It had been a hard practice. The summer heat was almost
unbearable, particularly after we had finished running laps in
full pads. Sweat was pouring out of every pore in my body as I
quietly cursed the coach for pushing us so sadistically in this
God-awful heat. As I finished the final lap, someone on the
sidelines caught my attention. Spectators were common at our
practices, considering we were now in real contention for the
conference title heading into our final three games. But this guy
seemed to have a problem with his underwear, because every time I
looked over at him, he was casually adjusting his package. He was
a good-looking kid of about 19, tall, with shoulder-length blonde
hair, wearing our official team T-shirt, cut-off jean shorts and
worn Nike high-tops. Obviously, a real fan.

     As the week wore on, I noticed that he was at every
practice, showing up before we took the field, and hanging around
until all the players had showered and headed home. This guy
really should get a life, I thought. But as I watched him, day
after day, I began to realize the depth of his obsession, as well
as the growing signs of need in his shorts. If football players
are his fetish, I thought, I'm going to give him an experience
he'll really get off on.

     We won easily that week, completely dominating the TCU
Horned Frogs. Yeah - they call them that for a reason - they're
usually too damned horny to play worth a shit. We knocked their
dicks in the dirt - and had a blast doing it! A bowl game was now
a certainty.

     The next week after practice, the cute kid was there, as
usual. As we left the field, I sauntered over to him, watching
his eyes grow wide as I approached. As I stared down at him from
my 6' 5" muscular frame, I saw his dick begin to grow in those
shorts. Pausing for a moment to let him get a good look at my
towering, padded body, holding my sweat-soaked helmet, I looked
him straight in the eyes and said, "follow me."

     Without even turning around to see if he obeyed, I walked
briskly toward the north end of the field house, where no one
could see us. When I turned around, he was there, eyes still wide
and a small moist spot on the front of his shorts.

     "Do you know where the athletic dorm is?" I asked. He
nodded. "My room number is 702. Be there tonight at 7:30 sharp.
Knock twice, wait five seconds, then knock three times." I
abruptly turned away and jogged into the locker room without
looking back.

     As a certified jock with an uncharacteristically high GPA, I
had grown tired of the usual jerk-off courses football players
are supposed to take. I decided to expand my horizons and go for
a rather ambitious psych major. In the process, a few friends and
I developed an interest in hypnosis. One of our instructors was a
certified hypnotherapist, and he showed us how relaxation and
visualization can help achieve many worthwhile goals. Much of my
success on the field I attribute to the ability to concentrate
and focus - skills I enhanced through hypnosis. My friends and I
had lately gained somewhat of a reputation in the dorms for
helping underachievers psych up for exams, and visualize positive
learning techniques and passing grades while in a trance. We were
amazed at how well it really works. Until that day at practice, I
had never really thought of having fun with hypnosis, but the
possibilities presented by the cute kid with the hard-on were too
devlish to resist. I knew that since I already his attention and
admiration, it would be an easy task. 

     At precisely 7:30, I heard the specified combination of
knocks on my door. "Come in - it's open," I said. Hesitantly, the
kid opened the door and slid into the room. "Lock the door behind
you," I commanded. He obeyed. I had purposely neglected to take a
shower after practice. As I stretched out on the couch with only
my jogging shorts and white socks on, I exposed my sweating pits
and let the room become stale and musky. "Get on your knees and
do not speak," I ordered. I began twitching my toes inside my
sweat socks, and motioned him to come closer. With his nose very
near my feet, I said: "You may sniff my feet. As you do, you will
feel the power of my voice, and it will become easier and easier
for you to obey my commands." I could tell he was getting
excited, so I decided to move right on to the next step. Pulling
my feet away abruptly, I told him to stretch out comfortably on
the couch and stare intently at the darkened light fixture above.

     The induction was fairly routine; he was a willing subject.
After some temperature extremes and levitation exercises, I knew
that he was in a deep trance. As he followed my voice and
descended, floor by floor, in the imaginary elevator, I deepened
the trance by suggesting that every word I spoke would soothe and
relax him, making it easier and easier for him to respond to my
suggestions. I then explained the essential part of my plan: 

     "Post hypnotic suggestions are specific and powerful sets of
instructions which your subconscious mind willingly accepts while
you are totally relaxed. They are not remembered by your
conscious mind until a specific cue causes them to come flooding
in with such intensity that you will automatically comply without
thinking. You will hear my voice repeating them, over and over,
until compliance is complete, after which everything will return
to normal."

     After the standard admonitions that each time he was
hypnotized he would go twice as fast and twice as deep as the
time before, I gave him the suggestion that every time I touched
his forehead and spoke the word "sleep," he would immediately
relax and let go, allowing my words to take him back to the
pleasant, enjoyable place where he was right now. After a little
practice, I knew this would enable me to hypnotize him easily,
whenever and wherever I chose.

