The Office Party Ch. 1

The Office Party (by Mafisto)

Chapter 1 of 2

Someone (I suspect Trent, who still blames me for losing the Blackwell account, or Kyle, who just plainly hates my guts) had told the CEO that I was studying stage hypnosis, and Mr. Moss had insisted (more like ordered) that I give a demonstration at the office party he was throwing at his house that Friday night. Although I had taken a few lessons from Doctor Hypnowave, and put under some highly suggestible subjects, I was still far from the time when I would be able to hypnotize a whole group, much less in front of an audience. When I explained as much to Mr. Moss, he said: “Mark, you worry too much. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. I don’t want this to be a formal thing.” He was using that tone of voice which sounded like he was exasperated to have to explain himself. “Everyone is doing their bit. Jonathan Reynolds will sing, even that new network technician… Fred… no, Frank… Frank Cobb will do a comedy routine.”

The pressure increased during the week. Peter, a cute and boyish sales representative, never failed, each time we crossed paths, to say “looking forward to your show, Mark,” and shake his head with a snicker; Derek, the art director on whom I had an intense crush, admitted to me that a few of the guys in the art department were betting on how much of a failure the whole thing would be; and Johnny, the naïve engineering student in apprenticeship who often chatted with me, asked me: “Man, aren’t you scared you’ll look like a fool?”

Dr. Hypnowave, after strongly advising me not to go through with it, reviewed with me the basics of stage performance, and gave me a few tricks. When I asked him if there was anything that could artificially improve suggestibility, he glared at me and said: “Drugs, you mean? I spend all this time teaching you the ethics of the profession, and you want to cheat at the first opportunity. We’re hypnotists, not chemists!”

So by Thursday evening I was on the verge of an anxiety attack, aware that my terror was mining the very self-confidence I would need to perform the next day. I was walking home from work — a half-hour stroll — trying to think of a way to increase my chances of success, when something Hypnowave had said struck me. Chemists. George Vilmen, my roommate in college, was a brilliant chemist who manufactured drugs; he used to supply the whole school with his creations. I called him as soon as I got home.

After I explained the whole thing to him, he asked: “Do you still have that painting that used to hang in our living room?” It was a magnificent abstract that my grandfather had painted, and George adored it.

“Yeah, I do. It has sentimental value.”

“I know, and so does the drug you want. My proudest creation.”

We made the exchange that night, and I returned home with a tiny bottle of orange liquid, feeling like I had sold my grandfather’s soul for some Kool-Aid. George had simply explained that a few drops in the punch bowl would be sufficient to make even the least hypnotizable person suggestible enough to go under. Better subjects would only be slightly more open to suggestion, but it would give me the edge I needed.


I arrived a quarter of an hour early, which made Mr. Moss edgy. The dining room was exquisitely garnished, and the punch bowl in the center looked particularly inviting. Mr. Moss excused himself, and left me alone in the room. I took out the bottle, opened it, and proceeded to add a few drops of orange drug to the punch.

“Oh Mark,” I heard suddenly. I was so nervous I whirled around and dropped the bottle in the bowl. Mr. Moss peeked inside the room. “Make yourself at home.” He disappeared again.

Fuck! I fumbled with the punch ladle to fish the bottle out. The entire drug had mixed with the punch, far more than a few drops! What if it made them all fall asleep or something? Or poisoned them to death? Or made them mad? Yet, instead of acting responsibly, I stirred up the punch and didn’t say a word.

Darren and Brian, who work with me in marketing, were among the first guests to arrive, accompanied by their wives. They tried to psych me up, thinking I was concerned about my performance, while I agonized about what effects the punch would have on the guests. Within the next half hour, Mr. Moss’s beach house filled up, and it seemed all fifty-two guests had a glass of punch in hand, offered to him or her by Mrs. Moss, a charming hostess. I calmed down when I saw nobody asleep on the sofas or dead on the floor. I spoke a bit with everyone, made sure they were still making sense, and then started an interesting conversation with two programmers, Walter and Robert, on the future of marketing on the Internet. Clyde, a domineering redhead in sales, joined us after a while, and started to disagree with everything the programmers said, in his arrogant way. I excused myself and went outside. The patio was huge, and gave a fantastic view of the beach and the sea beyond. There were several dozen chairs set up, and a platform that would serve as a stage. I saw Derek, my crush, and Julio, a Latino wet dream incarnate, lying back on the edge of the patio next to their bimbo girlfriends. They had removed their shoes and socks, and were stirring the sand with their bare feet.

A few people were already seated. Trent and Kyle were there, whispering and snickering, taking furtive glances at me, enough to convince me they were behind my troubles tonight. I also noticed an extremely attractive teenager, with rebellious eyes, muscular arms and a tattoo on the right shoulder. He wore a tight white T-shirt and jeans, and had short sandy hair. A girl of about his age sat next to him, and they were fooling around. I hadn’t seen him before at the office. Then I remembered Mr. Moss had a seventeen year-old daughter, and presumed that the boy was probably her boyfriend. Two rows behind them sat Gary Jones, who worked in shipping, and who had developed, through the constant loading and unloading of heavy boxes and probably a strict gym regimen, a splendid muscular body. He wore a thin black short-sleeved polo, and white jeans. Just following the sinews of his fat-free arms could mesmerize you.

