A chip off the old block

By Whitechap e1 - whitechap_e1@talktalk.net
published April 27, 2019
Category: Hypnosis   Tags: #incest #daddy #bondage #slut #piss

Mark attends a hypnotist show with his father

A chip off the old block

There’s a sharp click near my ear, someone snapping their fingers, my eyes blink open and the room slowly comes into focus. It takes me a moment to take in my surroundings.

I am in a bit of a pickle, lying on my back, suspended in the air, staked to some sort of frame like a St Andrew’s cross. Fortunately there’s a mirror on the ceiling so I can see what’s going on. I am completely naked and stretched out in every direction, leather straps have been tightly bound round my ankles and my wrists, my legs have been pulled down and apart, my arms pulled high above my head splayed outwards. My head is resting on a cushioned pad, and there’s another leather strap around my temple pinning me in place, and there’s a broad leather collar, tight round my throat. My skin feels hot, damp and looks flushed in the mirror, I’m covered with some sort of oil. My cock and nipples are erect. Every part of me is stretched out taut, I’m completely helpless, and yet I just feel a wonderful sense of happy calm, warmth, comfort and the oddest sense familiarity.

There are two men working on me. One is obviously in charge, he’s wearing a smart black suit, he’s got short cropped dark hair, and his eyes although, kind, warm and intelligent are looking at me with detached amusement, like he’s a scientist inspecting some unexpected sample, he looks familiar, I’ve met him before but I can’t place him. “Ah, Mark,” he says, “Welcome back, we’ll carry on where we left off.”

My attention is to drawn to the other man, the assistant, he’s easier to read than the man in charge. He’s a middle age guy, heavy, tall and bald, his eyes are running up and down my naked body greedily, he looks hot and flushed, his face is contorted, his mouth a crooked sneer of undisguised lust. He’s dispensed with his shirt, nice strong chest with a light covering of dark furry hair, and his zipper’s been pulled down with his long, fat cock pulled out. His cock looks nice and hard with a little dribble of pre-cum oozing from the tip and as he watches me I can see it flexing, bouncing around. He’s greasing up a dildo rubbing its length slowly, methodically, from tip to base.

Then I catch sight of a metallic glint to one side and notice a camera mounted on a tripod, there’s a third man standing behind it. I hadn’t noticed him in the shadows. It turns me on that they are filming me, and I think to myself how much I’d like it if the cameraman, who I can’t see, is also getting turned on as he records the action.

“What’s going on?” I croak to the man in charge.

“What’s going on?” he repeats mimicking my voice, “Hush, boy, don’t speak, just relax, obey and enjoy, you’re here to learn, and we will repeat the lesson until you understand.” He runs a fingernail up the length of my cock as he replies, sending sparks of electrical desire coursing through my body.

I want to ask if I can cum but I’ve lost the ability to speak. The assistant hands the greased up dildo to the man in charge and he pushes it gently against my arsehole, then the man in charge says, “Receive,” and I can feel my arse relaxing and the dildo slides into my chute, when I’ve swallowed the entire length he fiddles with a switch at its base and it starts gently vibrating inside me. He nods to his assistant, “Play,” he says and the assistant loses no time in taking the end of the dildo from the man in charge and starts fucking me with it.

The man in charge looks at me again, “Accept,” he says and suddenly my pleasure from being toyed increases, every little vibration sending waves of throbbing ecstasy through my defenceless body. The man in charge stands back to watch my body bucking with pleasure as his assistant presses the dildo in and twists it to slacken my arsehole. I just lie there, relaxing, enjoying how nice and sloppy my arsehole is feeling as the assistant rams the dildo deep inside me, my mind racing with pleasure as he plays with me.

The man in charge touches my cock again, this time lightly tapping it with his fingers. If I were able to speak I’d beg for permission to cum to relieve the tension in my aching bollocks, but the man in charge says, “Piss,” and a jet of golden pee flies out of my cock, arching upwards before splattering down in my hair and across my face. “Drink,” says the man in charge and I open my mouth to drink my own blood-hot piss.

