Hypnosis Files 6 (rev. draft)

Hypnosis Files 6

If you have read my stories, you know that I write about mind control and m/m sex. If these do not interest you, you should stop reading now. If you share my interests in hypnosis and control, then please make yourself comfortable. As much as possible, try to shut out possible sources of external distraction. Turn off your phone, close the curtains, put in earplugs or use noise-cancelling earphones. When you are ready, just sit back and read the following.

Reading can be like hypnosis. When you become immersed in a story, your mind engages in what’s called an hallucinatory reading. Your mind creates images of the characters and the environment surrounding the characters. Sometimes the author puts very specific images into your mind—the color of the hero’s eyes, what he’s wearing, how he’s built. At other times, he may simply present a rough outline. But he can never supply you with a complete picture. That is where your mind comes in. You fill in the blanks. In the following, I’m trying an experiment. I will supply you with certain details and let you fill in the blanks. All you have to do is to continue to read.

First, let’s make sure you’re comfortable. Just take a few seconds to take stock of your situation. Maybe you would be more comfortable in another chair. Maybe you would like to put your feet up. Just eliminate any potential source of discomfort. Go ahead and remove your clothes if that would make you feel better. It doesn’t matter what you do as long as you feel good. That’s the whole purpose of this experiment—to make you feel good.

Now we’re going to take a few deep breaths. It’s important that you breathe slowly and deeply. Breathe in slowly, filling your lungs. Then hold your breath for the time it takes you to read this sentence. And now slowly breathe out, letting your body relax. That’s it. Good. Very Good. Now again. Breathe in slowly and deeply. Now hold it. Hold it. Just a bit longer. Good. Now slowly release your breath, relaxing even more than before. Now one final time. Breathe in slowly. Fill your lungs. Just a little more. Good. Now breathe out slowly and evenly, letting your body relax. Excellent.

Now, as you continue to breathe slowly and evenly, I want you to focus on the words on the page. Just read them slowly and evenly, letting them sink into your mind. I know that sometimes it can be a chore to read, but we’ll keep things simple. It isn’t difficult to let your eyes flow over the words and to hear them inside your mind as your read them.

It’s so simple. Just relax and read. You wouldn’t be reading if you didn’t get pleasure from reading, and this should be no different. Just allow your eyes to flow over the words and hear the words inside your head.

Words can conjure up not only sounds but also images inside our heads. For example, take the word “languid.” The dictionary says that it means unenergetic, unhurried, relaxed, leisurely, lazy, indolent. Imagine a languid brook, an unhurried stream of water flowing between banks of long green grasses. Trees overhang the brook, creating flickering patterns of light and shade. The stream is shallow and clear. You can see the stones lining the bed of the stream so clearly. A stray leaf drifts slowly by on the surface of the water. The leaf is curled up, yellowing at the edges. You watch it as if moves slowly downstream.

The air is warm. A light breeze blows across your body, stirring the hairs on your forearms. You feel so relaxed, so comfortable. You lean back and look up at the sky through the thick leaves of the tree. The sky is so blue. The leaves shift in the gentle breeze, tilting one way and then another, letting stray shafts of sunlight through. You feel so comfortable, so relaxed. It’s difficult to stay awake. Your eyes begin to feel heavy, and your thoughts begin to drift, to float away. There are no demands on you. You don’t have to be anywhere. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just relax and drift. That’s all. Nothing more. Just breathing slowly in and out and relaxing more and more, sinking down and just drifting.

It feels so good just to lie there and listen to the sounds of the water flowing in the brook and the leaves fluttering in the wind. So comfortable, so relaxed. So easy just to let go and relax. So easy just to drift. So easy to let your mind wander. So easy to free your mind to experience sensations built out of the words you are reading and your memories.

So easy to daydream. So easy to let the images flicker in and out of your mind.

You are no longer alone. A man is sitting beside you watching the stream. From time to time, he turns toward you and smiles. He likes being there with you. I don’t know what the man looks like. He’s your dream lover. He is your Mr. Right. Just imagine him. You are attracted to certain looks. Perhaps you like big muscular men; perhaps you like twinks. Maybe you like black hair; maybe you like bald men. It doesn’t matter. Just endow your companion with the characteristics that attract you. See him in your mind. You know what he looks like. This is your story. He’s your hero. Just see him.

He’s your dream lover, but I’m going to borrow him for a few minutes. Don’t worry. I’ll give him back to you. I just want to give him with an interest in mind control. Let’s make him an expert hypnotist. You will like that. After all, if you didn’t like hypnosis and the idea of mind control, you wouldn’t be reading this story. So you’re not going to object if we give your man skills in hypnosis.

He has a nice voice, doesn’t he? So soft and insinuating. It almost seems to be coming from inside your mind. “Just relax,” he says. “Relax. Let your mind drift. It feels so good just to let your mind drift and let my voice guide you. You relax more and more. So relaxed. So comfortable. Just focus on my words and let them sink deeply into your mind, guiding your thoughts.