Fifteen minutes later, everybody was seated and staring at me on stage. My knees shook faintly and my stomach was all tightened up. I forced myself to breathed deeply and tried to avoid Mr. Moss’ stare.

“First, I’ll try an experiment with all of you, to select the best subjects. Stand up and listen carefully to what I say…” My voice was faltering. Could I give it the right commanding tone? I waited until all the guests were standing and then said: “Do not consciously try to do what I tell you to do. Let your subconscious drive your actions. You will now all focus on my voice; all other noises will cease to exist, and only my voice will reach your ears. You are all getting sleepy, and your eyes are closing despite themselves.”

The entire group closed their eyes instantly. Wow. I had really expected only a few of them to do it so fast, with another part of the group getting there with further suggestions. Was the drug responsible?

“I will count up to 3, and as I count, your legs will feel weaker and weaker, until, at 3, you will no longer be able to stand, and will drop back to your seats. 1…” Everybody started to sway. “2…” Now, they were tottering in place markedly. “3…” They all fell in sync. Brian and Walter missed their seats and dropped heavily on the ground. Their reactions were unbelievably extreme — was it a joke planned by Trent or Kyle?

I had intended to use this experiment to filter out the best subjects in the crowd, but now everyone seemed highly suggestible. I gave the audience more suggestions to deepen their sleep, and, with a few more tests, like making them forget their names or unable to separate their joined hands, I was finally able to spot a few who seemed more deeply entranced. No one resisted my suggestions: the highest contrast was between say, someone like Derek or Kyle, who took their time to sloppily execute my commands, and Johnny, Mr. Moss’s daughter’s boyfriend, who responded promptly and flawlessly. Along with Johnny, I invited on stage: Gary, the muscular shipping guy; Frank, who was to do a stand-up routine later; Darren, my marketing colleague; Jonathan, the blond angel who had sung with so much passion just before; and Trent, one of the two jokers who had put me in this situation. I was about to wake up the rest, when a sudden impulse made me say: “Remember this state of trance well, because the moment any of you hears me say the word «management», you will instantly go back to that state.” I made them repeat the suggestion, and they did, as if they were all in church. Finally I said: “I will snap my fingers, and you will all wake up and respond enthusiastically to my show. I will be the most amazing performer you’ve ever seen on stage.”

Snap. Their eyes popped open. “What happened?” asked Peter, the sales rep. He looked at the empty seat beside him. “Hey, where did Trent go?” He saw Trent and the others on stage and his face blanched. “How did you make them pop up on stage like that? This is freaking me out…”

“You’re freaked out?” asked Frank. “How do you think it feels for us to just appear here when we were on our seats a second ago?” The audience laughed warmly. “This guy’s excellent…”

“Now,” I continued, “I will put them under again, and we’ll have some laughs.”

“Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this,” protested Trent. I came close to his ear and whispered «management».

“Wow, he put Trent under just like that,” said Kyle, staring at his friend who had just closed his eyes.

“Amazing,” approved Mr. Moss. Whispered ahs and ohs approved.

I faked a ritual to put the subjects in a trance, then made them sit, their eyes closed. I gave those on stage an extra trigger: touching them on the forehead would make them fall back into trance. Then, I just had some fun with them. Frank the comedian became the worst caricature of a cowboy; Jonathan sang a sexy song for Darren, thinking he was Jennifer Lopez, while they slow danced together; Darren went up to Brian, my other colleague, and gave him shit, convinced that Brian had taken all the credit for the Blackwell account.

Meanwhile, Johnny the teen boyfriend and Gary the shipping guy had gone in the house to change into pairs of blue sweat shorts I had brought with me. When they came back with embarrassed looks on their faces, the women in the audience cheered. A touch on the forehead made them sleep, and I convinced them they were doing a bodybuilding show. They stripped off their shirts without a trace of shyness left, strutted around the stage to show off their pumped up muscles, and then lifted imaginary weights, their muscular chests glistening with sweat. Then I took out a real small barbell, and offered it to Gary, suggesting he wouldn’t be able to lift it. The audience roared when they saw the strong man struggling so hard to lift this tiny thing, to only succeed in briefly raising it up a few inches.

I concluded my show with Trent the skeptic, to whom I suggested he was a stripper with an audience full of hot women desperate for him to take his clothes off. I put some music on, and boy did he get into it! He made us yearn for every loosening of his tie and his shirt buttons, every inch of flesh exposed. His performance aroused not only me: the women were fretting at the edge of their seats. I tried to stop him just as he was about to take off his suit pants, but the women booed me off the stage. He wore tight and sexy gray briefs under his pants, which he filled up quite snugly. I had never noticed how hot his body was. I hurried back on stage when he started playing with his underwear waistband, and I braved the booing this time to touch him on the forehead. He slipped back into trance, leaving his briefs low enough to show some pubic hair and the tip of his butt crack. I asked him to rearrange them, and then went on with another suggestion:

“Trent, when I snap my fingers, you will wake up fully dressed. You will take your place back in the audience, and tell everyone that I’m a fraud, that you weren’t really hypnotized. The minute someone asks you where your clothes are, you will suddenly become aware that you are only wearing your underwear.”

Snap. Trent woke up and strutted right down the stage, whispering “Fraud!”

