Nobbling the Team

By Hyptrance
published March 17, 2019

A hypnotherapist with a gambling problem tries to pay off his debt to the mob by sabotaging the odds-on favorite football team just before the state championship.

Disclaimer: All characters are 18 or older, whether stated explicitly or not; you must be as well, in order to have permission to read this. This is fiction, so no resemblance to real people is intended or may be inferred. It deals with the topics of gay sexual activity and mind-control. If these are forbidden in your community, or distasteful to you, then please go elsewhere. You may download this as you wish for your personal enjoyment, provided the story is not disseminated to any minors (as defined by your community), but you may not re-post it anywhere without the author’s permission. Finally, please consider writing similar stories of your own. I like to read as well as write.

Nobbling the Team



“Well, Mr. Taylor, you have been a naughty fellow, haven’t you?” The man speaking managed to be both suave and yet utterly threatening. I’d never met him, but I knew who he was: the fixer for the gambling ring to whom I owed a lot of money. He was flanked by two enormous bodyguards/enforcers, who had gone over to stand next to him after depositing me (with a good deal more force than necessary) in the chair in which I now sat facing them. “It isn’t honorable to make bets you can’t cover,” he continued, “And I’m afraid you have put us in a position where we can no longer ignore your little peccadillos.”

I began to stammer, trying to come up with something, anything, to keep myself from being killed or maimed, my mind racing like a demented hamster on a wheel in a cage and, unfortunately, accomplishing no more forward progress than the rodent would have.

“Calm down!” My unwelcome guest chided. “We aren’t here to hurt you… unless, of course, you don’t agree to our little proposition. In that case, I’m afraid we would be forced to exercise some unpleasantness.” He smiled charmingly, as though he hadn’t just threatened my life. “But I’m sure that once you hear me out, you will be perfectly willing to accept our proposal. It should be quite easy for you; it plays to all your strengths. And if you succeed well enough, I agree to cancel your current debt.”

Huh? Now I was curious. I certainly was in the market for a way out of my financial predicament that didn’t involve broken bones! But what strengths? I’m a gay, twenty-nine-year-old hypnotherapist with a gambling problem and not enough income. How was that going to help the mob?? “Obviously, I’m listening,” I said.

“We intend to bet heavily against _______ High winning the football state championships this year.”

That was so shocking that I spoke before I even thought, “Are you crazy? They’re the best team this state has seen in 20 years! The other teams can’t touch them. There’s no way they’re not going to win!”

He grinned like a shark at feeding time. “Exactly. We’ll get enormously long odds and make a killing taking bets from everyone who believes that.”

“B-but you can only make a killing if they lose!”

“Indeed. And that’s where you come in.”

“But what do you think I can do about it? I can’t just saunter into the locker room and hypnotize the whole team to lose. To be hypnotized, you have be both susceptible and cooperating. There’s no way to predict the one or to arrange the other.”

“Not so. You already have the ideal entrée if you think about it. I believe you have been treating one Dominic Perretti to help him quit smoking, correct?”

I nodded. Dom had been coming to see me every week for the past month. The handsome young Italian stallion is an excellent hypnotic subject. His cigarette addiction has been dwindling nicely. He has also been having a lot of really hot sex with me (none of which he remembers).

“Dominic just happens to be the backfield coach for _______ High. Do you begin to follow? Next time you have him under, all you need to do his suggest that his team desperately needs your services to avoid going stale and losing their focus at the last minute (hell, for all I know, that might even be true). He’s so invested in the team he’ll beg for your help. And once you have the boys under (I know you won’t get them all, but the susceptible ones can be encouraged to see you privately) you can set up something that will distract them at critical moments. I leave that to your creativity… and your own best interests. Just make sure it happens by a week before the game. We need time to lay our bets.”

Well, the fellow had a point. This actually might be made to work. At least, I surely hoped so, for the sake of my continued ability to walk unaided. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent!” his smile grew even broader. “I really hope you will do your best… it would be a pity to have to ruin that maidens-dream of a face. I expect to hear from you no later than the 25th.” He nodded to his two henchmen and without another word they all departed from my office suite. It took several moments before I could trust my shaking limbs to support me in a clumsy dash to the restroom where I deposited the contents of my stomach. I splashed water on my pale frightened face and rinsed my sour mouth. My jacket, shirt, and tie were soaked with fear-sweat, my normally well-groomed blond hair limp and disordered. There was no way I could see clients in this disheveled state (as if I were in any mental shape to help them even if I did), so I texted the receptionist and told him that I was feeling ill, and he should cancel and reschedule the afternoon’s appointments. Knowing I wasn’t fit to drive, I next called a cab and then made my shaky way down to the lobby to wait for it.