     Now for the fun part: "Whenever I mention a part of my body
or an article of my clothing, you will have an erection. It will
be neither stronger nor weaker than your usual erections, however
it will remain with you until I specifically tell you to cum.
While you are erect, you will obey my every instruction - just as
easily as if you were in a deep trance. The power and authority
of my voice will be irresistible. After you cum, you will return
to your usual cycle."

     Then, I gave him the instruction not to remember anything
that was said under hypnosis until the proper time, and awakened
him from the trance. I invited him to come back the next night at
the same time, then asked him to leave.

     The next night I devoted to re-enforcing the depth of the
trance and each post-hypnotic suggestion. I started by talking
about my sweaty socks. As instructed, his pants began to bulge
obscenely, and I knew he was mine to command. "Remove my smelly
socks with your teeth." He responded immediately. "Pick up my
stinking shoe and put it over your mouth." He did. "Breathe
deeply and feel the power of my voice and of my body. Now lick my
toes." His head snapped to my now-bare feet, and he began working
his tongue between my sweating toes. "Rub my ankles with your
hands as you worship my feet with your tongue." With both his
hands now occupied, I decided it was time for the climax. "As you
feel the power of my feet, your balls will begin to tingle and
you will shoot a load of cum in your pants without touching
yourself. CUM NOW!" His body began to twitch and shake, but his
mouth didn't leave my feet. After a deep sigh, he pulled away,
shook his head and looked confused. "Everything is fine now," I
said. "Everything is returning to normal." As he left, he noticed
the obvious wet spot in his pants. He glanced briefly at me,
shook his head again and left my room with the confused look of a
puppy who had just been beaten - exactly as I had planned.

     After two more conditioning sessions, I decided he was ready
for his big debut. I told him I needed to work late with my
receivers after practice the next day. I instructed him to wait
until all the other players had gone. After working out the kinks
in our post patterns and long bombs, my buddies and I headed for
the locker room. I motioned for the kid to follow us. 

     As usual, the locker room stank big time - all the odors of
the sweat, piss, shit and mildew from a dozen seasons of physical
exertion had seeped between the cracks, creating a pungent mix
that no cleaning agent could fully remove. I could tell the kid
was awed by the place. One of my receivers looked at the kid and
asked, "Who are you?" Before he could answer, I said, "He's mine.
Get used to him. You'll be seeing a lot of him." The kid started
to protest, but I stopped him in mid-sentence. "My pads are full
of sweat right now," I began, watching his pants begin to bulge
obediently. My buddies looked at me curiously as I continued. "It
was a hard practice today and my feet are really aching. Come
over here and drop to your knees." The kid obeyed. "Untie my
cleats with your teeth." My buddies' jaws dropped. They couldn't
believe what they were seeing. As the ritual we had practiced in
my room unfolded, one of my receivers whistled softly, "Man, look
at that fag slurp on those nasty feet." Despite their jeers,
though, I could tell they were getting excited by the scene. I
removed my sweaty shoulder pads and had the kid suck all the
juice out of them. One of my buddies started jacking off
shamelessly. By the time I had the kid licking the sweat from my
armpits, all three of my teammates were too hot to protest. One
by one, I instructed the kid to repeat the humiliation exercise
on each of my buddies. One of them couldn't stand it, and shot a
big load on the kid's hair as he licked his feet. The other two
held back long enough to deposit their loads down his throat. As
the three lay back, totally spent, I instructed the kid to pull
out his dick and shoot his own load in his mouth.

     As the hypnotic spell broke, the kid once again looked dazed
and confused, completely unaware of what had just happened. "This
is our little slave boy, guys, the one with the cum in his hair,"
I laughed. The kid quickly felt his hair, and a look of terror
spread across his face. "Hey, I don't know what you...." he
began. I quickly walked over to him and touched his forehead.
"Sleep," I commanded. His eyes closed. "Deeper and deeper, fully
relaxed, completely obedient. When I count to three you will
awake and leave this locker room, feeling refreshed, invigorated
and satisfied. You will look forward to the next time you are
invited here. You will receive further instructions by phone.
Remember, whenever I say the word 'sleep' over the phone, you
will go twice as fast and twice as deeply asleep as you are now,
ready to receive my instructions. One. Two. Three." The kid awoke
with a smile and bolted out the door, his dick still hanging out
of his pants. 

     We won the bowl game that year, completely dominating our
opponents. It was as if we were inside each others' heads. My
receivers never missed a route. Surely, a large part of our
success was due to the fact that we didn't have to put up with
girlfriends' mind games. All of us knew that complete domination
and sexual pleasure were as close as the nearest phone.