“What did you say?”

He turned around to face the stage, his hands on his hips, still wearing nothing but his briefs, and said: “I wasn’t really under. No one is really hypnotized. You’re just a fraud.”

The audience started to laugh. “Well, you should tell Mr. Moss, then.” Trent marched up to Moss, who was trying not to smile, and insisted: “Mark is a fraud. We’re all just pretending.” I made a sign to Moss, who said: “Where are your clothes then?” Trent blushed pathetically when he realized he was standing in front of Mr. Moss wearing only his briefs. He glared at me, as did Kyle. The joke’s on you two now, I thought.

I got a standing ovation. All participants, except Trent, stood on stage and bowed. I was ecstatic: I had succeeded. All I had to do now was to mingle, accept compliments, and then go home radiant. Yet, humiliating Trent had made me feel so powerful, and having shirtless Johnny and Gary lift up imaginary weights had made me feel so horny… This entire audience was at my mercy. I couldn’t waste this opportunity.

I concluded by saying: “I would like to thank the management for their help.”

Instant silence. Everybody closed their eyes, and then gently swayed in place.

I wouldn’t take on the entire audience, it was too risky and most of them were unattractive to me. I had some filtering out to do. “When you hear your names, you will join the others on stage. Peter Hembridge.” The sales rep came up. “Derek Rogers.” The art director, in a leather jacket, white T-shirt and jeans, jumped up on stage. “Brian Filmore.” My other colleague joined them. Those programmers had a certain charm: “Walter Herr. Robert Astington.” The apprentice: “Jack Taylor.” The Latino graphic artist: “Julio Engles”. The red-haired bull: “Clyde Parker.” My two enemies: “Trent Watson and Kyle Howard.” I hesitated to choose the CEO, but he was a beautiful man, and his being in authority made him even sexier. “Mr. Moss.”

The sixteen most attractive men in the office were now on stage, in a trance. I told everyone else:

“All those not on stage will return home with vague memories of the best party you’ve ever had. Even the girlfriends and wives of those on stage will go home, since your men must stay here for an all-night retreat. Mrs. Moss, you and your daughter will return to your city house and leave your husband and Johnny here. You will all have an urge to go to sleep as soon as you’re home. Those who are leaving your husbands and boyfriends behind will come get them here tomorrow, proud to have given them some space for a night.”

The crowd took only a few minutes to leave the premises, mostly silent, dronelike, and smiling. Soon, I was left alone with the chosen sixteen, who stood on stage with their eyes closed. How far could I go with them? I guessed that more punch would certainly help, so my first instructions were:

“You have chosen to stay here for an all-night retreat of male bonding, to improve performance at the office, which I organized with Mr. Moss’s permission. You all feel in a great mood, relaxed and open. You find that the retreat is a great idea and you are looking forward to it. At the snap of my fingers, you will wake up and while waiting for the session to begin, you will chat among yourselves. The mood will be so open that you will reveal personal secrets, especially embarrassing ones, to each other. You will be extremely thirsty during that period, and will drink as much punch as you can. After your third glass of punch, you will come back on stage and fall back into a deep trance, deeper than any before, and will only respond to me.”

Snap. The sixteen men became animated again. Right away, I saw the spark of energy in their attitudes that office politics had killed. They walked down the stage and started serious discussions like how to improve efficiency while simultaneously improving work conditions. Mr. Moss listened carefully at everything that was being told. He mentioned to me his delight at my idea for this retreat — I could smell a raise and a bonus coming. Everyone had a glass of punch they were drinking from regularly, and excused themselves for a refill the second it was empty. I went from group to group, and eavesdropped on what they had to say.

I learned that Peter had a fear of heights, that Frank had a woman shoe fetish, that Johnny still wet his bed occasionally, that Walter was porno obsessed, that Julio was sugar-dadied even though he was straight, that Brian and Darren had once participated in a threesome at the insistence of a girl they both lusted for, that Jack was hopelessly attracted to Mr. Moss’s secretary even though she wouldn’t give him the time of day, that Jonathan liked his girlfriend to spank him, that Clyde had been a bullied weakling in high school until he started going to the gym, that Robert liked to work late at the office and masturbate while sitting on the chairs of female employees, that Gary danced at a strip club once a week in another city. All these juicy tidbits were coming out of their own mouths! In a little chat with Derek, I learned that he was extremely shy with women, and still a virgin. That was astonishing, considering he was the sexiest of them all.

The last confession I heard was from Trent and Kyle. They informed Mr. Moss that they had been taking turns pretending they were the CEO to impress dates, and invited them in his office late at night to fuck them. Mr. Moss’s eyes burned with anger, but he stayed quiet — he had previously let slip that he often fantasized about Trent, Kyle and other employees stripping naked for meetings to show their obedience to him. No sex was really involved; it was a simple power trip where nakedness was used as a symbol of submission. These three were the last ones to finish their third glass of punch and go back on stage.