Fortunately for me, Dominic Perretti’s next session was scheduled for the following day, so I only had to spend one night in sleepless agitation before trying to implement the plan. As usual, his appointment was the last of the afternoon (he thought that was to accommodate his schedule at the high school, but it was really so as to leave plenty of time for fooling around after the therapy).

At 4:00 Dom breezed into the office, bringing with him (as always) an almost palpable aura of sex. From his thick, black hair, to his olive-brown bedroom eyes, to his cocky, slightly crooked grin, to his smoking –hot bod, it radiated from him as effortlessly as body heat. He was obviously in a good mood. “Hey, Jonathan! I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” (Well, of course he had. One of the suggestions I’d implanted in his subconscious where he wasn’t aware of it, was that he loved his therapy sessions and loved being hypnotized, the deeper the better. If Dom had ever had any trance resistance in him, it had long since been trained away.) Without being told, he plumped down into my reclining “therapy” chair (basically just a really comfortable ordinary recliner) and settled himself.

“How have you been doing this week, Dom?” I asked. “Any lapses?”

“Only a couple. I didn’t have a single cigarette either yesterday or the day before, but I found myself just lighting up automatically with my coffee this morning. I guess I’m still not completely cured.”

“Well, don’t be discouraged. Smoking’s a tough habit to kick, so it isn’t going to happen overnight. But remember, just four weeks ago you were a pack-a-day man; I consider that real progress. Now, let’s get started.” I dimmed the overhead lights and brought out the tiny pen-light I used for putting Dom into trance. It wasn’t really necessary any longer, since I had programmed him with a re-hypnosis cue during our very first session, but I always went through the motions, mainly because I didn’t want his conscious mind to realize how easily I could render him helpless and obedient with just a couple of words. In any case, it took very little time before handsome Dominic had melted into the chair and was staring vacantly at the soft light as I moved it back and forth, his mind wide open to my control. To begin with, as I always do, I dealt with the legitimate hypnotherapy. If his subconscious ever became curious and nibbled at the edges of my post-hypnotic amnesia blocks, the first thing it would encounter was exactly what it would expect to find, and that would allay any further suspicions (and forestall any deeper probing). Of course, I was careful with my wording, since I didn’t really want him to stop smoking altogether. I needed for him to have a reason to keep coming back (at least until his hypnotic conditioning was so strong that obedience to my commands was reason enough). That accomplished, and his trance having grown deeper in the exercise of it, I went on to reinforce the commands that I didn’t allow his conscious mind to access: his re-induction cue, his love for the hypnotic process, and his latent bisexual attraction to me. Normally the next item on the agenda would have been the sexual fun and games, but I now had a more serious purpose to pursue. “Dom, I need you to go deeper into trance than ever before… deeper than you’ve ever imagined. You want that very much. You will enjoy it more than anything, won’t you?”

“I will enjoy it more than anything,” he repeated tonelessly, his blank expression not altering.

“I want you to visualize a mirror, Dom. Do you see it?”

“I see it.”

“I want you to look at yourself in that mirror. Focus on your eyes… your deeply hypnotized eyes… they draw your gaze… they draw your mind… making you relax more and more… ten times as relaxed… one hundred times as relaxed… one thousand times as relaxed…” Dom’s entranced gaze was focused like a laser, yet, at the same time, as empty as that of a department store mannequin. “You are so relaxed that you can no longer resist the pull of those hypnotized, hypnotizing eyes… they draw you right out of yourself and into the image in the mirror… go into the mirror and leave your body and mind vacant and under my complete control… you will not be aware of anything that happens until I call you back from the mirror.” Dom’s eyes slammed shut and his head dropped, literally as though his life-force had abandoned his body. I proceeded to program him with an unquestioning acceptance of the idea that his team’s continued success was in great jeopardy unless he could persuade the football players to work with me. When I ‘retrieved’ him from the mirror he would be absolutely convinced of the need for my help, and equally convinced that getting me involved was entirely his own idea. Wiping the metaphorical sweat from my brow, I decided I’d earned a little reward.

