Friday, December 30, 2011

Frat Control Experiment

Sigma Lambda Alpha had a reputation as one of the most prestigious and selective fraternities on campus. It was somewhat unusual in that it didn't specialize in just jocks, or rich prep types, but rather admitted the best of both. Sig Lams did better academically than members of any other frat at the school. For many years, its roster produced the most distinguished alumni, assuring a generous endowment for future years.
From the outside, Sig Lam appeared to carry out the activities of a normal frat. This year, it had begun to select pledge candidates, had the occasional party, and its members behaved quite normally when not at the house. But unknown to the outside world, Sig Lam had recently fallen victim to a mysterious force that was using the frat to perform mind experiments with growing skill, as well as to satisfy some quite perverse sexual desires. Most of the brothers were totally unaware of this, although some knew there was something odd about their own personal situations that they couldn't explain. In any event, they seemed unable to say anything about it to each other or to anyone else.
A tour of the house would reveal the odd results of these experiments. In Room 12, for example, lived Bill McPherson, ranked near the top of his class, and junior class president. Everything about him seemed to define a solid normalcy. His father had also been a Sig Lam, and remained active in the frat's financial affairs. But there was one unusual thing about Bill: every day, after getting back from his last class or student government meeting, Bill was compelled to spend one hour, motionless, as a fixture or piece of furniture somewhere in the frat. Most days, he would kneel sideways next to the third urinal on the first floor, and as the brothers came in, they would casually use him as they would any other urinal. When his hour was up, he would clean up and return to his room. On another occasion, he had to act as a decorative statue, posing motionless, flexing in a Speedo on a platform in the television lounge. Once he had been forced to act as a coatrack during a party for the members, and once he lay naked on a landing on the stairs, and was stepped on by each brother on his way up or down.
No one in Sig Lam ever seemed to notice what Bill was doing. To them, while he was fulfilling his compulsion, he was just a natural part of the environment.
In Room 14 lived Thomas and Dominic Parks. These identical twins were on the swim team, and had the classic swimmer's build, lean and muscled. Both were blond, 5'10", and smooth all over their chests and legs. Since they were on the same team, and shared many classes, they were often seen together, and it was difficult to tell them apart. But once they arrived in their room, things changed. The minute Tom arrived, he had to remove all his clothes; he was prohibited from wearing anything in the room. When Dom arrived, Tom crawled over to him and licked his shoes. Then Tom would have to undress Dom and put his clothes away. If Dom had had a bad day, he might punch or kick Tom or push Tom around, which Tom secretly enjoyed. Tom also had to satisfy Dom sexually in any way Dom desired. And as Dom's desires grew more and more extreme, Tom's hunger to be humiliated only grew.
At night, Dom would sleep on the bed, while Tom would sleep on the floor at Dom's feet. Sometimes Tom would lie awake for hours, staring up at the edge of the bed and wishing he could sniff or lick Dom's feet, but he was afraid if he were caught he would be severely punished. Tom worshipped his brother. While Tom felt he was horribly flawed, he knew that Dom was perfect. Tom knew he deserved to be punished and humiliated by Dom at all times when they were in their room. Tom wished he could be like his perfect brother, but knew he never could be. He vaguely remembered that they had once been friends and equals back in high school, but that had all changed after they had joined Sig Lam. For his part, Dom enjoyed having his pussy brother at his beck and call, as his punching bag and foot slave. He wondered why he never realized how much more of a man he was than Tom while they were in high school.
In room 16 lived Charlie and Dan. Charlie was on the wrestling team; he was in the 180 weight class, and was built accordingly, with a large chest and big pecs. Every day after classes, Charlie had to make sure he got home before his roommate Dan. He would run into the bathroom, apply makeup and lipstick, then go into the bedroom and put on panties. He got no sexual satisfaction from this, but he was fully convinced that his life in the fraternity depended on his fooling Dan into thinking he was really Shirley, Dan's girlfriend. Every day when Dan got back to the room, he was thrilled and excited to find Shirley, mostly undressed, waiting to pleasure him. To anyone else who looked into the room, there would have been the weird sight of a built dark-haired wrestler with stubble on his chin, wearing women's underwear and makeup, and being treated like a submissive girl by a thin, boyish preppy. But to Dan, all he saw was Shirley. Dan loved Shirley, and he found all of her exciting. He was a "tits" man, and loved to fondle and suck on Shirley's well-formed ones as foreplay. While for some reason Shirley would not let him fuck her in the regular sense, she seemed willing to have him fuck her up the ass.
Dan occasionally wondered why Shirley wouldn't go out in public with him, but he became more convinced that she would move in with him when he graduated next June. And for some reason, as the weeks went by, Charlie was coming more and more to the same conclusion; he HAD to move in permanently with Dan so that Dan would never know his deception.
Room 19 had Steve and James, both prep types from New Jersey. Steve was handsome but not model-quality stunning, dark haired, slim, about 5'11", from a middle class family; James was also fairly good-looking, auburn hair, somewhat better built, and about 6'2", from a wealthy family in the New York suburbs. They were both straight, good students, and popular around campus. There was no sexual attraction between them. The odd thing was that, since they became roommates at Sig Lam, James found himself forced to obey everything Steve told him to do, without question. As time went by James' duties increased, to the point where he was doing the laundry, the cooking, the driving, arranging the studying, going on errands, and even setting up dates for Steve. Steve didn't know why it was happening, but with no complaint from James, Steve was soon using every minute of James' free time for his own benefit. James was also using his money to buy things that Steve wanted, even borrowing from his father to pay Steve's tuition. Since his father, while rich, had strict ideas about money, James knew he would have to use all the money from his summer internship to repay the loan.
Neither Steve nor James seemed to think there was anything unusual about this. As Steve's requirements increased, James simply buckled down and worked harder. On those rare occasions when the thought popped into his head that this was somehow wrong, he was unable to communicate this with anyone else, and the thought eventually faded.
Like Room 19, Room 22 also had two good-looking but unexceptional roommates. They went through each day, and even each evening in the room, perfectly normally. They had only one quirk: once they began rooming together at Sig Lam, each soon discovered he could not get to sleep without the aroma of his roommate's feet near his nose. They slept head to toe in a single narrow bed for this reason. When either one of them left campus, he had to take a bag of his roommate's very ripe socks with him to be able to sleep anywhere.
On the top floor of the house, in Room 30, lived Lance, the president of the fraternity. Lance was one of only two brothers in the house who knew something was going on, and it was hardly a coincidence that he had been elected president that year. The other brother in the know was John, the frat's pledge master, who lived next door in room 31. His job was to find the next generation of members that would serve the frat's purposes, as they had come to be redefined. John's first find was Kevin, a freshman soccer stud from Minnesota, 6' tall with Scandinavian innocent good looks and quite muscular legs. His constant workouts had also given him an impressive six-pack for the 17-year-old he was (having been admitted early). John had decided to grant Kevin "probational early admission" to the fraternity as well. Kevin wasn't sure at first, but after his first frat meeting he knew he would do ANYTHING to become a Sig Lam.
Lance had moved Kevin into his room, and informed him that he was to become Lance's personal helper for the next two months. If he successfully accomplished that, he would become a member of the frat. Kevin started out helping Lance with administrative work at the frat, but from week to week, the jobs became more personal. It soon became clear to Kevin that Lance was gay, and very attracted to him. Normally that might have bothered Kevin, but under the circumstances (and after a frat meeting or two), he was glad it gave him a chance to enter a fraternity that would otherwise not have considered him.
The services Lance demanded became increasingly sexual. Lance liked having the innocent Kevin suck his cock, lick his pits, jerk off on his shoes (and lick up the result). BUt what really got Lance off was that, as time went by, Kevin could anticipate Lance's every wish. Just a look from Lance, and Kevin would instantly figure out what Lance wanted him to do, and do it, without a word spoken. For example. with the right glance, Kevin would immediately drop to his hands and knees and present his ass for fucking. Meanwhile, Kevin got his satisfaction, and a sexual rush, not from the sexual actions themselves, but from pleasing Lance and obeying his desires. A smile or satisfied moan from Lance could almost cause Kevin to cum in his pants (but not quite, without Lance's permission).
One morning, in the freshman dorm, Bobby Burston was alone in his quad room's bathroom finishing his shower. Bobby, 6'6" with chestnut hair, a grin that made him look 15, and a well-worked-out bod, had been a second-team All-American as a tight end and kicker on his Texas high school football team, and had been heavily recruited by the school. He was looking forward to four years of football, (illegal) beer drinking, and womanizing. As he dried himself off, he admired the effect his new workout regimen was giving his smooth upper body. He wished he looked older, though; he sometimes thought his "Opie"-like looks made it hard for his teammates to take him seriously. He had tried, but failed, to grow any kind of facial hair.
As he dried off his long arms and big, sure hands -- so useful on the field for making tackles and catching footballs -- he thought he saw someone in the door, but when he looked, no one was there. As he toweled off his firm buns, he once again caught a glimpse at the door. This time, Bobby ran out into the bedroom and grabbed the guy he found there. The boy was young, clearly in early high school, maybe about 15, about 5'7", longish blond hair, skinny, and with a face that made him look even younger. The boy had been carrying a notepad, which he dropped when Bobby grabbed him. Effortlessly, Bobby held the frightened boy suspended over the floor.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Bobby growled. "Starin' at me in the shower? You some kind of faggot or something?"
"I... I... I'm sorry, sir... I was just.. lost.. please don't hurt me, please..." begged the boy, squirming in Bobby's grip.
"You're disgusting. I don't understand that faggot shit, nohow. I never felt nothing for no guy. Never knew no one that did, neither. Your kind makes me sick. Now get outta here, you don't belong in here. If I ever see you in here again, I'm gonna kick your ass all over this place."
Bobby let go, dropping the boy to the ground.
The boy sprang to his feet, grabbed his notepad from the floor, and ran to the stairs and out of the dorm. On the dorm's front steps, he paused a moment, jotted something on the notepad, and then walked out to the sidewalk. Immediately, a car that had been waiting down the street pulled up in front of him. The boy got in the passenger side, and the car took off.
The weekly Sig Lam meeting was that evening. No brother ever missed a meeting, not for any reason. The meeting chamber was in the basement, and two beefy brothers (football linemen) were posted at the door to the basement stairs, to prevent any non-brothers from getting in. As each member entered the meeting chamber in the basement, he was handed a large cup of Kool-Aid, which he drank when he sat down. Once all the brothers were accounted for, Lance, the fraternity president, walked up to the raised platform at the front of the room. Waiting until he saw by their swaying heads that the laced Kool-Aid had taken effect, he began the ritual. He removed the blanket covering a large copy of the fraternity symbol, with a moving spiral behind it. "Gaze upon the greatness of Sigma Lambda Alpha", he intoned over and over, Each brother lifted his head and gazed at the symbol. Aided by the drug in the Kool-Aid, and the induction by Lance, all were soon completely suggestible and in the power of the speaker.
As the brothers were drifting off downstairs, a car pulled up in front of the fraternity. Two people stepped out and walked in: the driver, Wayne, who was a Sig Lam brother, looking a bit dazed but happy, and a slight blond boy of about 15, striding confidently, almost cocky. As the boy made his way to the basement stairs, the two beefy brothers guarding the stair entrance stood at attention and stared straight ahead, a glint of fear in their eyes, but also growing bulges appearing in their pants.
The boy got to the basement, moved past the seated hypnotized brothers and stepped onto the podium. The spiralled symbol had done its work, so Lance turned it off, re-covered it and stepped to the side, making way for the boy to assume the center of the platform.
"I am the Grand Master of Sigma Lambda Alpha", the boy repeated three times. This information seemed to flip a switch in the zonked brothers. In their drugged state, they became even more relaxed and attentive. "Repeat after me: 'I hear and obey. I hear and obey. I hear and obey.'..." The Grand Master led the group further and further down an imaginary stair, leaving their minds completely open to any belief and suggestion. He then proceeded to begin programming them with the information they needed for the next week.
"First order of business. In two weeks I'm turning 16 and getting my driver's license. I've had my eye on a silver Porsche you'll find at the dealer on ROute 12. It would be suspicious if I owned it personally, but I know you have enough in the Sig Lam funds to buy it as a frat car. Only I am allowed to drive it, unless I call and instruct one of you to pick me up in it. It'll be your job to keep it shining and in good condition. I'll expect some of you to spend your weekends waxing it, keeping it in great running condition, and even cleaning the hub caps with a toothbrush. Keeping my Porsche beautiful is a point of pride for all Sig Lam brothers.
"As your weekly reward for attending, you'll be able to cum tonight. You'll realize that your ability to cum is a gift from me, even though most of you don't even consciously know who I am. For the rest of the week, you will not be able to cum without explicit permission from me or Lance.
"As always, you will use all your time for workouts and studying. I'll need fit, smart slaves to be able to help me live my life the way I deserve to, as your Grand Master. And those of you on scholarships need to excel at your sports and academics to keep them. Now, it's time for me to see how you're coming along and make adjustments. Stand as I call your name.
"First, Tom and Dom." Both hypnotized twins stood up. "I think it's time we moved your relationship to a new, more extreme level..."
Once he had reinforced his hypnotic power over each member of the fraternity at the meeting, and modified the behavior of some of them, he ordered them to sleep. At his command, the heads of all the seated brothers nodded. The Grand Master, president Lance, and John the Sig Lam pledge master carrying the Kool-Aid bucket, walked off the podium and up the basement stairs. At the top, they were joined by the two guard brothers, and all five went up to Lance's room. As they entered, Kenny the pledge candidate stood at attention, naked except for his dog collar and with his dick hard, as he had been ordered. The Grand Master glanced in his direction, thinking what a fine addition Kenny would be to the frat, and designing in his mind a few very satisfying experiments he could set up with him.
The Grand Master pulled a piece of notepaper from his pocket, and passed it to Lance and John. "Here are a few guys I think we should pledge. Heard of any of them?" Both Lance and John noticed the name of Bobby Burston. John said, "I'd like him, Grand Master, but don't you think he's going to pledge Tau Epsilon, the dumb jock frat?" "I think we can convince him to come here, and I have some SPECIAL plans for him," replied the Grand Master. He described his ordeal at the freshman dorm. "Once we get him, he'll start dreaming about me, sneaking around to get my dirty underwear to jerk off with, keeping pictures of me in his room. He'll get totally obsessed, man! And he'll be forbidden to talk to me or even let me see him, until I make his humiliation complete. Ha! I'm gettin' hard just picturing him lying there, horny as hell, imagining himself crawling, beggin' to serve me!" An evil grin came over the Grand Master's face.
"By the way, do you need any more of the stuff from my dad's lab for next week's meeting?"
"I don't think so, we've got enough," replied Lance. "Unless you want to try that experiment with the basketball team that we discussed."
"Nah, I haven't even finished with most of the guys here in the house yet. We'll set that one up when their season begins. I'll be able to do a lot more next year, when my big brother starts school here and joins Sig Lam."
"You keep him drugged too?" asked John.
"Don't have to. I've had him under my control for the last year and a half. He knows if he doesn't obey me completely, he'll beat himself up. Last time, he gave himself a black eye and nearly broke his nose. It's so built in now he obeys without even thinking about it. And under my enforced workout suggestions, he's getting really buff, too. You'll like him alot."
After some discussion of the other pledge candidates, it was time for the entertainment. The guards, Big Doug and Bruno, were ordered to strip down to the jockstraps they had been required to wear, and forced to wrestle. The match was in earnest, because the one that lost, while remaining totally straight, would be completely at the mercy of the now-gay winner for the following week. Both guards were hugely muscled, weighing nearly 300 pounds and solid as a rock. Big Doug was a few inches taller than Bruno, but Bruno was actually the heavier of the two and won these weekly events more often, but the two were fairly matched. Watching the crunch of muscle on muscle, Lance and John both involuntarily moved their hands to their crotches and stroked slowly, while Kevin watched Lance in case he was needed to fulfill any of Lance's desires.