You feel so safe and so comfortable. You feel so good. It’s so easy to let go and just relax. And the more you relax, the better you feel. The more you relax, the safer you feel. So warm. So comfortable. My words guide you and help you relax more and more. My words sink deeply into your mind. My words become your reality. Just relax. Let me guide you as you go deeper and deeper.

You have been here before. You trust me. You feel so safe with me. Just relax, and go deeper and deeper as I count backward from ten to one.

Ten. So relaxed, so at ease. Just focusing on my words and letting them sink deeper and deeper into your mind.

Nine. Going deeper and deeper, more and more relaxed. Your thoughts drifting.

Eight. So heavy and sleepy. Just relax. Your mind is slowing down. It’s becoming so hard to think your own thoughts. It’s so much easier to let my thoughts guide you. You feel so much better when my thoughts guide you. So much better.

Seven. My thoughts fill your mind and take you deeper and deeper into relaxation. Focus on my words. They fill your mind. My thoughts are your thoughts.

Six. So heavy. Just drifting. Your mind is so open to my thoughts. My thoughts fill your mind and make you feel so good. Just relax.

Five. More and more relaxed. Deeper and deeper. So relaxed. So open. So obedient to my thoughts. My thoughts are your thoughts.

Four. Deeper and deeper. More and more relaxed. Your will fades away. My will fills your mind. You are so obedient and submissive. It makes you feel so good to be obedient and submissive.

Three. So obedient. So submissive. So happy. It makes you feel so happy to obey me. It makes you feels so happy to submit to me.

Two. Almost there now. When I say the next number, you will be totally relaxed. Your mind will be totally open. You will be totally submissive. You will be totally obedient.

One. Completely relaxed. Completely open. Completely submissive. Completely obedient.

You feel so good when you submit to me. You feel so good when you obey. My will fills your mind. My thoughts fill your mind. Go deeper and deeper into obedience and submission. More and more obedient. More and more submissive.

Nothing makes you feel better than submitting to me. Nothing makes you feel better than obeying me.

Submission and obedience make you so horny. The more you submit to me, the hornier you get. The more you obey me, the hornier you get.

You want to suck my cock. You love sucking my cock. Nothing makes you feel better than sucking my cock. Open your mouth. That’s a good boy. Now start sucking my cock.

My cock feels so good inside your mouth. You love to suck my cock. It fills your mouth. It feels so good to suck my cock.

Run your tongue up and down the shaft. My cock is so hard. You love the feel of my cock inside your mouth. You feel so good when you suck my cock. My cock fills your mouth. You love to suck my cock.

And the more you suck my cock, the better you feel. The more you suck my cock, the more submissive you feel. The more you suck my cock, the more obedient you become.

That’s it. Take it deep into your throat. The deeper you take it, the better you feel. The deeper you take it, the more submissive you feel. The deeper you take it, the more obedient you become.

Good boy. My cock is so hard. My cock is throbbing. You can feel it throbbing inside your mouth. You love to suck my cock. Nothing makes you feel better than sucking my cock.

You want me to shoot my load down your throat. You love to swallow my cum. It makes you feel so good to swallow my cum. It makes you feel so submissive to swallow my cum. It makes you feel so obedient to swallow my cum.

Suck. Suck harder.

My cock plunges deeper into your throat. You feel my groin and my balls pressed against your face. You love being face-fucked by me. You push your face into my groin. My pubes press into your face. You can feel the wiry hair. You can feel the rubbery hardness of my balls. You can smell me. You love it. You love to suck me. You love to suck me so hard that I shoot my cum down your throat. You love to swallow my cum.

You hear me moan. You know that you are giving me pleasure. You suck even harder.

It drives me crazy. I thrust my cock in and out of your mouth. You feel my balls banging against your face each time I thrust it. You want my cock deep inside you. You want me to cum down your throat.

Take it. Take it all.

You feel my body begin to spasm in orgasm. You grab my buttocks and push my cock deep into your throat. I scream with pleasure as I cum. My thick hot sticky cum fills your mouth. You swallow it greedily. You are so hungry for my cum.

You feel so good. You feel so submissive. You feel so obedient.

You will read this story over and over. Each time you read it, you will become more submissive. Each time you read it, you will become more obedient. And the more submissive and obedient you are, the hornier you will become. Each time you read this story, your cock will get harder and harder. Each time you read this story, you will get hornier and hornier. Each time you read this story, you will grab your cock and jerk off. Each time you read this story, it will make you want me to control your mind.

You will write to me, begging me to take over your mind. My stories make you so horny that you will beg me to take over your mind and control it. You want to submit to me. You want to obey me. You want me to take over your mind.  Write to me and beg me to take control of your mind.

I Like to Watch

I Like to Watch

(c) by the author 2016

The man’s right eye unfocuses, glazing over with post-coital bliss. He is too dazed to process what is before his eyes. His breath is ragged. He swallows great, hungry gulps of air. But he isn’t thinking about his breathing right now. He isn’t thinking about anything. Frankie has just face-fucked the man into the mindless oblivion. I’ve seen it before. Frankie’s good at taking his partners to that state.