The sixteen gorgeous men now stood before me in a line, eyes closed, barely moving. I fathomed the depth of their trance with some tests: they all reacted as extremely suggestible subjects in a perfect state of hypnosis, thanks to the extra glasses of punch. These men were mine. I addressed the group in this way:

“When I next snap my fingers, you will all awake again, and continue to mingle as before. There are now some more triggers to which you will respond: when I touch your forehead, you will fall back into trance as always; when I touch any piece of clothing of yours, you will immediately take it off and discard it, unconsciously, and not bother with it anymore; when I move my finger up your chest, you will instantly get an erection; when I move my finger down your chest, your cock will go soft again; when my hands come in contact with your skin, you will get aroused sexually, and the longer the contact lasts, the more intense and overwhelming your arousal will get. The less clothing you wear, the less inhibited, and the more eager to please me, you will feel; when you are completely naked, all your inhibitions will be gone and you will willingly act as my obedient slaves. All these reactions will seem normal to you: they will be part of tonight’s ritual, a special night during which it is okay for these things to happen. They will help you bond with each other better. You will respond to these triggers eagerly, and you will be happy and non-judgmental when the others respond to them: every response will be a sign that tonight is going well.”

Those were long and complex instructions, but when I checked on their retention, I found it was flawless. They remembered every word of it by heart. I was so impressed that I had each of them repeat the instructions one after the other. No mistakes. Wow, this was going to be some special night! Snap.

They awoke and spread out in small groups. I went to Jack, the apprentice, first; he was talking about the difference between computer engineering and computer science with the programmers. I fingered the thin white shirt he was wearing, and he started to unbutton it while he continued to argue his point. When Walter responded to his argument, Jack removed his shirt and threw it on the ground mechanically; his chest was smooth and thin, almost hairless. The programmers did not even react. I made both of them strip from their pants, and they continued their conversation in their boxers and socks, their shirts hanging loose.

This was fantastic. I felt like a puppeteer, pulling wires and making these men act as I pleased. Darren and Brian came up to me. “I never thought it’d work so well tonight,” said Brian. Darren nodded. I moved my finger up their chests and said: “Exciting, isn’t it?” I glanced down and saw a swelling in their suit pants. Darren’s was the most obvious: it pointed straight forward as if he had propped a wooden stick there. We talked about Cynthia, the new receptionist, while I made them strip from their jackets, their ties, and their shirts. When I saw Johnny come out of the house, having changed back into his jeans, and Gary going in the house next to change too, I left my colleagues shirtless and erect to follow Gary into the study.

“Hi,” he said, nicely. “I was just about to change back into my jeans. It was a great show tonight. I can’t believe you made me do that… They said I couldn’t even lift that fucking barbell!”

I smiled, touched his forehead and told him: “You are now a store dummy. You will let me move you around, and you will stay motionless while I undress and dress you. Open your eyes.”

He opened them, but stood rigidly in place. I cannot tell you how arousing it was to move his shapely body around. I moved his arms behind his head, and then lowered the sweat shorts a few inches down his hips, exposing the white briefs under. I almost came just to stare at him that way. I gave him an erection, the tip of which poked through the briefs. Then I took off his sweat shorts, grabbed his white jeans, and slid them up his stiff legs; I had to make his cock soft again to attach them. I moved his left arm down his side, strapped his polo shirt over his right shoulder and made him hold it with his other hand, and then I moved his head so he looked down shyly. I contemplated the pose, smiled proudly at my work, and then I gave him back his will.

“I guess I’m almost done,” he remarked. He was about to put back his polo, but after I touched it, he simply let it drop to the floor. “Anyway, talk to you later.” He left, shirtless and cheerful.

I continued my rounds and after a while Frank had exposed his thin swimmer-like chest, Peter and Jonathan had taken off their suits and walked around in their white briefs, Mr. Moss stood in a white undershirt and boxerbriefs, Clyde was shirtless with a huge hard-on in his jeans, and Trent was once again wearing only his gray briefs. Then I made Kyle strip down to his black CK boxers and studied him for a moment. He was another guy whose attractiveness I had never noticed: the styled blond hair, the bubble butt, and the attitude.

I saw Johnny itch for somebody to talk to. Boy, that teen personified the concept of the rebel without a cause. He gave me a lively speech about all the flaws of society, while stripping off his T-shirt, and hanging it from his jeans. I touched him on the forehead and asked him to cross his arms and stand motionless no matter what. I detached his belt and his jeans, then pulled his jeans and underwear down his thighs to just below his bush of pubic hair, uncovering about a quarter of his ass. He looked like a partially unwrapped treat. I massaged his thick shoulders, and sensed him become aroused at my touch, as he had been instructed. He shifted in place, breathing deeply. Little moans escaped his lips. I left him that way, still entranced.

Passing my marketing colleagues on my way to the beach, I took the occasion to make them strip down to their underwear, loose white boxers for Darren and white briefs for Brian. They were still fully hard, and still talking about Cynthia. I also made the programmers take off their shirts, and Jack strip down to a pair of powder blue boxers. The technically inclined pursued their conversation about Star Trek in their underwear.

Derek and Julio, the antisocial artists, were walking on the beach, looking out at the sea. After a touch on the forehead, I gave them an intense urge to go swim in their underwear. They eagerly shed their clothes, then headed towards the sea, giggling, in their boxerbriefs, white for Derek and black for Julio. Every time they walked back to the shore before diving back in, they treated me to a very erotic sight: their tanned, sexy bodies dripping wet, and the soaked fabric of their underwear sticking tightly to their thighs and genitals.