At first, Bruno seemed to be getting the better of it. He took down Big Doug and was pressing his advantage on the floor. His leg muscles flexing, Bruno tried to crush Doug's head between his thighs, Doug's face buried in his crotch. But Doug was eventually able to use his height to leverage his way over Bruno, reversed the situation, and eventually made Bruno submit. Immediately on winning, Doug smiled, looked fondly down at Bruno, placed one big foot on Bruno's chest, got hard in his jockstrap, and began plans on how to use Bruno the following week.
Now it was time for Lance, John, Kenny, and the guards to have their Kool-Aid and receive their hypnotic reinforcement and programming for the following week. When they awoke, the Grand Master was gone, and only Lance and John had any memory of him having been there, and of what happened. Doug got dressed and led the near-naked Bruno to his room on a leash, carrying his clothes, to begin his week of servitude. Bruno shuddered at the thought, but knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about it or say to anyone. John went downstairs to awaken the rest of the brothers. When he got down there, he noticed that a few of the brothers were already gone. This made him only mildly curious, since it had happened before. The remaining brothers slowly woke and returned to their rooms, convinced they had just experienced an ordinary, boring meeting. Back in Lance's room, at a look from Lance, Kenny dropped to his knees, removed Lance's shoes, and lay back under Lance's desk to be used as a footrest.
In Room 27, unknown to its inhabitants, a new experiment was starting. There were now two roommates: Cliff, the 6'11" center of the basketball team, and Cody, a tightly-muscled 5'6" gymnast. Cliff had always been attracted to muscled short guys -- at least he thought he had, he couldn't quite remember -- and found buzz-cut blond Cody particularly hot. He thought of himself as overgrown, awkward and unattractive, and of Cody as his physical ideal. He wished he were small and tight like Cody. When Cody was out of the room, Cliff would sniff Cody's bed, his dirty clothes, and his sneakers that looked so small next to Cliff's ungainly big feet. Each day his attraction to Cody would grow. But Cliff was compelled never to tell Cody any of this, since Cody was straight and Cliff didn't want to risk having Cliff move out of the room.
Meanwhile, Cody had always had a thing for tall guys (or so he thought). He could barely prevent himself from getting hard every time he looked up past Cliff's well-developed chest, pecs and biceps, and into his blue eyes under that curly red hair. When Cliff wasn't in the room, Cody would put his size 8 feet into Cliff's size 16 shoes and jerk off. Although Cody had the buffed, muscular body of a gymnast, he thought of himself as pitifully short, and wished he were taller. Every day, Cody got hornier and more attracted to Cliff. But he was compelled never to tell Cliff about it, since Cliff was straight and Cody didn't want to gross him out and cause him to move out.
As his preppy slave Wayne drove him home in Wayne's Bimmer, the Grand Master smiled. It would be interesting to see how the new Cliff/Cody experiment progressed over time as the sexual frustration level went up day after day...
It was the evening of the Monday before Thanksgiving. The weather was already brisk, and a fire was going in the fireplace in the living room, where Bill McPherson was currently serving as the ottoman to an easy chair occupied by Dennis, last year's star first baseman. Dennis sat back and talked on the phone while he absent-mindedly rubbed his large white-socked feet across what appeared to him to be a smooth, comfortable piece of furniture. Dennis was making plans to go home for the holiday.
The Grand Master was up in Lance's room with John, making plans for the first time many of the brothers would be leaving town since their unwitting involvement in the Master's various experiments. They had to make sure that nothing in the brothers' programming would cause suspicion back home. Kenny, Lance's freshman "personal assistant", having finished his school work for the day, sat obediently in the corner, licking clean the insides of a raunchy old pair of Lance's running shoes.
"I'm not worried about the 'ripe feet' guys, they'll be bringing each other's socks with them," said the Master. "Although at the last meeting I raised the stakes, and now they have to have a whiff of each other's socks every few hours. Steve is planning to drive home in the car James just bought for him, but he'll tell his folks he borrowed it. Or maybe he'll just have James drive him home wearing a chauffeur's cap. Bill the furniture guy won't have his compulsion when he's not here at the house. He doesn't even consciously realize he has it when he's here. Tomorrow is the last day of Doug's current enslavement to Bruno, so those two can just go home. They'd be far too embarrassed to tell anyone about their weekly arrangement, since they think that no one else knows. Dan isn't expecting to bring Shirley home for his family Thanksgiving, and so Charlie will be relieved that he can get away himself without revealing his true identity to Dan.
"As for Bobby Burston, I let him follow me into a laundromat downtown and steal a cum- and sweat-encrusted jockstrap of mine that I didn't change out of for a week. He'll probably wear it over his nose and mouth on his long drive home to Texas. He's still afraid to let me see him anyway, so his leaving town won't matter. You two are fine. That leaves Kenny, Tom and Dom, and Cliff and Cody."
At the mention of his name, and a look from Lance, Kenny took his nose and tongue out from deep inside one of Lance's fragrant shoes, frigged himself instantly to total hardness, and stood to attention, staring straight ahead.
"Yeah, that's right, we can't send Kenny to Duluth like this, can we?" said Lance affectionately. "I'm gonna miss him this weekend. We've developed an almost psychic bond."
"All right, when we're done here let's take him downstairs and make him as normal as we can. I'm not sure how we're going to make him temporarily forget his situation, yet remember enough to talk about his school days when he gets home. We'll figure it out later."
"I'm worried about Tom and Dom, though," said John. "They've gotten to the point of some regular physical abuse that both of them now want. We had to program the brothers who live in nearby rooms not to hear the noises from Tom and Dom's room. Of course, since they're on the swim team, Dom knows he can't leave visible marks anywhere but on Tom's ass. What can we do?"
"Well, I guess we could just order them to hide their 'true' situation from their folks, and pretend that they're equals while they're at home. It's only for a few days. If they need an abuse 'fix', they'll just have to leave their house to get it," the Grand Master decided.
"Okay, then what's the situation with Cliff and Cody?" Cliff was the 6'11" basketball center who lived with Cody, the 5'6" gymnast, with totally repressed mutual lust.
"Yeah, that could be a problem. They're kind of dependent on each other's presence, even though they don't know it. The next thing I was planning to do with them was give them the illusion that when they jerked off with each other's clothes, Cody would get taller and Cliff shorter. I wanted to see how that would change their relationship. I wondered if it would also affect their basketball and gymnastics abilities. What are their family situations? If they stayed here for Thanksgiving, maybe I could do the whole taller/shorter scene over the weekend."
"I don't think we can do that," said Lance. "Cliff is from a big, close family. He has three brothers, one older, two younger, and they're all real tall. Even the 15-year-old is 6'8". Come to think of it, Cody has three brothers too. His older brother was an alternate on the Olympic gymnastics team. They all visited here last year, and all three brothers are that compact, muscular gymnast type."
"Wow. If we could get all the brothers on both sides to visit here at the same time, imagine the possibilities..." The Grand Master drifted briefly into some highly erotic thoughts: pairing them off into passionate couples by age, or possibly having all the short ones on their knees gazing lustfully up into the crotches of the tall ones, or possibly having the short ones climb onto the tall ones and forcing them to give them rides on their long, muscled backs or broad shoulders. "Well, that's a future project. Meanwhile, bring Cliff and Cody downstairs later one at a time, and we'll ease up the pressure just for the weekend. We'll have them each drop the idea around home of a family visit here in the spring. Oh, and don't forget, Cliff's body size means we need an extra portion of Kool-Aid, just like we usually do for Doug and Bruno.
"All right, I guess we're set for Thanksgiving. Now to some new business. Remember earlier this year when we were discussing possible pledges, and I mentioned..." One of the Grand Master's freshman pledge prospects, Jason Cole, had pledged Rho Tau Rho instead. Jason, a member of the volleyball team, was a tall (6'7") blond typical southern California surfer dude, with hair that fell in his eyes. Unlike many of the other pledge selections, the Master was sure from observation that Jason was bi, or possibly even gay. At least, Jason had never seemed to object when the Master lingered in the bathroom while Jason was showering, and sometimes even winked and seemed to be showing off while soaping up. And he had reason to show off; beyond his tall tight surfer's bod, he sported the biggest equipment the Master had seen to date in his short life, certainly more than any of the Sig Lam brothers. His cock was at least eight or nine inches soft, and on the hefty side. And from Jason's occasional soaping-up display, the Master could see that it would add several full inches when provoked. At Sig Lam, only Cliff even came close to matching Jason's length, although he was not as big around.
Naturally, the Grand Master's excited thoughts were more about controlling Jason than actually having sex with him. Since Jason had pledged RTR, the Master now began to plot an experiment together with Lance and John. Lance would meet with Roger, the RTR president, offer him a spiked drink, and then, while he was in a highly suggestible state, he would convince Roger to bring small groups of RTR brothers to Sig Lam on some pretext, where they would be programmed. The Master explained to Lance and John that he had decided to set up RTR as a hierarchy based completely on cock size. "If someone is slightly 'bigger' than you, he's your bud, but you're likely to believe him and follow his suggestions. If he's several full inches bigger, you'll respect him and do most of what he says. And if he's REALLY bigger, then you'll practically worship him, and be totally in awe of him. You won't even think about refusing him anything."
"Wow," said John. "That's going to change things around over there. I've seen Roger showering at the gym, and he's tiny, maybe a couple of inches at the most. And I've heard you describe Jason..."
"That's right. Jason the freshman will immediately become president of the frat. And Roger, I guess, will be looked down on by most of the brothers. They'll make fun of him, push him around. They'll probably make him scrub the toilets, wash the dishes, collect the garbage, run their personal errands. But he'll feel he has to do it, since his brothers are so much more godlike than he is.
"The part that's really interesting is that I'm sure most of the RTR brothers are straight, but their new president will be gay. And I'm sure Jason will be able to turn their immense respect and admiration for him into sexual favors. But will that 'turn' any of them around, with no more drugs or programming? Will they do it because they have to, or will they start to WANT to do it? THAT's what I want to know."
"Are you going to set up regular 'hypno-meetings' over there?" asked Lance.
"Heck no, I don't have enough time. But I'll control Jason, so I'll control his 'weapon', and his weapon will control the frat."
It was eight o'clock on a late December evening towards the end of the term. Christmas was coming, and the Sigma Lambda Alpha fraternity was decorated for the occasion. In the brothers-only television lounge stood what they all considered to be a festively decorated Christmas tree, although if any outsider had stepped in, they would instead have seen it was really Bill McPherson, standing motionless, naked with his arms and legs extended, covered with tinsel and with decorative balls hanging from his fingers, hair, and genitals.
Over at RTR, freshman and president Jason Cole was enjoying the start of the second month of his exalted status. When he wasn't playing volleyball or working out, he'd spend the evening in his room reading and doing school work, with the door open, wearing nothing but boxers, sprawled on a reclining chair with his long muscled legs stretched out and one big foot over the other. Occasionally he would raise a hand to brush his long straw-blond hair out of his eyes; occasionally he would lower the hand to absently stroke the symbol of his authority, semi-hard and poking well out of his underwear. He was now living in the largest room in the house, which formerly was Roger's room, and although it was on the top floor, many of the brothers would find an excuse to pass by his door and admire this incredible man. Originally, the straight ones among them would have a pang of fear when Jason called out "Yo dude, come in here a minute" as they passed his door, but as time went by, they began to look forward to it, and would even linger a bit by the door hoping he would call them in. The sheer honor and excitement of serving someone that great gave them such a rush that they began to imagine themselves doing it while they were jerking off in their own rooms. Almost every room secretly had a copy of one of Jason's volleyball photos under the bed. An important milestone in the experiment had been reached recently when Mark Hilgren, a senior and lifelong confirmed heterosexual, found that he had to imagine himself serving Jason in order to have sex with his long-time girlfriend. She was none the wiser, but Mark worried that it was just a matter of time before only the real thing would do.
The tone of the frat had changed quite a bit in the past month. Most of the brothers were decent, nice guys, who would never be inclined to inflict humiliation on a smaller-dicked, and thus weaker-willed, brother. But Craig Hodgson, the member with the second-largest cock in the frat, had a latent nasty side. When he would come home drunk from town, he would occasionally pick on one of the smaller brothers, using his cock-boosted willpower to forcibly involve others who would not otherwise have wanted to participate. Thus, there would be four or five brothers forcing the unfortunate victim to kneel before them, begging them to grind their shoes into his groin, to force him to lick out a urinal, or whatever else happened to cross Craig's drunk mind. Usually Craig sobered up by the end, ordering the victim not to tell anyone what happened. To the victim, of course, his ultra-masculine word was law.
Roger, the former RTR president, was now living in a small room on the first floor with Wally, a skinny, freckled pledge with oversized horn-rimmed glasses. Wally had pledged the frat as a legacy, since his dad had been a member. Wally had been resigned to being at the bottom of the social totem pole, as he had been in high school. Now, though, his five-inch-when-erect cock was double the size of his new roommate's, and put him in complete charge. After a month or so, he found he had a sadistic streak he never realized, ordering Roger around, and occasionally using him as a punching bag or delivering a kick to his privates when he was angry or frustrated. But the more he did it, the more respect he saw in Roger's face. Having a senior and the former frat president look up to him so much excited him, made him feel like a real man. His resulting self-confidence carried over to his day-to-day activities, much to his benefit.
Meanwhile, as Roger's self-esteem withered, he found himself cowering more and more in the room his free time. His brothers had long since commanded him to break up with his girlfriend, saying he wasn't man enough to deserve one, and of course he was forced to agree with them. While Craig, or some of the other brothers acting under Craig's big-dick influence, would recreationally find new ways to humiliate him -- or rather order him to humiliate himself, sometimes in front of their girlfriends or even in front of strangers -- at least being in the room with Wally was a more predictable environment, and he knew ways of keeping Wally happy so his punishment would be kept at a minimum. Often a back or foot massage after a long day would keep Wally purring contentedly. Wally was such a great man. Roger was grateful to still be in a fraternity of such great men.
Back at Sig Lam, some new experiments were underway. The Grand Master had admired the physique of Dennis the baseball player, so now whenever Dennis was anywhere in the house, he wore nothing but his white socks. In the television lounge, at the dinner table, in the rec room playing pool, Dennis was always dressed, or rather undressed, identically. Naturally, no one noticed this, least of all Dennis. This led to some highly amusing scenes: Dennis at the coffee machine in the morning, naked among a group of brothers heavily dressed in warm winter clothes; or Dennis naked in the living room chair with Bill the ottoman under his socked feet, each brother largely oblivious to the other. Of course, the humor in all this was only apparent to Lance, John, and the Grand Master during his visits.
At Thanksgiving, Cliff and Cody had successfully lobbied their families to arrange a school visit at spring break, and all their respective brothers planned to show up. When Cliff got back to the frat, the Grand Master used him to initiate the basketball team experiment he had planned a month previously. Cliff brought each team member to Sig Lam, where with a drink and some induction the Grand Master put him under. The Master learned that all but one of the twelve basketball team members were straight (actually, all but TWO, since Cliff himself had been firmly reprogrammed). Fine, he thought, that would make the experiment even better.