“Stand up, Dom.” It took him a few seconds to pull himself together, but then he rose heavily from the chair, his head still hanging in classic hypno-posture. I checked to make sure the door was locked (it was), and then commanded, “Take off all of your clothes.” By this point my handsome subject was well-trained in this particular drill, so there was no hesitation. Slowly and methodically Dom began to undo his tie. I continued, “With each piece of clothing you remove, you become more and more deeply hypnotized and hornier and hornier. By the time you are completely naked you will be so turned on that you will have to masturbate. You won’t be able to control yourself. But, no matter how excited you become, you won’t be able to orgasm until I tell you to. You understand, Dom.”

“So horny… but I can’t cum ’til you tell me to,” he murmured. By now he was bare to the waist and breathing hard. The crotch of his jeans had tented noticeably. My hypnotized Italian stallion began do undo his belt, his relaxed fingers fumbling. I began to undress as well, quickly passing him (well, I wasn’t fighting through deep-trance total body relaxation). I was already naked and stroking my own impatient cock as I watched him slowly pull off his briefs (the last remaining item of clothing) and then, with a moan of lust, begin to jerk his large Italian sausage. As I think I’ve already commented, the guy is fuckin’ beautiful! The sculptured body of Michelangelo’s David has nothing on Dominic Perretti’s, and Dom’s face is a lot prettier than that of the statue.

I quickly applied a lubed condom to myself and then bent Dom over the desk and began to plow his muscular butt. Several hypnotic training sessions had taught him to be the perfect bottom. He knew how to relax, when to squeeze his muscles and when to release them, and, of course, how to feel maximum pleasure from the exercise. (This had actually been fairly easy to accomplish. I hadn’t “turned” Dom bi; I’d merely discovered that he was and encouraged it.) I pumped away at his fine, fine ass, working out a lot of the previous day’s stress, until I was ready to pop. Then I commanded, “Cum now, Dom!” and we both shot our loads. Dom always smells great after sex (I don’t know what the biochemistry involved might be, but it’s true), so I allowed myself a moment to luxuriate against his broad, sweaty back, bathed in his pheromones, before withdrawing from his ass and beginning the clean-up. Soon we were both toweled dry and back in our clothes, and all of the evidence had been disposed of. I carefully wiped his mind of all recollection of anything sexual, positioned him back in the chair as he’d been at the start of the session, and then brought him back out of trance.

Dom stretched luxuriously. “Man, this always makes me feel so terrific! I wish I could afford to see you every day.” He winked. “I think it relaxes me almost as much as sex!”

I faked a chuckle and a ‘just-us-guys’ quip back. Then I went to my desk, opened the scheduling page on my computer and asked, “Next week, same time?”

“Sure.” Then, as he turned towards the door to leave, Dom stopped. I could see the momentary blankness cross his face as the post-hypnotic suggestion kicked in. “Doc, you wouldn’t have time to take on some more clients, would you?”

“Well, it would depend on how many, but I do have some available time.” I held my breath.

“I don’t know whether I ever mentioned it to you, but one of the things I do at _________ High is to coach the football team (well, specifically, the backfield). If you’ve been following sports at all lately, you’ll know what an amazing team we have this year. They’re virtually guaranteed to take state. But lately I’ve begun to worry about what the pressure of all that expectation is doing to them. They’re good boys, but they’re only teenagers, and I don’t want them falling apart at the last moment if it all starts to become too much for them. Could you help them stay focused and teach them how to deal with stress?” Before I could reply, he hastened to add, “You wouldn’t have to make time for individual appointments; you could just come to practice one afternoon and do them all at once – a group session, right?”

Inside, I was giving myself gleeful high fives all over the place (one step closer to freedom from the threat hanging over me!), but I maintained my professional decorum. “That would certainly be easier to accommodate, but you have to understand that, under those circumstances, I may not be able to get every single player under hypnosis; people react at different speeds and degrees. However, there’s a fairly good chance of everything working as you hope. Football players, like soldiers, are often good subjects because they’re so accustomed to accepting coaching and drills. And, as a group, eighteen-year-old boys like the guys on your team always place in the upper percentiles of highly hypnotizable people. They’re curious, adventurous, and not too set in their opinions, but old enough to understand and follow directions and to maintain their concentration long enough to achieve the trance state. When do you hold your practices?”