He seems pleased with my efforts and as the stream of piss dwindles and fades into a dribble he leans forward and whispers, “Good boy,” in my ear. I feel absurdly happy that I am managing to please the man in charge, and realise that even if I didn’t have to I’d gladly follow all his commands.

But he’s turned his attention back to his assistant, “Fuck him,” he says. The assistant smiles happily and pulls the dildo free of my arsehole before sliding his fat cock up me in its place. The assistant turns out to be good at fucking, he’s way better than the dildo, pushing himself deep inside me and holding me tight. He grabs me by the waist and the frame I’m tied to swings slightly back and forth as he pushes ever deeper into my core.

The man in charge strokes my hair and says, “Accept,” and my pleasure is increased, the pace increases as I yield, he leans forward, the assistant, he leans forward as he fucks me until his face is directly above mine and I look into his eyes, they’re bloodshot but strangely unfocused, far-away, like he’s drunk or stoned or something. I feel the sweat dripping off his face and onto mine. It feels so lovely his fat, throbbing cock dissolving into my soft flesh, and I feel nice and sleazy knowing that they’re filming me, it will all be recorded and the whole world will know what a slut I am.

“Kiss,” says the man in charge and the assistant leans down so his lips press against mine, we open our mouths his lips are hot, soft and passionate, and I can feel his tongue darting in, his sticky saliva dripping into my mouth.

“Unload,” says the man in charge to his assistant and the poor man begins to tremble. Suddenly he grabs me and for a moment he’s completely still, then one, two, three enormous spasms as his bucking body climaxes, filling me with his boiling spunk. Then he collapses, his chest on mine, so I can feel his heart beating recklessly next to mine, his cock is still hard and twitching deep inside me. I feel triumphant, I’ve made the man cum, I’ve used my power to make him cum. I’d love to keep him there, his cock stuck inside me, until he’s ready to do me again, I’d like to keep him forever. But the man in charge has other ideas, “Off,” he says and his assistant pulls gently out of me and I can feel his juices slowly dripping out, as he stands up and gives me a rueful smile. Then he moves round till his cock is next to my face and I greedily lick it clean.

I am wondering whether I’ll be permitted to cum or whether the man in charge will fuck me next, I’d like that, I’d like to see if I could pierce his cool exterior, use the power of my arsehole to turn him into a sex-crazed animal whose only thought is to fuck me. Or perhaps he’ll call the cameraman over, and I’ll get to see him waddle across, walking awkwardly with a huge hard-on in his trousers, I’d like that. But instead the man in charge yells out, “Next.”

Another man lumbers into view. I hadn’t been expecting that, I thought we were alone, the man in charge, his assistant, the cameraman and me, so I’m surprised that there’s another assistant waiting in the wings to take over where the first one left off. But I like that I was being watched, another man getting steamed up as he watched me following the man in charge’s orders and his assistant fucking me. I wonder if there are more, I hope so, I don’t want this experience to end, just want to get fucked over and over again.

The new man is busy taking his shirt off so I study his crotch, there’s a big lump pressing out, he looks even better hung than the guy who just fucked me, and I want him, I want his cock so badly. My eyes slide upwards, he’s got a nice manly hairy chest, short but strong. And then I catch his face and, to my astonishment, recognise him. He’s my dad.

No wait he can’t be my dad. I look away and look back again. Yes, he’s definitely my dad.

My stomach lurches as I realise how much I fancy my own dad, does that make me some sort of pervert? Dad looks equally enthusiastic, he watched me getting fucked by the first assistant, and now he’s staring at my body like a dog looking at a slab of steak, his mouth slightly open and drooling and as he stares at me he’s playing with the lump in his trousers, displaying his fat, erect cock to his own son. That’s wrong isn’t it? I shouldn’t fancy my dad and he shouldn’t fancy me.