Visiting a local skate park, the Grand Master rounded up a dozen 14- and 15-year-old skater dudes, and brought them to the house with the promise of free new equipment. Since he wasn't much older than they were, and was bringing them onto the college campus, they weren't in the least suspicious, and happily drank the Kool-Aid they were offered. Once they were all in a trance, each one was brought into a room with an equally zonked basketball player. There, the player became convinced that before each game, to be able to focus, to be the best player he could be, he NEEDED the protein in a freshly-made hot cum drink willingly made by his skater. Meanwhile, the skater became convinced that it was a very natural thing for his college basketball player to want to suck his cock.
And that was it. The basketball player was under no direct compulsion to do anything the skater said, but the skater was in a great negotiating position. Desperate for cum from his skater, each player would have to do something for him, depending on the skater's whim. The player couldn't threaten or force the skater to cum, of course, since scaring a skater, especially a straight one, would hardly result in a willing orgasm. So before each game, the helpless player would have to perform for his skater. On a few occasions it might involve something sexual, like jerking the skater off, or offering him the use of his (hypnotized) girlfriend, but more often it involved a personal favor, a piece of new equipment, or an act of public humiliation in front of the skater's high school friends -- calling him Sir, licking his skate shoes, sniffing his pits, performing a strip act. (The skaters were however programmed to keep things discreet, since the Grand Master didn't want any of this experiment publicly known.) The player would be caught between disgust at the humiliating acts, and lust for the cum. The Grand Master wondered if the latter would eventually overcome the former, and cause relationships that lasted past the final game of the season.
Now that the basketball season was underway, the Grand Master was entertained at various times with the sight of a tall muscular basketball forward, or a smart, strong floor-general guard, with the well-exercised legs, defined upper body and biceps of a Division I college basketball player, serving at the pleasure of a scrawny teen skater dude. As the months went by, the skaters would go a little further each time, testing their pet player's limits. The Grand Master would sometimes stand invisibly in the room, noting how far each skater was trying to go, and he would wonder how far the desperate player was willing to let the skater take it.
The Master also used his basketball experiment to finally resolve the Room 27 situation with Cliff and Cody. As he had arranged, they had secretly longed for each other for over a month, and each longed to be tall/short like the other. Cliff was the only basketball player who didn't room with another player or room alone, so bringing together Cliff and his skater dude cum god each game day and avoiding Cody was a tricky proposition. The Master had hand-picked Josh to be cliff's controlling skater dude. Josh was gay, 15 and 5'8" tall, with silky black hair and totally smooth, pale skin. He had a scar over his upper lip, sported an evil grin, had penetrating pale blue eyes, and had a fondness for black leather clothes. At first, he was satisfied each game day with receiving a full-body tongue job from Cliff, who would lick him clean of sweat before getting his cum reward. Seeing the 6'11" redhead's muscles tense and flex while he went about his job would get Josh off quickly, much to Cliff's relief. After all, Cliff loved Cody, his buff gymnast stud, not this scrawny... yet amazing... cum god.
After a few sessions, though, Josh brought in a dog collar and leash, and made Cliff wear them. Before he would let Cliff at his cock, he would lead him around the room, Josh in his leather clothes and Cliff crawling on the floor completely naked, degrading Cliff further by placing his boot on Cliff's large back or crotch, or forcing him to lap water out of the toilet. After Cliff had tongue-cleaned his leather pants, Josh would tease him with his cock for a while, watching Cliff's long tongue trying to catch it, and would then grab Cliff's curly red hair and slam his face into his crotch. Sometimes he would pull away from Cliff and shoot his cum somewhere else, like on his own boots, or on Cliff's size 16 feet, or even in Cliff's hair. Then Cliff would desperately go after the cum while it was still hot, scooping and licking until every drop was gone.
To Cliff, the cum tasted like the nectar of the gods. Whenever he swallowed it, he felt himself growing stronger, smarter, more adept. He felt the cum making him more of a man, more a member of a winning team. Instead of harboring a longing feeling of missing something, he felt whole; he felt complete. He would look gratefully up at his cum god for making him a man. When the team would assemble before the game, he saw the joy and confidence in his teammate's faces and knew they had just gone through the same thing.
As the weeks went by, Cliff was going through an emotional transformation. He still loved Cody, and dreamed of living a life with him. His game day cum lust didn't change that. But he suffered a shock one day towards the end of the season, when Cody walked in unexpectedly while Cliff was busy licking the last of the cum from Josh's boots. As Cliff turned and looked up at Cody, feeling humiliated, Cody was at first amazed, then excited, and finally extremely jealous of Josh. For a moment, they just stared at each other.
BUt Josh had been programmed to be prepared for just this eventuality by the Grand Master. Stiffening to attention, he uttered the frat's control phrase, which caused both Cliff and Cody to instantly go into a trance. After working them deeper into their trances as he had been trained to do, Josh began to alter their programming. "Cliff," he said, causing Cliff's head to perk up with his eyes still closed. "You love Cody. You always have. While you enjoy being my cum slave on game days, it's Cody's tight muscle bod you want to curl up with, it's Cody you want to live with forever." Cliff grunted in agreement.
"Since you've been a good cum slave, I'm going to give you a great gift. Whenever you jerk off using Cody's sneakers or old clothes, you'll become shorter and tighter. You'll notice your clothes getting looser, your shoes seeming bigger, as you become like him. This is what you've always wanted, to be trim like Cody, not overgrown like you are." Cliff again grunted in agreement.
"And Cody..." Eyes closed, Cody's head perked up. "You love Cliff. You know he's my cum slave, but he's just doing it to play basketball better. You're not jealous of me. You want to be in his arms for the rest of your life." Cody groaned, "Yessss..."
"Here is your gift. When you put on Cliff's shoes and jerk off with his jersey, you'll feel yourself growing taller. You'll feel your feet getting bigger in his shoes. You'll feel your arms getting longer. You will become big like him, not small and insignificant like you are now." Again, Cody groaned, "Yessss..."
"When you, Cody, become taller than Cliff, and you, Cliff, become shorter than Cody, you will be able to reveal your love to one other. Your days of hiding will be over. The great love of your lives will then begin. Other people will still act as if you, Cliff, were still tall, and you, Cody, were still short. They won't see the change. But you two will know it when you are standing together, and you, Cliff, are gazing way up into Cody's eyes, with your small hand enveloped in his huge one, his immense tongue filling your mouth.
"You will remember all this subconsciously. But for now you will forget... forget... forget..."
Having reached the end of his own "program", Josh shook his head awake. Having forgotten everything that just happened, he looked down and noticed his cum slave looking dazed and contented, with a few drops of cum left on his lips, and his slave's roommate, also dazed, looking off into the distance. Satisfied at having gotten off, Josh zipped up his pants and left the room. When Cliff and Cody slowly awoke, they stole glances at each other with frustrated longing, but also with a buried sense of great hope that they had never felt before. They had no idea where the sense of hope came from, but they were soon destined to find out. The Grand Master didn't mind if one of his experiments ended in great happiness for the subjects.
And so the Grand Master's basketball team experiment played itself out. The mentalities of most of the players were slowly altered across the season to where they actually looked forward to their pregame activities, much as one might enjoy a pregame workout. The funny part was, the team played considerably better than expected. They seemed more focused, and played as a team as never before. They rose in the college ranks, won their league, and were invited to the NCAA tournament. Of course they had to pay to arrange to have their skaters come to the regional tournament in order to have a fresh supply of cum. The Grand Master didn't want to miss being in the hotel room where the scene unfolded of the wiry shirtless skater dudes, standing in a row with their arms crossed, looking down fondly as their tall muscled jock cum slaves, naked and on their knees, sucked their teen cocks for all they were worth. Clearly, all of them, even the "straight" jocks and skaters, were getting enjoyment out of this. The full season had obviously worked changes on them all.
The tournament began the next day. Even though they were in way over their heads, the team won their first round game before losing in the second round by 4 points to the eventual tournament winner.
Incredible what the power of the mind can do, thought the Grand Master from his box seat at the first round game. Next year, I've got to set up something between the football team and the high school chess club...
The end of the school year was approaching, and with it final exams. The grades of the Sig Lams had been slipping, and the Grand Master did not want the frat to come to the attention of the Greek Council. With help from his allies, Sig Lam officers Lance and John, he arranged for help from the "academic" frat Gamma Kappa. One by one, they captured and "reprogrammed" the Gammas. At their next meeting, the hypnotized nerds had voted secret changes into their fraternity bylaws, making their members personally obligated to Sig Lam brothers. Any Gamma would have to help any Sig Lam whenever he was asked to, in any way. After the meeting, the Gammas forgot that it had ever been otherwise. They had ALWAYS been obligated to the Sig Lams.
Soon, the Gamma Kappas were spending all their spare time helping the Sig Lams get ready for their finals. However, while it had not been part of the Grand Master's plans, the occasional Sig Lam would take advantage of the GKs' artificial feelings of obligation to obtain more personal services from them. Mason, a built but otherwise average-looking sophomore member of the baseball team, soon had Ken and Gary, two GKs, helping him not only with his studies, but also doing his laundry, keeping his room straightened out, helping with his personal finances. Ken, as a senior, had the additional job of keeping Mason's refrigerator stocked with beer and the cabinet loaded with harder stuff.
This arrangement worked fine until one day, when Mason brought Jenny, his beautiful big-titted blonde girlfriend, to his room for the evening. Ken and Gary, finishing their evening duties when Mason and Jenny arrived, couldn't help stealing glances at Jenny. Since they hadn't had time for sex or even for beating off during the weeks of their service to Mason, they found it physically difficult to hide their magnified horniness. And Jenny, somewhat bored with Mason's single-minded attitude towards her, noticed Ken and Gary. While Ken was not an athlete, he was tall, with striking good looks and longish, rich chestnut hair. Gary was shorter, also good looking, with curly blond hair, and sporting an obviously superior package through his tight slacks. And both of them were quite a bit smarter than Mason.
Even after a few shots of whiskey and several beers, Mason saw what was going on. Jenny's attention was being diverted to Ken and Gary, while they were doing their best not to ogle her, but failing. Feelings of jealousy began to well up in the jock's somewhat lubricated brain, and he felt his chances of getting any from Jenny that night were slipping. Mason was about to order Ken and Gary to leave, but then he had a better idea. He leaned back on the couch, stretching his legs in front of him.
"So, Jen, you like my two friends, huh. Too bad they're queer." This was untrue, he knew, and Ken was about to protest. Mason interrupted him. "Ken, strip to your underwear and then stand at attention. Now!" Ken, unable to stop himself, began to remove his clothes as quickly as he could. Gary, realizing what was happening, bolted for the door, but was caught by Mason's command: "Gary! Strip! Now!" To Jenny's astonishment, Gary turned and also tore off his clothes. Humiliated, hardons withered in fear, Ken and Gary stood at ramrod attention before Mason, who was lounging on the couch and smirking.
"Watch how they bone up for each other. Hold hands and bone yourselves up again!" commanded Mason. Ken's left hand grabbed Gary's right hand. With their free hands, they each jerked themselves to full attention, which didn't take long. Jenny had to laugh despite herself. Obviously these two WERE queer, getting off on each other and obeying every one of Mason's commands. She of course had no idea of the mental rewiring that forced them to obey her jock boyfriend. She was getting somewhat excited, however, seeing how just the force of Mason's commands compelled obedience from these two good-looking guys. Obviously he was much more of a man than they were.
Time to fuck these guys up completely, and remove them from competition, thought Mason. "OK, Ken and Gary, here are your orders. Whenever you two are seen in public together from now on, I want you to be holding hands. Ken, whenever you see someone that gets you sexually excited, guy or girl, you'll feel the need to rub Gary's big cock and balls through his pants. Gary, when YOU get excited, you'll want to run your hands and face through Ken's hair. In front of everyone! Do you both understand?"
Horrified, the two said nothing. "UNDERSTAND, faggots?" growled Mason. "Yes, sir," both Ken and Gary said meekly. "Also, you guys are only allowed to cum WITH EACH OTHER, preferably with other guys watching. I don't care if you want to or not, sooner or later the pressure will make you do it. And you can't tell anyone I did this to you. Now get out of here!"
In a headlong rush to obey the order, Ken and Gary raced out the door without retrieving their clothes, clad only in their boxers. At the door, they grabbed each other's hands again, and raced out of Sig Lam to the GK house. Fortunately, there were few people on the way to notice. When they got to their room, they looked at each other fearfully, wondering how they got into this situation. Then, their long-term sexual frustration got the better of them, and they started to think about Jenny, her smile, her tits. Gary's hand absent-mindedly reached for Ken's thick, luscious hair, and Ken's hand wandered over to caress Gary's 9-inch cock through his boxers which came instantly to attention. It didn't take long for months of pent-up tension to release itself in the form of load after load of cum. Somehow, they didn't notice that they had left their door open, and were being ogled by several of their fellow GKs, some of whom had fantasized about these two for months, and were now openly jerking off to the show...
Back at Sig Lam, Dom had a problem. His brother Tom was now permanently chained to Dom's bed, naked except for a leather hood with holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth. All he could reach from the length of his chain was the twins' exercise equipment, his dog bowl, and the bathroom. Abused constantly, forced continuously to eat and work out, forbidden from even speaking in Dom's presence, Tom had been reduced to near-animal status, worshipping his brother, totally dependent on Dom for the feedings, beatings, and orders he had now grown to need.
But now Dom had to spend a weekend away from the school on family business. He obviously couldn't take Tom with him, but he couldn't leave him there alone either. Someone had to feed, abuse, and order the dependent Tom around, keeping up the training without pause.
After some thought, Dom invited over Gabe, a fellow swim-team member who lived at Gamma Kappa. Gabe was small in stature -- only 5'5" -- but nicely muscled and very fast in the water. With good strength relative to his small frame, and a fierce determination, Gabe did well in speed events. Gabe had curly dark hair that fell over his eyes. Some team members shaved their hair completely for speed, but Gabe had not done this, and he had no need to do it on the rest of his smooth body.
As Gabe entered the twins' room, he noticed with some surprise the chained, hooded Tom kneeling by the only bed in the room. "Gabe, you remember my brother, don't you?" said Dom.
"Yeah, I wondered what happened, and why he left the team. I see he's gone through some changes."
Dom chuckled. "Yeah, just a few. He's almost like a lower form of life now. He depends on me for most things. And now I have to leave town for a few days. I need your help. Will you take over for me for the weekend?"
Gabe shuddered, but the request came from a Sig Lam and so had to be honored. "What would I have to do?"
"Well, he needs almost constant abuse when someone's around. When he's alone he'll just work out pretty much all the time. He needs to be fed to help increase his strength and body mass. Plus, he needs a steady stream of orders or he won't know what to do."
"Abuse him?" Gabe was horrified. "But he's a Sig Lam. He's my superior. I couldn't do anything to hurt him."
"Nah, he's not a Sig Lam anymore, he's not even a student. He dropped out, or rather I dropped him out, to make him into a full-time slave."
"But how could I push him around? Look at those muscles. He works out all the time. He's much stronger than I am. He's stronger than you! Why wouldn't he just overpower me?"
"He's completely under my control. Watch. Tom! Come here!"
Tom came crawling over to where Dom and Gabe stood. He gazed up admiringly at his godlike brother, awaiting his next order. It felt so good to be ordered around by such a superior man.
Dom gave him a swift kick to his face. A bit of blood trickled from his lip. At the same time, Gabe noticed Tom was getting an erection from the abuse, without even touching his cock.
"Listen, you piece of shit. This is Gabe. Remember?" Tom grunted. Somewhere in the back of Tom's mind came a memory of someone named Gabe, but it was not important. Only Dom was important. "I'm going away for a few days, and I want you to think of Gabe as you think of me." This information came as a thunderclap to Tom. Suddenly he noticed that next to Dom stood a fellow god, to be worshipped and obeyed. He secretly wished that the new god would kick him too.