Dom filled me in on the team schedule, and we found a suitable date, two days hence. He left the office whistling, and I, between the excellent sex I’d just enjoyed and the enormous relief of having accomplished the first step of my bid for self-preservation, couldn’t stop grinning as I closed up and went home.

In the Locker Room

When I arrived after practice, the team was already assembled in the locker room, still in their uniform gear to greater or lesser extents. They weren’t yet seated in the semi-circle of chairs that Dom had set out, but their behavior was orderly, the atmosphere being one of interest and subdued excitement rather than skepticism, resentment, and horseplay. Dom must have done a good job of selling the idea, and the team discipline (pretty formidable in this group) took care of the rest, which was great as far as I was concerned. I wouldn’t be swimming upstream against a flood of attitude. The other coaches were there as well, but they excused themselves and left as Dom got the boys seated. He introduced me briefly and then took a seat behind the players as I began.

I have a pretty set routine when attempting group inductions: introduction and explanation of why they were here and what was going to happen (during which I engage in a lot of surreptitious NLP to make the desired outcome as inevitable as possible), then a few convincer tests to see who’s suggestible and to establish a climate of belief (the guys were a mixed bag as far as suggestibility, but I was pleased to see that no one was totally immune or deliberately resisting), and finally the induction itself, which I draw out to suit the pace of the least suggestible subjects (the rest, those who go under quickly and easily, are only sent deeper into their trances by the extra repetitions). By the time I had finished, everyone, to my delighted satisfaction, had become entranced, some, only lightly, others, profoundly, but there were no hold-outs… including Dom, who, well-trained as he was by now, had gone down like the metaphorical bag of sand. After several deepening exercises, during which six of the guys (the quarterback, the tight end, the wide receiver, one of the running backs, the place kicker, and the cute towel-boy who had just gone along for the ride) showed themselves to be true somnambulists, just like Dom, I was ready to proceed.

As with Dom, I started with the legitimate hypnotherapy, an important safeguard against the less-fully-influenced remembering something disturbing. By the time I had successfully given them the program for stress-management, everyone’s trance had conveniently deepened to a significant degree (as it always does). They were all staring at me glassily with complete concentration (I never leave subjects slumped and “asleep” for any longer than I can help to avoid the awkwardness of their sprawl becoming uncomfortable enough to risk waking them up). Now they were ready for my agenda.

I walked around the semi-circle of chairs, lightly touching each of my six somnambulists and Dom on their shoulders. “Those of you whose shoulder I just touched will now stand up, please.” They obeyed (well, of course) and stood like hypnotized soldiers in a mesmerist’s army, faces blank, eyes staring forwards. “The rest of you, close your eyes and just continue to go deeper. You won’t notice or remember anything that happens from now on until I wake you.”

“Those of you standing will come with me,” I commanded, and the six young men and their coach helplessly followed me to the far corner of the locker room. I quickly learned names and installed a re-hypnosis cue. They were a handsome bunch, pretty faces and fit athletic bodies (of course, Joey Baker, the towel-boy, wasn’t a football-player, but he was trim and toned nonetheless, probably from some other sport – diving, tennis, maybe even soccer). “Dom,” I continued, “These boys will need extra sessions. You are completely convinced this is so and will not question it. You will bring them to my office tomorrow after practice. You will arrange your schedule to make this possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

I then addressed each boy in turn, “Paul Sanders, Tommy Galliano, Jeremy Clarke, Cole Masters, Kevin Wilson, Joey Baker, you hear and obey… hear and obey… Tomorrow, after practice, you will go with Coach Perretti to my office for another hypnosis session. You will accept this as necessary and arrange your schedules so there will be no conflicts. You understand and you agree.”

“Yes, sir,” the mesmerized chorus echoed their coach.

“Excellent. You will all return to your seats. When I awaken you, you will have no conscious memory that you ever left them, nor any conscious memory that I gave you these instructions. It will simply be as though they are understandings of your own that you had always planned to follow.” Dom and his boys trooped silently back to their chairs. After briefly reinforcing the legitimate hypno-training for the whole team, I woke everybody back up. This is always a slightly dicey moment. Someone might slip their post-hypnotic conditioning and remember something they shouldn’t. But luck was with me, and none of them showed any signs of discomfort or conflict. I wished them all good evening and went home to jack off. Having all those handsome young men under my spell had made me significantly horny.

