irritated.

“Look at this guy, he’s a responsible adult,” said Master Rod, gesturing at the handsome man pacing to the other side of him. “He would never waste our time doing something so childish at the Massegua County Fair.”

Without even thinking, I rose up out of my seat, strode a few steps forward, turned around, and popped my moons. To my side, I noticed BSH fumbling with his belt and doing the same.

“Look at this shit!!” Tony yelled in frustration. “Marco, man, what are you doing, cut it out!” I was vaguely aware of Tony’s cousin buzzing around taking photos of me and my moon-brother.

“Grab your seat, Tony. Guys, sit down. We need to clear the stage…” Master said, as suddenly the Hustler music started again. I pulled my waistband up, satisfied the audience had gotten what was coming to it, as out to the middle rushed Cowboy and Jorge. Sitting facing each other and interlocking their legs, the two began to scissor, rubbing their crotches together while reaching down to play with their junk through their jeans, throwing their heads back in ecstasy. The rest of us watched in shock while the audience howled at the two guys putting on their display. Eventually, Master approached and tapped Travis on the shoulder, saying, “All right, why don’t you eat her out?”

More than happy to oblige, Travis pulled out of the scissor and dove between the middle-aged papi’s legs, lapping hungrily at his crotch. Master grabbed the cowboy hat off his head and switched it to Jorge’s, giving the audience a better view. “Yeah, Travis!!” a loud, guttural call broke through the din of the crowd—probably that guy in the other couple I’d seen him with earlier. I wondered what Travis’ girlfriend was making of all this. I contemplated with jealously how embarrassed he’d be trying to look her in the eye.

Suddenly, the music switched from the Hustler track back to “Hot Hot Hot,” granting only one of the men reprieve from his post-hypnotic suggestions. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Travis leapt from between Jorge’s beefy legs like he’d been licking hot iron, dashing back to his chair and pawing at his mouth in disgust. Meanwhile, Jorge went back to faux-fingering himself, playing with his taint and twisting his nipple as the crowd went bananas. I saw Travis rise out of his chair, finally realizing Jorge had his hat and taking some tentative steps toward him while exchanging words with Master. Master shut it down, however, with a quick, “Don’t you have a call to make?” and Travis was soon back in his chair, dialing another friend to tell about his adventures with the family horse.

The crowd burst into cheers when the music finally stopped, leaving a very confused Jorge lying in the middle of the stage. I was just about to start laughing myself, when suddenly the ballet music started again, and I leapt out of my seat and darted back into my routine, twirling and pirouetting around the stage. Marco and I pranced circles around each other, probably for another minute or so as Jorge cleared the stage, and the music only shut off while I was in mid-leap, sending me crashing to the ground in front of Tony in a very confused and embarrassed mess.

“Take a seat, Zaid. Grab that one next to Tony,” Master said off-mic, and I rose, immediately plopping down next to the nearly-nude farm boy.

“Take a nap, gents,” Master Rod said, tapping Tony and me on the forehead, and I felt myself instantly melting back, sprawling sideways in my chair, head coming to rest comfortably on Tony’s warm, bare shoulder.

As I had every other time, I lay there content, breathing in and out and kind of half paying attention to the sounds from the show around me. Master was gradually putting everyone back to sleep, though still having some fun with Travis and his phone calls. I felt Marco sit on the other side of me and slump back in his chair as well, but I didn’t really care about that. As a matter of fact, as I focused on my breathing, I soon didn’t care about anything anymore. I just loved the sensation of relaxing and going deeper, waiting for Master’s next command.

I’m not sure how long passed before I felt Master’s wonderful touch on my shoulder as he leaned down: “The next time you hear the name of the fair, you’re going to stand up, stay right where you are, moon everyone and freeze.” I nodded softly. I knew exactly what routine he was lining up, and I couldn’t believe I was lucky enough to be part of it. If I hadn’t been so profoundly, incredibly relaxed, my heart would’ve been pounding like a jackhammer.

“At the count of three, just Zaid, wide awake. One, two, three—Massegua County Fair!” he and the audience shouted. Without thinking, my eyes popped open and I stood, turned around, pulled down my track pants, bent over and froze. I put my hands on my knees for support and let my eyes fall half-closed, staring blearily at my chair. The whole thing reminded me of being at camp when I was young, when the counselors had woken us at 4 AM for a dawn hike, and the first 20 or 30 minutes we’d all spent staggering around, trying to go through our morning routine while half-asleep. Basically, I was that out of it, and I just stood there blankly, barely registering I was hanging my ass out in front of 300 people.