I reluctantly left them to their fun and games, and walked up to Frank and Gary, who were talking to Mr. Moss about a stock option plan. They smiled nicely at me, and I pretended to listen. I rubbed my elbow on Mr. Moss’s undershirt, and he removed it while gently explaining to Frank why he wouldn’t be given 5% of the company’s shares even if it would motivate him to work harder. As Frank conceded that 5% was a bit much, I rubbed my leg against his, and he took off his jeans. He wore a sexy pair of black briefs.

“What do you think, Mark?” Mr. Moss suddenly said. Frank and he stared at me, eager for my response. Since they were almost naked now, I guessed the try-to-please-Mark part of the instructions was at work.

I told them about a progressive, phantom stock plan, and they nodded appreciatively at the idea. Gary was less enthusiastic; he mentioned that if the company became public, they would lose the goodwill. I poked my knee at his leg, and he stripped from his pants for the third time tonight. I made a bad joke about his packing a whole lot of goodwill in those white briefs. The three of them laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world. “You’re always bringing us back to the things that really matter,” concluded Gary, joyfully. Well…

The Office Party Ch. 2

The Office Party (by Mafisto)

Chapter 2 of 2

I was ready for the next phase, and I decided to start it with the apprentice and the programmers. I asked them to come with me inside the house, and they followed me enthusiastically upstairs to the game room. I tapped Walter’s red boxers, Jack’s blue boxers and Robert’s green boxers. The three men slipped their underwear off and discarded them on the floor in a rainbow of cotton. When they were naked, their bodies relaxed and they looked at me silently and patiently, as if they had nothing to do now but listen to me.

“What would you like to do now?” I asked them, smiling.

Jack was the first to respond. “Anything you want us to,” he said. The others nodded. “Yeah,” said Walter, “just ask and we’ll obey.” Robert said, dramatically: “We’re your willing slaves.”

These three were among the plainest looking of the bunch, but I tell you, man, the moment they said those three sentences they became the most desirable men on the planet. At least, for the next few minutes. Robert was the most attractive, with his blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Walter had short dark hair, shaved on the sides. Jack was tall and gangly, but his naïve airs made him yummy. All three had pretty typical cocks, uncut for Walter, cut for the two others. I gave them erections with a flick of the finger. They were ready.

Jack, I had sit on an antique desk and jerk off. Robert, I asked to sit on the sofa. I had him sit on the edge and spread his legs, so that his asshole was exposed. He played with his tits at my command, his cock hard and lying on his belly. Walter, I asked to bend over the windowsill, as if watching outside. He had a smoothly shaped ass, which I started to knead. It visibly aroused him, and his ass started to shake jerkily. I asked Jack over, and made him finger Walter’s hole, while Robert watched the show from the sofa with empty eyes.

I fetched Jonathan and Peter and brought them to the study. Those two were definitely attractive men, especially in only their white briefs. They both treated me with the charm they reserved for big clients.

“So, Mark, how do you enjoy the bonding so far?” asked Peter, caring about my opinion for the first time in his life. “It’s great that we can expose ourselves like that to each other, without fear of judgment.”

“Exactly,” said Jonathan, playing with his blond curls, and winking at me.

I grabbed their briefs’ waistbands and snapped them. They instantly responded by slipping them down, and revealed to me their genitals, as well as their blond and dark bushes.

“Are you ready to obey me?” I asked.

“Yes, Mark,” said Jonathan.

“Sure, Mark,” said Peter. “I’ll obey. Just tell me what you want.”

“Good. Sit down on the sofa right there, both of you.”

I kneeled before Jonathan’s seated shape, and then moved my finger up his chest. His cock went up full mast in a moment, and I started to lick it vigorously. God, I thought, I’m licking Jonathan Reynolds cock! The blond angel who flirted with every woman in the office. His scrotum tasted salty and smelled like sweat and precum. Of course, with the suggestion I had made, my touch aroused him. He let his head fall back over the top of the sofa. His breathing deepened and he let out delightful whispers.

I asked him to jerk off while I slid one seat over to Peter. Again, a single line up his chest and his cock rose up. It was uncut, thick and already juicy. I just took it in all at once, and sucked on it in long, unhurried, strokes. Peter was more expressive: he groaned, twisted, and muttered things like: “yeah, suck that big cock, Mark, it’s all yours, fuck you’re good, I’m on the edge there, long and slow, long and slow, hmmmm…”

I sucked Peter for a good five minutes, and then I had the two of them 69 on the carpet. They were completely obedient to my commands. No resistance. I thought of George and his drug: I owed them my sex life.

Next, I went outside to see Johnny, who still stood shirtless, eyes closed, arms folded, in mannequin mode, pants and underwear four inches down his hips. I took off his running shoes and socks, smelled the acrid aroma they gave, and then moved behind him to unwrap his smooth, dimpled ass by pulling down his pants and underwear. I took the clothes off his legs, and then moved to face him. He had a fine cut dick, with a tiny beauty mark on its side. I woke him up. He looked down at himself, realized he was naked, looked back up and then, for a second, a wild glare flashed across his face. It faded into a vague look of submission.

“Johnny, will you obey me now?”

“Yes, sir, I will obey you,” he said, not looking me in the eyes.