Oh, you’re wondering why I was including the towel-boy in my scheduled deep hypnosis follow-up session (other than that he was hella cute and I wanted the opportunity to play with him), since, of course, he would never be on the field. Well, not only had he gone under the deepest of the whole group, which in itself made him well worth exploring, but also he would be in the perfect position to interact with the team on a regular basis and keep their trance-conditioning current without raising any of the potential red flags that might result from my programming Dom to do the same thing.

The Programming Session

By 6:00 the next evening, all of the boys and their coach were assembled in my office, standing in a deeply hypnotized row, like so many tin soldiers. As instructed, Dom had brought them as soon as practice finished, and I’d pulled their trance-triggers almost as soon as the door had closed behind them. Then, after a thorough battery of the most powerful trance-conditioning I was capable of producing, they were all so profoundly entranced that there was nothing I couldn’t make them do.

“I am going to ask you some questions. If the answer is ‘yes’ your right arm will immediately lift. You won’t be able to stop it; you won’t even really feel it move. Do you understand?” All six boys and their coach automatically raised their hands. “Excellent. Hands down. Are you a virgin?” This time only two boys raised their hands: Joey and, rather surprisingly, Paul, the studly QB. “Next question, are you gay?” Again, both Joey and Paul responded. Well, well, well! That explained why Paul was still a virgin. Joey was obviously the shy sort, but had BMOC Paul been straight there was no way he wouldn’t have had at least one of the girls who must be throwing themselves at him pretty regularly. His must be a deep, dark, and particularly difficult closet to maintain. Just to check, I continued, “Are you bisexual?” As expected Dom’s hand floated up, but so did Cole’s. I was more than a little stunned. Out of seven deep-hypnosis subjects, all culled from the same (very small) sample of one high school football team and their coach, what were the odds of more than half of them already being open to the idea of gay sex?! At any rate, it certainly made my plan simpler to achieve.

“Okay, men, when I count to three you’ll be in the locker room; you will no longer be aware of my presence, but you will continue to hear and obey all my suggestions without resistance and without worrying about where they’re coming from. You’ll just accept them as your own ideas. “One… two… three! Time to hit the showers.”

Just as though they really had just come in from practice or a game, the young athletes unfroze and began to undress. Their behavior, to my discerning eye, was still obviously trance-controlled, but for the most part their interaction as pretty natural, including some banter and horseplay as they stripped off. Joey, of course, as towel boy, wasn’t getting undressed, nor was Dom, but I sidled up to both of them one at a time and said “Go ahead and take a shower with the team. You know you want to.” Neither showed any sign that he heard me, but both immediately joined the rest in disrobing. I could see (since I was now watching for it) that Paul, Joey, and Cole were covertly checking out the other guys (and each other), but they were very cagey and unobtrusive about it. Dom was apparently too honorable, or at least too disciplined, to allow himself to fantasize about his handsome students. In short order, my office was filled with beautiful, naked young men rubbing themselves semi-erotically as they pantomimed the actions of the shower they believed they were enjoying.

Now that everyone was naked, I decided to give myself a moment to take stock. I froze them all in place with instructions to have no awareness of anything unless I spoke to one of them by name, and also to have no awareness of passing time. The resulting sculpture garden as indeed a thing of beauty. Other than Joey, these were all big, well-muscled, beautifully proportioned young men (although none of them was truly huge, since each one’s success in his particular position on the team relied as much, or even more, on speed and agility than on sheer mass). The largest, as one might expect were the tight-end Kevin Wilson, and Jeremy Clarke the running-back, both of whom were six-foot plus and powerful. Jeremy had a boyish and innocent face (light-blue eyes and a cute little cleft chin), somewhat at odds with his imposing stature, and, in spite of the richness of his dark-chocolate-colored hair, was boyishly hairless over most of his body, other than for the bush around his cock… and that uncut horse-dick was anything but boyish! Kevin, with lighter brown hair and soft gray eyes, looked like every kid’s ideal older brother. He wasn’t particularly hairy either, but more in the normal range for a male brunette. His cock was circumcised, and not overly large (obviously a grower, not a shower). The next in size were the QB and the wide receiver, Paul and Cole, both six-footers, but each an inch or two shorter than Kevin and Jeremy. They were both blonds, Paul’s hair sandy-gold and fairly short, Cole’s in a more luxuriant cut, a much deeper amber, almost dark enough to be called light brown, but streaked with burnished highlights (the lad must be vain enough to spend some time and money on stylists). Cole had striking grey-green eyes, while Paul’s were a soft brown. Both boys were body perfection: smooth and sleek and 100% defined, a fact unobscured by more than the scantest amount of body hair, and both were very respectably hung. Tommy Galliano the placekicker, smallest of the players at only about 5’-10” or so, was also the prettiest of the collection (except possibly for sweet little Joey, whose beauty and innocence could have seduced a plaster saint). Tommy’s fine Italian features and romantic deep-black eyes and hair were even more striking than Dom’s, and his slim, ripped body would have made Donatello’s fingers itch to immortalize it in bronze. His tight young ass called out to my (by now quite hard) cock… but, alas, that was not to be in this incarnation. I needed these boys to become fixated on each other, not on me, if my plan to disrupt their team discipline and concentration was to work properly and save my ass from the mob. Speaking of which, play-time for me was over. Time to get down to business!

