Jeremy's
by Wrestlr
Disclaimer: There's sex, hypnosis, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor
perversions in this. If you don't like that sort of thing, go elsewhere.
Copyright (c) 1998 by Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and
only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to
read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you
can't use this without the express permission of (and payment to) the
author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.
Comments to wrestlr@iname.com
* * *
Jeremy's
by Wrestlr
Part 1
"Jeremy! Get your ass over here now!"
Coach Tucker was really steamed--that's why he was yelling at me. He'd
warned me several times, but I'd screwed up ... again. Just my
luck--Mondays always suck.
Wrestling practice. I rolled away from my opponent, stood up, and went
over to where Coach was glaring at me. I'd fucked up again, and I knew it,
so I was trying my best to look sorry.
Coach wasn't buying it. He jerked his thumb at his office door, and I
followed him in. He nearly slammed it behind him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing out there? You're supposed to
be a hell of a good wrestler, Jeremy, but you're just sloppy as hell."
"Sorry, Coach. I--"
"Sorry won't cut it! You could have him with that maneuver. Even
a blind ref would throw you off the mat for a stunt like that. I've warned
you before, and nothing's changed. What the fuck is going on with you?"
"Sorry, Coach. I guess I'm just having some problems concentrating.
I'm under a lot of stress this term." That much was true, sure, but it was
kind of a dodge and we both knew it.
"Problems concentrating, huh?" The venom in his voice made me wince. He
rummaged through a drawer in his desk. "Nothing I've tried has made any
difference with you, so let's try something different." He tossed me a
scrap of paper.
"What's this?"
"It's the phone number of a guy in the Psych Department. He's new, used
to work with some of the Olympic athletes. He's supposed to be real good
with motivation and stuff like that."
"He's a shrink or something? Coach, I don't need a fucking shrink. I
just--"
"Shove it, Jeremy. You're going to call him, and you're going to call
him right now. It's either this ... or you're off the team."
That got my attention! I'd been hoping to make the starting line-up,
even if I knew I was fucking up a lot, but I never expected this! If I got
kicked off the team, I'd lose my scholarship. My folks would kill me, even
worse than if they knew about the other thing about me that I kept from them. No wrestling. No school. My life would be over. I started to
protest, but Coach held up his hand.
"Jeremy, you were really good last year. Top-notch. This year, you're
blowing big, and the season hasn't even started yet. This is it, your very
last chance to pull out of this tailspin. I'm not going to throw you off
the team, just yet ..."
Whew!
"... but"--uh oh, here it comes--"... I am going to suspend you for at
least two weeks."
"Two weeks? But, Coach--!"
"I don't want you coming around or suiting up. You're going to work
with that guy. I've already cleared it with him. I'm going to check up on
you with him this time next week for a progress report. You don't get
reinstated until he says you're good to go. Understand me?"
"Uh, yeah, Coach, I understand."
"Maybe that will convince you how serious this shit you're pulling has
gotten."
"Yes sir, Coach Tucker."
"Now get over there and call him. Right now." He shook a finger at the
telephone.
"Right now?"
"Yes, now. Jeremy, you're not showing the right attitude here."
I looked at the number. I picked up the phone. I bit my lower lip a
little ... and then I dialed.
He answered on the second ring.
"Hi. Uhm, this is Jeremy. I'm, uh, I'm on the wrestling team. Coach
Tucker told you about me? I'm having some problems and he said you might
be able to help me?"
"Oh, yes, Jeremy." Hi voice was smooth, deep, a rolling voice like low
music. "Why don't you come by my office tomorrow and we'll discuss what I
may be able to do to help? Say, around three o'clock?"
"Uh ..." I started to say three o'clock was during practice and I
couldn't make it. But I saw Coach Tucker glaring at me out of the corner
of my eye and remembered I wouldn't be practicing for at least two weeks.
"Uh, yeah, three o'clock will be fine."
Part 2
At five minutes before three the next day, Tuesday, I knocked on his
door. From inside, that same deep voice: "Yes?"
I opened the door a crack and stuck my head in. He was sitting behind
his desk, facing me. "Hi, I'm Jeremy? We have a meeting at three
o'clock?"
"Oh, yes!" He got up, coming around the desk. "Come in, Jeremy, come
in." He introduced himself--"Call me Doc; all my friends do"--and ushered
me into this big chair by his desk.
His office was in the underground floor, so there were no windows. Just
lots and lots of bookcases, stained a warm cherry color, and hundreds of
books and journals. Lamps, some tasteful knickknacks. It looked more like
a study in someone's home than a faculty office.
Doc himself looked kind of for being a professor--mid-thirties,
I'd say--and he had a friendly, open manner. He had a good build, like he
was a former athlete himself and still kept in shape. He didn't sit back
behind the desk. He sat on one corner, kind of facing me.
I was looking over a few of the titles on his shelves. A lot of them
were books on hypnosis. "What's up with this stuff?" I asked, gesturing at
the books.
"Don't laugh. Hypnosis is a respected tool. I do a lot of research
into it."
"Yeah? I think it's a lot of hooey."