“Then drop on your knees and suck my cock.”

My words struck him in the legs — he collapsed to his knees abruptly and fumbled with my pants to let my cock out. My boxers were creamed all over with precum — I may have had an orgasm before, I don’t remember. He executed my order fervently, the way a disciple tries to please his leader. He took my hard-on into his virgin mouth without wincing, cleaned it off with his tongue in his mouth, swallowed the precum discreetly, then nursed it like a baby. Well, there was a cause for this rebel after all, and he took it so much to heart he made me ejaculate in his mouth. I ordered him to swallow every drop, join Jonathan and Peter in the study, and then jerk off while watching them. “Yes, sir,” he said, and then he headed towards the house.

I moved towards another group, and noticed that Clyde was still wearing his jeans. I had forgotten all about him. Wearing only a sexy pair of jeans like that, and with that swollen crotch, the man was oozing animal magnetism. I could see the tip of his cock tucked between the waistband of his jeans and his belly, its little eye begging me to release it. I asked him and Frank to follow me to the basement, where Mr. Moss had set up his home bar. Frank kept telling me he wanted to please me tonight, always a nice thing to hear from a man in black briefs. I slapped Clyde’s thigh; he popped open the jeans and made them crawl down his legs by moving his hips. His hard cock flopped out, bouncing a few times. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. The beast was now naked and mine to control. I wanted to test his loyalty:

“Clyde, I want you to rip Frank’s underwear off his body.”

Frank stared at me in alarm, backed up a few steps, but Clyde had already pounced on him. He picked his trembling frame off the floor with one hand, and then used the other to pull the briefs off. They tore as if made of paper, and he threw the ragged fabric to the ground. Clyde set Frank back on his feet. All of Frank’s anxiety and fear had vanished with his briefs; now naked, he just waited patiently for my instructions, as did Clyde.

“Show me your body,” I asked Frank.

He moved his arms behind his head, and stood there, his soft cut cock hanging straight down. His body was too thin: it seemed as if someone had stretched his skin tightly over his ribs. But there was something in his eyes, some virile innocence, something you find in young officers who still believe in heroes, which made me desire him as much as I did the others. I rubbed Clyde’s shoulders, and I got a gentle roar and a grumble.

“Frank, sit down on that chair over there. Watch and masturbate. Clyde, you will become like an animal. We will wrestle together, and I will tame you. Once tamed, you will feel weak and submissive.”

I took off my clothes and we circled each other for a little while under the watchful eye of Frank. Clyde grabbed me first, and I took pleasure in his raw physical presence. Our two bodies coming in contact aroused him as I had suggested. It made him divide his attention between fighting me and licking me with his rough wet tongue. I let my hands slide down his backside to his firm and fleshy ass. We were soon on the floor. I took a glance at Frank, who was pumping his dick faster now, captivated. Clyde’s robust hands on my body strangely made me feel safe. He was frantic now, groaning, roaring, licking, nibbling. I spanked him suddenly and yelled: “Down boy.” It took him so much by surprise that he cowered away like a wounded dog. I could hear him sob. To think that this was the man who intimidated me the most at the office!

“Go to Frank and lick his crotch.”

Clyde crawled towards Frank and began to lick his inner thigh, which made Frank giggle nervously.

I put on my briefs and went outside again to meet Gary, Darren and Brian.

“What’s going on in there?” asked Darren, smiling. “We feel a bit left out.”

“I’m taking care of people in little groups to keep things intimate.”

They nodded their agreement. By this time, everything I said was a good idea to them.

“Your turn. Go right into Mr. Moss’s living room, without paying attention to what’s going on elsewhere.”

“Sure thing,” said Gary.

“I’m eager to see what you have in store for us,” said Brian.

I followed them in. They ignored Peter and Jonathan sixty-nining on the floor of the study, as well as Johnny masturbating, and went right into the living room. I took a good look at my underdressed colleagues. In addition to their polished, yuppie looks, it was the bond that we shared as friends that attracted me in them. I had always felt a paradoxal feeling towards their wives: on one hand, I liked them because they were charming and particularly clever; on the other, I resented them because they had a more physical bond with Brian and Darren. I was always the third wheel when we went out, and the wives enjoyed that situation.

“So, Mark,” said Brian, sitting on the couch with an impassive look. “What’s the big plan now?” His briefs were closely fitting; I had trouble looking away from the smooth white lumps of his crotch.

“Yeah,” added Darren, who paced, arms folded and smiling kindly, his hard stick waving and beating inside the loose fabric of his boxers, “enough with the waiting.”

“Well, if you’re that impatient,” I said, feeling up Brian’s briefs, “we can get to play right now.” I tugged one leg of Darren’s boxers. “Right after you’re ready.” I poked Gary’s crotch insolently.

I relished the sight of my colleagues and the hunky shipping guy removing their underwear, and with it, their last shred of willpower, especially that exact moment the flicker of freedom died in their eyes. And when I asked “are you ready now to obey me?” and they answered “yes, Mark, we’re ready to obey you,” each in their unique way, there was some of the buddy feeling left in their voice, except of course for Gary, whose submission had a more neutral tone which contrasted with the color of my colleagues’ surrender to me. Yet, it was Gary’s dick that whipped me back to more urgent matters, i.e. my lust. It crawled along his thigh like some thick, plump snake, and just demanded attention. I moved close to him and asked:

“Gary, is your cock mine to play with?”