But my dad seems to be in some sort of trance, his eyes aren’t focused, perhaps he hasn’t even recognised me. The man in charge must have done something to us, but does that matter? All I can think about is the big lump in dad’s trousers and my hole which now feels empty as the assistant’s spunk slowly drips out. I need a cock, need it to be buried deep inside me, I need to feel a man in there, need to get myself fucked, need another load of cum. Dad’s okay-looking and he’s got a nice big cock, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

I look up at the man in charge. I’d like him to say something, gives us instructions. Then I wouldn’t feel bad about letting my dad fuck me, and dad needn’t feel bad about what he’s doing either, we’d both just be doing what the man in charge told us to. It wouldn’t matter what we thought, it wouldn’t matter that we shouldn’t fancy each other, we’d be doing what we were told to do, all for the cameraman to capture.

I catch the man in charge’s eye and wait for him to say something, but he just smiles at me, his crooked, slightly cruel, inscrutable smile. I think he’s getting off on the scene as he watches me as I lust after my dad, imagining being fucked by his fat, hard cock and knowing that the man who just fucked me will be watching and everything is being recorded by the cameraman. My eyes turn back to my dad, I feel this warmth for him, I want him to fuck me so badly, and the fact it is all wrong somehow makes me want me him even more.

I can tell the man in charge is enjoying himself, he leaves us to stew for a couple of minutes and then he lifts his hand and snaps his fingers close to my ear, “Remember.”

Remember. I feel like I’m somersaulting backwards, my arms flailing around, as I fall back down the timeline.

Remember. What am I supposed to remember? It’s a frustrating command and life would be far easier if he told me what I should remember.

I close my eyes and try to think backwards. Okay, so mum and dad hatched up this plot so that mum could go to Paris with Kenny, her new man, for a week, and I would spend a week with dad on the road, learning about his work of selling bathroom fittings to wholesale stores around the country. Dad and mum have been separated since I was about ten and now have this slightly uneasy friendship going on, and I’m a worry, back from college, twenty-two years old, not yet working, just getting under everyone’s feet.

Now my relationship with dad probably isn’t want either of us want. It’s hard when your parents split not to take sides, and after dad left, well mum was there and he wasn’t, and she was angry with him, really angry. Kind of poisoned my mind. Going away to college helped, gave me a bit of perspective, helped me understand that my mum can be, well, a bit tricky. But my relationship with dad remains strained and I wasn’t looking forward to spending an entire week cooped up in his car. And I guess he felt the same way as he put the radio on as we sped off.

We drove up the M1 stopping every so often for a meeting with one of dad’s clients, eventually reaching our hotel, our base for the week, on the outskirts of Sheffield shortly before six o’clock.

Dad parked his car carefully, and the car park was almost of mid-range cars, the work-horses of the travelling representative. Sure enough the occupants of the hotel proved to be sweaty-looking men in cheap suits, exuding the false camaraderie of salesman away from home.

The hotel manager standing behind the reception counter had a slightly unexpected name tag, ‘Otto’, it read. But dad greeted him like a long lost friend. “Hey Otto, good to see you,” he hollered. Then he stopped to introduce me as his son, “Chip off the old block,” said Otto and they both laughed like it was something clever and unusual to have said.

We booked in an dad asked what the show was for that night, which surprised me, but apparently the hotel put on shows most evenings to keep the travelling salesmen entertained. “Oh, we’ve got the Great Maestro, you know that hypnotist from Wakefield coming.”

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Replied dad.

“Yeah, really good. Back by popular demand, as they say,” commented Otto.

Dad turned to me, “You’ll love the show, Mark, last time he got my chum Mal Scott to go down on all fours and run round the room barking. God, do you remember that Otto, how we all laughed until our sides ached.”

“I don’t think anyone who was there will forget that sight. And talk of the devil,” chuckled Otto and then nodded at a tall, heavy, bald guy who’d just come in.

“Mr Wallace,” roared the newcomer, “how the dickens are you?”

“Hey, Mal,” shouted my dad, opening his arm wide to give him a man-hug, “let me introduce you to my son Mark. Mark this gentleman is Mal Scott.”