A U-shaped loop of cum is splattered across the man’s left eye and eyebrow. The tail extends down his cheek and onto his chest. Frankie’s first shot. His nose and the area around his mouth are coated with globs of Frankie’s cum. As Frankie’s spasms subsided, he aimed his cock at the man’s face. He knows I like to see him cum over his partner’s face.

The man’s left eye flutters as he struggles to pull it open. Frankie reaches down and wipes the cum off the eye with his thumb. He pushes his thumb into the man’s open mouth. The man closes his lips around Frankie’s thumb. His cheek and then his throat muscles convulse as he sucks the cum off Frankie’s thumb and swallows it. 

Both his eyes are open now. A thread of cum runs from his eyelashes down to his cheek. He doesn’t notice it. All he looks at is Frankie’s cock, still gleaming with his own saliva and Frankie’s cum. Frankie slowly runs his hand up and down his cock, squeezing it and forcing a bead of cum out. The man obediently opens his mouth and licks Frankie’s cock clean. He closes his eyes. He wants to shut out all other sensations but the feel of Frankie’s hard cock sliding through his lips and across his tongue. He wants to feel it thrust against the back of his throat. He wants more of that frantic, uncontrollable, demanding, dominating cock that filled his throat a minute before. He needs more. He needs.

When Frankie pulls out, his lips chase after Frankie’s cock. He wants Frankie in his mouth. Frankie holds the man’s head back with his right hand, as he slowly pivots from side to side. His cock sways back and forth. The man’s eyes track it. He is hypnotized by it. Frankie pulls open the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. He fishes around inside, feeling for what he wants. He finds it. He pulls it out and bumps his left leg against the drawer to shut it. The man hasn’t taken his eyes off Frankie’s cock.

Above him, Frankie uses both hands to open the packet he pulled from the drawer. He tears off a narrow strip of foil and lets if fall to the floor. He lowers his hands to his groin. The man gasps as the implications of what he sees invade his mind. He smiles as Frankie places the condom over the head of his cock and begins unrolling slowly—always slowly—over the shaft of his cock.

Frankie always moves slowly, almost languidly at times. It’s part of his technique of seduction. He forces his partners to anticipate what he is about to do to them, to desire what he is about to do to them.

It’s one of the things I appreciate about Frankie. He knows I’m watching, and he knows he’s seducing me as well, making me anticipate what he will do next, making me want it, making me want  him, making me want.

*****

Frankie is the tenant of the apartment upstairs. Technically I’m his landlord. The rent is a bargain between us. One of the bedrooms has hidden cameras and is miked for sound. On the first and third Fridays of every month, Frankie finds a suitable partner—I’ve never asked where he finds them. In bars, online, through a phone app, maybe while he’s shopping or just walking around. Frankie never has any problem finding someone. I trust his taste in men. There are no restrictions on the type of guy he can invite to his apartment. He hasn’t disappointed me so far. But then, with Frankie’s looks, he has plenty of choices.

Once he’s found someone, he sends me a text. One room in my unit houses the camera monitors and the recording equipment. When I receive the text, I unlock it and power up the equipment. Frankie never keeps me waiting for long. Soon the door to the bedroom opens, Frankie flicks on the lights, and he and his partner for the evening walk in. I start the cameras. There are eight of them located around the room. Each gives a different view of the bed.

Frankie always begins by slowly undressing the guy. He often uses the same line. “Let me undress you,” he says to guys who start removing their clothes. “It’s like unwrapping a present.” Frankie kneels down and unties their shoes, all the while running his free hand up and down their legs. The socks come off next. Then he stands up and moves behind the guy. As he kisses the guy’s neck and licks his ears, he swings that man around so that his chest faces one of the cameras full on. Frankie unbuttons the guy’s shirt or pulls the guy’s T off. His fingers find the man’s nipples and begin to play with them. His hands run up and down the guy’s torso. Almost all the men lift their arms over their heads and reach back so that their hands close around the back of Frankie’s head to pull him in closer. They love it when he nuzzles their neck.

Frankie doesn’t rush. Most guys’ crotches bulge as they become aroused. If they try to touch themselves, Frankie pulls their hands away. “What’s your hurry?” he asks. “We have plenty of time.” Somehow Frankie knows how long it takes to break each guy to his will. Ten-fifteen minutes, half an hour. Then the guy just surrenders and hands his body over to Frankie. He’s feeling too good to protest. He doesn’t want to interrupt Frankie. There comes a point when he just submits to the sensations Frankie is creating in his body. His own will oozes out of him. He slumps, letting Frankie hold him up. He closes his eyes. His mouth opens.