"No, it's not like what you've seen in bad science-fiction movies. It's
very effective and very real. In fact, Athletes have used it for some time
now to improve concentration and sports performance." He started by telling
me about his background. He's worked with a lot of Olympians, just like
Coach Tucker said, a lot of names I recognized, and a lot of medalists.
He'd decided he was ready for a change of pace, so he had just taken this
teaching joke, which he was enjoying a lot. He did miss some of the
traveling he did when he was working with professional and competitive
athletes. He started pointing out a lot of things on his shelf, telling me
where he'd gotten them, and who he'd been working with at the time.
"And this piece ..." He picked up a statue of carved wood from the
opposite corner of his desk. "This is my favorite of all. It's from
Africa." A stylized statue of a man. A little over twelve inches tall,
maybe, by five or six inches wide and six inches deep. The had his
knees bent, body hunched a little. His body was stained deep, brown,
nearly black. At his waist, a loincloth was painted brick-red. The
loincloth was in two, and from the divide rose a large phallus,
carved erect and curving upward, like the cocks on some of those Greek
statues of satyrs. At least four inches long--definitely not proportional.
The figure's torso was bare. Its face featured a mouth held in a perfect
ring, a pair of large, dark jewels for eyes, upswept hair tinted faintly
with dark cyan.
That cock alone would have made it obscene in any other setting. But
here, in this office, with these rich woods and books all around, it seemed
to fit right in.
Doc held it on his thigh, facing it toward me. "It's a rare piece, a
statue of Ashibo, a trickster god. He's the god of mischief and luck,
games of chance, and surprisingly, also the god of agriculture and
fertility. I guess that's why his has this huge hard on." We both kind of
chuckled at that. "Mischief, luck, agriculture, and fertility ... that's
some combination, huh?"
"I guess maybe it's because having good crops and fertility are kind of
luck of the draw?"
He looked at me like I'd just said something really smart, like he was
impressed. "Why, that's right. That's exactly how the legends describe
it."
I figured he'd put the statue away now, but he wasn't quite through. He
was holding upright with one hand, kind of stroking the back of its head
and neck with the other, which seemed kind of odd to me.
"The eyes, though, those are the really special part of this little guy.
They're a special gemstone found only in a few places in Africa. A tribal
shaman blessed before it was given to me. There's a special spell on these
special stones. If you believe in that sort of thing. Either way, it's a
very special piece. Look closer and you can see the intricacies in the cut
of the stone eyes."
I looked closer. They did seem to be really detailed.
"See how they catch the light?" he said. "It's almost like there's a
special light inside them, just waiting to get out. Look closer. Can you
see the way they catch the light?"
As I looked into those dark gems while he spoke in that low rhythm like
a quiet melody, it seemed I really could see little flecks of light in
them. Bluish shards of light. Small and deep inside them. And the more he
gently stroked the back of the idol's head, the more he talked to me in
that low monotone, the more I looked, the more it seemed I really could see
lights inside those gems, flickers getting brighter and closer to the
surface, more pronounced. My eyes were getting tired but I couldn't seem
to look away. Or maybe I didn't really want to. My body felt both too
heavy to move and feather-light, almost floating. The light was almost a
steady glow now, light blue, shining just for me and getting brighter the
more I stared. His words were kind of slipping away from me--I couldn't
quite seem to catch back up to what he was saying as the warm, lulling
melody of his voice rolled over me. So eventually I stopped trying to
grasp what he was saying to me, just surren! dered and let go.
"Jeremy? Wake up, Jeremy."
I opened my eyes. My whole body felt relaxed and very heavy, like I'd
been deeply asleep. Real lethargic and spent, the way I feel after a long
nap or a really good orgasm. I looked up at Doc. All I wanted was to
close my eyes again, but he touched my arm, said, "Come on, Jeremy. How do
you feel?"
I blinked, took a deep breath to clear my thoughts. My head felt
cottony but everything was coming more into focus now. "I feel pretty
good," I replied, which was true. I felt incredibly good.
"Jeremy, do you know what just happened?"
"Uh, you hypnotized me?"
"That's right, Jeremy. You're a pretty good subject. I think, if you
keep working with me like you just did, we can have your problems licked in
no time."
"Like in two weeks?" I asked, remembering what Coach Tucker had said.
"Might take longer than that to get you where you want to be, but I
think we can have you well on the road to success by them. Don't
worry--I'll tell Coach Tucker everything went fine this time."
"Cool, Doc. Thanks."
"And I'll see you tomorrow at the same time, okay?"
"Tomorrow?"
"One session isn't going to cure you. Hypnosis isn't a magic bullet.
It works best with repetition. We barely even scratched the surface
today."
"Okay." I felt kind of uncertain about this, and he could hear it in my
voice. "Okay," I said more definitely. "Tomorrow. Same time."
That was Tuesday. We had a session each day the rest of that week, even
Saturday and Sunday. I was starting to like Doc. He was really personable
and pretty cool. He seemed to like me too. I really felt this great trust
for him--somehow I knew, deep inside, that all I had to do was cooperate
and trust him, and he would do everything he could to help me get back on
track and back in Coach Tucker's good graces. Doc and I spent a lot of
time talking after our sessions, not as faculty-student, or even
counselor-patient, just as friend to friend. I told him all about my life
and what I was going through and what was really throwing me off. I even
told him I thought I was gay, which was the big secret I never had told
anyone else before. I even told him about the big crush I had on my
roommate Clay. Doc took it in stride, like he already knew. He didn't
seem phased by it at all, just asked me how I felt about it and how I was
dealing with it. Like I said, pretty cool.!