“Absolutely, Mark,” he said. “Do whatever you like with it.”

I had to ask. This was a nice gentleman, a blue-collar worker who had developed all these muscles through carrying boxes. I caressed those hard-earned muscles, their smoothness, their robustness. I rubbed my head against his pecs, then down to his belly. In close view like that, his body, warm and smelling like sand and brine, became a giant land to explore. As I went down further, the crawling snake loomed into view, just beyond a bushy mass of thick, dark pubic hair. I rubbed my cheek against that hair, then my nose down the length of the snake. I used my tongue to shift it left and right, testing its flexibility. It was already half hard, and a drop of precum hung at the tip of its cut length. His slow, deep and quiet breathing gave me an indication that the arousal suggestion was at play. When I finally engulfed the snake, I made Gary feel every sixteenth of an inch of my lips’ progression; he wriggled in place, and I had to grab his ass firmly not to lose my grip. He yelled at one point, and then popped out tiny moans in a more or less regular manner. His cock actually grew even lengthier in those last stages of the full hard-on. When it was stiff and lengthy and thick, I gave it a few strokes by hand, and then instructed Gary to continue while I attended to my two other guests.

I started by kissing each of them. I rubbed my lips against Brian’s, played with his hair, then let my hands slide down his shoulder plates and flanks down to his ass. I invaded Darren’s mouth more roughly, forcing my tongue in his mouth and ravaging everything inside, while my hands moved quickly from his thighs to his ass, which they then kneaded. I fingered his anus teasingly, and then plunged one finger, two fingers, three fingers, four fingers and finally the whole hand, watching his face cringe with virgin pain each time.

I gave them directions like a movie director. Brian lay down on the sofa, and Darren moved next to the armrest where Brian’s head rested. Darren bent over, his cock hovering above Brian’s mouth, his head hovering over Brian’s hard-on. Gary moved behind Darren, and inserted his huge hard pole inside Darren’s ass. I slapped Gary on the ass, and he started fucking Darren, while my two buddies sucked each other.

Once the scene was rolling, I went out to meet Mr. Moss. He was talking about his vision, and his two ass-kissers were faking how impressed they were at his ideas; the fact that the three of them were almost naked weirded out the scene. I moved close to them, and nodded approvingly at what Kyle was saying.

“I’m glad you agree with me for once,” Kyle said, sincerely.

“Well, for once you’re right,” I said, tapping him gently on the ass.

Pleased, he slid off his boxers, and threw them away. The two others did not react to his being nude. Trent just laughed and said: “That’s confidence, isn’t it Mr. Moss?”

I snapped the waistband of his jockey briefs playfully then, while he stripped naked, I told Mr. Moss: “You want to work with confident people, don’t you? See how these two are impressed by my confidence.” I ran my finger up their chests, and watched their cocks rise up in response. “Why, they’re even turned on by it.”

Mr. Moss had to agree. I touched him on the forehead, and he slipped into trance.

“Trent, Kyle, are you ready to obey me?”

“Yes, Mark. We’re ready to obey you,” they said, their cocks aloft.

“Fold your arms,” I said. I went behind them, and gently stroked their asses. Kyle’s bubble butt was quite an impressive sight. “Slowly turn your heads towards me and look at me with lust in your eyes.”

They obeyed, and I was struck by how convincing they were at expressing: “I want you.”

“Now, turn your bodies towards me too, and move your hands behind your head.”

They performed obediently. I grabbed them both by their hard cocks and said: “Tell me I own your cocks.”

“You own our cocks, Mark,” they said, meekly.

I touched them on the forehead; they closed their eyes. I addressed them in this way:

“When I snap my fingers, you will wake up and regain all your inhibitions. You will be aware that you are naked in front of Mr. Moss and me, and it will embarrass you. However, you will not be able to leave, get dressed, hide any part of your bodies, nor attack me. You will forced to obey me, in spite of yourselves.”

“Mr. Moss,” I then told the entranced CEO, “when I snap my fingers, you will interpret everything that is going on at this party as perfectly normal behavior, except for whatever Trent and Kyle do. You will find fault with them, and will not hesitate to tell them so. You will however see all of my actions in a good light.”

I stepped back a few steps, snapped my fingers, and then watched the scene attentively. Trent and Kyle opened their eyes, took one look at their naked bodies, and became restless.

“What’s going on?” asked Trent, in a panic.

“I’m extremely sorry Mr. Moss,” Kyle said. “Mark must have done something to us, I don’t know what. Hell, I can’t even move my fucking hands to hide myself. What did you do to us, you pervert?” he asked me.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” said Trent, trying to jump on me, but instead he stumbled to my feet.

“Mr. Watson, Mr. Howard,” said Mr. Moss in anger. “I think you two are the perverts. Where the hell are your clothes? And how dare you use this kind of language in front of me?”

“But, Mr. Moss, can’t you see?” Kyle pleaded. “Mark did something to us, to you even. It’s this hypnosis thing. I never thought it would work, but it did. Don’t you realize you’re standing there in your underwear?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with what I’m wearing: this is a male bonding ritual! You two, however, have gone too far, these erections are totally inappropriate. You’re ruining this event, and you are defying my authority.”