“Jeremy Clarke and Cole Masters, come to me.” The two young men broke from their stasis and sleepwalked over to stand before me, their expressions remaining mindlessly fixed and vacant. “Cole and Jeremy, you are both becoming extremely aroused; you can think of nothing but sex. Cole, you are so excited by your handsome friend Jeremy that you must kneel down and give him the best possible blowjob as you jerk yourself off. You can’t resist. And Jeremy, even though you aren’t gay, you are so horny that you can’t help yourself. You will let him suck you off, and it will be the best orgasm you’ve ever had.” Cole sank to his knees, already fondling his own erection, and began to warm up Jeremy’s massive cock. Fortunately for him, that monster was indeed a “shower”, so, while it quickly stiffened to rock-hardness, it didn’t greatly increase in size (otherwise it would have been completely unmanageable by anyone other than a professional sword-swallower!). Soon the two were locked in a mutually successful rhythm, Jeremy’s eager thrusts being met diligently by Cole’s accommodating mouth as he sucked and licked, all the while pounding his own cock. Both boys were panting and moaning until I, mindful that this wasn’t the only office suite on this floor, commanded them to be quieter. “Cole, Jeremy, you will continue to become more and more excited, but neither of you will cum until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy gritted (obviously trying not to groan too loudly). Cole, whose mouth was busy, gave me a sketchy high-sign with his free hand.

“Kevin Wilson, Paul Sanders, come to me.” The next mesmerized pair was soon programmed and engaged as the first, Paul busily deep-throating a helplessly cooperative Kevin while masturbating with a will. Then, “Tommy Galliano, Joey Baker, come to me,” and in little time they too were paired up and on their way.

Seeing Tommy and Joey go at it was so extraordinarily hot that I was immediately hard and dribbling in my pants. To preserve both my ability to concentrate and the fabric of my suit, I dropped my trousers and ordered Dom to come take care of me, which he did (of course) efficiently and with no demurral. Between the ministrations of Dom’s practiced and talented mouth and the visual stimulation of the three pairs of helplessly hypnotized lovers, I came in a matter of moments. Bliss and relief. Then, with a clearer head, I proceeded to the denouement.

All six of the teenagers (and especially Jeremy and Cole, who had started first) were so ready they were about to blow a gasket. “Jeremy Clarke, Kevin Wilson, Tommy Galliano, when I count to three, you will cum, and, just as I promised, it will be the strongest, most satisfying, longest lasting orgasm you have ever experienced. Cole Masters, Paul Sanders, Joey Baker, you will cum when the boy you are sucking cums, and it will be better than any orgasm you have ever had or imagined. You will not swallow. Instead, you will save the cum in your mouth to mix with your own cum, which you will catch in your hand as you shoot. One… two… three!”

There was a chain reaction. First the three hypnotized straight boys and then, almost immediately after, their mesmerized cocksuckers, exploded into massive, screaming (although carefully hypnotically muted) orgasms. The room was filled with the smell of cum and pheromones. Cole was coughing a little (I guess the size of Jeremy’s tool had forced him to swallow a little in spite of my command and his best efforts), but he, Paul, and Joey still managed to control and collect most of the cum, their own and their partner’s.