After our Sunday session, I spent most of the evening in the library,
doing research for a paper. The paper wasn't due until later in the week,
but it just felt right to get some of the research done ahead of time.
Usually in the library my mind wanders and sometimes I sneak off to the
men's room on the third floor in hopes of finding some guy to suck me off.
This time, though, I stayed focused and on track. I stayed until the
library was about to close, around midnight, got a lot of work done.
I suppose it happened like this. Doc would have knocked on my door at
the dorm. My roommate Clay opened the door. Doc explained he was a friend
of mine and could he come in and leave something for me. Clay would have
said sure and let him in. Doc would have shown him that statue and started
talking about its eyes, talking in that mellow monotone he always used
during the induction. Clay would have fallen under the spell of those eyes
before he knew what was happening.
When I got back to my dorm room, opened the door quietly in case Clay
was asleep, the first thing I saw was Clay flat on his back on his bed,
with nothing on except a pair of white briefs. His eyes were closed like
he was asleep. Except that he was laid out on top of his sheets rather
than under them, that seemed pretty much like every other night since we'd
started rooming together freshman year.
As I continued to push the door open, I saw Doc standing at the foot of
Clay's bed, that little statue in his hand. "Come in, Jeremy," he said. I
shut the door behind me. He was smiling at me. Doc said, "Ashibo is
watching: relax."
I felt this sudden ... I don't know exactly how to describe it. Like a
sense of peace. It flowed over me and I felt myself relax, letting go of
all the tension and tiredness of the day. My eyelids were drooping. My
backpack strap slipped from my limp fingers to plop softly on the floor by
my foot. I felt pleasantly stoned and all open inside.
"Relax ..." Doc said again. "That's it. Good boy, Jeremy. Look into
Ashibo's eyes--you can see his light very easily now, can't you?"
My head felt all sluggish, like it had been stuffed with cotton to make
my thoughts slow down. My eyes were drawn to the idol's, which shining
with that bright blue light that I knew so well now, could see so easily
now.
Doc was saying something to me, but I couldn't make out his words--all
my attention was locked on the gemstone eyes. All I knew was that
brilliant blue blast of the statue's gaze, which was wiping my head free of
all thoughts, and this sense of easy peace that filled me. I knew Clay was
there for me, that Doc had done this for me, had made it okay, that I could
now do what I'd dreamed of since I'd first met Clay and it would all be all
right. I could do what I wanted and Clay would never know. It would be
okay.
Doc lowered the statue. He was standing very close to me now, his free
hand cupping the back of my neck and stroking it gently like he always did
the idol's. It felt great, and I accepted this gesture too. He was
smiling, looking directly into my eyes. I felt such love and gratitude for
him--he was giving me such a great freedom, such a great gift.
"Enjoy," Doc said, and stepped back, away from me, away from the bed and
Clay.
I looked at Clay, smoothed across his bed, waiting for me, just waiting
for me. He was nude except for his white briefs, which silhouetted but did
not hide his hard-on. Clay is on the swim team--he's a diver and a damn
good one--and he had this trim, sleek, muscular body, perfect definition.
Solid pectorals with oblong little nipples. Twenty years old, same as me.
He's tall, his body completely hairless. His face is classically handsome,
perfect skin, strong jaw. Wavy brown hair cut very short. His eyes are
brown too, but right now they were closed, locked in slumber.
My eyes zeroed in on that tent in his briefs, the tube reclining across
his left hip. Clay and I had both always had jocks' casualness about being
undressed in our room; I'd seen his cock before, sometimes even hard first
thing in the morning or when he kicked off the covers. It was really nice,
thick, long, and I had this ancient hunger for it. I knelt beside his
narrow bed. I pulled the elastic waistband down, tucked it under his
balls. His cock was fully hard; he must have been having an incredibly sexy
dream.
I bent over him. Guided the tip of his dick up and kissed it. Ran my
tongue around the head. He was uncut, but he kept himself clean. His cock
was thick, longer than average but not the biggest I'd ever sucked. Still,
it stretched my jaw.
This cock belonged to a who was physically perfect, and I wanted to
enjoy this. I it slow and nice, transmitting all the love I felt
for him into his cock through my tongue and lips. I felt so relaxed and
calm, not at all afraid of Clay waking up. And I wasn't afraid to let Doc
see me doing this to my best friend either. He had given me such a gift,
and I was giving the gift of pleasure to Clay. I heard the door ease open,
Doc step out into the hall, close it, leaving me alone with Clay.
Was Clay even aware I was there? Or did he just thing was a really hot
dream? I nursed myself on Clay's fine cock. I managed to fumble my jeans
open, get them down around my knees so I could jerk myself off with one
hand while I slipped my other hand between Clay's thighs to probe at his
asshole with a finger.