Mr Scott looked me up and down, “You’re a good looking lad,” he said, “chip off the old block.”

And I stood there watching them as they all laughed helplessly, and contemplated, darkly, the fact that I’d landed somewhere where clichés count as humour.

“Look, Mal,” said dad, “we’re just popping up to shower after our day, we should be down again in about half an hour for supper and the show, they’ve got that hypnotist back, you know the one who made you think you were a dog. Woof-woof.”

“Great, I’ll join you guys for supper, if that’s okay, and this time you should try going up and being a subject, you’d love it, and so would your boy, woof-woof.” Replied Mr Scott as he gave me a wink.

Our rooms were next to each other on the first floor and I quickly showered and changed into my jeans and a sweatshirt, glad to put the working day behind me.

Downstairs Otto found us a table near the front of the stage and Mr Scott joined us shortly afterwards, like my dad he was still wearing his suit. He turned to me, “So, Mark are you going to be joining your dad in the bathroom fittings world?”

I shook my head apologetically and explained that I’d just left college and was looking for my first job, probably in advertising or marketing.

Mr Scott didn’t seem too impressed by this, he let me rattle on and then leant across the table, “How old are you son? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-two, actually,” I say.

“Well I can tell what little I know about work. Firstly work is just about making other people pleased, you know your boss or your customer, that’s all we do all of us, we work to make someone else happy with what we’ve done. It doesn’t matter if you’re in an eight hundred quid suit, working in a gleaming skyscraper, or if you’re in nylon overalls and a hi-viz jacket scraping dead pigeons off the road, it’s all about making your Boss happy. Secondly you get ahead through who you know, not by what you know. My advice is find yourself a good Boss, you’ll be happy enough if you enjoy pleasing whoever you need to please. Now, I hear Otto is looking for a new assistant. You could do worse you know, if you’re setting out, than working for him, here. He’d be a good Boss, he’d break you-in, show you the ropes, get you trained up to please him and the clientele. You’d get to know the regulars and, who knows, when it’s time to for you to move on one of them might be your next Boss.”

I looked round the room to see if I could spot any interesting people, but sadly couldn’t. The food arrived and we ate quietly. Mr Scott appeared to have lost interest in talking to me but every time I glanced in his direction he caught my eye, like he was staring at me all the time, it was really very odd.

Anyway we were interrupted by the arrival of the hypnotist on stage. He was a good-looking man, smartly dressed in a black suit, strode onto the stage brimming with confidence and introduced himself as “The Great Maestro”. Then he scanned the audience nodding occasionally as he recognised some of the men in the crowd. His eyes met mine as he looked at the crowd and seemed to fix briefly, I felt something, his eyes were warm, encouraging, I instantly knew I could trust him.

Meanwhile Otto had dragged three plastic chairs up onto the stage next to the Great Maestro, and the hypnotist nodded at Otto and then wheeled round to face the crowd. “Tonight I’ll need three volunteers, now don’t be scared, you know you can trust me, who wants to be first?”

As he said those words he was looking directly at our table, at me, and dad and Mr Scott, I wondered if he wanted me to volunteer, but it was my dad who stood up and walked up onto the stage. “Dave Wallace, reporting for duty,” he said as he clasped the hypnotist’s hand.

“Hello Dave, sit yourself down, make yourself comfortable and take this pendant,” said the Great Maestro, dad did as he was told. “Now,” continued the hypnotist, “take the pendant and hold it up in the air about eighteen inches in front of you. I’m just going to move your hand a bit to set the pendant in motion and I want you to keep moving your hand and watch it, watch how its surfaces reflect the light as it moves.”

A curious light seemed to come into dad’s eyes as he focused on the slowly rotating pendant. The hypnotist was whispering in his ears, and dad was frowning like he was concentrating on what he was being told and his lips were moving like he was muttering, while all the time staring at the slowly rotating pendant. Then quite suddenly the light seemed to fade in my dad’s eyes, he sagged a bit in his seat, the hypnotist clutched the top of his head and his eyes closed as his head rolled forward, and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

“One down,” announced the hypnotist, “now who’s next?”