I ordered the three to mix together the cum from their mouths and their own cum in their hands and then to smear the fragrant mess all over their mouths and on their nostrils. As they obeyed, I continued, “Breathe in that smell… deep, deep breaths… it is the most hypnotic, the most erotic thing you have ever smelled… the combination of your sex and his mesmerizes you completely, enslaves your will and bonds you to him… you become obsessed with him… his smell… his taste… it is your most compelling sexual fantasy… you must have him again and again…” Paul, Cole, and Joey were all, by this point, panting and, even so soon after their recent orgasms, hard again.

“Jeremy, Kevin, Tommy, freeze!” I ordered. “You are statues… unable to move a muscle unless I command it.” Instantly they were rigid and helpless.

“Now, Cole, you will kiss Jeremy so that he also may smell the sexy, hypnotic scent and become enslaved by it, just as you are.” The handsome young football player rose to his feet like a mindless zombie in a cheesy horror/porno, took possession of his teammate’s motionless body, and began to kiss him thoroughly, in the process transferring a good portion of the pungent fluid from his mouth and cheeks to Jeremy’s. I then gave Jeremy a similar hypnotic framework to that which I had just given his partner, and he too was soon breathing in deeply and starting to show signs of an erection. (Of course, as a straight boy, Jeremy would never successfully be made to lust after Cole himself, but he could easily be made to obsess over the pleasure of the orgasm Cole had given him and to desire to repeat that again and again.). Satisfied with their reactions, I proceed to instill the same complementary compulsions between Paul and Kevin and between Tommy and Joey. I kept repeating the instructions to the boys, three of them kissing with passionate enthusiasm, and three motionless as commanded, but all six sporting fully revived hard-ons, until I was certain they were irresistibly ingrained in their helpless psyches. Then I separated them and began the process of cleaning them all up and getting them back into their clothes.

Once order was restored, I embarked on the last (and really tricky) phase. Obviously, I didn’t want them to be able to trace this back to me or, for that matter, to hypnosis. I also didn’t want them to have time to get used to their new (b)romances; for maximum disruption at the championship game, the shock of discovery needed to be as fresh as possible. I carefully blanked everyone’s memory of all sexual activity and suggestions given during this session. They would only remember the innocuous concentration and stress-relief therapy (and never connect it with any other changes in their outlook)… except under two special circumstances. The first of those is where Joey figured into my scheme. I had noticed his class ring (which he didn’t take off, apparently, even when ‘showering’) had an especially sparkly green stone that glowed conveniently in the overhead office lighting. “Joey, hold up your right hand so that everyone can see your ring,” I commanded. He obeyed immediately, freezing with his hand outstretched, and in that pose his trim body and sweet boyish face made him look like the model for a particularly elfin lawn-jockey statue.

“Paul, Jeremy, Kevin, Cole, Tommy, look at Joey’s ring… look closely… focus on it… memorize it… let it be the only thing you see.” All five young footballers were now staring fixedly at Joey’s extended fist, as helpless as little birds mesmerized by a snake, their eyes locked on the ring. “Whenever Joey tells you specifically to look at his ring, you will be compelled to do so. You will not be able to look away from it, and as you look you will instantly go deep into hypnotic trance without any ability to resist… even deeper than you are now. In that trance you will recall and repeat silently to yourself the instructions I am about to give you making them even more firmly, inescapably locked into your mind and will. Then, when Joey removes his ring from sight, you will return to normal consciousness, with no conscious memory of the instructions, nor any realization that you were in trance at all. If you even retain any awareness that Joey said anything to you, you will be convinced that it was merely a passing pleasantry, completely unimportant and unworthy of recalling. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir…” All five helpless studs nodded, their eyes never leaving the glittering ring.

“Joey, you will take advantage of any brief opportunity that allows you to be alone with Cole, Kevin, Paul, Jeremy, or Tommy that arises during the next few weeks leading up to the championship game. When you are alone with any one of them, you will instantly be under hypnosis and feel a compulsion to tell him to look at your ring. When he does so, you will watch him go into trance as he stares at your ring. Then you too will be silently repeating the instructions I am about to give you all. After you have finished, you will put your hand in your pocket so that the ring is out of sight and return to your normal consciousness at the same time he does. You also will have no memory of having shown him your ring or of having gone into hypnosis again. It will have been a merely casual encounter, quickly dismissed and forgotten. You will do this with each of them as often as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir…”