It was over too soon. Clay started to cum, and I took it deep in my
throat, swallowed as best I could. The taste of his salty, bitter load
pushed me over the brink, and I shot my wad too.
When I was finally spent, I fell back. I still felt that relaxed way,
but I was getting so sweetly sleepy. I pulled Clay's briefs back into
place, stumbled the rest of the way out of my clothed, tumbled onto my bed,
and was out like a light.
Next morning, Clay didn't act any different. If he remembered, which I
doubted, he didn't let on at all. If he remembered, maybe he just thought
it was a dream. I was kind of doubting it had really happened myself,
though I knew it had. I mean, Clay was one hundred percent straight--this
couldn't have happened, right? But that morning he'd been laying there on
top of the covers in just his white, white briefs, just like I remembered.
Maybe that part had been right and I'd just dreamed the rest, about Doc and
the blowjob?
Anyway, that afternoon, in Doc's office, after I'd gotten all
embarrassed about it trying to thank him, when we started the session, it
was like I'd passed some barrier inside myself. When he started the
induction and those eyes started glowing, they blazed like never before. I
slipped under easier, seemed like, and faster. Deeper too.
Doc's voice roused me gently. "Jeremy, wake up."
I sat up--we'd moved from that chair to this overstuffed sofa--and
flexed my arms and chest. My was off, which somehow seemed right,
and I liked the way my body felt. As I swung my bare feet over the side of
the sofa, Doc was asking me how I felt, what I remembered, the usual stuff.
My body felt relaxed and tired, like I'd just hard, but also buzzed,
really alive. I felt really good and told him so.
He was staring directly at me, smiling gently. I'm a good-looking guy
and I've got a hot body, and I know it. I like being looked at but there
was something more going on here. I could feel it. An eagerness in my
skin. A tingling in my cock and balls.
"Jeremy," he said softly in that low musical voice, making my name sound
like distant thunder. In my head were answering waves, inevitable as a
tide, and I wanted to submerge myself under them. "I think you've come a
long way in the last couple of days, and I think you're nearly ready for
the next step, don't you?"
I loved the way his voice rolled over me, caressing my bare chest, my
nipples. I liked the way he was looking at me, smiling at me. I wanted
... I don't know what. I was horny as hell, and hard, and I needed bad to
get off.
His voice was more than the mere whisper of sound. "You're ready,
Jeremy. All you have to do is take the next step. You're ready to get rid
of everything that has held you back, ready to love yourself, enjoy
yourself, please yourself."
When he said "enjoy yourself," I felt ... I felt this jolt of pure
pleasure shoot through me, and my cock turned harder than steel, harder
than it had ever been before. I needed to jack off bad.
He pronounced the words clearly. "Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself."
I couldn't help myself and I didn't care who was watching.
He said it again, "Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself."
I had to jack off then and there or I was going to bust. I opened my
jeans, shoved them to my knees. My cock practically jumped into my hand as
I reached for it and started to jerk off. I should have been embarrassed
at doing this in front of him, should have excused myself and gone to the
nearest bathroom. But I had to get off right then. I didn't feel ashamed
at all--I was having a ball! All I felt was the urgency of my hand moving
on my cock, the ecstasy of his eyes on me; all I felt was this growing
pressure inside and the need for release. Waves of bliss started in my
balls and cock, rippled outward, washing out everything that had held me
back, obliterating me with rapture. I arched my back and shot and shot and
shot, spurting all over my chest and belly.
When I finally fell back on the sofa, spent and panting, he just gave me
a smile. I smiled back, a little sheepishly. He handed me a little hand
towel to wipe up with. I didn't feel even vaguely embarrassed by what I'd
just done. I felt great, and I was especially pleased Doc seemed to like
the show so much. I cleaned up my and got my pants back up. I pulled
on my shirt, my socks, my shoes. We talked for a while, like usual, but
not about what had just happened. He seemed really pleased with me, with
my progress. He told me he'd told Coach Tucker that too, that morning when
Coach had called for a status report.
I jumped off the sofa and threw my arms around Doc, hugged him tight,
thanked him. That feeling I'd had all last week that he would do
everything he could to help me had been right. When I pulled back, Doc's
eyes were clouded with something that I couldn't read. I kind of sensed we
felt this same chemistry. I was still too spent from my killer orgasm to
get hard, but I definitely felt something there.
Doc changed the subject.
Part 3
On the Monday my suspension expired, instead of our session, Doc went
with me to see Coach at the gym. Doc showed up in short--first time I'd
seen him in shorts--and I noticed he had a fine pair of legs. I was in
shorts and a tee-shirt myself. I had my singlet with me, but Coach Tucker
was skeptical, wanted to talk with Doc before he would let me dress out.
He and Doc went into his office, and I watched my teammates warming up,
starting practice, tried to ignore them when them glanced my way with
expressions like they were glad they weren't on the sidelines in my shoes.
Coach stuck his head out and said, "Okay, Jeremy, suit up."
Man, I never hit the locker room and changed faster in my life!
I was into my singlet and back on the mats practically before Coach shut
the door.
Coach had me warm up and stretch, then told me to join Doc and him in
one of the smaller private session rooms while the assistant coaches ran
the rest of the team through their paces.