Dom continued feeding information to Tom. "Gabe is much stronger than you, so he'll be pushing you around just like me. He has a grip like steel that makes you powerless. Until I get back, he'll tell you what to do and you must follow his orders." The programming was having an effect not just on Tom, but also on Gabe, who from Dom's words was now feeling extremely powerful and aggressive.
Dom went to the closet and pulled out a pair of cleats. "Here's a pair of my "walking across Tom" shoes. I know they're too big for you, but they don't have to fit perfectly, just cause pain." Tom looked on excitedly as Gabe donned the shoes. "Tom, horse!" Immediately, Tom went up on hands and knees. "Climb on!" Tom told Gabe, handing him a riding crop. Gabe clambered onto Tom's back, and smacked Tom hard on the ass with the crop as he crawled around the room whinnying like a horse. Tom felt the pressure from his new god's hard cock on his back as he crawled. It excited him immensely.
"All right, I'm sure you'll do fine. I've written out his diet and feeding schedule here. In this part of the closet I have the whips, sex toys, whatever you need to keep the abuse going. Just keep up the pressure and don't do any permanent damage, physically anyway. Enjoy!" Before Gabe could ask any more questions, Dom grabbed his bag and left. Gabe was briefly stumped as to what to do. Then Tom crawled into the closet, pulled a 12" dildo off the shelf with his teeth, and came back to Gabe, looking hopeful. Gabe, growing hard, realized what he had to do to help Dom. The evening began...
After giving Tom an extensive abuse and exercise workout, Gabe turned off the lights, stripped, collapsed in Dom's bed and fell instantly asleep. In the dark room, Tom lay at the foot of the bed, filled with feelings of worship and adoration. As the moon rose, bringing some light into the room, Tom saw one of Gabe's small, perfect feet hanging over the edge of the bed. He got instantly hard, his incredibly muscled body becoming tense with the thought of perhaps kissing the foot of his master. Yet he dared not, for fear that he wake his master from his sleep and suffer his rage. Despite Tom's muscled strength, he knew (since Dom had told him) that Gabe was far above him in power and would thrash him if made angry. However, the temptation was so great that Tom lifted his hooded head and stuck his nose within a fraction of an inch of Gabe's foot. The manly odor that wafted into his nose caused him to ejaculate, for the fourth time that night. He then fell asleep beside the bed, contented.
As he had been ordered to, Roger Adkins, senior and former RTR president, shyly entered the room of Jason Cole, freshman and current president. Jason was in his usual position, sprawled in his reclining chair, reading while idly stroking his manhood stretching his boxers to the limit. "Oh, hi, dude, glad you could come." Roger's eyes were cast down to the floor. While he could occasionally look the other members of the frat, his masculine superiors, in the eye, Jason's aura of total power overwhelmed him. With Jason's over-ten-inch endowment compared to his own two incher, his RTR "programming" led him to feel he was in the presence of an omnipotent god.
"C'mon over here, sit in my lap," ordered Jason. Blushing with embarrassment, Roger had no choice but to obey.
Jason stroked Roger's hair. "So, Roger, I wanted to discuss the summer session with you."
"But Jason, y-y-you know I won't be here for the summer session. I'm getting my degree in two weeks and I've taken a job in New York with a big -- "
"Yeah, dude, I heard," interrupted Jason. "But I need you here, for the frat. I've got a special job for you. You know you really should feel you owe us for lettin' you stay here, even though this is now a frat of real men. You've gotta agree with that."
Roger thought about it. When Jason put it that way, it made perfect sense. "Yeah, I guess you're right. The house comes first. What do you want me to do?"
"You know the school managed to recruit Bob Rutland, that all-state quarterback from Texas, and Quentin somebody, a really high-rated defensive lineman from Oklahoma. Well, Richie had a chance to see them both shower after at the gym when they were both visiting, and he thought they would make fine RTR material. In fact, he offered to help with their 'initiation'..."
Richie was one of RTR's real success stories. A sophomore, he had been a constant target of harrassment before he found the frat. He was smooth, skinny, blond, and effeminate, looked much younger than his 19 years, had long eyelashes, and occasionally painted his toenails which one could see through his sandals. He lisped when he talked, walked in a very affected manner, and in short fit every stereotype of an effeminate gay young man. For Richie, there had never been a need to "come out" because no one had ever doubted his sexuality. It had led to ostracism, and the occasional beating, all the way through high school.
However, Richie did have one thing that set him apart: he was generously endowed with a 9.5 inch cock. And that made RTR heaven for him. He could have almost anyone he wanted, whenever he wanted, and straight or gay, they would be totally convinced that pleasing him was the right thing to do. Well-muscled jocks would look at him with respect and envy.
Jason continued: "Of course, Bob and Quentin are incredibly athletic... you should see Bob's chest and legs, and of course, watching the biceps flex on his throwing arm... mmmmmm. And Quentin weighs over 300 pounds of solid muscle... Oh, that's right, you're straight, aren't you? Anyway, it turns out they're not all that hung. Bob's only about five inches and Quentin's six. So after some 'recruiting' work of our own, we've gotten both of them to agree to live at RTR this summer, where Richie can guide them in "manhood" RTR-style. They'll be living on mattresses on Richie's floor. By the end of the summer they'll be calling Richie "sir" and following him around like puppy dogs hoping he'll pay attention to them. And they should. He's more of a man than they'll ever be."
"So where do I come in?" asked Roger.
"Well, we've learned from last year that at the beginning of our 'conversion' process, many guys still have a lot of aggressive sexual energy to get out of their systems. Almost all their lives they've been the top, the aggressor, and we're going to slowly change that. But they need someone to take out their frustrations on, and you'd be perfect for that."
Roger shuddered. "So what do I need to do?"
"They'll come home from practice, and want you to help clean them up or get them off. Or maybe they'll come in drunk from some party and want you to strip for them or play with your little dick in front of them while they make fun of you. Or maybe they'll have a bad practice, and want to kick you or beat you up. Since they'll be RTR brothers, you'll want to help them out so they'll feel good later." Hearing this from Jason, Roger knew it was true.
"Eventually, they'll start spending more and more time in Richie's room while he's out, sniffing his used size 28 underwear and his sandals, hoping he won't catch them, playing with each other while they fantasize out loud about serving him. Of course, after a while, he'll catch them doing it, and he'll make 'em grovel in humiliation, maybe make 'em do it in front of the whole frat. Meanwhile, the lower they go inside the frat, the better they'll do athletically, since they'll be able to focus much better without wasting time thinking about what THEY want sexually. Might even get 'em to paint their toenails so they can be more like their idol. Imagine the locker room when the team sees that..." Jason was clearly enjoying the images. His cock had grown to full size out of the boxers, causing Roger to shift on his lap, while Roger stared at the daunting tool like a mouse mesmerized by an anaconda.
Suddenly, the mood was broken as a tall, lanky 15-year-old showed up at Jason's door. "Hey, Jason," he said.
"Hey, little dude. How's it hangin'?"
"Mostly stickin' straight out. I can't BELIEVE how horny I've been since basketball season ended."
"Hey, Roger, meet Louis. He's one of the reasons our basketball team did so well this year. He helped our star point guard Ralph Grogan shoot three-pointers all year."
"Yeah, and Ralph helped ME shoot all year. But I guess I must have been too mean to him, 'cause when the season ended he didn't want to keep seeing me. Some of the OTHER guys got to keep their players. It's not fair!"
Ralph Grogan had indeed been grateful to get away from Louis when the season ended, because Louis' price for the cum he desperately needed for each game was to submit sexually to his own younger brother Fred. Louis got completely off on controlling the brothers like puppets, Fred driven by the occasional drug-induced conditioning session to accept all of Louis' suggestions, and Ralph driven by his incredible need for Louis' cum. As Louis directed from the side, totally hot from the feeling of control, Ralph was the victim of some very rough sex driven by an enraged, sex-crazed Fred. Even now that the sessions were over, Ralph and Fred's relationship had permanently changed, with Fred viewing Ralph with contempt, while Ralph looked up to his little brother and tried constantly to get in his good graces. Fred would make increasingly humiliating requests of Ralph, and Ralph, desperate for Fred's approval, would have to obey. Recently, Fred had ordered Ralph to serve him and his high school buddies at a party at home. Fred's friends, impressed at the control Fred had over his famous basketball brother, made him buy them beer, and once they had drunk most of it, started to order him to do increasingly disgusting things: rub their feet, eat their boogers, kneel in the bathtub to be pissed on. The more disgusting the things Ralph did, the more desperate he felt to please Fred, while the more Ralph lowered himself, the more contemptuous Fred was of him. Their relationship was permanently altered by the experiment, and while Ralph was happy about the unexpected success of the basketball season, he was deathly afraid of seeing Louis again.
Jason's view of the situation was different. "I agree, little dude, you helped Ralph to his best season ever, you'd think he'd appreciate it. Besides, you're one of the team's best hung cum boys. Show Roger here what you've got."
Grinning, Louis dropped his baggy pants. There was no underwear underneath. Sure enough, he was almost instantly a hard 8 inches.
"Lookin' good, little dude. Roger here is only two inches hard. Show him, Roger." Totally humiliated, Roger was compelled to climb off Jason's lap and strip off his pants and underwear, and jerk himself to hardness.
Louis stared. "I can't believe it, man. And you're a college senior. Is that for real?" He began to painfully snap at Roger's small dick with his thumb and forefinger. Roger grabbed at him angrily, but Jason intervened.
"Wait, dude, don't you think you owe Louis some respect? He's only 15 and you can see he's a man already, and he helped our school's basketball team."
Hearing Jason, Roger began to look at Louis in a whole different way, not as a punk kid with an attitude, but as a superior to be treated with respect. "Sorry, Louis, how can I make it up to you?"
"Well, you can help me work on THIS," said Louis, pointing to his erection. "Where's your room, man?"
"We can't go there, my roommate Wally is there right now."
Louis laughed. "You mean the geek on the first floor? I passed his room on my way up here. I know how you RTR guys are, and I wanted to have a little fun, so I showed him what I had in my pants and told him he'd get big like me if he jerked off slowly with my underwear, and he was forced to believe it! He's down there doing it now. Come down with me and I'm sure I can come up with something to do with the both of you."
Roger looked at Jason for help, but all Jason said was, "OK, you two have fun." Louis pulled his pants up. Roger started to do the same, but Louis told him, "Leave 'em down, I want everyone to see you're with me." Waddling with his pants and underpants over his ankles, Roger dutifully followed Louis down to Roger's and Wally's room. A few of the brothers, including one with his girlfriend, sniggered as they passed Louis and Roger on the stairs; they could see what was going on.
It was September, and a new school term had begun. The seniors who had gotten their degrees and moved away had, under the Grand Master's guidance, forgotten much of what made Sig Lam special. Of course, most of them, without their conscious knowledge, remained on call to drop everything and return to Sig Lam on command, for sexual or any other purposes. All of them would forever contribute generously, both to Sig Lam's general fund and to its secret fund set up for the Grand Master's use.
It was time for the first meeting of the year, in the frat's basement meeting chamber. This time, all the Sig Lam brothers were there. Guard duties were now provided by two burly Gamma Kappas who had been recruited by that frat especially for this purpose. In another change, Pete, the new gay pledge master of Sig Lam (John having graduated), sat in the front row, legs stretched out, using the face of a naked, straight blond Gamma Kappa member as a footstool. The slightly built GK, aware of what he was doing but unable to stop, was giving a tongue bath to Pete's rancid bare feet. Pete kept telling the GK how much he loved the taste of Pete's feet, how much he NEEDED it, and the GK was starting to believe him. Eventually, the GK would go back to his room, jerking off just thinking of the taste of Pete's feet.
Pete stood up and off his footstool (the footstool missed his presence immediately) and climbed the podium to begin the induction. As he did so, the house-owned silver Porsche drove up to the front door. Out stepped a confident-looking newly-minted freshman, an two-year older and much better built version of the Grand Master. It was obvious that this person worked obsessively on his body; while not particularly tall, he had a gymnast's full complement of muscles. His otherwise handsome face was marred by a fading bruise under his chin, where he had almost knocked himself out with his fist for questioning one of his little brother's orders.
He strode past the guards who were at hard attention, down the stairs, and up to the podium, where he sat on the president's chair, placing one Osiris-clad sneaker on the head of each of the twin GK brothers lying at the foot of the chair. He then continued Pete's induction process, although much less was needed with this group after so many meetings.
He then began the business of the meeting. "I want to thank all of you for unanimously electing me President of Sig Lam even though you had never met me before. I want to let you know I intend to keep up the proud traditions of this house set up by my brother over the last year. I'm going to intensify the experiments he started, and start a few of my own.
"As you can see, we have tightened the bond between Sig Lam and Gamma Kappa, and their pledge master is on the lookout for the smartest geeks, I mean guys, he can find to help us out here. Since Hal, their president of last year, got one of our brothers, Brooke here, mad, Hal accepted Brooke's suggestion that he forget his med school acceptance, quit school completely and go to work as an assistant to Brooke's 16-year-old brother at a fast-food restaurant. I understand Brooke's brother and his friends are pushing Hal around pretty rough there in front of the customers, and making him do disgusting things in the back... Anyway, I think we'll make Brooke president there for now, and we'll be taking over the best rooms in their house. They can move into our rooms as assistants, slaves, whatever you want. Just make sure they keep up their academic standing so they can keep helping us out. All their time should be spent either studying or serving us." The GKs in the room swallowed hard; they heard and understood what was being said, but were under unbreakable orders to tell no one else.
"Also, good news, Phil the Genius will be back at GK this year." Phil the Genius, so named because he had come to national attention for his startling and insightful work in astrophysics, had been slated to go straight into a Ph.D. program elsewhere in the country. However, Phil had suffered from acne since junior high, and somehow (with someone's evil hypnotic coaching) became convinced that the only way to cure the acne was having it pissed on by Sig Lam members. So most afternoons, he would come over to the Sig Lam house, kneel by the urinals, remove his thick glasses, and ask the Sig Lams to piss on his face. Soon, the Sig Lams were laughing at him and making him beg for their piss. He was deeply tormented but resigned to his fate, as he was totally convinced this was the only way to be cured. It even prompted his decision to stay at the school, where he felt he needed to remain until he was cured.
"It's going to be a great year. Since my brother's big success with the basketball team last year, he has started an experiment with the football team. Since spring practice, he brought them face-to-face with the local high school chess club. He's told them the team has to work out constantly until they can beat the chess club members at wrestling. What they don't know is that he's hypnotized both them and the club so that no matter how small or geeky the club member, any of them can easily force any of the team into physical submission, any time. So the team will work out obsessively trying to get strong enough to be able to beat the club members, Meanwhile, each team member will live in fear that one of the little high school chess club geeks will come over and whip his ass in front of everybody. It'll help both sides. The club members will gain confidence, and the team will get strong enough to knock over all the opposing teams. Plus, I happen to know that one or two of the chess club members is gay. Maybe one of 'em will come over and forcibly claim a team member as his 'bitch'. What's the football player going to do -- complain to someone?
"All right. Now for this year's room assignments..."
Bill and Brad had lived in the same small town and attended the same schools since childhood, and had been casual friends for years. Bill was 6'4", with straight brown hair that hung almost over his eyes and transitioned to a short buzz cut at the bottom. He had a handsome, lean, angular face that you would pick out right away in a group picture. Brad was 5'6", short blond hair, pretty round face, and an intense gaze from his green eyes that could transfix you.