Again he scanned the room and again his eyes seemed to rest on mine and again I felt like he wanted me to stand up and join my dad on the stage, but before I had a chance to Mr Scott got up and started walking confidently onto the stage.

The hypnotist smiled at Mr Scott warmly, “Ah, you’ve come back for more have you?”

“Do you worst, Sir,” replied Mr Scott with a sarcastic grin as he took a seat on the stage.

“Of course I will,” said the hypnotist handing him a pendant, “you know the drill.”

Mr Scott set the pendulum swinging on his own accord and smiled blissfully as it slowly turned in front of his eyes. The hypnotist came beside him and started whispering in his ear, and Mr Scott had this big goofy grin on his face, and just like my dad I saw the light drain from his eyes as the hypnotist worked his magic.

“Two down, one to go,” said the hypnotist as he looked at what he’d done to my dad and Mr Scott, both happily asleep, sprawled out in their chairs. His eyes scanned the room again and this time they stuck on mine and after a moment he nodded. I felt this force, an irresistible force, as he stared at me. I rose to my feet almost without thinking and steered myself towards the master hypnotist, caught like a moth in the bright flickering light of a candle, unable to resist the call of his eyes.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” He asked.

“I’m Mark Wallace,” I replied and pointed at my dad, “Dave’s son.”

The hypnotist looked from me to my dad and back again, “We’re going to have fun tonight. I can see the resemblance now, chip off the old block aren’t you?”

The audience all started laughing at that, and I joined in, somehow the words were quite funny when the hypnotist said them.

He sat me down and handed me the pendant and set it in motion. He whispered as I watch the spinning prism, telling me I had to trust him, telling me I had to trust my dad and his friend Mr Scott, telling me how good it would feel to trust him completely and enter the circle of trust, I could feel my lips going as I agreed with what he was saying. His words filled my brain wiping away any thoughts of my own, but it did feel good, listening to his voice, agreeing that I trusted him, and then he started telling me I needed to obey as well as trust, he had my best interests at heart, I needed to trust him and I needed to obey, yes, yes, yes, went my slippery lips. Then quite suddenly he grasped my head and told me to surrender, it felt good letting my eyes close, letting my head roll forward, slipping down, down, down.

I really can’t remember what happened next, odd snatches, hearing the audience laugh and then the loud voice of the hypnotist, counting upwards and feeling myself emerge from the mists as he told me I was awake.

I sat there blinking next to my dad and Mr Scott, who were also blinking. But I still felt tired, shattered even, whereas dad and Mr Scott seemed to be full of beans. “Mal and I are going to stay down and have a drink with the others,” my father said, “you’re welcome to join us Mark.”

I shook my head, the day had been long, stressful and intense. “Sorry, dad I’m too tired.” I left them, made my way up to my room, brushed my teeth and stripped off down to my boxers. I got myself under the covers felt the cool cotton sheets against my skin and as I laid my head on the pillow I went straight to sleep again. A deep, dreamless sleep.

I was awakened by a noise. A noise like someone was running their finger round the rim of a wineglass. A ringing noise that somehow boomed as well.

And I knew, although I don’t know how I knew, that I was being summoned. I pushed myself out of bed. There was no time to get dressed or even pull my shoes on, I knew I had to answer the call, I knew I had to get to the source of the noise. I stumbled into the dark corridor, lit only by a faint light over the stairwell, but I didn’t need light, I could hear the noise, the ringing, chiming noise echoing in my head. The noise would lead me to where I needed to go.

My feet took me along the corridor, I felt like I was floating, down the dimly lit staircase and across the reception hall, the noise getting louder with every step. Onwards I went into the dining room and up on to the stage, at the back of the stage I found a door. I went through and there they were, the Great Maestro, my dad, Mr Scott and Otto the hotel manager.

The Great Maestro put down the small wineglass he was holding, “Mark, how kind of you to join us,” he said, “welcome to the second part of the hypnosis show.”