Coach called Kirk in to join us too. Uh, oh. That was not good. Kirk
was damn good, maybe the best in the state, and he'd had a major mad-on for
me since grabbed his balls and squeezed during a practice session a few
weeks before. Okay, so it was totally wrong of me to have done that, but I
wanted to win even if I had to him, and I didn't apologize after,
which just made it all worse. Coach had stopped our match and blessed me
out big time, which just meant Kirk never got by busting my ass on
the mat.
Looked like now he was going to get his shot.
Coach told Kirk to make me show him what I had--he was making no bones
about expecting Kirk to whip my ass. To me, Coach just said I better be
good and better not try anything even close to funny.
I guess I was really showing how nervous I was. Doc came up to me, put
his hands on my shoulders, told me it was going to be okay. Looking him
square in the eye, I felt calmer, a little. "Take a deep breath with me,"
he said, and inhaled. I did too, and held it a second until he exhaled.
It seemed to help, and I tried hard to give him a little grin which he
returned as a big smile and a pat on my shoulder.
I took the mat with Kirk. Kirk's face was impassive, but his eyes said
he was going to pull out all the stops to cream my ass and enjoy doing it.
Kirk's a cute guy, tight build with sleek, hard muscles, brown-eyed,
close-cropped dark hair, a little bit of darker chest hair in an
inverted triangle. I'd have been glad to tangle with him sometime in bed;
I even used to have a little crush on him. But on the mats we both knew he
wasn't going to let me enjoy this the least bit.
When Coach called it and Kirk came at me like an engine of pure aggression, something felt different for me. It was like I was someplace
different in my head, someplace other than where I usually was when I was
concentrating on winning. Everything seemed effortless. Kirk would make a
move, and I had him blocked before I even realized what he was trying.
Like my body had taken over and was wrestling on its own. Kirk would try
for this really punishing headlock he liked, and I'd have him shut out
before he could even get in on me. I wasn't giving him any openings at
all.
I flipped him back, dropped him into a pocket, nearly had him before he
figured out what was going on and wiggled free. Again and again I had him
on the defensive, which seemed to worry him. Me, I felt real objective
about everything, like I was watching this on television while my body
responded automatically. I could feel how hard he was straining against
me, the sweat and skin-friction of his body against mine, but this time
nothing was distracting me. I was major focused!
I had Kirk pinned hard, waiting helplessly for Coach to count off the
take-down. Coach Tucker slapped the mat, and I let Kirk up, sat back to
catch my breath. My head was starting to clear.
Coach and Doc were conferring over against the wall, and I was trying
hard to make out what they were whispering. I was catching bits of Doc
telling the Coach that hypnosis could really help athletes with their
mental game, help them focus and respond quicker--that, yes, others might
benefit from similar training too.
Kirk distracted me when he offered me his hand. "Damn good match,
Jeremy. How'd you get so good so fast?"
I said, "Thanks. I been putting in a lot of practice while I was gone."
Not entirely a lie.
Coach looked annoyed to catch me trying to overhead. "Thanks, Kirk.
You can go join the rest now." To me: "Jeremy, We're going to my office to
talk this over. I want you to go change back into you street clothes and
then wait outside. Stay out of trouble, okay?"
So I changed, then sat around and watched the team practice. Wished I
was out there with them. Wished Doc and Coach Tucker would finish already
and let me know something. What was needing all this big discussion
anyway?
I hovered around Coach's office door, but I heard jack. Just a little
bit of voices here and there, mostly Doc's, like they were talking low to
keep from being overheard. What exactly was going on in there anyway?
Finally, Coach stuck his head out and called me in.
"Okay, Jeremy, this is the bottom line," he said. "Probation. One more
fuck-up and you're off the team. But for now, get your ass here tomorrow
and dress out."
"I'm still on the team?"
"Yes. Probation, though, Jeremy, and I mean it. One more screw-up and
not all the special training will change my mind. But yes, you're still on
the team."
I roared, "YEAAAAAAH!"
Coach: "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to practice."
"Thanks, Coach! You won't regret this. I promise!" I held out my hand
to shake.
"I better not." He gave my hand a quick shake, then walked out, shut the
door behind him.
I grabbed Doc's arm, whooped again as loud as I could, right in his
face. "You did it, man! You kept me on the team just like you said!"
He gave me a grin and a cuff upside my head. "Nah. You did it. I just
helped you get started."
"Hey, thanks, man. I mean it! Thanks."
"Come on. This calls for a celebration. I live just off campus, and
I've got some beer chilling in the 'fridge."
"Cool!"
I knew I shouldn't be drinking the day before practice, but this was
time for jubilation, and besides, one beer surely wouldn't hurt.
It was a short walk, just as he said, and he tossed me a beer soon as we
walked in. My brand, too. One for himself. We saluted each other with
them, took deep swallows. I nursed mine as he showed me around. Nice
place--warm and comfortable, just like his office.
The basement he had redone into a personal gym, and he had a lot of
equipment down there, nice equipment. I said something about having meant
to hit the gym that day, and he came back with an offer of working out
there. Before I could answer, he started taking off his shirt.