Apart from their good looks, however, Bill and Brad had little in common. Bill was an only slightly better-than-average student, and while he worked out regularly and was well-defined and very strong, he was somewhat awkward when he moved, and so mostly rode the bench in both football and basketball. Although he was no star athlete, he did hang out with the jock crowd. Fortunately, his loose pants helped to hide the embarrassing situations that occasionally arose from his frequent physical proximity to jock types. Brad, on the other hand, had a completely smooth, toned body that came not from planned exercise but from the level of energy he brought to everything he did. Through all his years at school, he had either ranked #1 or #2 in his class, and by the time of graduation, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life professionally. He mostly associated with the academic types, including Belinda, his girlfriend all through high school.
In fact, with so little in common, and hanging with different groups, the two would probably not have even been casual friends, except for one thing: while the closeted Bill did enjoy being with the jocks more than they ever knew, he was MUCH more attracted to smart types, particularly cute blond Brad. Many times he had fantasized them together, picturing himself spooned around the smaller Brad, with Brad gazing at him with pure admiration and love. He sometimes imagined Brad as his devoted little puppy, admiring and licking every part of his body while Bill flexed his considerable muscles. He imagined Brad growling and chewing on Bill's sweaty old sneakers while Bill fondled his tight little ass. He pictured Brad getting highly sexually excited sniffing his way through Bill's clothes hamper, filled with well-worn shirts and pants, used underwear, socks, and jockstraps, all with Bill's scent permeating them. Bill even imagined himself stretched out on the couch, with one of his size 13 feet gently pushing Brad's face away while Brad tried to hump his other leg. Over the years, these images had caused the production of what seemed like gallons of Bill-jizz.
Bill insinuated himself into Brad's life by asking for his help with schoolwork. It was a plausible enough reason, and Brad was happy to help one of the more popular guys in his class. On evenings when Brad would come over, Bill had to work hard to control himself, or he would give the game away. He would jerk off before Brad got there, although that was not much help at his age. By the time he leaned over Brad to look at his work, and caught Brad's fresh clean scent, he would be hard again. On one particularly hot day, before Brad's arrival he had opened his window and shut off the central air conditioning's access to his room, complaining to Brad it was broken, in hopes he could convince Brad to remove his shirt and Bill could admire his beautiful, smooth, gently-toned torso. As he leaned over Brad, Bill noticed a drop of sweat coursing down the back of Brad's neck, and it took all of his willpower not to lick it off. Brad was totally oblivious to all the intense "electricity" Bill felt when they were close, to the point that it amazed Bill. He always secretly hoped that his feelings would be, at least at some level, reciprocated.
But Brad was hopelessly straight. Much as Bill might wish otherwise, he knew it for a fact. He had watched Brad and Belinda together, even at times when they didn't know they were being watched. He also saw Brad's eye occasionally caught by some other beauty walking by, and NEVER saw it happen with a guy, handsome, shirtless, or otherwise. Not ever.
As it happened, Bill and Brad were the only two students from their high school to apply and be accepted at our favorite university. They did so for two different reasons: Bill, because his big brother had gone there four years previously, and his well-to-do family had contributed to the school, which greatly improved his admission chances despite his so-so grades; and Brad, because of the school's academic reputation in his chosen field, and its offer of a scholarship, valuable to his less-well-off family.
Upon arrival, they were randomly assigned to double rooms on different floors of the freshman dorm. Bill's roommate turned out to be an unpleasant guy from another state who was also totally unattractive to Bill. Meanwhile, Brad had a roommate who kept hours incompatible with Brad's study habits. One evening, they sat down together in the dining hall and compared notes on their living situation.
"I can't take too much more of this. It's getting in the way of my schoolwork, and I'm losing sleep besides," said Brad.
"Me too. Thank God I have a way out of this in a couple of weeks. My brother was a member of the Sig Lam fraternity four years ago. I went over there yesterday, and they said they'd let me pledge the house, and I'd probably get in because of my brother. I can't WAIT to get out of this hellhole."
Brad brightened a bit. "Do you suppose you could get me into Sig Lam too? Maybe we could room together there."
Bill's visit the day before had been an eye-opener, and in a way a turning point for him. He had chatted with Pete, Sig Lam's pledge master, and after they discussed the situation involving Bill's brother (who had been at Sig Lam long before these new "special" years), Pete had come right out and asked if Bill were gay. Bill, taken aback by the question, saw no benefit in hiding the situation if it would affect his potential life at the frat, and told Pete the truth. This seemed to please Pete a great deal. "For gay folks, Sig Lam offers a very special opportunity related to our association with the Gamma Kappa fraternity. And there's no real need to come out publicly if you don't want to. Here, have a look."
Pete led Bill to a room next to his. An athletic-looking Sig Lam sat in a reclining chair, wearing nothing but a pair of dirty white socks, holding a novel in one hand and lazily stroking his cock with the other. Two smooth skinny guys were by him, a short one kneeling before him massaging his feet through the socks, and a taller one kneeling beside him and stroking one of his nipples. The Sig Lam was clearly enjoying the attention; Bill could see his arm and leg muscles flex under his taut skin as he shifted in the chair.
"Both those GKs are straight," Pete told Bill.
"No way!" exclaimed Bill. "Those two are really getting into their work."
"And work it is." Pete went on to explain the "special" relationship between Sig Lam and Gamma Kappa, and the obligations of all members of the latter to all members of the former. He carefully watched Bill for his reaction. If Bill's response was wrong, he would soon find himself standing in front of the house with no memory of the last thirty minutes. But Bill was getting harder by the second.
"I've GOT to get in on this. I've waited all my life for something like this. How soon can I move in?"
"We're in the process of getting more rooms now. Starting next week, in both the Sig Lam and GK houses, a Sig Lam will be in charge in each room, and one or two GKs will live in his care. We have rules, though, to not interfere with the GKs' academic work. We want them at their full potential to help in every way, not just physical.
"If you're serious about moving in, we're having our weekly meeting tonight. Why don't you come over and check it out?" Of course, Bill's attending that meeting would forever seal his loyalty to the frat and its secrets.
"I'll be there, for sure!" Wheels were grinding in his head. Maybe the future would be better than he thought. That night, he arrived in plenty of time for the meeting, drank the offered Kool-Aid, and sat down to observe the festivities.
The next day, as he sat at the dining table with Brad, Bill's plan continued to play out.
"Sorry, dude, I'm sure I couldn't get you an invitation from Sig Lam. I'm just a 'legacy', so while they really sort of have to take me, they wouldn't listen to my suggestions about other people."
Brad looked a bit downcast. "Too bad, man. I was feeling a bit homesick, and it would have been fun to be your roommate."
"Hey, you're too smart for Sig Lam anyway. They're more of a 'good old boy' frat than some of the others. Say, why don't you pledge over at Gamma Kappa? They're more the academic type. You're a natural for them. Didn't they ask you?"
"No, they didn't, and I was kind of surprised. They took several of the smarter people I've gotten to know here."
"I'll bet it was just an oversight," Bill said, smiling. Within an hour, a Gamma Kappa would be racing to Brad's dorm room with a note, as if his life depended on it (which he would actually believe). The note would contain an invitation for Brad to pledge and an incredibly generous housing offer that seemed too good to be true. With Brad's financial situation, he would snap it up in an instant.
"Well, too bad we couldn't have been roommates. I'm sure I'll find someplace good to stay around here."
Bill smiled again. Oh, they would be roommates, all right. Bill's greatest fantasies were on the verge of coming true. Of course, at first Bill's new straight roommate might not enjoy all the very personal tasks he would be assigned by Bill for the privilege of living in a basket on the floor in Bill's room. But he would perform them willingly, even eagerly, to serve Bill the best he could. He would put all of his superior intelligence into learning to bring pleasure to Bill. And who knows, maybe over time, with sufficient nonstop mind-fucking, he would become convinced he actually DID enjoy the tasks he was performing. And even start to fantasize about new ones. After all, it had happened before, in some of the other experiments...
Football practice had just ended. The exhausted team entered the locker room and dispersed to their lockers to strip. Suddenly, the door was thrown open, slamming loudly against the doorjamb, and an angry shout of "Muller!" came from the doorway. Immediately, one of the jocks, a 6'8" 270-pound well-muscled senior linebacker, snapped to attention, a frightened look coming over his face. The other players cowered closer to their lockers and began to strip more quickly, hoping to slip out of the room and into the shower as unnoticeably as possible.
In the doorway, glowering, stood a 5'5", 15-year-old high school sophomore holding a skateboard. He had short, curly black hair and dark eyes that seemed to fire daggers at the object of his anger in the corner. He was generally lean except for a bit of baby fat that remained in certain areas around his body. A member of the local high school chess club, he had obviously discovered some of the new benefits of club membership, although for some reason he did not seem to think these benefits were strange, nor could he have told you how they came to be.
He strode forcefully over to the linebacker, with one or two players scurrying quickly out of his path as he did so. "Where the hell were you yesterday? You know I don't have a car yet, you knew I needed a ride, you knew I was expecting you." The jock stood, frozen with fear, babbling, "Sir... I... I... I... p-p-practice ran l-l-late, and I... I... sir..."
The skater dropped his board, grabbed one of the linebacker's arm, and twisted it behind his back. The linebacker winced in pain in the small teen's unbreakable iron grip. His pecs and upper torso writhed in agony. "Well, asshole, I see I'm going to have to teach you to respect me totally. Sullivan, get over here!"
The 6'5" redheaded quarterback had almost completed stripping and was attempting to slip into the shower room when his name was called. He looked up, afraid, trying to decide whether to make a break for it.
"Sullivan, are you coming over here or do I have to come over there and beat your ass? I've done it before, you know I can do it again."
Resigned, the team leader came over to where Sir and Muller were, and stood at attention.
"That's better. Now YOU respect me, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"I need to get THIS piece of shit to respect me like you do. Sullivan, get yourself hard!"
It was somewhat difficult for the quarterback, in this humiliating situation, to get himself erect, but he succeeded. At a fat 9.5 inches, he was in the upper echelons of the RTR fraternity, and was used to people taking orders from HIM. But here, he was just another football player, and in the grip of the Grand Master's secret plan for the football team, that made him physically weaker than any member of the high school chess club. Getting hard at the command of this 15-year-old was humiliating, but better than being thrashed by him and having to explain his bruises afterwards to the outside world. So far, at least, the humiliation was known only to team members. But who knew how long THAT would last?
"Okay, now, Muller, suck off your leader!"
"B-b-but... but... I don't... I'm not..." Sir twisted Muller's arm harder, and Muller fell to his knees in pain. "Now!"
Muller tentatively licked Sullivan's cockhead and down his shaft. "What kind of queer shit is that? I said SUCK IT! Take it all!" Sir shoved Muller's head over Sullivan's cock and pushed. "But...b-b-b..." The linebacker's throat expanded as Sullivan's cock penetrated deeper and deeper into it. Muller's gag reflex set in, but Sir's sheer strength kept forcing his throat down onto the cock until it completely disappeared. He grabbed Muller's hair and fucked his face on and off of Sullivan's shaft.
Sullivan, knowing there was only one way this would end, allowed himself to come to climax, pouring a load out into Muller's mouth. But it took Muller by surprise, and the next spurts ended up partly on the floor, partly on the skateboard, and partly on Sir's size 7 Nikes. "Eww, gross! You got it on my board and my shoes!" Pulling Muller by the hair, he lowered his face to the floor. "You lick all that clean, NOW!" When Muller hesitated, a steel-like slap across his face with Sir's other hand was all it took to convince him to comply. When he had finished to Sir's satisfaction, Sir picked him up again by the hair and slammed him onto his butt by his locker. Totally defeated, the linebacker looked up fearfully at his tormentor.
"From now on, you better jump when I tell you to," Sir informed Muller. "That goes for all of you. I got news for you. I'm straight, but we got a new team member, a freshman, who's gay. He's smaller than me, but he could clean the floor with any of you pussies. He told me he intends to come over here soon and find the biggest, meanest one of you and break him to his will, and use him as a sex toy in front of the team. So if you don't want it to be you, I suggest you be nice to all of us, and maybe we won't tell everyone else how weak you all are."
Actually, both the team and the club had been programmed not to want that news to get out, but neither group knew this consciously. In any event, the team had been working out ferociously in an attempt to get stronger, while the club's social lives and self-esteem had improved to the point that they had moved from the bottom to the top of the high school social structure. Another successful experiment? Only the end of the football season would tell.
After showering and dressing, the three football players who were members of the RTR fraternity walked home. At the front was Jim Sullivan, the quarterback, who had just been forced by a high-school student to cum into -- and onto -- a teammate. He was determined that the team would hit the weights and practice extra long until they could get out of the grip of these powerful teen chess geeks.
Behind him, at a respectful distance in consideration of his status within the fraternity, came two noted recruits for this year. There was Bob Rutland, Jim's freshman backup quarterback, taller than Jim, and much better looking, but not as well muscled. Bob had not yet fully adjusted to the transition between high school ball, where he had been all-state, and college ball, where a new level of skill was required. With him was defensive lineman Quentin Parks. While his 315 pounds had helped him dominate in high school, he too was discovering that there were guys bigger and stronger than him in the college game. Not to mention stronger young kids at the local high school!
As they entered the house, they came across Jason, the RTR president, near the entrance. "Hi, Jason," said Jim, while all the two recruits could do was lower their heads a bit and avert their eyes from gazing directly at their godlike president. Even though they had not been around RTR long, in some senses, they were now fully programmed into the house's ways. And to them, none of it seemed unusual. Didn't EVERYONE depend on cock size for respect?
Bob and Quentin were in a foul mood. They had just witnessed two team members being physically humiliated by a high school kid. Normally, with their respected mentor frat brother and roommate Richie out for the evening at a dance rehearsal, they would have stopped by the room of two-inch-dicked Roger, former RTR president, ordered him to their room, and pushed and kicked him around and forced him to humiliate himself in front of them, made him thank them, and sent him on his way. This time, though, when they went to Roger's room, they saw a startling sight: Roger and his roommate Wally were wrestling in deadly earnest on the floor, being ordered around by ANOTHER high school kid, who was sitting naked in a chair getting off on being obeyed. "Wally, arm under Roger's throat! Knee him in the balls!" A glance at the chair showed the football players that at least this kid DESERVED to be obeyed: he must have been hung at least eight inches. He had the two football players beat by at least two or three inches, which did not make them his mindless slaves right away, like small-dicked Roger and Wally, but did make them almost completely deferential to his wishes, and believe anything he said.
They were about to respectfully back out of the room, but the kid called them in. "Hi, I'm Louis. You must be Bob and Quentin. I heard about you. Nice to meet you. Puppets, go say hello to Bob and Quentin."
Roger and Wally immediately broke off wrestling, crawled over to the football players, knelt before them, kissed their crotches, and looked up with hopeful faces. "See, I've got 'em trained good, don't I?" Bob and Quentin had to agree that Louis had indeed done a good job with Roger and Wally. "Say, why don't you two join in the fun?" As tired as the two had been previously, they immediately perked up at the offer to play with Roger and Wally under Louis' esteemed direction.
"OK, let's wrestle! Bob, you take Wally, and Quentin, you take Roger. Go!"
Within seconds, Roger and Wally were pinned helplessly to the floor, groaning in pain under the weight of their betters.
Louis wrinkled his nose. "THAT's no fun. How can I spice this up?" He thought for a minute. "I know. Let 'em go. How could you treat 'em that way? Those are two of the most beautiful people you've ever seen! Bob, don't you think Wally there looks just like Britney Spears, who you're totally hot for?" Bob looked at Wally. Instantly he started to get hard as he noticed the near-total resemblance between Wally and Britney, his all-time sexual lust object (at least she was NOW). "Quentin, doesn't Roger there look exactly like Christina Aguilera, who you beat off thinking about assfucking every night?" The defensive back looked at Roger in a new way, and got greatly excited. "And you guys are always REAL horny after practice, aren't you?" Roger and Wally started to look frightened as the two football players looked at them in total lust.