I left the trio with their problems, and joined the two artists on the beach. They were lying down on the sand, and greeted me warmly. “It’s Mark,” said Julio. “So, is everything going on okay inside?”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.” I lay down between the two, and put my hand on their boxerbriefs-covered thighs. They removed them right away, as if they were now corrupted, then reclined on their elbows. I put my arms around their shoulders, and said: “Are you both ready to obey me, now?”

They agreed. “Come inside with me,” I ordered. They stood up, and the two nude artists followed me inside the house. They did not give any attention to the goings-on inside. We went in Mr. Moss’s bedroom, and I sat on the bed. A simple movement up from their belly buttons to their pecs transformed their limp members into rigid tools. Julio sat on an ebony chest of drawers, one knee up, his pink butt hole vaguely in sight.

“Make love to me,” I whispered to Derek. I lay down on Mr. Moss’ bed on my back, and watched as the dark-haired hunk came towards me with graceful moves, his intense eyes focused on mine. He covered me with his smooth, hot body, and breathed on my neck and in my ears. My hands stroked his backside and firm ass, and my eyes could not look away from his. He rubbed his erection against the fabric of my sweaty boxers, and suddenly kissed me as if he couldn’t resist anymore. His mouth tasted fresh and salty. His tongue was like a small fretful animal in my mouth. Then he went down my chest using only his lips and his breath to stimulate me. He removed my boxers, then licked my scrotum and my hard dick while rubbing my thighs with long hard motions of his refined artist hands.

I signaled Julio to join us, and he lay down on his side next to me, patting my chest tenderly and smiling. I brought his head to mine and kissed him while Derek swallowed my cock. My tongue in Julio’s mouth and my cock in Derek’s mouth made my body jolt as if it carried electricity from one man to the next. It energized me. I had lusted for these hunks for so long, watching them sketch, bent over their drawing tables. Now, the two of them were entranced, nude and at my service. They were, weren’t they?

“Are you two at my service?” I asked, just to check.

“Yes. Mark, I’m at your service,” confirmed Julio, groggily.

“Yes, at your service,” said Derek, with a blank look of obedience, then returned to my cock.

“Straddle me,” I told Julio, maybe just to test his obedience. It was complete. His ass and balls came in contact with my chest, his hard cock pointing up a few inches from my face. “Bring your cock to me,” I said. He raised his groin and moved his hardness towards my face. I ate it whole and raw while he squirmed.

Then I told Derek, whom I couldn’t see beyond Julio: “Derek, fuck my ass.”

He lifted my legs up in the air, then tickled my asshole with the tip of his rock-solid cock. It was perfectly sized for my ass; it glided inside me, thick and warm. With slow back and forth twisting moves, he stimulated my prostate, charging it with sexual energy. I let go of Julio’s cock long enough to say: “I want you two to come the moment I snap my fingers.” Stuffed like I was with one cock in my ass, another in my mouth, I soared planes of pleasure I had never imagined were possible. I grabbed my dick and started to jerk off, while my mind opened up to the sixteen other men in or around the house, men whose mind I had twisted and bent to perform my sexual fantasies, proud straight men I had transformed into my sexual puppets. I felt an orgasm surge from my whole being, and I snapped my fingers. Their hot, gooey juices filled my mouth and ass, while I ejaculated on my belly. I swallowed Julio’s cum, had both artists lick me clean, then I took a shower with them.

Later, the sixteen men followed me to the beach. We dove naked into the cool salty waters, and we huddled together in a mass of twisting, interlocking bodies. We had sex in the sea; we had sex on the beach. To be perfectly frank, I only remember the rest of the night as a vague but intense orgy.

The next morning, when the wives and girlfriends came to fetch their husbands and boyfriends, they were only told that it had been the most liberating and intense experience these men ever had.


Mr. Moss convinced his board to make me CEO of the company, while he took a very early retirement. I made his fantasy mine: Trent and Kyle always start our meetings together by stripping naked, aware of the humiliation but unable to prevent it. Johnny became my personal assistant, and is very talented at organizing my day and sucking my cock. When the programmers are late in their deadlines, they know the drill, I don’t even have to ask anymore: they take off their shirts, drop their pants and assume the position. The sales reps, Jonathan and Peter, have tripled their annual sales since I gave their clients the triggers necessary to turn them into completely obedient sexual slaves. Brian and Darren have to work late with me three nights a week: it’s a good thing the couch in my office turns into a very comfy bed. I call Clyde to my office sometimes: the minute he closes the door behind him, he drops down on all fours and behaves as a very docile pet, one who satisfies his master in every way. Frank is extremely patient through all the problems I have with my network, but never remembers what he exactly does in my office to solve them. I hired Jack once he finished his bachelor’s degree in engineering, and spend time with him regularly to teach him all the stuff he didn’t learn at school. Gary quit his job as a dancer, and I hired him to do construction work at my beach house (it used to belong to Mr. Moss, but he sold it to me for a very reasonable price). For some reason, he prefers to work in the nude, but then my new roommates, Derek and Julio, rarely wear clothes around the house either. They have also accepted by now that even if they fall asleep in their own beds, they usually wake up in my own, their nude bodies wrapped snugly around mine.