Frankie’s hands start reaching under the waistband of the guy’s pants. He pulls down the zipper and reaches inside. The guy bucks and thrusts his hips forward, pressing his groin against Frankie’s hand. He grinds his butt against Frankie’s groin. Frankie peels the pants off the man’s legs and tosses them aside. He teases the man’s crotch. A wet spot stains the front of the guy’s underwear. Frankie rubs the sticky pre-cum over the head of the guy’s cock. Sometimes, he lifts his thumb to the guy’s mouth and makes the guy taste himself. The guy is making little moans. He’s begging Frankie for more. He doesn’t know what he wants. He just wants more of Frankie.

Frankie pushes the guy to his knees and then he steps back so the guy can watch as Frankie disrobes. This is always one of my favorite parts. I chose Frankie in part because of his looks. He is in his mid-twenties now. He has a “swimmer’s build.” He is tall—six-one or six-two, tightly muscled across his body, but not like a body-builder—trim rather than bulging. He keeps his thick black hair cropped short. It encases his head like a tight-fitting helmet. His face is more exotic looking than handsome. I’ve never asked, but I suspect that he is Eurasian. His features are sculpted rather than blunt, and his skin tone is golden. I knew he would be able to attract partners.

More important, though, was his willingness to perform for me and to allow me to record his sessions. My online ad promised free rent in a fully furnished apartment to anyone willing to allow himself to be watched. I like to watch.

As you might imagine, the ad got hundreds of answers. Some who responded were just titillated. They wanted me to tell them more, to entertain them with a fantasy. Those I discarded. Some of the men didn’t have the requisite looks to attract other men, or at least the type of men I like to watch. It’s not that I have a particular type. I just feel that my efforts should be rewarded, and young, firm, virile bodies are more stimulating than older, softer ones. I auditioned several promising candidates, but, their vigorous assertions to the contrary, they either couldn’t perform in front of the cameras or were such poor performers that it would have been a waste of time to film them.

It was apparent from the first moment that Frankie is a natural. The man makes love to the camera. He loves to show off. He instinctively senses where the cameras are and how he should position his body and that of his partner to best display them to the camera. He makes sure I get plenty of reaction shots from his partner’s face.

His audition was perfect. I offered him the use of the apartment immediately. He readily agreed to the conditions. Free rent in exchange for two performances a month in the spare bedroom.

On the monitors, Frankie positions the other man doggie style. He bends over and begins to rim the man, making sure that both his tongue and the man’s asshole are visible on one of the screens. The man moans gently at the first touch of Frankie’s tongue. His eyes close with pleasure. He runs his tongue over his lips. He raises his face toward the camera (almost as if he knows it is there). His lips gape open, and a bead of saliva appears at one corner of his mouth and runs down his chin. He moans.

I like moans and groans and grunts. I don’t like the talkers, the guys who say, “Lick it, bitch,” or “Fuck me.” It seems so self-conscious and scripted. Luckily Frankie is good at sending guys to that realm beyond words.

Frankie takes a long slow lick from the guy’s balls to the top of his crack before zeroing in on his hole and drilling it with his tongue. He reaches under the guy with both hands and fondles his nipples. The guy reacts immediately. He moves his ass up and down against Frankie’s tongue. His cock is rigid and it bobs back and forth beneath his belly. His movements are conscious—they’re automatic responses to what Frankie is doing.

I told Frankie there are no limits on the men he selects to perform with him or what he does with them. I interested in watching, and I figure that he will perform better if the guys fit his preferences and he can do whatever brings him pleasure. The tenant before Frankie sometimes brought home older men, bears. That was fine with me. They’re not to my tastes but the performances are what counts.  I don’t care whether the tenant is a top or a bottom or versatile or whether he likes vanilla sex or kink. All that matters is that he put on a good show.

Frankie is a top—at least he has been in all our Fridays to date. He seems to prefer men who are shorter and smaller than he is. To judge from his behavior, he also likes passive partners. He likes to be the giver rather than the receiver of pleasure, and he likes to decide what is done. The partners usually try to be more active at first, but Frankie’s skills are so good that they soon relax and let him do whatever he wants.

He also likes to take his time. He can spend an hour arousing the guy before he even touches the guy’s cock or balls or ass. By the time Frankie gets around to what most of us think of as the erogenous zones, his partner has usually melted into a hunk of moaning flesh.

Today’s partner is no different. Frankie thrusts his face between his ass cheeks. I can only guess what his tongue is doing, but the other man’s arms give way and his face sinks into the pillow. His knees slide down until his entire body rests on the bed. His fingers clutch convulsively at the sheets. He smiles and moans.

Frankie grabs the man by the hips and lifts him so that he is on his knees again. Frankie’s erect cock sticks straight forward. He wraps his hand around the base and guides his cock between the man’s glutes. He presses forward slowly. There is resistance at first, but the man’s hole suddenly opens and Frankie plunges in one swift stroke. The man shouts and pounds the bed. He grimaces.

Frankie lets his cock rest within the man. He strokes the man’s back and kisses his neck. He whispers something in the man’s ear. The man nods his head yes. Frankie slowly begins fucking the man. At first the man whimpers a bit with each stroke and bites his lip to keep from crying out, but soon his cries give way to gasps of pleasure at each thrust.