"Hey, Wally, Roger, I suggest you play your parts. Either you convince 'em you're Britney and Christina, or these two are going to beat the living crap out of you." Wally and Roger, realizing as always that every word Louis said was true, began nervously to act as feminine as they could. Wally cooed, in tune, "I'm not that innocent." That was more than Bob could take. He lifted Wally bodily off the floor as if he were a feather, dropped him on his back in his bed, dropped on top of him, started fondling what he took to be Britney's luscious breasts, and roughly shoved his long tongue down Wally's throat. Wally squirmed, but he dared not resist the lust-crazed quarterback. To seem like a horny Britney, he rubbed Bob's firm six-pack with one hand and his solid throwing-arm bicep with the other. Wally then moved a hand down to work on Bob's raging cock before Bob discovered there was no place to put it down there.
Meanwhile, Roger nervously started humming "Lady Marmalade" in a high voice. This caused Quentin to lower his 315 pound frame on top of Roger's diminutive form on the floor. With no warning, he flipped Roger over, stripped off everything he was wearing, and was starting to simply enter Roger with no preparation or lubrication of any kind. Louis, alarmed and not wanting his new linebacker toy to physically damage Roger, ordered him to stop, located the lubricant he had had Roger buy for an earlier session, tossed it to Quentin, and told him he should use lots of it on Christina.
After both Bob and Quentin had cum, Louis sent them up to their room, where they lived on mattresses on either side of Richie's bed, with each one's face within easy kissing distance of one pink-toenailed foot. Louis hoped Richie wouldn't be too upset he had used them, but it turned out that since it was Richie's dance rehearsal night, he came back too tired to put Bob and Quentin through their paces. Actually, Louis had benefited RTR: it was Richie's job to break in Bob and Quentin, training them to learn their place towards the bottom of RTR's cock-based hierarchy regardless of sexual preference, to accept it at first, and later learn to love it. Their satisfying experience as muscular sex-puppets of a hung high-school sophomore would help them down that road.
It was now getting close to Thanksgiving. Brad was headed from class to his room in the Gamma Kappa house. Under his outer clothes he was wearing a sweaty old jockstrap and unwashed socks belonging to his roommate, longtime friend and now idol, Bill. Bill had helpfully suggested he wear them at all times, to remind him of his fraternal obligation to Bill as a Sig Lam. At first, being straight, he had derived no particular pleasure from wearing them, but lately, he started to feel cold and uncomfortable when he didn't have them on. Bill's constant mental work on him was having an effect. In fact, on those days when Brad would get back first to the room after classes, he would absent-mindedly start looking around for Bill's unwashed clothes to sniff, seeking out Bill's comforting odor. If he found a particularly ripe article of clothing, he might secretly stash it under his pillow, and chew on it after the lights had been turned out.
When they first started living together, Brad wondered why he had never noticed just how perfect Bill was while they were in high school. After awhile, though, with some subconscious input from Bill, he began to realize that all along he had fantasized about Bill. Whenever he had been with Belinda, he now realized he had been really thinking about Bill all the time. These thoughts were slowly but surely transforming Brad's mental sexual makeup. By "rewriting" Brad's history, Bill was placing himself in all the crucial spots in Brad's conscious and subconscious mind. Step by step, Bill was transforming Brad into the pet of his dreams.
Back when Brad had first arrived at GK with the rest of his pledge class, he had been surprised to find that Alex was a member of that class. Alex had been Brad's original roommate in the freshman dorm. He had seemed like the complete party animal: he never seemed to study, he arrived noisily back in the room at 3 or 4 A.M., he played his music loudly whenever both of them were in the room and resisted requests to turn it down. In short, he had been the idiot roommate from hell that caused Brad to seek a way out of the dorm. Yet here he was, pledging a frat known for its academic standards.
As the pledges gathered for their first meeting, Brad took Alex aside. "Man, I never expected YOU to be here! You sure didn't seem the studious type those first few weeks in the dorm. Why are you pledging at GK?"
Alex gave Brad an odd look. "You know, it's funny you should ask that. All my life I've been the complete academic geek. I never drank in my life, never went out, spent all my spare time studying or at least reading chemistry journals. I was totally focused on my favorite subject, and driven to work on it day and night.
"But the very day you moved in, I had a weird experience. I can't remember all of it, but I know it began when a young guy, who looked like 16, poked his head in the room, pushed something under my nose that smelled really foul, and I passed out. I don't know why that experience would cause this, but starting that night, I lost interest in my studies and got the irresistable urge to find something to drink. For the whole two weeks you and I were roommates, I stayed out late at bars, did no schoolwork, and needed to hear my music as loud as possible. I know I must have been a completely obnoxious roommate to you, but I really couldn't help it. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but there was nothing I could do to stop it, and I knew I couldn't talk to anyone about it.
"The day after you got your GK invitation, I got mine. I came over here to the GK house that evening, and as I stepped in the door I saw that same young guy. That's the last thing I remember of that evening, but the next morning I woke up with an intense headache, like the hangover from a long binge period. When the headache wore off, it was like I was back to normal. I lost all desire to drink or party, and started picking up the books again. In just a short while, I'd caught up on what I was missing, and I was back on track to do well this term.
"Funny thing, I've asked just about everyone here at GK and no one has heard of that young guy. What was he doing here? How did he know I'd be here? Did he really exist, or is he just the product of my imagination during that wild period? I guess I'll never know.
"well, looks like the meeting is finally about to start. They told me that at this meeting, I'd learn the true meaning of being a Gamma Kappa. Probably some fake ritualistic bullshit." As they both drank the Kool-Aid they were offered, they were about to find out just how wrong Alex was. "Have you been assigned a room yet?"
"Yep," Brad said. "I'll be with an old friend from my home town, Bill. He's a Sig Lam, but it seems they have some kind of house-sharing arrangement with GK."
"Yeah, I'm evidently with Kevin somebody, he's a Sig Lam too. I met him for a couple of minutes before I got in here. He told me his roommate last year was president of Sig Lam, but graduated. He said he was eager to teach me everything he learned from Lance his freshman year. What... what do you think... think he..." Alex's eyes glazed over and his head rolled a bit.
By that time, most of the room had responded to the Kool-Aid and was following along with the induction up front. Within an hour, the pledges would be true GKs, and would see Sig Lams in an entirely different light.
And that is the story of how the Grand Master set up his two latest Sig Lam-Gamma Kappa experiments. Anything to help a Sig Lam legacy! Besides, if Bill could successfully convert Brad into his doting pet, maybe the gymnastics team, with their compact cute perfect bodies, could be made into the adoring pets of the bigger, rougher wrestling team. As the Grand Master spread his influence over more and more of the school, the possibilities seemed endless!
The trio walked down the hill to fraternity row. In front was Richie Rocher, sashaying along the path in his affected manner, painted toenails showing in his sandals. Behind him at a respectful distance followed his worshipful RTR house roommates, quarterback Bob Rutland and defensive lineman Quentin Parks. The two freshmen had had an impact on the team early in the season, and were recognized around the campus.
When the two football players had first arrived at RTR, they were somewhat confused by their room assignment, until they went through the initiation ceremony. After that, they understood completely, and were honored to be assigned for mentoring to one of the most highly respected members of the frat. While Richie was none too masculine in appearance or demeanor, he possessed a 9.5 inch tool that placed him towards the top of RTR's cock-centric hierarchy.
Richie's job was to imbue his pledges with the house philosophy that respect and obedience was owed not as a function of race, creed, national origin, size, strength, intelligence, looks, sexual preference, or wealth. It all came down to one thing: cock size. While many members of the fraternity were straight, that didn't mean they wouldn't be honored to provide blow jobs to the largest-dicked guys, or be used for their amusement on demand. If one brother's cock was REALLY larger than another's, he could really mess with the other's mind, effectively reprogramming him. Given enough time and enough repetition of commands to cause a "burning in" of thoughts and ideas, those personality changes could become permanent. Richie had first laid claim to the two football players for his own use. If Richie received a few personal benefits from their training, it was only his just due.
When the players first moved into his room as newly-pledged and programmed RTRs, he let them watch him jerk off slowly on the bed. The two football giants watched, mesmerized by the movement of both of Richie's hands up and down his giant schlong, feeling they were in the presence of true greatness. He invited them to feel it, which they did, as if it were a sensory work of art. Of course, as they were both straight, they felt no desire to do anything else. Richie realized he would have to work on them to make them useful playthings.
Over the first few days, he ordered them to study and admire various of his body parts: his slim waist, his skinny legs, his lithe neck, his boyishly-cut thick blond hair, his delicate hands, his feet with the painted toenails. After several study sessions involving his feet, they began to sleep on their mattresses on either side of his bed with their faces directly under his feet, which they would admire. With a bit more programming, they started to idly jerk off looking at, sniffing, and occasionally licking his feet. When he would step out of bed onto one of the jocks before stepping down to the floor, that jock would get an instant hard-on from the feel of Richie's foot on his body. And while he was gone from the bed, they would sniff the sheets and pillow to enjoy his manly aroma.
As they progressed through their studies, Richie was also teaching them the skills they would need to be successful at RTR. They learned how to give a first-rate blow job. At first the two straight jocks worked on this merely for interpersonal skill development and as a frat responsibility. However, with Richie's expert coaching, they soon came to enjoy the act, and soon they were looking forward to their cum reward at the end. They were convinced that cum, especially from a big cock, was the most delicious hot drink there could be. And they were ESPECIALLY hungry for Richie's cum. Sometimes Richie would have both of them working on him at once, one licking and sucking on each side. Once Richie had erupted they would sometimes wrestle each other to get their tongues into spilled puddles of his cum.
Over time, with much practice and many suggestions, they also learned to love the feel of a cock up their asses, the bigger the better. First they practiced on each other under Richie's direction; then they worked with dildoes of increasing size, until finally they were ready for Richie's huge dick. They grew to love the feel of Richie in them, and felt empty when he pulled out.
Bob and Quentin knew they were being groomed for the most important RTR responsibility of all: a trip to the top-floor room of Jason, the RTR president, for an extended, exhausting multi-hour session that would tax their physical abilities as well as their new sexual skills. Initially they viewed this eventuality with dread, but as time went by, the idea of it became more and more exciting. They were still somewhat afraid of Jason, as much as they were in awe of him, but they felt that with enough workouts, practice, and preparation, they would be ready for the Great Day, whenever it came.
They had another benefit as RTR residents. Whenever their masculine, aggressive side emerged, after a particularly frustrating or maddening experience, they could always drag Roger the two-inch-dicked former RTR president into their room, slap and punch him around, force him to degrade himself, use every one of his orifices, then kick him out the door and onto the hallway floor when they were done. During high stress periods, such as exam weeks, there might even be one or more other brothers in the hall waiting to drag the discarded Roger off to their own rooms to start the process over again. At the end of days like that, Roger would crawl back to his room, covered with bruises and dripping other people's cum and piss from every part of his body, but with the satisfied feeling of having served his obvious purpose in life. of course, if a particularly sadistic large-dicked brother had ordered him to, even then he might be forced to finish the day by torturing himself in the privacy of his own room, which by now was fully equipped for such activity.
Bob and QUentin's training was coming along nicely by the time of this breezy early-autumn day as the three proceeded down the hill to RTR house. As Richie passed two hunky baseball team types on their way up the hill, a tall crewcut blond Nordic type and a shorter one with long chestnut hair, he couldn't help turning around as they went by to give them a good once-over. The tall blond noticed this, and disgusted, muttered, "Faggot." Unfortunately for him, he happened to say it just as he and his friend passed the two football players. Bob and Quentin, enraged at the insult to their godlike mentor, each grabbed one of the jocks, whom they outweighed by quite a bit.
"That's not a nice thing to say," Quentin told his blond captive baseball player. The tall jock struggled in his arms, but he was no match for the 300-plus pound lineman. "Just because someone likes guys, that's no reason not to show him respect. Just because you're bigger and stronger," he said, ripping the jock's shirt off and tossing it aside, revealing a nicely ripped physique covered with a light blond fuzz, "doesn't mean you should look down on another guy. Just because you're an athlete," he continued, lifting the blond off the ground like a feather and tearing his pants down to his ankles, "doesn't mean you're better than he is." Quentin tore off the player's underpants, revealing an average-size dick and balls shrunk somewhat in fear. "In fact, you're no match for him in any way." Other students had stopped to watch the situation unfold. One of them gave a good-natured wolf-whistle when the blond's pants came down. His powerful legs and size-13 shoes flailed helplessly like a little boy's in QUentin's grasp.
Richie came over, gazed at the two helpless baseball players, and whispered something into Quentin's ear, then into Bob's. Bob tore the shirt off the innocent-looking chestnut-haired jock he was holding, showing a well worked-out chest and six-pack but no body hair. Then Bob and QUentin dropped their baseball players to the ground. Quentin reached down and grabbed the shirt he had torn off the blond. "We're taking your shirts down to RTR house. When you're thought about what you did wrong, and you're ready to apologize, come on down and we'll give them back." The humiliated jocks got up and ran towards their dorm.
Later, when they got their nerve up, they would go down to fraternity row to retrieve their shirts. But when they got there, the brothers would be ready for them. At Richie's direction, the two were soon knocked out and dragged to the initiation room. When they regained consciousness, they discovered they were now RTRs and would be trained as playtoys for Bob and Quentin, and for anyone else in the frat that wanted them. And to them, it only seemed fair, considering their offense against a truly superior being. To help their new brothers, they were also happy to provide information on their fellow baseball players. No one from the baseball team had ever pledged RTR before, so this information, gathered from last season's team showers, would be invaluable in finding suitable additional RTR candidates, from top-ranked to bottom.
This would also extend the Grand Master's influence into yet another campus sports team before its season began. Could he improve their performance even as he changed their outlook on life?
The football season was progressing much better than expected. The team was undefeated, having beaten several teams rated higher than themselves. The following Saturday, the team would play the team ranked sixth nationally, and was expected to lose by at least 21 points. For that reason (and of course for other, more secret ones), the team had been pushing themselves especially hard this week, and practice ran late.
Last off the field and into the locker room came team cocaptain and center, Clay Carver. As befit the position he played, Clay was the biggest and most muscular member of the team. He was also the heart of the team, pushing them to work hard each day, and working hardest himself, leading by example. That's why the team looked up to him so much. He ran a large hand through his sweaty, longish thick black hair, wondering if the team had what it took to survive the upcoming game.
As the team began to undress, they heard the now-dreaded sound of the locker room door slamming against the doorjamb. As the team looked on fearfully, the entire high school chess club strode arrogantly into the room, kicking objects on the floor out of their way as they walked by. One of the younger club members positioned himself by the door, another at the entrance to the shower room, to stop the players from escaping. One bulky lineman who tried to slip out to the showers was grabbed by his jockstrap by a skinny high school sophomore, and forcibly dragged back into the room, struggling and straining his muscles helplessly all the way. The sophomore dumped him on the floor and smirked at him contemptuosly, his braces glinting in his mouth. The lineman cowered at his feet, afraid of a casual steel-like kick that might cause him agonizing pain.