“Very good, gentlemen. Now these are the instructions that you will repeat while hypnotized by Tommy’s ring and will obey to the letter. At the kick-off of the championship game and never until that time, you will suddenly remember what I had commanded you to forget: your obsessive sexual connection with your partner here and the sexual acts that led to it. In the shock of that realization, you will find yourself incredibly aroused and virtually unable to think about anything else. However, no matter what, you will still remember nothing, then or ever (even under hypnosis), about the involvement of myself or hypnotherapy in creating that situation.” This being the all-or-nothing of my plan, it was essential that it stick, so I made each of them, one at a time, repeat the instructions (for a couple of them, more than once, to get it word perfect and absolutely ingrained). When I was completely satisfied with all their responses, and as sure as I could be, that their resulting emotional chaos would be a literal “game-changer”, I prepared to wake everyone. However, it suddenly occurred to me that I had left one rather significant loose end (Dom); and that, since Joey would be doing all the “heavy lifting” from here on out, I owed the boy a reward.

“Dom, if you should happen to see any of these boys staring at Joey’s ring, you will take no notice and think nothing of it. And, you will never connect any problems your team experiences with my having hypnotized them. You will remain convinced that the hypnotherapy was exactly what we agreed upon, and that it did nothing but good for the mental state and fitness of your players.” I didn’t bother to make him repeat it. Dom was so thoroughly in my power by this time that he could never fight his way out.

Then I called Joey and Tommy forward once more. “Joey, at kick-off, when you remember as I ordered you to, you will remember one other thing. You won’t think about why or how you know this, nor will you connect it with me, but you will realize that you can hypnotize Tommy with your ring; you can use it to put him into deep trance and make him obey you sexually.” Since, thanks to Tommy’s already instilled sexual bond with Joey’s oral services, I knew it wouldn’t take much to get him, straight though he might be, to reciprocate a bit more than just allowing himself to be touched, I was reasonably confident in Joey’s chances.

Besides which, I stacked the deck a little further. “Tommy, after the championship game, Joey may show you his ring again. If he does, you will find it impossible to keep from going into hypnosis… into deep, deep hypnosis… so deep that you will be helpless to resist any command he gives you… will be his helpless, obedient slave… helpless… obedient… hypnotized… slave.” Repeat that.

“…helpless… obedient… hypnotized… slave…” Tommy showed no resistance or discomfort as he dutifully parroted the instructions. His staring face was focused, but calm.

I performed that last remaining bits of mental clean-up, then woke them all from their trances and ushered them out of my office. Dom was effusively grateful, and, I have to admit, I felt like a real shit for what the mob had made me do to them. But not so remorseful that I skipped “dropping the dime” on them so that the mob would know to place their bets; my life depended on it!

Game Day (and After)

I stayed home that weekend, but I didn’t have the heart to watch the game on TV. However, the local newspaper gave a detailed account of the stunning upset. _______ Academy (the opposing school) had won the toss, but at the kick-off, as his foot met the ball, Tommy had turned white as a sheet and the kick had bobbled, going out of bounds almost immediately, giving them enormously advantageous field placement. They took advantage and (even though _______ High’s defense had not been part of my tampering) managed to score in the first few minutes of the game. Things only went downhill from there, as our Offensive backfield was utterly disorganized and distracted. The final score could only be termed a blowout.

I had just finished reading about the debacle, wondering if I could possibly feel more miserable, when my doorbell rang. Without thinking I open the door and there stood my oily nemesis with his two oversize henchmen. (Note to self: install a damned peephole!)

As before, he didn’t wait to be invited in, but sauntered through the door as if he owned the place. Well, at least this time the goons hadn’t manhandled me. “I see you’ve been reading about your triumph,” he was grinning like a piranha who had won the lottery. “The Organization is very pleased, which means that I am very pleased with you. I have come to return your marker. He handed me the betting slips. “We are quits, unless, of course, you should continue to make injudicious wagers.” He turned as though to leave, but before I could release my held breath in a sigh of relief, he turned back. “It goes without saying that, if you have insufficiently covered your tracks, you will not implicate us. The results would be extremely unpleasant. And final. Besides which, I took the liberty of placing some of our bets under your name (which helped pay off your own debt). I doubt that the ethics board of the Psychiatric Association would be particularly interested in fanciful tales about ‘the mob’, when presented with such an obvious patsy to blame.” His smile was unwavering, but it no longer even remotely touched his ice-chip eyes. “While I’m here,” he continued, “Perhaps we can discuss your next assignment.”

My next assignment?!! Gulp

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