Frankie wraps his arms around the man’s chest and rolls both of them onto their left sides. Frankie’s cock is visible on the overhead camera as he fucks the man. Frankie draws it almost all the way out each time before burying it in the man’s ass again. It gleams in the lights. Frankie’s fingers find the man’s nipples and begin squeezing them. The man turns his head back toward Frankie, his mouth open, begging to be kissed. Frankie obliges.

Frankie’s strokes are slow, languid, deliberate. He is priming the man, making him want more. Some nights he keeps to this pace for half an hour. He seems to know intuitively when his partners are ready for more. Tonight he spends twenty-two minutes by the clock. I can never guess at the exact moment when Frankie decides that the man has had enough and wants more. Perhaps there is some internal sign that Frankie senses through his cock.

On the monitors, Frankie withdraws from the man briefly and rolls him over onto his back. He grasps the man by the ankles and raises the man’s legs to his shoulders. He bends over the man and rolls him onto his back so that his asshole faces upwards toward Frankie’s waiting cock. He plunges back in and slams his groin against the man’s ass.

The thrusts come quicker, harder. The man’s body shakes with the force of Frankie’s fucking. His pecs jiggle up and down with each thrust. If I have one criticism of Frankie’s performance, it’s that once he starts the real fucking, he cums quickly. It usually takes him about ten minutes to reach his climax.

Tonight is no different. The two men surrender to the pleasure. They become mindless fuck toys. They shimmer with the power of the sex. Their sweaty bodies glide against one another, joined in the moment. Each thrust makes them grunt.

This is my favorite part. I love the way Frankie’s buttocks clinch and mound in this stage of the fucking. Each slam of his body against his partner sends a wave of movement from the bottom to the top of his buttocks. A buttquake.

When Frankie cums, he screams. A second later the man orgasms spontaneously, covering his chest with his own cum.

Frankie makes a few final, lazy thrusts into the man. They are enjoying the feeling of his cock inside the man.

Both men laugh quietly. Frankie eases himself out of the man and lies down beside him on the bed. He embraces the man and kisses him, on his neck, his mouth, his eyes. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder and says something to him. The man nods in agreement. The two of them nestle into the bed and close their eyes.

I turn off the cameras. Frankie will wait until the two of them recover. Then he will invite the man to take a joint shower. Sometimes that leads to further sex. But I never record that. That is Frankie’s business.

It will take me several days to edit the tapes from all the cameras into a coherent performance. I always send Frankie a copy. I don’t know if he watches them. I think he does. Naturally when I edit the tapes, I focus on the parts and the actions that interest me. Over time, Frankie has modified his performance to give me more of those bits, the ones that catch my attention. He is seducing me as surely as he seduces his partners.

The Surrogates

The Surrogates

z119z

© by the author 2016

He will begin to tremble soon.

***

I order him to undress and kneel. “Put your hands behind your back and cross them at the wrists.”

“Yes, Sir,” he says. His voice oozes with fake submission. He is playing a game. He hasn’t yet begun to suspect that I am not.

I straddle him, pinioning his torso between my thighs and squeezing it firmly. I make him feel my strength, my heat. I bend over and cuff his wrists with a plastic tie.

He wriggles his fingers against my calf and strokes the leather of the boot pressed against his back. I was waiting for that. So many subs try that out. It’s an automatic response—an attempt to gain information about the environment they find themselves in and assert their place within it. It is also an opportunity to begin their training.

“Get your hands off me. No touching unless I order you.” I strike the back of his head with an open palm—not hard, just enough to show him that I mean business. I grab him by the hair and pull his head back sharply, forcing him to look up at my face. I scowl at him. I slap his right cheek and then shove his head down, forcing him forward at the waist.

“Sorry, Sir,” he says. He sounds startled. He didn’t expect that response to what was after all an unconscious move. Perhaps he is beginning to be apprehensive about what will happen. If he isn’t, he should be

The plastic tie binds his wrists securely, but in this context it is less charged with significance than cuffs would be, less erotic, less meaningful. It is quick, efficient, practical, but not sexy. It downplays what will happen over the next few hours. It promises nothing. It is more a token of restraint than a potent symbol of it. A plastic tie lacks the solid, hard, threatening weight of thick leather or heavy metal handcuffs. It does not click shut with the satisfying finality of a lock. It is deficient in visual and tactile gravity. No one will ever fetishize plastic ties.

Perhaps this initial move disappoints him. It is not what he expected. He can see several pairs of cuffs and other forms of restraints hanging on the walls of the dungeon. He looked around when he came in and took stock of all the gear. He even expressed admiration. “Wow, you’ve got everything,” he said. He smiled with anticipation. His mind played with the idea that some of those objects would soon be attached to him. He decided he was going to enjoy this.

The plastic tie was his first lesson—his expectations are irrelevant here.