I looked at them. Dad and Mr Scott were both standing still, like statues, their eyes were open but somehow empty, Otto was busying himself with a video camera set up on a tripod and the Great Maestro was smiling at me, “Do you like what I’ve done to your dad and his friend?” he asked, “They’re having a short rest before I bring them to life again.”

I looked again at my dad and Mr Scott, they looked peaceful but their eyes were so vacant that it was quite unnerving. Instinctively I raised a hand in front of my dad’s face and waved it, there was no flicker, no response, he just continued to stare straight ahead. “What have you done to them?”

“They are in a deep trance, I’ve used my powers to glue their brains but they’re in a nice happy, safe place, incapable of thinking, incapable of worrying, just ready to follow my orders. If you do what I ask you to do they’ll come back to normal, is up to you to get them released.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Why, yes, of course,” I responded.

“Good. I have a treat planned for you but is essential that you place all your trust in me so I can make it happen.” He pulled back a sheet to reveal a wooden X-shaped cross about six foot tall. Each of the four end points was padded and had leather straps attached, and there was another pad just above where the two planks met, finally there were a variety of heavy chains linked to the ends as well. “Do you trust me boy? If you let me strap you to this frame I promise to reward your obedience by releasing your dad and his friend and you will be rewarded with pleasures that you could never imagine. Will you do what I ask?”

His eyes were staring into mine and I could feel myself starting to slip under his spell. I tried to weigh up the proposition, I’d get dad and Mr Scott released, but be bound helplessly to the wooden cross he had showed me. For some reason he was promising I’d find the experience pleasurable. Meanwhile I couldn’t move my eyes away from his and I struggling to think for myself.

“Come on,” he said gently, “it’s completely safe and you’ll enjoy yourself, you really will. You’ll release your father and Mr Scott from the spell I’ve put over them, you’ll enjoy it, you really will. You do trust me don’t you?”

The words dripped into my mind, it’s safe, I’ll enjoy it, it’ll set dad free and I trust the hypnotist, so why not, what’s there to lose from doing what he wanted?

“Look,” said the hypnotist coaxingly, “I’ll make it easy for you, Otto has got a massage oil specially prepared with a mixture of herbs and spices that will make you feel good. I’ll get him to rub some on you and as the oil seeps into your skin, it’ll make you feel all nice and gooey.”

Otto stepped forward, a blue glass bottle in his hand, grinning from ear to ear. Instinctively I took a step back away from him. “Oh, come now, boy, don’t be frightened, you’re amongst friends and you’ve got to trust us, no-one here will hurt you or damage you in any way,” said the hypnotist taking my hand and leading me, “there now, relax, lean back against the wooden frame and let Otto rub the oil on your skin.”

I was in an awkward position and nearly fell over as the hypnotist pushed me back against the frame and Otto started rubbing the oil on my chest. The oil was warming and smelt nice, bit minty, and was calming as Otto’s hands wandered across my chest, I looked at the Great Maestro and lost myself in his gaze. He was right, there was nothing to worry about, I was surrounded by loving friends, and the sticky oil was making me feel very nice. Otto gently stuck his fingers in the waistband of my boxers and slowly pulled them down. He wasn’t shy, his hands found my cock and as he greased it up I could feel myself getting excited and hard.

“That’s right, boy, let your cock get rigid, it makes you feel nice and sexy letting Otto touch you, doesn’t it? We’re all friends here so relax let your get hard, don’t feel embarrassed.”

“Oh, yes Sir,” I moaned as Otto started rubbing the oil into my bollocks.

The hypnotist was smiling at me as he raised my left arm high up above my shoulder, getting me to grasp the top of the frame as he gently bound my wrist in place with a broad leather strap. “There that feels good, doesn’t it?”

And he was right, having my wrist locked in place made me feel even hornier than I was before. I raised my other arm to show him I wanted him to bind it in place as well.