“That’s good, Zaid,” I heard Master say as I felt him pull back the crinoline around my waist, ensuring everyone got a good view. “Frozen now,” he said, laying a hand on my back. He didn’t have to worry about me. I felt so out of it, I was just gonna stay there ’til I received further instructions.

“Pretty sure we’ve seen more of the back of him than the front tonight,” Master said, and the audience laughed. I passively wondered what he meant.

“Just the two gentlemen I’m touching—because I know cousins like to do everything together…” The audience laughed again. I knew where this was going. Somehow that recollection cut through my haze. Master was going to make the two of them kiss my ass. If I hadn’t been so out of it, the realization would have sent me reeling. I couldn’t believe it. Ever since I’d seen him perform this routine with Tom in the comedy club, I had wanted to be a part of it—though I could never decide on which end! Master rarely used it anymore, since the climate these days was much more squeamish and easily offended. It was only at really rowdy shows that he still brought it out. I wondered if this was specifically why he had invited me to participate, as he’d known I’d been fascinated with it for a long time, and obviously wouldn’t present any problems in terms of complaints.

“When you awaken, you are going to turn to your left, and you will turn to your right. There beside you, you’re going to see the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen…” Master waited for the laughter and groans to subside. I stood still as a statue, little more than a prop. A soft breeze snuck through the tent, caressing my backside. Dimly, I made a note to jerk off about this later—as if there was any chance I would need a reminder!

“Yes, this is the date you brought to the fair, and her beautiful, tan—extra tan—cheek looks so inviting…” Master continued, the crowd giggling at his joke about my complexion. Part of me wondered if they would find it extra humiliating doing this with an Arab guy. If I’d had a greater capacity for introspection at the moment, part of me would’ve been ashamed for finding the thought exciting.

“At the count of three, eyes popping open, ready to give that date of yours a big, beautiful, wet kiss,” he paused for one final groan from the crowd. “One, two… and three! Eyes open! Look at your date!” he said, snapping.

With little hesitation, I felt forms move in from either side and two pairs of soft, wet lips press firmly against each globe of my ass. Marco’s were a bit more reticent, which didn’t surprise me, given his overall demeanor, while on Tony’s side I felt him pressing so hard his nose touched my skin.

The crowd was going bonkers, screaming and shrieking with laughter. All the while I just stood there, nothing more than a butt.

“At the count of three, both of you, wide awake—one, two, three!” Master counted quickly, snapping, before immediately launching into “What the fuck are you doing! Stop kissing that guy’s butt!”

“Ew! What the fuck!” I heard in a chorus on either side of me, before Master quickly silenced both participants with an expert “SLEEP!,” shoving them down by their heads into their chairs.

“You wake up too. Pull your pants up, Zaid, Jesus. I thought we talked about this,” he said, snapping by my ear. Finally, I started coming to my senses, rising and groggily tugging my waistband back over my ass.

“Back in your chair,” he said, roughly turning me around and plopping me down too, then clicking and tapping me on the temple, sending me collapsing onto the sleeping Marco, whom I just couldn’t seem to stop napping on this evening.

“How ’bout a hand for these guys?” said Master, eliciting a thunderous applause from the audience that sounded miles away.

I continued to relax and float, listening as Master made his way among a variety of the participants, issuing his end-of-show commands. Most of these went to the women, who Master didn’t bring up at the end for a full strip like the guys, so I lay there for a while, mouth slightly agape, simply enjoying relaxing and focusing on my breathing. Eventually, I found I had completely lost the thread of whatever Master was saying, until finally I felt his hand briefly and gently touch my shoulder again, before quickly moving along to the next participant: “…you… and you… and you…” I knew exactly what he was tapping us for, but listened patiently to the command I’d already memorized from so many performances:

“…when you gentlemen hear me say the word ‘Encore…’ You’re all gonna believe that you are world-famous… male… exotic dancers.” Master drew every section out, creating perfectly modulated suspense with his pauses. At the phrase “exotic dancers,” the audience—particularly the women—cheered as they always did, and Master waited for it to subside before continuing: “You’ll immediately rush back to the stage, dancing more sensually than you’ve ever danced, and slowly—or maybe not so slowly—peeling off each article of clothing. When the music stops, you’ll stop, wide awake and with no idea what you’re doing. But as long as that music plays, you’re the world’s sexist male strippers. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t going to truly think I was a stripper—not really—but I would be up onstage peeling my clothes off in a heartbeat, that was for damn sure.