Clancy, the chess club president and a short pudgy senior, standing in the center of the room, pushed his glasses up his nose. "Okay, sissies, listen up. First order of business, this weekend's game. Our club has a lot of money riding on that game. We've bet on you guys to win, at 20 to 1 odds. I'm here to offer you an incentive. If you win, we WON'T line you up on your backs on the quad and sit on your faces while you squirm under us, in front of the whole school. We will refrain from climbing onto your shoulders and riding you around the campus, steering you by gripping your necks tightly with our powerful legs. We will NOT force you to clean off the soles of our shoes with your tongues at the student center. We may even not strip you to your jockstraps, tie you to the fence around the campus, and paint 'LOSERS' on your chests. So there are all KINDS of reasons for you to win!"
The team pictured each of these possibilities, and they knew the chess geeks could easily do all that to them, and more. Each resolved internally to work out and practice every spare moment until Saturday. No other activity or social event was even close in priority.
"Next item. You guys haven't met Robbie yet," Clancy said, indicating a slightly built boy with a mop of straight blond hair and a naughty grin, wearing a tank top despite the brisk weather. He was 14 but looked younger, with smooth pale skin all over, and just a few wisps of blond hair visible in his armpit. "Robbie's new to the club, he's a freshman, and he's gay. When he first came to us, he was really shy, didn't start conversations, and was embarrassed about his sexuality. Since he joined the club, he's gained a lot of self confidence. He's decided to make one of you guys his sex slave, so he can show who's boss, and get off whenever he wants. He's here to pick the guy. Let's start with the captains. Sullivan and Carver, front and center!"
Jim Sullivan, the tall red-haired starting quarterback, had been edging towards the locker room door, hoping to make a break for it and run for help. When he heard Clancy call for him, he had just reached the door and yanked it open. Immediately, the sophomore guarding the door kneed him in the groin, and he collapsed to the floor. The sophomore then dragged him, groaning in pain, to the center of the room, depositing him in front of Clancy, who completely immobilized him with one well-worn sneaker on his neck.
"Now, now, Sullivan, that's no way to behave before your betters. You need to learn your place." Clancy lifted the dazed Sullivan off the ground with one hand, and tore off his practice uniform with the other. He then sat on the bench and placed Sullivan across his knees. "Misbehaving boys need to be spanked." He raised his arm and swatted Sullivan over and over, with Sullivan screaming in pain as his ass turned red, his long muscled legs twisting and writhing in his agony.
The team watched all this in horror, humiliated at the power this pudgy kid had over their team captain. One team member, however, had another kind of problem, a much bigger one. Clay Carver, the other captain, having already removed his uniform at the time of the geeks' invasion, stood by his locker wearing nothing but his jockstrap. As he watched Sullivan being spanked, a side of him he had tried to keep hidden began to emerge. For while Clay, in his sizable glory, was the team's inspiration, mentor to younger players, and a figure all admired, he had a secret submissive side. He had always secretly dreamed of being physically dominated by an even bigger man, forced to serve at the sexual pleasure of a muscle giant. He watched all the WWF competitions on television, and fantasized himself as the well-trained and often punished housebitch of some of the biggest wrestlers he saw. He jerked off regularly to pictures in wrestling magazines, imagining himself being spanked across the laps of the dominating figures he saw in the photos.
As he watched Sullivan's spanking, and knowing he was next for humiliation, Clay helplessly began to throw a substantial rod. He tried his best to cover himself with his big hands, but his huge cock refused to remain confined in his jockstrap, popped out and stood prominently against his stomach. As Clancy rolled Sullivan, whimpering and rubbing his sore ass, off his lap and onto the floor, he looked over to Clay and was astonished by what he saw. "Hey guys, look at Carver! He's really getting off on this! He's really a fag!" Everyone in the room stared at Clay in amazement. Clay was racked with shame, but the humiliation only served to increase his helpless excitement, and he became even harder.
Robbie, the delicate gay freshman, strode cockily over to Clay and shouted "Attention!" Clay stood as stiffly as he could, looking straight ahead, hands by his side, huge biceps bulging in both his arms and legs, cock straining against his stomach. As Robbie walked around and behind his new potential acquisition, he swatted him on the buns with his relative super-strength. Clay winced in pain but did not cry out. Delighted, Robbie announced, "This one is mine." Jim Sullivan, helplessly pinned to the floor under Clancy's sneakered foot, could not help a sigh of relief. But Clay's excitement only increased, because he realized his impossible fantasy was about to come true. It was not exactly as he imagined it; instead of submitting to a huge, muscled wrestler, he was about to become the bitch of a 5'3" innocent blond high school freshman. The pale hand that would spank him and throw him around was only half the length of Clay's erect dick. The pink teen asshole his long tongue would get to know well would require work to penetrate. The feet under which he would occasionally lie as a footstool were smaller than his own hands. The dark afternoon stubble on Clay's face was almost more hair than Robbie had on his entire body below the top of his head. Yet the domination would be complete, and voluntary.
Seeing their captain and most admired team member voluntarily becoming the sex slave of one of their pipsqueak tormentors had a devastating psychological effect on the team. Although they were under no direct hypnotic compulsion to feel this way, each of them became slightly more resigned to submitting to the high school geeks, and more desirous of impressing and pleasing them as a way to avoid further punishment. For the coming weekend, they knew that the chess club had a lot at stake in the game, and it was far more important for the team to win in order not to harm the interests of the club members than it was to win for any of their own personal reasons. Instead of a horrible aberration, the situation now seemed much more like the natural order of things: might made right...
Gabe, the smooth compact swimmer from GK, walked towards Sig Lam house. He had been summoned by Dom to once again serve as substitute master to Dom's slave twin Tom while Dom went away. Gabe fondly remembered the weekend he had commanding Tom. The much bigger, well-muscled Tom had responded to his every wish, sometimes even before he had expressed it. Gabe had never ordered around or physically abused anyone before, but under Dom's guiding influence he had grown to enjoy his absolute power over Tom, creatively finding new ways to pick on him. And the meaner he got with Tom, the more Tom became devoted to him and filled with lust for him.
Gabe was a friendly, easygoing guy, well-liked by his frat brothers. He had participated in many house activities in the days before the Grand Master arrived and permanently changed the nature of being a Gamma Kappa. Since the change was hypnotically designed not to be noticed, it had only seemed natural to Gabe when JJ, a well-toned but rather plain-faced Sig Lam, walked into his room, took over the bed, and moved him to a bare old mattress on the floor. JJ also ordered Gabe to take his own clothes out of the closet and dresser and pile them on the floor, then go over to Sig Lam, get JJ's stuff, bring it over and hang it neatly in the closet and fold it into the dresser drawers. Gabe didn't mind any of this, or think it unusual: he simply owed this to his new roommate because he was a Sig Lam.
JJ turned out to be rather slovenly, and given to farting quite loudly and frequently. Once during a particularly extended session of flatulence, JJ nastily cracked that Gabe should learn to like the smell of his farts. of course, Gabe helplessly mistook this remark for an order. Over time, through sheer force of will, he actually began to look forward to his roommate's farts, savoring the odor and trying to guess from it what JJ had eaten at his previous meal. After a good fart, JJ would look over at Gabe's sniffing, appreciative face and snigger, thinking, what a dweeb.
As an active, dynamic personality, Gabe had tended to dominate friendships as well as relationships with women. However, as time went by, and JJ's low-key but steady assault on his original personality took its toll, Gabe's forceful will faded, along with his masculinity, and he became quieter, more deferential to others and less and less interested in sex.
When Dom first brought swim-teammate Gabe over to Sig Lam to serve as Tom's temporary master, it marked a turnaround in Gabe's personality trends. Dom had reawakened Gabe's active nature, and with his instructions had hypnotically laced it with a small but growing element of sadism to perfectly complement Tom's artificially-induced masochism. Gabe grew to enjoy barking impossible orders at Tom, as much as Tom enjoyed obeying them, and being severely punished when he failed. Tom secretly thrilled to the occasional surprise boot to the groin, to having his hair grabbed and face forced into Gabe's sweaty armpit or crotch for tongue-cleaning duty, to being forced to stand at attention for hours while Gabe studied or watched television, and being beaten when he faltered for a moment. He especially liked Gabe's trick, learned from Dom, of riding Tom's naked muscular body on all fours around the room with liberal use of a riding crop. It put his back in constant contact with Gabe's small but (to Tom) perfectly-formed cock. For his part, Gabe, although straight by his original nature, loved to watch Tom's considerable muscles flex and ripple under his direct command, as if they were extensions of his own body.
While he had been dubious when originally assigned his mastering task by Dom, Gabe actually suffered quite a letdown when Dom returned from his weekend out of town. When Gabe got back to GK, his roommate JJ noticed the change immediately. While Gabe continued to follow JJ's orders, there was no longer deference and admiration in his bearing. It was more like he was just doing his job for someone who was only technically superior. But JJ, being both straight and not particularly sadistic, let it slide. As long as Gabe obeyed his instructions, he was still getting what he wanted out of being boss of the room.
Now it was a month later, and Dom had phoned Gabe and told him to come to Sig Lam for more "riding duty". As he neared the house, he absent-mindedly rubbed his crotch as he remembered the thrill of his last "duty" weekend. Would this become a regular occurrence? He could only hope so.
As he walked in the twins' room, he noticed Tom hooded and chained, as usual, to Dom's bed, but also hogtied on the floor. When Tom saw Gabe, he got noticeably excited. His two most revered people in the world were in the room with him, and even in his awkward position it was impossible to contain his happiness.
"Look at that piece of shit. He actually loves all this. Pain is now pleasure to him," said Dom, with a powerful pointed-boot-tip kick to Tom's side. "I really got off on training him, wearing him down, destroying and rebuilding his personality, but it's done now. He's completely broken. Where's the fun in that?"
Gabe was at a loss for words. He looked down at Tom. After months of serving Dom and working out as his two exclusive activities, Tom was in hugely better shape than his twin. As Tom gazed up at Gabe with love in his eyes, visible even through the hood eyeholes, Gabe couldn't understand what Dom's problem was. What could be better than to have a handsome, worked-out guy that lived only to serve your every wish?
"Next week is spring break. I'm tired of being stuck with this piece of shit. For me it's become like a job, it's like I can never leave. I want to head out and train someone new, break his spirit and destroy his will. I'm going to use the rest of this week and spring break week to try it. There's a guy back home I went to high school with who used to look at Tom and me when he thought we weren't looking. Of course, at the time I didn't know the full extent of my powers, so I didn't even give him a second thought. This guy is nearly a foot taller than me, and stronger, and I've imagined working on him until he submits. I think I know enough about his weaknesses to get him completely under my thumb.
"I'm going to leave you here the whole time with Tom. If my deal doesn't work out, I'll be back after spring break. If it does, well, you might not see me for awhile. That tall friend back home is from a really rich family, and he just got his trust fund when he turned 21. Once he's my property, I'll make him sign everything he has over to me, and he'll be glad to do it just so I'll keep on kicking him in the balls the way he needs it." Dom paused, excitedly imagining his 6'7" friend standing at attention as best he could, a sheen of fear-produced sweat covering his torso, 12-inch vibrating dildo up his ass and ball spreader in front, cock ring keeping him painfully erect, waiting for further abuse. Standing naked and helpless in the dark basement of what was formerly his own expensive home, now Dom's, where he was the full-time slave while Dom and his fellow master guests partied and lived upstairs.
"If that happens, this room and my brother are both yours. I won't need this damn school anymore, I'll be set. You might have to dress him up to take a picture of the two of you and e-mail it to our folks so they won't think something's wrong. I'll cover you with them when I get back home, let them know you're Tom's new best friend. That way you can make it look like he's keeping in touch even though he can hardly talk anymore." Tom gazed uncomprehendingly but lovingly up at his twin. The gods in his life were communing, there was no need for his worthless self to listen to their important masterful talk. He probably wouldn't understand it anyway.
Gabe couldn't believe his luck. His life had changed in the space of a few minutes. He would be a man again, a dominating, loved and respected, masculine man. He would be away from the demanding JJ for awhile, maybe even forever, which would be a good thing since he no longer thought of JJ with the complete respect he used to have for him. He couldn't even remember why he had held that respect. Gabe held one booted foot up near tied-up Tom's mouth, and Tom began eagerly licking it.
"OK, I'm taking off now." Dom grabbed his bag. "I'm sure you two will be happy together. See ya." As Dom opened the door and stepped into the hall, he nearly tripped over the Grand Master, who had been listening at the door. A few control words and Dom's conscious mind went blank. Within thirty seconds, all three frat boys were in the same state.
When they woke up, ALL their worlds had changed. As he had hoped, Gabe was now permanently installed in what had been the twins' room. He was now no longer a Gamma Kappa, but a Sig Lam. In fact, he had ALWAYS been a Sig Lam, as far as he or anyone else could remember. That put him on an equal status with the others living in the Sig Lam house, and made him the superior of any GK. After a hypnozonked JJ brought Gabe's stuff over from the GK house without really knowing why, Gabe settled into his new room and began his life with Tom. He removed Tom's chain, but ordered him to behave as if it was still in place. When Tom moved beyond the zone, Gabe would kick and punch him while he stood with his arms helplessly by his side. On the odd occasion, Tom would intentionally step past the line just to receive the punishment he so craved. After several months, Tom's memory of Dom faded, and all he could think about was Gabe. For him, all was right with the world.
Meanwhile, over at the GK house, a new living arrangement suddenly materialized in a room on the second floor. Two of the mildest-mannered GK roommates found themselves with a new guest in their room. Cute, blond, about 5'8", he was naked except for a leather hood, chained to one of their two bed frames, and he was clearly a mute, unable to talk, write, or even form words with his mouth, although great fear and anger could be seen to alternate in his eyes. For reasons they couldn't understand, the GK roommates found increasingly great excitement in taking out their day-to-day frustrations on the senses and private parts of their new friend. While they were clearly new at it, the sophistication of their methods of torment grew each day, and more and more often these otherwise straight GKs would sport hard-ons during their activities. Soon, they were spending less and less time away from their room in the evening, and finding more ways to make the torture more sadistically interesting. As their lives changed, the companionship of Women became a distant memory, seemingly irrelevant to their pleasure.
Dom could not believe the situation. Here he was, imprisoned in a room with two sissy GKs, who were torturing him in ways he had never even thought of in his days with Tom. And for some reason he was totally unable to talk, and pathologically afraid to make any noise that might draw attention to himself. He knew that if he could speak, he could control the roommates, since he was a Sig Lam and they were GKs. If he could just talk to them, he could get them to free him. He would then have them go downtown to a leather store and buy the largest, most painful-looking whips they could find, come back to the room, strip naked, and use them on each other. One would be commanded to bend over and expose his ass and lower back, then CRACK! the other would be compelled to deliver a full-force blow. Then the first would bend over, and CRACK! Dom would greatly enjoy watching each one in turn sorrowfully inflict as much pain as he could on his roommate, while Dom sat on the couch jerking off and giving them their orders. But it was not to be. Dom's speech center was simply not functioning.
You see, the Grand Master kept watch over his experiments, particularly his early, favored ones. And one element of the GM's philosophy was, you're responsible for taking care of your human property. You can belittle your brother, then beat him, torture him, and ultimately enslave him, but once you've done that, you can't simply walk away. Therefore, the GM terminated his twins experiment and began a new one: can two natural bottoms successfully enslave a top who has lost his power to command? Will the former top grow to accept his situation after awhile, say a few months, or will he fight it every inch of the way? Only time would tell.
"Sorry, man, I don't know why -- unghhhh -- I'm doing this," said Rob, as he tightened his elbow's grip around the neck of his fraternity brother Preston, on the carpeting of the assembly room of the Tau Epsilon house. Tau Epsilon was the prototypical "dumb jock" frat which specialized in those on athletic scholarships with low academic expectations.