No shit Doc had worked with athletes. He was no slouch himself. When
he stripped off his shirt, I saw the results of a hell of a lot of
exercise. He had a really fine body. I got my off too. He was
checking me out and not caring if I saw. So I flexed my chest and arms a
little, making it look like I was loosening up. We both had fine bodies. I
checked out his chest, his legs and ass in those shorts, and it felt good
to show off my chest for him. I started to get a little hard in my snug
shorts too, but I didn't care if he saw or not; I mean, the had watched
me jack off, so I didn't have much modesty around him.
When we hit the weights, he blasted me through a workout from hell. He
pushed me hard. In that low, rolling voice, he encouraged, cajoled,
sweet-talked me through heavier weights, more reps. He always seemed to
stand where I could keep my eyes on him. Sometimes out eyes would lock and
I'd get to feeling a little lightheaded. I just wanted to keep looking in
his eyes and keep moving. I was really aware of how much I owed him--I'd
have lost my place on the team, my scholarship, everything, if not for
him--and I wanted to push myself harder to please him.
Doc had me exhausted and soaked in sweat by the time he finally declared
we'd had enough and let us start some cool-down stretching. Man, I have a
fine body and I work out a lot, but Doc nearly killed me out there.
I sat on the bench and wiped the sweat off my forehead with my discarded
shirt. "I'm going to be sore as fuck tomorrow," I said, panting.
Doc was standing very close to me. "I think you'll feel just fine
tomorrow."
"Huh?"
He slipped his hand around the back of my neck, started stroking it like
he had that night, like he did the little statue. It felt good, helped me
let go of some tension stored there and in my shoulders. It made me roll
my head to look up at him. My eyes locked on him as he smiled down at me.
I smiled a little back. I felt all blank inside. Relaxed. Heavy and
limp, except for my cock, which was hardening slowly. Waiting. I felt
such love for him. I owed him so much.
"That's it," he murmured. "Just look into my eyes, Jeremy." I couldn't
look away, couldn't move. Or maybe I just didn't want to. "You've had a
hard, stressful day. It's time to relax. Let yourself relax, Jeremy. Let
yourself go back to that very cooperative place inside you like so much.
Ashibo is watching: relax."
This calmness began spreading through me, like before, obliterating
every thought in its path. I felt myself open up to him.
"Jeremy, you're feeling pretty good right now, aren't you?"
"... yes ..."
"I want to make you feel even better, Jeremy. It's time. Are you
ready? Will you let me make you feel even better than ever before?"
"... yes ..."
"Good boy, Jeremy."
He helped me stand, guided me by my bare arm back upstairs. As I
walked, my snug shorts rubbed my hard dick, sending more pleasure into the
vagueness that filled my head.
Led me to his bedroom. He stared deeply into my eyes, deeply into my
mind, the very core of me. He smiled, and that made me happy. He stripped
off his shoes, socks, shorts, jockstrap. "You're such a good boy, Jeremy,
such a very good boy. Let's get you out of those clothes."
He stripped me. My cock was fully hard, straining, demanding release.
He led me to the bed. His eyes had stolen my initiative; I let him take
the lead and obeyed every instruction he gave.
We each other. Every now and then he would repeat those words,
"Ashibo is watching: relax," and I would reel further into that wonderfully
relaxed space I was feeling.
I came hard. He swallowed.
He wasn't through. He had me on my back, ankles on his shoulders. He
was easing his condom-coated cock into my lubricated and well-fingered
virgin asshole. I felt so relaxed and open, wanting more than anything to
have him inside my body as well as my head. He had a nice cock, larger
than most but not as big as mine, and he was going slow and easy since I'd
never been fucked in the ass before. Pretty soon he had it all in me, and
after giving me a second to get used to it he picked up this slow, steady
rhythm. Throughout, our eyes stayed locked together, and I felt such
trust, openness, love for him. I belonged to him.
His cock was hitting a magic place inside me, and I was hard again. He
bent forward and kissed me hard. I felt his whole body shudder over and
over as he came inside me. The pressure of his body leaning down on mine,
of his shooting cock against my prostate, brought me off and I shot a
second load.
When I awoke the next morning, I was naked, on my side with my raging
piss hard-on, in his bed. I felt him snuggled close behind me, his chest
pressed to my back, body contoured to mind down to our tangled legs.
Before last night, all I'd known of sex was quickie blowjobs in rest
rooms and occasional handjobs. Now, his morning erection jammed up along
the crack of my ass brought back a whole new dimension. I wanted to stay
and luxuriate in what he made me feel, but I had to piss, and I had class
in half an hour. I slipped out of bed and, after and standing at
the foot of his bed watching him sleep a while, I dressed and slipped out
of his house.
Part 4
That afternoon, I suited up and had a damn good practice. Doc had
helped me become pretty much unbeatable. Coach was really impressed.
Coach called an end to practice a little early, told us to gather in the
locker room for a special meeting.
We filed in. Most of us got to sit on the benches, but there wasn't
enough bench space for all twenty-four of us, so a few had to park their
asses on the floor. Over there someone had set up a little projector of
some kind, aimed more or less a this tall, narrow stand against the wall in
front of us.