“Very good,” said Master. “Now, this is just for my little mooners…” I felt him touch my shoulder again. “After you wake up from stripping—not when you wake up now, but after the show’s over—that ‘Massegua County Fair’ command is going to remain in effect as long as you stay inside this tent. The moment you step outside, that suggestion is removed and vanishes from your mind, but as long as you are in this tent, you’ll continue to pull those pants down and maybe even slap your ass any time you hear someone say those words. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded again. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never seen Master make anyone pop so many moons before. I was almost certain he was doing this especially for me. I couldn’t wait to wander through the throngs of people exposing myself.

“The gentleman I’m touching now: you continue to believe you’re fully dressed until you step outside. Only then will you come rushing back to the stage to retrieve your clothes. Nod if you understand.” That had to be Tony.

Master dropped a few more suggestions, telling Jorge anytime anyone shook his hand in the tent he would have an orgasm, while Tony and Travis were instructed to hold hands and be convinced they were a couple until they stepped outside. After that, Master guided us through a long, slow count-up from five, and I gradually rose in my seat, blinking groggily. By the time he reached the last number and snapped, I was wide awake again, feeling fresh but still kind of out of it. It was weird, because a few moments before I had been meditating on everything Master had done to me throughout the show, but suddenly under the bright lights, it all seemed a hazy memory.

“How ’bout a big hand for our stars, folks? We’re they great?” The tent erupted in applause, and the whole line of us looked back and forth at each other. It was clear no one could remember anything they had done. Master didn’t waste much time giving us a reminder:

“All of you did a spectacular job. You had a pussy you couldn’t stop playing with…” Jorge looked around, startled, trying to piece together what that could mean. “…and you sure loved to scissor him with it”—Jorge and Travis looked down the row at each other as he pointed. “You two ladies seemed to think you were on Girls Gone Wild. And you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other…”—Tony, sitting right next to me and still in his underwear, looked totally shocked, as did Brick Shithouse.

“Dude, check the photos on your phone,” Master said to Marco, who looked nonplussed. “Oh, and can I get my tutu back? Same goes for you, Zaid.” I looked down, startled. Holy shit! I couldn’t believe I had on one of those chintzy tutus! I’d helped so many guys get into them over the months, yet finding myself in one now was a total surprise. Had Master really made me dance ballet?

I stood up alongside Marco, both of us pulling the pink fabric down our legs. “Oh, and Zaid?” Master added.

I looked up. “Try and keep your pants on for a change? I think everybody here is pretty tired of seeing your ass.”

The entire tent burst out laughing, and I flushed, looking down. My pants were up. What was he talking about? I could kind of remember him making Brick Shithouse moon everybody—but had he made me do that too?

Marco and I both stepped forward and sheepishly handed over our tutus, and Master took them, adding, “Seriously, man, look at your camera roll.”

Plopping back down, Marco pulled out his phone and clicked around a bit. Suddenly cringing, he shook his head in disbelief as he started browsing through page after page of what looked like blurry photos of butts. The crowd laughed again.

“All of you were amazing performers. As you head back and find your seats in the audience, enjoy one last warm round of applause,” Master concluded, leading the crowd in one more ovation. I rose from my seat, still dazed. Was I forgetting anything? It was a warm, early spring evening… I didn’t think I’d brought a coat or anything. There were the remains of a half-eaten… onion?... under my chair that for some reason it seemed like I should grab, but instead I left them and shuffled offstage with everyone else. It was weird walking behind Tony, who was totally oblivious to the fact he was wearing nothing but boxers, but that was the effect hypnosis had on people—I’d seen it before.

Heading into the crowd, I grabbed a seat in the audience close to the stage, which for some reason I just felt was a smart idea. As I sat down, a young guy behind me tapped my shoulder. “Hey dude, was it real?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.” For some reason I didn’t feel like responding at length. It felt like I was supposed to be paying attention for something.

“Massegua County Fair,” he said, and I just looked at him quizzically, turning back around.