“Oh you are a good boy, you learn fast and you’ll go far,” muttered the hypnotist as he bound me. Then he knelt down and got me stand spread-eagled as he attached my ankles to the other ends of the frame. Otto’s fingers had moved between my legs and he was rubbing oil in my arsehole, sending me into further ecstasy.

When he had secured me at the feet, the hypnotist pulled another leather strap round my waist and pulled a collar round my neck before applying a final leather strap to pin my head against the small padded head-board. The straps were all quite loose but he worked his way round tightening each in turn, until I was unable to move. Then he moved back and worked with Otto to pull on a variety of pulleys. The first raised the frame in the air and the second flipped me back so I was lying face up on the cross, a third was used to raise me further till I was flying about three feet off the floor.

I looked up and could see myself in a mirror fixed to the ceiling, I smiled at myself.

The hypnotist returned to my side, he was holding a large wineglass and licked his finger and started rubbing its rim it made a noise similar but deeper to the ringing noise that had summoned me, "Time to get the men ready,” he said.

As I watched Mr Scott opened his eyes and staggered forward, he was clearly still under the hypnotist’s magic spell, unsteady on his feet, his eyes vacant and unfocused. When he reached us the hypnotist set his glass down and gently rubbed the front of Mr Scott’s trousers massaging his cock until it bounced around and the poor man was moaning with desire.

“Look what you’ve done to Mr Scott, Mark,” the hypnotist murmured, then he picked up another wine-glass larger than the last and ran his finger over its rim. The noise was yet deeper and I watched my dad open his eyes.

Dad staggered across and the hypnotist’s experienced fingers worked dad’s cock into a state of excitement. “You really are a very dirty boy to get your own father worked up,” commented the hypnotist, “I think you’ll have to pay for being such a slut.”

The two men stood there staring at me vacantly, proudly rubbing their crotches, like sex-mad zombies. The hypnotist clearly hadn’t released them from the spell.

“You promised me you were getting release them from your spell,” I say.

“Of course I’ll set them free, but before then we’ll have some fun while they’re still in my power. They’ll do whatever I tell them, and when I let them go they won’t have any memory of what they’ve done, until I command them to remember. Your reward for being such a good boy and for trusting me is that you get the pleasure of being fucked by them. Otto will record everything and you’ll then come and work for Otto, and he and I will continue your education, understand?”

“But, but,” I mutter, my head spinning.

“You still haven’t quite learned the lesson, have you, and you can’t move on until you’ve learnt,” he said, picking up the small wine-glass, “time for you to go back to sleep.”

I watch as he runs his finger round the rim of the glass. I hear that familiar tone, the noise that summoned me from my sleep. This time he’s using the magic to make me sleep again. Everything fades to black.

There’s a sharp click near my ear, someone snapping their fingers, my eyes blink open and the room slowly comes into focus. It takes me a moment to take in my surroundings.

I am in a bit of a pickle, lying on my back, suspended in the air, staked to some sort of frame like a St Andrew’s cross. Fortunately there’s a mirror on the ceiling so I can see what’s going on. I am completely naked and stretched out in every direction, leather straps have been tightly bound round my ankles and my wrists, my legs have been pulled down and apart, my arms pulled high above my head splayed outwards. My head is resting on a cushioned pad, and there’s another leather strap around my temple pinning me in place, and there’s a broad leather collar, tight round my throat. My skin feels hot, damp and looks flushed in the mirror, I’m covered with some sort of oil. My cock and nipples are erect. Every part of me is stretched out taut, I’m completely helpless, and yet I just feel a wonderful sense of happy calm, warmth, comfort and the oddest sense familiarity.

There are two men working on me. One is obviously in charge, he’s wearing a smart black suit, he’s got short cropped dark hair, and his eyes although, kind, warm and intelligent are looking at me with detached amusement, like he’s a scientist inspecting some unexpected sample, he looks familiar, I’ve met him before but I can’t place him. “Ah, Mark,” he says, “Welcome back, we’ll carry on where we left off.”

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Category: Hypnosis   Tags: #incest #daddy #bondage #slut #piss
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