Coach Tucker came in, followed by ... Doc. I was kind of surprised to
see Doc there. He gave me a wink on the sly but otherwise seemed to barely
know me. What was going on here?
Coach Tucker introduced Doc as a specialist in sports psychology. A
couple of the murmured among themselves, and Coach called for their
attention.
"Men, Doc here has a program he wants to share with us. He's helped
world-famous athletes reach their full potential, and now he wants to help
each of you become the best you can be. This is no magic bullet, but it
had been used over and over again in major training camps and it does
work."
I figured out what Coach was leading up to. Apparently, Coach and Doc
had decided that what worked so well for me would work for the entire team.
I wondered if Coach knew what I knew about Doc's methods.
"I don't want to hear any lip, guys. We're going to work with the
doctor here over the next several days to help you get the most out of his
program, and anyone who gives him any trouble--any trouble at all--will get
extra laps, so you'd better behave like adults and do exactly what he
says." He stared down the line of guys, daring them to cross him. Finding
no opposition, Coach turned and said, "Doc, if you're ready for them,
they're ready for you." Coach let the Doc take center-stage and went over
to stand by the projector.
"Thanks, Coach Tucker. Hi, guys. Yes, it's true, I have a program that
can help you become even better than you already are. It's a program based
on hypnosis--"
Doc was interrupted by a few snickers up and down the line of jocks.
"No, no," he said to Coach Tucker when Coach looked ready to yell at the
disrupters, "that's a very valid reaction." He turned back to us. "But
it's also an uninformed one. Hypnosis is both very real and very
effective. Athletes have used it for a long time to improve concentration
and performance. The ancient Greeks discovered hypnosis, and it has become
a really important part of many training programs." He told us about a few
big names who credited hypnosis with turning them into major players.
"Take for example wrestling. What if you could use hypnosis to train your
unconscious mind to make split-second decisions much more efficiently than
your conscious mind? Hypnosis can help your unconscious mind to relax
completely and respond to beneficial suggestions without the normal
screening process of your conscious mind. Say you're on the mat with an
opponent. He's going for a hold and! you notice he's starting to put
pressure on you in a way that will force you into a vulnerable position.
By the time your conscious mind reads his hold and decides how to get out
of it, he's already dropping you in right where he wants you and it's too
late. But what if instead you've trained your unconscious mind to
recognize and react to a situation like this. When your opponent goes for
a hold you go immediately into a defense and stop him. Sounds too good to
be true?" He paused to survey our expressions. "Well, it isn't--not at
all. Hypnosis can really help you reach the top, in sports and in
academics. What do you say we give it a try, men?"
Someone called out, "What if I can't be hypnotized?"
Doc was ready for this question: "Everyone says that. My methods are
effective even on people who usually don't respond to normal induction
procedures."
He reached inside his satchel. He pulled out that statue with its
obscene erection. "Gentlemen, meet Ashibo." The snickered nervously
at it. Doc placed the statue on the little platform. "Ashibo is here to
give you a target for focusing. Some of the things we're about to do may
seem a little silly, but there's a good reason for all of it. If you
follow my program exactly, you can train your unconscious mind to make
split-second reactions, which in turn will help you become the best
wrestlers you can be."
Doc paused and looked us over again. "Any of you think this is stupid
or not want to be here? Any of you not want to be a winner?"
With Coach Tucker right there, no one dared raise his hand.
"Let's get started, then. I want to start with a relaxation exercise to
help your unconscious mind absorb and respond to suggestions. I think
you'll enjoy it, so just settle back and let it happen." Doc nodded to
Coach Tucker, who flicked off the overhead light switch and turned on the
projector, which threw a small pool of brilliant white light at the statue
of Ashibo.
The doctor's voice smoothed out into that murmurous monotone. "I want
all of you to focus your attention on that statue. Look at its eyes. Gaze
at its eyes, and do not break your focus. See how its eyes catch the
light? Don't let anything distract you from focusing on the eyes and
listening to my voice. If anything tries to distract you, let that
distraction slide easily into the background, and return your focus to my
voice."
I kept my eyes closed, kept running a song through my head to keep my
mind off his induction. I wanted to stay awake, see what Doc had in mind
here.
Doc was droning on. "Now that you've been gazing at the eyes for a
while, you're probably starting to notice how they catch the light, the way
they seem to glow if you look really close. Look deeper into them. See
the light? It seems to get brighter and clearer the deeper you look."
I let Doc drone on a little longer. I peeked aside at my teammates.
They were sitting with these slack, dazed expressions, just staring at the
statue. Even Coach.
As I kind of glanced around, trying to keep Doc from seeing I wasn't
falling under, I caught the statue out of the corner of my eyes. Its eyes
were a steady blue glow, and they drew my gaze like an irresistible magnet.
Doc had trained me well. I couldn't look away, couldn't fight his
induction now.
"Just relax," he was saying. "Take a deep breath ... and exhale. Feel
all that tension leaving your body. Another deep breath ... hold it. Now
exhale. Feel all the tension washing away. Relaxing your shoulders, neck,
your whole body. Just letting go, eyes tired, relaxed, heavy ... You're
probably noticing your eyes are tired. You want to close them, and you may
close them at any time. Of course, you can always open them again if you
want, but you'll find you relax deeper if you leave them closed. As your
eyes close, it will become easier and easier for you to relax. As you
listen to my voice, all the worries and tensions will leave your body and
you will totally relax. It feels really good to relax ..."