“Leave him alone, Derrick,” the girl beside him squeaked.

“I still think it’s fake…” he muttered.

“Try it sometime,” I said, trying to be as inviting and non-confrontational as I could. The guy was lanky, with curly brown hair spilling out from under a backwards baseball cap. Kind of a shit-kicker, but by now, I knew the kind of young rebel Master loved to tame, and was always on the lookout to persuade them to try hypnosis.

“Fat chance I’m kissin’ your ass,” I heard him scoff, sitting back in his chair. His girlfriend thwacked him on the chest.

Onstage, Master was running through his usual patter trying to get people to buy self-help tapes and other merch. As he went along, he threaded through some of the female commands, and various volunteers leapt up in the audience obeying their orders—kiss your partner, have an orgasm, flash your boobs. After that last one, Master segued into his usual closer, “I bet you were all glad to see those one more time, but how about something bigger for an Encore?”

As used as I was to that closing speech, this time, for some reason, it had a strange effect on me. While I’d been feeling groggy and out of it before, suddenly, I was flooded with a burst of energy and an intense desire to come rushing back to the stage. Some bump-n-grind music started playing as I leapt out of my chair and dashed up the aisle, up onstage without even bothering to take the stairs.

As the first one up, I immediately started gyrating and lifting my t-shirt, determined to give these folks a good show. I don’t know whether I really thought I was a stripper or not—I just heard the music and really wanted to move with it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tony and Cowboy Travis rushing up the steps holding hands, while hopping up at the front like me was Brick Shithouse.

My t-shirt already off, I swung it around my head and flung it into the crowd, which cheered me on. Feeding off their energy, I raised my arms in the air and started grinding my taut stomach, loving the wild cheers for the scrawny brown boy putting on a show.

Next to me, Tony had let go of Travis’ hand and stepped up to the front as well, apparently realizing on some level he was already mostly naked. He was shaking his hips wildly back and forth, with his baggy blue boxers making the large swinging appendage between his legs all too apparent.

Marco and Jorge, our stragglers, were bounding up the steps too, as Travis and BSH had lined up beside me. Travis seemed to be enjoying his time in the spotlight, first winging his cowboy hat into the crowd and flashing a million-dollar grin before reaching up and slowly starting to unsnap the buttons on his shirt, revealing his smooth, defined chest. BSH, by contrast, simply peeled off his in one swoop, balled it up and launched it onto the crowd, striking flexes like he was in a posing competition.

Not to be outdone, I kicked my shoes toward the back of the stage and started sliding down my track pants, quickly revealing the pair of tight black briefs I had on underneath. What I may have lacked in muscle compared to some of the other guys I made up for with enthusiasm, since Master’s steady and persistent brainwashing had rendered me the ultimate hypnotic exhibitionist. Whether I knew it or not at the moment, it was my utmost desire to get stripped down as quickly as possible, since Master knew that one guy doing it would push the others to go further.

Speaking of reticence, Marco and Jorge—no surprise—both seemed to be hanging back the most, with Marco slowly unbuttoning his plaid shirt to reveal his scrawny chest, while Jorge teased at pulling up his wifebeater. As usual, Master had skipped over the old guy when dolling out the assignments—there were usually one or two alternate routines he would foist on them, since neither he nor most (if not all) of the audience wanted to see that.

Stepping out of my track pants and already down to just my skimpy underwear and socks, I hopped back around with a flourish, doing my best to gyrate to the music like a slutty go-go boy. At the end of the line, Travis had ditched his shirt and was moving and gyrating to show off his lean muscle, while BSH had already unbuttoned his jeans and was letting them slide down his legs as he danced. On the other side of me, Tony had turned around and was shaking his ass—still in boxers—while Marco was down to a wifebeater and Jorge had finally gone shirtless, showing off his beefy chest.

Determined to win, I swiveled back around, hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my undies and sliding them down slowly to once again afford everyone, bit-by-bit, another peek at my ass. I think on some level, I was aware this was old merchandise and wouldn’t have nearly as much impact as if one of the other guys had done it, but I still wanted to drag it out a bit more than going straight into a full strip. Beside me, BSH’s pants were around his ankles, and he was simply twisting in his dark green boxer-briefs like a very muscular go-go boy. Travis had unbuckled his belt and yanked it out of his jeans and was riding it between his legs, but at the moment didn’t seem like much of a threat.