Nor do I pull the tie tight. He can still twist his arms about. The discomfort is minor. It is important to add restraints incrementally. Depriving him slowly of the illusion of freedom adds to the pleasure. He will realize too late that his ability to move is gradually being taken from him.

I am wearing only boots and a studded leather jock strap. He can see that I am bigger, stronger than he is. I let him look. I want him to be impressed. I want him to feel awe. I turn my back to him and walk over to the wall where some gear hangs from hooks. I know that he is watching me, examining my butt and back, evaluating them. I trust that he likes what he sees. Most men do.

I touch various objects on the wall, as if I am thinking about what I will do next. In truth, I know what I will use on him. But the play of muscles in my arms and shoulders as I reach out to fondle a wide, black leather collar, a flogger, a translucent, milky white plastic hood, makes him lick his lips in anticipation of my flesh. He wants my arms to crush him. He wants to be forced to worship my pecs, to run his tongue over their hard curves. He wants to feel my thighs pushing his legs apart, the force of my buttocks pounding my cock into him.

The object I want is right in front of me, suspended from a metal hook at chest height. He cannot see it. My body hides it from him. I lift it off the wall and turn around. I show him the muzzle and head restraint. I hold it up and turn it so that he can see it from all angles. I want him to anticipate, to imagine what this will feel like when his head is imprisoned in this cage.

I take my time. When I finally approach him, he eagerly lifts his head and thrusts out his chin.

The muzzle is a stiff leather cup that covers the mouth and jaw. A curved steel rod is hidden within the muzzle. It fits snugly under the jaw, and when the straps are cinched tightly behind the head, it digs into the flesh under the chin and keeps the mouth firmly shut. Leather strips on either side of the nose join into one strap at the forehead, which in turn is joined to the strap at the back of the skull. A heavy steel ring is fitted into the strap at the top of the skull. The nose straps obscure his vision. His eyes shift from side to side as he tries to see around them so that he can view himself in the mirror.  

I grab him by his left bicep and lift him to his feet. I lead him over to the worktable and position him on it face down. When he rests his head against the table, the top edge of the muzzle pushes against his nose. It is the first moment of real discomfort, and he lifts his chin and tries to maneuver the muzzle lower on his head. I ignore him. In a few minutes, it won’t matter. I stretch the leather belt across his back and upper arms and feed it through the clasp. I pull it until it is tight, and then I pull it even harder before I thread the prong through the hole and secure the end. I do the same with a belt across the back of his thighs. Both belts are three inches wide, and they bite into his flesh, forcing it to swell up and over the belts on both sides.

I snap the blindfold into place and pull the straps tight around his ears and buckle them together. If he reacts as I do to this blindfold, he won’t notice the pressure on his ears at first. Later the straps will create a strip of pain where they cross his ears, another small agony to accept and endure. For now he is too caught up in the thrill of the moment, the thrill of being denied the privilege of speaking, the privilege of seeing. He turns his head from side to side and moves it up and down. He is trying to discover if he can see around the blindfold, whether he can see a small ray of light entering around the edges. He can’t.

Now that he cannot see, Master enters silently. The man on the table doesn’t realize that Master has joined us. He will be restrained and blindfolded the entire time Master is in the room. He will never know that Master exists.

I kneel, my hands clasped behind my back, and press my forehead against the floor. Master steps in front of me. I lick his boots, first the right one and then the left. I polished them earlier in preparation for this occasion. I can see a distorted image of my face in them, my tongue eagerly reaching out to express my submission. As I lick the left one, he lifts his right boot and places the sole against the back of my neck. He pushes down until I can feel the tread on my skull. It is a gesture of affection, a reward for this sacrifice I have brought him. Master knows that I savor these rituals, these small demonstrations of his ownership. After all, he was the one who trained me to appreciate them, to look forward to them, to need them. After a few seconds, he reaches down, grasps me by the hair, and pulls me up to a sitting position so that I can watch. He turns away from me and strokes the man’s head for a few seconds. Master’s touch surprises the man. He jerks away. He says something. His voice is muffled.  If anyone cared about what he has to say, it would be possible to decipher his mumblings, to attach some meaning to them. But whatever he is trying to say is immaterial.

Master steps back, and together we watch the man test the limits of the restraints. He shifts his body back and forth to see how much he can move beneath the belts. He raises his calves and flexes his fingers. He lifts his shoulder and then his head. He tries to move his jaw. He tries to speak. He can’t open his mouth, of course, and all he can manage is an inarticulate sound.

Master told me once that he likes these noises. “It is an attempt to attract attention and assert some control over a situation that they are beginning to suspect may be beyond their control. Remember your first time. Didn’t you experience a moment at the beginning when you wondered if you had gotten in over your head? Well, you had, of course, whether you knew it or not. You tried to tell me to stop. But it was too late for you then, and once the men are on the table and restrained, it’s too late for them. But I like to know they are worried, that they are having second thoughts. I like to know that they want to leave, and I like to deny them that privilege. They have lost their right to privileges. They will learn that I am in control, that I am the one who decides when they can leave. So I want to hear the sound of begging through the muzzle, but I don’t need to hear their actual words. I want them to experience desperation. I want them to experience terror. I want them to understand that they have lost the right to express their fears in words.”