Doc's induction droned on. Despite my best efforts, I was slipping
deeply into sleep, just like all those times in his office. It felt great,
and I stopped fighting and let go, let myself slip away.
Seemed like no time later when Doc clapped his hands loudly, waking us.
We were all shaking our heads to clear away the cobwebs and wondering what
happened. Coach seemed a little shaky too, but he flicked off the
projector and turned on the overhead lights when Doc told him to.
"There," Doc said, grinning. "That was easy, wasn't it? That's all for
today. Back to you, Coach."
Coach still seemed a little groggy--I was too, and I guess we all
were--but he called out, "Okay, men, hit the showers and get out of here.
See you all tomorrow."
We got to our feet, got our lockers open, got out of our singlets and
shit. I grabbed my towel and headed for the showers.
Since there were only ten shower heads and twenty-four of us on the
team, we didn't all shower at once. I was one of the first ones in, and I
got the next to the last spot on the right. The other spots filled up
pretty quickly.
I felt really good, loose, like after a nice, long nap. I soaped up.
The other were horsing around and yelling at one another over the
sound of the spray--same shit as usual. Kirk was to my left, this Russian
guy Alexi to my right. I kept checking them out on the sly as I rinsed.
I heard Doc calling out something in the main part of the locker room,
but I couldn't make out what he said. Then he appeared in the entry of the
shower area. He had that statue cradled in the crook of his arm. Doc
yelled out over the water, "Ashibo is watching: enjoy yourself."
Where had I heard that before? Didn't matter. Doc yelled out "Ashibo
is watching: enjoy yourself" again, but I was already distracted by
something else.
I was getting hard. Happens sometimes to in the shower or on the
mats. Usually we just ignore it or joke it off. But right then, I was
feeling incredibly horny. I was hard and I had to get off.
Alexi and Kirk were hard too. So were the opposite us. I looked
down and found I was already jacking off. I didn't care who saw. Hell,
these had all seen me naked a lot, even hard a couple of times, and
I'd seen most of them in the same condition. I didn't give a shit--I just
had to get off.
Doc was standing in the entry, smiling, watching us. Everyone in the
showers was hard and beating off. One of my favorite masturbation scenes
come to life.
Nobody cared who saw them getting off. I paid close attention to Kirk's
cut meat, with its downward curve. He was focused on it like it was his
best friend, giving it the loving attention it deserved. Looked to my like
between six and seven inches.
I gave Alexi his share of looks too. Alexi was tall and twenty, same
age as me, with this really cute face and smooth, muscular body that
wouldn't quit. Squared-off pecs. Brown hair and eyes. His stiff cock was
average size but perfectly straight, a real beauty that pointed nearly
straight up at his navel. He was entirely into his own pleasure, not even
looking my way. Oh, well.
I got down to business on my own erection. It wouldn't take me much
longer, I knew. Then, I felt that rising in my balls, the heat of pleasure
blanketing throughout my body. I thrust my hips forward, threw my head
back, groaned loudly as I came, shooting wad after wad after wad.
Kirk hunkered down, almost squatted, and fired off a ropey load of
white-hot cream onto the cool tile floor. Alexi tilted his torso back a
bit; he was masturbating with short, quick stroked, using just his first
two fingers and his thumb. He shot nice, runny lava on his belly and
fingers. Kirk and Alexi both turned back to the water and continued their
showering as if nothing had just happened, as if jerking off in the showers
after practice was something we all did every day.
Spent, exhausted, I grinned at the others as they jacked--I didn't feel
the least bit self-conscious. I'd done a good job; Doc would be pleased
with me; I knew it deep down inside. I rinsed myself off, went to claim my
towel.
I passed by Doc on my way to my locker, and we gave each other a wink.
He was roaming around, watching the rest of the team jack off in the
changing area. Some of them had already cum, were heading for the showers,
leaving behind puddles of on the floor.
Coach Tucker was standing near my locker. He was one of the last ones
still jerking off. He was naked, like most of the rest of the team, and
jacking hard. He had his head tipped back, mouth open and eyes closed,
lost in his own pleasure. Coach was mid-thirties. Dark, longish hair. A
light sprinkling of hair across his pecs. Tall and muscular. A little
tattoo of a dolphin over by the left side of his groin, where his underwear
would cover it. His body was in great shape because he worked out with us.
I'd seen him naked a couple of times, of course, in the showers and shit
like that, but this was the first time I'd seen him hard and jacking.
Average-sized cock--uncut, I think--and it sure looked like he knew how to
make it feel good. As I watched, he shoved his hips forward, looked down
at his cock as it started to fire droplets of at the floor between his
spread feet.
Coach, still panting, looked up at me and grinned. I grinned back. He
looked pretty pleased with himself, just like the rest of us. He milked
the last drop from his cock, let it fall. He bent and retrieved his
clothes, carried them in front of him as he went back through the door to
his office.
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