Bending further, I slid the undies all the way down my tight legs and into a little black pile around my feet. That got the crowd’s attention. They started cheering wildly, and reaching down, I grabbed the wad of fabric and rose back up, clamping it over my junk before I turned around. As everyone started screaming and laughing hysterically, I stepped forward, raising my free hand over my head and gyrating with the music, so excited to be able to show everyone my body.

Noticing my advantage but apparently still hesitant to go all the way, Tony was still dancing away from the audience but had started yanking his boxers up and down, giving brief flashes of his smooth white ass. His cousin was shirtless and kind of fumbling around his fly but afraid to go forward, while Jorge had his pants unzipped but still hanging around his hips, affording little flashes of his boxers. BSH, the gentle giant, still had his eyes closed and seemed to just be go-going out, while Travis had unbuttoned his jeans and was starting to play with his zipper, giving little flashes of what I suddenly became worried were pubes—uh-oh, was he going commando?

Extending my free arm and making a little “come here” gesture to get everyone’s attention, I pointed at my crotch, opening my mouth wide like I was soliciting their approval. The roar was thunderous, and I was happy to reward them by yanking my other arm back, tossing my undies over my shoulder in one swift motion as I suddenly left everything on display, dangling darkly in the breeze. I began strutting to the music in place, loving the feeling of being naked—except for my tiny athletic socks—in front of everybody, the cheers and laughter as everyone got their chance to enjoy my skinny body.

Down at the other end of the line, Travis was replicating my tease, sliding his tight jeans down over his bare ass to the clear approval of a nearby group of women. Brick Shithouse had his back turned now, and the waistband of his boxer-briefs was down below his buns, which he was jiggling expertly. Tony seemed to have given up keeping pace, and was back to simply strutting around dick-swinging in his boxers.

Feeling like cock of the walk, I began strutting around in front of the other participants, loving the crowd reveling in my nudity. Not that I was thinking about it at the time, but this was way further than Master’s strips usually went—Tom’s humiliation excluded, of course—but I think he again felt he had less to worry about since I was playing center of attention and he knew I wouldn’t cause any trouble. As if on cue, I heard him call over the loudspeaker, “All right gents, at the count of three, drop ’em if you got ’em…!” The crowd cheered wildly as I strutted back to my spot.

“ONE! TWO! THREE!!” everyone screamed, and Travis whirled, finally yanking open his fly and letting his girthy cock flop out as the ladies cheered. Brick Shithouse bent forward and yanked down his undies, but didn’t turn around for some reason, while Tony, after looking back-and-forth awkwardly for a second, finally reached up, hooked his thumbs in his waistband, and dropped his drawers, leaving himself on display for everyone as well. For my part, I hopped a step forward, spreading my legs wide, and just started waggling my hips wildly, jangling my cock and balls.

“WIDE AWAKE!!” I heard Master scream as the music stopped, and suddenly I was hyperaware of being naked in front of a massive crowd of people. It seemed the same applied to my fellow dancers, as pandemonium erupted, everyone scrambling to find whatever articles of clothing he could as quickly as possible. Locating my track pants first and totally clueless where I’d tossed my underwear, I pulled them on commando, just to get myself off display as I continued my search, while all around me the rest of the guys had their hands over their crotches and were desperately looking for their things.

“One more huge round of applause for our volunteers, and once again, it’s been a pleasure to be back at the Massegua County Fair!” Master yelled, making his exit. Ah! There were my underwear. But first, these laughing assholes needed a moon. Already halfway to my undies, I stopped, bent over, and yanked my track pants back down, giving all assembled a healthy eyeful. Out of the corner of my vision, I noticed BSH to my left doing likewise.

Pulling my pants up after a few seconds, I picked up my briefs and, unsure what to do, stuffed them in my pocket. I guessed I would have to find a restroom or somewhere private to change, since I certainly didn’t intend to put them on in front of everyone. Travis was finishing snapping up his shirt as Tony waited beside him, and Marco waited beside him. The second Travis finished, Tony—still dressed in nothing but his boxers—grabbed Travis’ hand and the two walked off together, Tony’s poor cousin following behind like a bewildered puppy.

Over toward that same side of the stage, I could see BSH was fully dressed again, but a group of people from the crowd were standing there yelling something at him, and he was bent over with his pants pulled down showing his butt.