The man tries to keep his head raised off the table. The table isn’t padded, and its hard wooden surface is rough and unyielding. He doesn’t want to press his nose against the table—that would really hurt—but if he rests one of his cheeks on the table, the leather and metal fittings of the muzzle quickly begin to bruise his flesh. A few seconds in any position is enough to bring pain. But he is finding it hard to keep his head up off the table—the neck tires quickly, and the shoulders begin to ache. By now the straps of the blindfold are beginning to hurt his ears. The man is learning that cumulatively minor discomforts can be as distressing as the blows of a whip. More noises from him. He is complaining. I wonder how long it will take this one to realize that Master will ignore his complaints.

Master watches him struggle for several minutes. Master never hurries. “Time is one of my tools,” he says. “Let them tire themselves out with struggling. The more they try to find a comfortable position, the sooner they will exhaust themselves.”

As Master attaches the ankle cuffs, the man flails and kicks out. He is being foolish. Master laughs at him. He grabs the man’s right foot and slaps the sole hard with a riding crop. It is as if a bolt of electricity is passing through the man. His body churns violently. If he were not held fast to the table with the belts, he would probably have rolled off the table. More noises and thrashing about. But he doesn’t resist when Master finishes fastening the ankle cuffs or when Master puts the wrists cuffs on him. This one is learning quickly.

Master links the wrist cuffs together with a short fastener before he cuts off the plastic tie. He attaches another fastener to bind the ankle cuffs together. He bends the man’s calves back at the knee and connects the two pairs of cuffs with a snap buckle. The man will not be free to move his arms or legs for a while. Master loops a length of rope around the metal ring on top of the head restraint and draws it back to the wrist cuffs. Master quickly pulls the rope taut, forcing the man to lift his head. Master grabs the ring and jerks the man’s head even further back before tying the rope off.

The man’s throat is exposed. His Adam’s apple juts out and bobs up and down as he struggles to swallow. Swallowing is difficult in that position. I remember when Master did that to me. My mouth quickly filled with saliva. I thought I would drown. I panicked. Many of the men do at this point.

Perhaps the man thinks that he can relax his neck muscles and let the rope hold his head up. But it isn’t that easy. His head is pulled back so far that his neck is compressed in back. He cannot reduce the strain on his neck. And the rope is so tight that it yanks his wrists and ankles forward. He cannot relax. His muscles are held in an unnatural position.

Master sits down and motions me to crawl over to him. I sit between my legs and rest my head on his thigh. He pets my head while he watches. Master likes to watch. It will not take long. It never takes long.

On the table the man tries to shift his body into a more comfortable position. His efforts are futile. Any relief he gains from moving is temporary. Within a few seconds, the relief dissipates, and new aches and pains assail his body. The table grows harder and harder. The way in which he is tied concentrates the pressure on his groin and stomach. His cock is squashed uncomfortably between his body and the table, and the belts across his back and upper arms and his upper thighs prevent him from lifting his hips and reducing the pressure.

His pains have only just begun, however. Soon the muscles will start to cramp. Usually the smaller muscles in the head that are under the most strain—the neck muscles, the jaw muscles—are the first. But once the shaking starts, it spreads throughout the body. Even those muscles that are not severely tensed—the muscles of the feet, for example, will quiver and try to stretch themselves into new shapes. At least they will feel like new shapes to the man.

Master will let the cramps continue for a half-hour, sometimes an hour. The man will scream—his screams will be audible through the muzzle. Master likes to hear screams. The man may even start to cry—many of them do. The screaming and the crying will reach a peak and then subside into whimpers. The man will resign himself to his fate. His mind will consist of pain. He won’t know anything else.

Master pulls me around so that my face is pressed against his cock and balls. I begin licking and tonguing him. Not vigorously. Master doesn’t want to cum. He just wants me to stimulate him, to add to the pleasure he is experiencing from watching the man squirm. His cock grows hard, filling my mouth. I love Master’s cock. I suck it slowly and gently. I worship it with my lips and my tongue. I take it deep in my throat. It is hard to breathe, but that is unimportant. I focus on Master’s cock. I am a cock toy, a living cock toy intent on pleasuring Master. Nothing else matters at this point. Times passes. I am conscious only of the feeling of the ridge at the base of the head of Master’s cock as it passes up and down my throat, of the veins in the shaft as they rub against my tongue, of the humid sticky hair pricks of his balls against my chin. It is a glorious privilege to serve Master. I demonstrate my gratitude to Master through my devotion to his cock.

“Relax your mind,” Master says as he pets my head. “Relax. Float.”

Those are the trigger words Master has implanted in me. He spent months training me to release my mind from my body. It was difficult at first. But I have done this many times now. My mind floats free from my body. I see the man on the table. He is trussed. He is ready for Master. My mind joins with his. My mind is inside his body. I feel what he feels. I become him. We are ready for Master.

I cannot see. I am isolated within this body. The man’s mind is churning. He wants the pain to stop. He is so frightened. This isn’t what he thought would happen when he approached me at the bar, when he agreed to come with me. I could calm him. His mind is so distracted that I could easily take it over and dampen the pain. But Master doesn’t want that, at least not yet. Master wants us to experience the pain

The man will learn. He will learn to love the pain. He will learn to want the pain to flash through his body and raise him up. He will want to become an object defined by pain.

We tremble. The cramps are terrible. There is so much pain, so much agony. The man’s mind hates it. His mind is filled with fear. It wants Master to stop. I don’t. I love to serve Master. I joyfully offer myself to Master for his pleasure.

I will teach the other to cease to resist, to accept, to welcome. I will teach it to glory in serving Master. Together we will recognize and acknowledge Master’s superiority. We will realize that we exist only because Master allows us to. We will be what Master makes of us, nothing more. We are Master’s property, his creations, his tools, his subjects, his worshippers. His. The other will learn this. The rebirth is difficult and painful, but a few hours from now he will offer himself completely to Master and rejoice in serving Master.

When Master releases the ropes and the fasteners and lets our body flop loose, our muscles screech with the pain. The pain paralyzes our body. Movement, even the slightest, brings fresh agony.

I know what will happen next, but the man is so relieved at being released that he doesn’t notice that Master has quickly attached the wrist and cuffs to steel wires at the four corners of the table. It will only be when Master turns the wheel that pulls those wires taut and spread-eagles the arms and legs that the man will realize that Master has substituted one mode of imprisonment for another. Master will reach between our legs and roughly pull our cock and balls down so that they are available in the V of our legs.  He will let us contemplate what will happen next.

When Master is ready, he will begin beating our ass and back. He will orchestrate a crescendo of pain, beginning with a riding crop and progressing through paddles and floggers to a cane. The first blows will be no more than tap, sharp little moments of pain that flash through our mind. The blows will grow stronger and stronger. The pain from one will still be circulating through us when the next strike hits us. Soon we will not even be able to distinguish the individual blows. Our ass and back will quickly grow red. The cane will leave red and purple streaks. The skin will break, and blood will ooze out.

The assault on our ass will continue with plugs and dildos, each one larger than the previous one. Some of them will be ribbed, sharp edges that cause more pain. The dildos will plunge into our body, stretching us, until it feels as if we are pinioned on a tree trunk.

When Master has finished with our backside, he will turn us over and begin assaulting our nipples and our genitals. Clamps, weights, blows, electricity—Master is inventive and his art is infinite. He racks our body and our mind.

We will scream and beg. Master will ignore us. He will wait for the screams to stop, for the shouts and the moans and the groans to die away, for us to cease protesting and to begin to accept our fate, to find joy in whatever he chooses to do to us, to surrender completely to him. He will teach us to moan with pleasure when he hurts us, to become aroused, to beg for more, to cry when he stops.

When we fully embrace the pain, Master will summon the mindless body that usually holds my mind. He will position it astride our body. He will stroke its cock until the hot cum splatters over our body. When he has squeezed the last drop out, Master will leave. My mind will return to my body. I will clean myself up and get dressed in street clothes. I will release the man from the restraints and remove the blindfold. Most of the men just remain lying there on the table. It takes them a while to realize that they are free to go. Some of them are stunned and confused, almost comatose, and I have to wake them up. All of them need help getting off the table. I make them get dressed. They are so far gone they do not realize that the cum has dried on their bodies. I wonder what they think when they find it later. Another reminder of what they endured for four or five hours, in addition to the aches and pains, the bruises, the cuts?

I do not hear from them for a week or so. Then the messages requesting another session will begin to arrive. Sometimes Master will bring one of the men back after a few months. But never more than once. “I don’t want them to think this will become a regular thing,” he says. “You’re my only real boy.”

Master calls the men my “surrogates.”

Master supervises my work-outs and my mental training. When he harvested me, he had an ideal in mind. He told me once that he chose me because I had “promise—I knew that I could build on your physical and mental foundations and create what I wanted.” He broke me and made me desire that ideal for myself, as an offering to him and an acknowledgment of his ownership of me. Now that I meet his ideal standards, he does not want to injure me. He likes to look at me, to touch me, to derive pleasure from me, to fuck me. That is my purpose in life.

Master enjoys hurting others. I would gladly offer my body up to his desires. He knows that. That is how he has trained me. But the physical body, even one as well developed as mine, can only take so much abuse before it breaks. So Master has devised this method of torturing me. He has taught me to transfer my mind into another man’s body. When Master tortures them, I experience what they experience. Master tortures me through them, but my body, the body he has created, remains unbruised, unharmed.

Master uses me to attract them. My body ensnares the men. They want this body so badly that they agree to come with me. They know that there will be games. I always make sure that they know that. Even so they agree. They may resist the games at first, but on the table they learn to want them. Master is a great teacher.