Trotting down the stairs behind Jorge, I was still in kind of a blur, struggling to remember everything that happened but at the same time burning both with shame and a strong desire to find somewhere private to masturbate.

Making my way through the crowd, I heard a few random shouts of “Massegua County Fair,” and I kept having to stop, turn my back to wherever I thought they were coming from, bend over and drop my drawers as people laughed and clapped. I couldn’t explain why, even though I think part of me remembered Master had told me to, I just knew it had to be done, and it was basically an unconscious reflex.

Once I’d gotten about halfway through the tent, that same guy who’d tapped me on the shoulder before came trotting up with his girlfriend, who seemed to be trying to tug him back. “Derrick, stoppp,” she whined.

“Just a minute babe, I wanna see,” he said. “So seriously, man, no shit—you can’t help yourself with any of this?” he asked, basically stomping right up and accosting me.

“What…?” was all I could mutter. I was still trying to get my bearings and didn’t have the processing power to deal with this guy’s questions.

“Derrick, he’s super out of it, leave him alone,” the girl tugged on his arm some more.

“Nah, seriously, look, look,” he said. “Massegua County Fair.”

Without even thinking I turned around, bent over and pulled my pants down, popping out my smooth butt.

“Awwww, no fuckin’ way, he’s still doin’ in! Shit, babe, get a picture, get a picture!”

“Derrick…”

I pulled my pants up and rose, ready to be on my way.

“Dude, you were mad crazy up there, let me get a picture!” he said, basically yanking me into his side. I wasn’t in much of a state to protest. “Take it, babe, take it,” he said, holding me against him.

His girlfriend rolled her eyes and held up her phone.

“Give a thumbs up, man!” he said enthusiastically, waiting until I weakly held up a thumb.

“One, two, three, cheese!” he exclaimed, and his girlfriend snapped the shot.

“One more, babe, one more,” he said giddily, and, rolling her eyes again, she pulled the phone back up.

“All right, one, two—Massegua County Fair!” he said excitedly. I yanked out of his arm, turned around, bent down and pulled down my pants. I’m not sure what he did for the five or so seconds I was like that, but it felt like he was either pointing at my ass or giving a thumbs up. As I rose back up again, he clapped me on the back and said, “Great job tonight, bro, great job.

“Shit, I can’t believe it, that dude was really hypnotized…” I heard him mutter as the two trotted off.

Unfortunately, that guy’s little fit of inspiration seemed to be contagious, and I ended up spending the next five minutes getting shanghaied by everyone around me, all looking to snap a photo as I helplessly mooned. It was a while before I made it to the door and out the tent, where suddenly a lot more of what I had done that evening hit me along with the rush of cool night air.

Somewhere during my journey through the tent, some kind soul had managed to return my shirt to me, but in exchange, during the course of my mooning, I had managed to lose my underwear, and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble braving the tent again to find it—I wasn’t sure if the command would still affect me if I stepped back inside.

Besides, my number one priority now, above everything else, was to get back to Master and try to find someplace private where I could meditate on my experience. Doing my best to disappear by wending through the sparse late-night crowd—the fair was about to close in maybe 30 minutes—I eventually crept back around some of the tents and snuck into the back of the performance area, where I was able to locate Master packing up the last of his things.

“Did you enjoy your time in the spotlight?” he asked, and I nodded, shaking, still trying to piece together much of what had happened.

“That’s good. I think that was one of the best shows I’ve ever given at the Massegua County Fair,” he added, and without even thinking, despite the fact the command had long since expired, I turned around, bent over, and showed him my ass.

“Jesus, that’s hot, but shit, it’s getting late,” Sal groaned, looking over at the clock—3:30, way later than he’d been planning to go to bed with work the next day, even budgeting time to fuck Zaid once more before sleeping.

“I’m sorry, Master. It’s a good place to stop. I just get so excited talking about my experiences being hypnotized.”

“I can see that,” Sal smiled, kissing the young Zaid on his sweet, soft lips.

“I so want to tell you about all the fun we had with Marco and Tony,” Zaid said, trailing a finger up and down Sal’s arm.

“Tomorrow,” said Sal, giving him another peck on the cheek. He tapped the boy on the forehead and Zaid melted, swooning into his master. Sal smiled, pulling the boy’s prone form against him. Then he turned out the light and went to sleep.