"Unhhh... It's... unhhh... OK, man, unhhh... can't help myself... unhhh..." gasped Preston, as he struggled with all his might to release Rob's iron grip. His long legs, muscles flexing, probed for a weakness in Preston's position, found one, and he flipped Rob over. Soon Preston had Rob helplessly pinned under him, to the accompanying cheers of the others in the room. At that moment, both Preston and Rob stood up, eyes glazed, and walked over to sit on the floor at the feet of Preston's happy younger brother.
All around the room, similar matches were taking place as part of "Little Brother Appreciation Weekend." Of all the frats on campus, Tau Epsilon had the greatest number of members with younger brothers 14 and older -- there were 26 such members -- and the TE leadership, after a few visits from the Grand Master's older brother who was also president of Sig Lam, decided to use frat funds to fly or bus in all the little brothers that would accept the invitation for the event. With such generous terms, nearly all the little brothers that were contacted did accept.
"Little Brother Appreciation Weekend" had been arranged by the GM's older brother as a tribute to his own sibling, and to demonstrate to him that he was creatively worthy of his responsibility as second in command. Once everyone had arrived, the opening session began in TE's downstairs assembly room. The entire group of big and little brothers was provided Kool-Aid and subjected to the standard induction by the GM's brother. About half and hour later, to test their readiness, the brother had ordered everyone to change right there out of their clothes and into the official uniform of the weekend, which was a tight black Speedo one size too small that each was to find in a bin. These had been purchased with frat money for all the participants. No one had batted an eyelash when the change order had been given, and everyone made the change completely un-selfconsciously. Obviously the GM's brother had learned over time how to perform a first-rate induction.
Once the group was ready, the Grand Master himself made his entrance, and stepped onto the podium. He proceeded to explain the rules: for the entire day, while inside the Tau Epsilon house, each younger brother had complete physical control of his big brother. They could use them as their puppet "players" in a game of domination: anyone their brother could establish physical control over would also become one of their players. The two boys that gained control of the most brothers would win "freedom of Tau Epsilon", allowing them to come back and boss around the frat members any way they liked, provided they did no permanent damage to them. The rest of the participants would forget that the event had ever taken place.
And so the wrestling matches had begun, with the losing brother changing teams after each victory. So far, the biggest "stables" were being assembled by 16-year-old Dino Rizzo and 17-year-old Patrick Connell, whose big-bruiser brothers were the biggest, strongest muscle jocks in the frat. As their slave player collections grew, Dino and Patrick had to make decisions on match-ups of their secondary players to give their own big brothers a rest once in awhile. They had great fun using the bigger, older frat members as their toys, as in a game of marbles, to capture more and more toys.
While all this was going on, upstairs a very different scene was unfolding. Two of the visiting younger brothers had spotted each other as gay from the very start, seemingly the only two who were. After the matches had begun, they had quietly slipped out of the assembly room with their older brothers, and up to Vince's brother's room. As Vince and Jimmy held hands and looked into each others' eyes, each described out loud what he wanted to do to the other, and immediately their straight older brothers, to their horror, found themselves forced to act out their little brothers' fantasies wholeheartedly. "Oh, man, I'm going to shove my tongue down your throat and kiss you forever," moaned Vince, and instantly Vince's brother was forced to shove his long tongue down the throat of Jimmy's brother as the two straight frat boys engaged in a long, sloppy kiss.
"Mmmmm, I really want to suck your cock through that Speedo and get it hard," said Jimmy, and of course his brother soon found his mouth "hoovering" around the front of the Speedo hugging Vince's brother.
After a few minutes, Vince said, "OK, it's hard enough, now I want to plow your ass as long and hard as possible!" Vince's brother stood, stripped off his Speedo, positioned himself behind Jimmy's brother, and began to give him the first assfucking he had ever received in his life.
As they watched their playthings in action, Vince mused, "Man, I'd give anything to win that prize. Imagine coming back here and using all those big jocks as our personal fucktoys. Did you see how that tight Speedo on Dino's brother was making him semi-hard, and how he was having quite a time keeping that huge cock of his from poking out of it? All wasted on a room mostly full of straight guys. No, no, do it faster, in, out, in, out," this last to his brother, who looked up fearfully and then was forced to increase the pace of his cock's pistoning.
"Yeah, but there's no way we can win. You saw those guys downstairs, especially Dino's and Patrick's brothers. I mean, my bro here is a swimmer and pretty strong, but in sheer size and strength he's no match for those football and basketball dudes downstairs. Neither is yours. Looks like we're doomed to forget this incredible day. Okay, bro, get ready to cum BIG when you feel that big cock cum inside you."
"Unless, unless. I'm thinking. There's GOT to be a way to do this, it's the biggest opportunity of our lives so far, we can't miss it. OK you guys, it's time -- CUM NOW!"
Immediately, both straight frat brothers came at their brothers' commands. Load after load spurted out from their helpless controlled cocks. When they had finished their last spasm, they pulled apart from each other in revulsion.
"Now, now, is that any way to treat your fellow love bunny?" said Vince. "You've got cum and sweat all over each other, and I think you should lick each other clean, don't you?"
"Yeah," added Jimmy. "And pay special attention with your tongues to any nooks and crannies where cum or sweat might be hiding -- armpits, crotch, behind the ears, between the toes, in the asscrack, anywhere. And if your mouth starts getting dry, there's plenty of cum on the floor to moisten it with." The two older brothers drew together, each one's face in the other one's groin, to begin their intense tongue cleaning task.
As Vince watched the brothers' desperately intense tongue-probing performance, the idea dawned on him with the proverbial suddenness of a lightbulb going on. "I'VE GOT IT! We're going to WIN this thing!"
Jimmy was startled. "But how?" Vince explained his idea, and Jimmy lit up immediately. "I think you're right. I don't see why it wouldn't work. It follows the rules exactly..."
Once their brothers had finished cleaning each other up and were back in their Speedos, they were given their instructions, and all four went back down to the assembly room. By this time, the brothers of Dino and Patrick were cleaning the floor with their last opponents, and Dino and Patrick were high-fiving each other, ready to claim the victory, and the "freedom of Tau Epsilon" that would come with it. Soon, Dino's brother had completed the pin to claim Dino's last slave, and less than a minute later, Patrick's muscle bro had taken the very last remaining frat member for his kid brother's collection. At that exact moment, Vince's brother stepped forward and grabbed Dino with one arm, and put his other hand around Dino's mouth before he could cry out. At the same time, Jimmy's brother did the same with Patrick. Since neither could call for help in time, their slave packs just sat staring for the thirty seconds or so it took Vince's and Jimmy's big brothers to completely subdue a totally surprised Dino and Patrick. The flailing young guys were no match for the larger college athletes. once pinned and released, their eyes glazed over and they came and sat at the feet of Vince and Jimmy, soon followed by their respective slave packs. Vince and Jimmy had triumphed.
Vince had Dino's brother walk up to him and stand at attention, and Jimmy did the same with Patrick's brother. "Get hard!" commanded Vince, and immediately, without even being touched, the Italian's huge cock began to grow impossibly beyond the bounds of the Speedo that failed utterly to contain it. Much the same thing happened with Patrick's brother at Jimmy's command, his cock growing from a bright red bush of pubic hair that became visible as his Speedo was brushed easily aside.
"Well, I think I know who's going to be giving the performance of their lives the next time we come here," commented Vince, with a satisfied sigh.
At that moment, the Grand Master came in the door, applauding. "Great work, you guys. A perfect example of nonlinear thinking. I knew you could do it, of course. Why do you think I let there be two winners? One for each of the fully out gay younger brothers. Oh, there are a couple of other gay boys here, but they haven't fully accepted it yet."
Flush with victory, Vince beamed, and found the courage to ask, "Just out of curiosity, why are you doing this?"
"Well, if you don't like this idea, you won't remember it when you leave, so I can tell you. I already fully control three other fraternities at this school, and several sports teams. I'm trying to expand my reach, but there's only one of me, well I guess two with my brother, and that just isn't enough to keep expanding and reinforcing the control. I'm looking for truly motivated helpers that are smart enough to be part of my team. I think you can see that the rewards are incredible. So what do you think?"
"But we don't live around here," noted Jimmy.
"Well, I'm sure Dino's and Patrick's brothers could give you the use of their rooms while they slept on the floor. In fact, I think those two could become your full-time slaves if you'd like. They're both here on football scholarships, so their time could be evenly divided between football practice and seeing to your every need. After all, they're not expected to do much in classes. They won't provide much in the way of mental stimulation, but they've got the full collection of orifices to be used. They're also strong, so you could pose them around the room and use them as furniture, say as a chair, a desk, or a footstool, and they could hold that position for hours without moving. A bit of work for their muscles, but after all, that's what they're here for, isn't it?"
Vince savored the possibilities... and yet... "But we haven't finished high school."
"I'll bet once I show you some of my methods we could enlist your brothers to help 'convince' your parents to let you take a year or so off before finishing high school. But if you prefer, each of you lives near a sizable college -- see, I've done my research -- and those colleges each have chapters of one or more of my fraternities. We could use that connection to introduce you, and see if you can take control of the local chapter near home while still going to school. If you pass that test, well, who knows how far you could get.
"Think about it. In the meantime, come back anytime and enjoy the 'freedom of Tau Epsilon'. You've earned it. And when you're ready to get these two big guys into action," he said, indicating Dino's and Patrick's still-erect, posed-statue-like brothers, "I'll want to stop by and see what you come up with."
"How do we get in touch with you?"
"Don't worry, I'll know exactly when you come by here next. These Tau Epsilons may not know that I exist, but they all know when to call me. OK, let's clear everyone's minds, replace their memories with those of a normal friendly family weekend, and send them home. I'll show you how."
"Over here... get a load of this!" Cory hissed to his friend Bart at the burger joint. The two 16-year-old friends, plus Cory's extremely tall and lanky 17-year-old brother Ken the assistant manager, Hal, and Billy were working the afternoon shift. Hal, 22, with a face that was model-like handsome atop a wiry body with a slight build, was the former president of the Gamma Kappa fraternity, an academic star who, oddly, had dropped out of school a month before graduating and given up his medical school acceptance to work at the joint. Billy, 16, freckled, short and young-looking for his age but with a domineering attitude, was the younger brother of Brooke, the current president (and absolute master) of Gamma Kappa, on loan from Sig Lam, the fraternity that now secretly 'owned' GK. Hal had annoyed Brooke during the Sig Lam takeover of his fraternity, so Brooke had programmed a few changes into Hal that completely altered his life.
It was the relatively quiet period long after normal lunch hours, but before anyone came in for dinner. Most of the team was on clean-up duty, while Ken waited at the counter for any customers. Bart came over to the men's room door where Cory had called him. Cory cracked the door and they both looked in. There, on his hands and knees on the floor, scrubbing the tiles with a toothbrush, was Hal the former GK president. His pants and underwear had been pulled down to his knees. Standing over him, with an Osiris sneaker firmly planted in his buttcrack, was Billy. As Cory and Bart watched, little Billy roughly probed Hal's asshole with the tip of his sneaker while Hal scrubbed. Suddenly, Billy snidely remarked to Hal, "You missed a spot," and applied pressure with his sneaker, causing Hal to sprawl flat on the hard floor. "Yes, sir, sorry, sir," said Hal, looking fearfully up at his tormentor.
Cory let the door shut. "Incredible. Something way weird is going on with those two. You've seen how Hal always acts so submissive around Billy, but till now I never saw how far it goes when they're alone. This sure seems to confirm my theory that something big is happening over at the university. I mean, why else would Hal drop out like that and come to work here, under the thumb of Billy?"
"Maybe he's just a perv that gets off on getting pushed around by other guys," opined Bart.
"Maybe, but don't you think it's a pretty big coincidence that the guy that's pushing him around just happens to be the little brother of the guy that took his place as frat president? And there's more: last week I ran into Louis Ducros coming out of the RTR house on frat row. You know him from our gym class? He's a sophomore, metalhead, another non-athlete like us. He seemed taken aback to see me walking by, and quickly came up to me to ask me not to tell anyone where he had been. I agreed, but only if he would tell me what he was doing in there. He was VERY reluctant to tell me, and I had to threaten several times to tell everyone where he had been, even though I had NO idea why he was so concerned about anyone knowing. He then told me an incredible story, about how everyone at RTR was ranked by cock size, from the president on down, and he bragged about how he had several personal small-dicked college slaves in there to use whenever he wanted. He went on and on about what went on in that house. I just naturally assumed he was telling me a completely bullshit story, but then I got to thinking.
"The whole thing reminds me alot of a friend I had at school a couple of years ago, Dennis Lang. We met in the seventh grade, and we hung out together because we were never popular at school, too geeky, too weird, too smart for our own good, I guess. Later we discovered we were both gay, and though we experimented a bit with each other, we really weren't each other's type. We both liked muscled older dudes, and we would spend hours comparing fantasies involving guys over at the high school, usually the star athletes. Nothing much unusual happened until our last year of junior high.
"That year, when we were 13, we took control of our older brothers. Dennis had somehow gotten hold of a drug of some sort from his dad's lab that made people more than normally suggestible, and according to him, when you used the right hypnotic methods along with the drug, once you made the suggestions they went in deeper and lasted longer than any previous drug. I don't know how he got hold of the stuff with no one noticing, or how he got a steady supply. Now that I think about it, he probably used it on his parents to help him get it and cover his tracks. He even gave me a good supply, which I've used ever since to keep control of my brother. His obedience has gotten so built in and natural, though, that I don't have to reinforce him often.
"Our brothers used to pick on us, nothing really bad, just normal big brother stuff. But it was still humiliating being pushed around. It was worse because we're gay and our brothers aren't. I remember the hot summer day at Dennis's house when he first showed me what he had done. I got there early because we had plans to head for the county fair. We were going to take the bus over, but Dennis called his older brother Jeff into his room. I was surprised when Jeff came -- he wasn't exactly in the habit of doing what his punk little brother told him to do -- and I was even more surprised when Jeff agreed to cancel the day he had planned with his girlfriend to drive us to the fair. Dennis even asked him for $20 and without a moment's hesitation he took out his wallet and gave it to him. Dennis then ordered Jeff to go back to his room and wait for us, and Jeff just turned around and walked out the door.
"I was amazed. Dennis explained what he had done, and asked me if I wanted the same service from my own brother Ken. I thought for about one second and then said sure. Dennis said that after the fair, he would have Jeff take us over to my house to begin work on Ken, and he would show me what to do. I can't tell you how excited I was to begin the process of converting the big goof from my biggest annoyance to my helpless servant. By the end of the summer, he did anything for me, and my slightest whim was more important to him that anything in his own life. Our parents thought it was just great that we were now getting along after years of one-sided fights. If they knew what was really happening they wouldn't have been so happy.
"Dennis and I experimented on our brothers for a few months to figure out dosages, how long the stuff lasted, how well it worked with which hypnotic methods, and how far we could go with the commands we gave them. Once we learned pretty much how things worked, Dennis suggested we move on to bigger things. We sat around and compared our fantasies, trying to come up with something way kewl. By now we were 14 and starting our freshman year of high school, and our hormones and fantasies had grown quite a bit. What we finally did was, we spiked the water of the varsity soccer team just before practice ended, and once the drug kicked in about when they had finished their showers, we went back in and... Wow, I'm getting hard just remembering all this! We 'programmed' them so that at a command from either of us, they would all become horny puppies, crawling on all fours yipping and yapping, sniffing and licking each others' crotches and asses. When we snapped them out of it, they didn't remember anything. When I got home that afternoon, I spent HOURS jerking off, thinking of the sight of the team crawling over each other like that.
"When we went back a week later and hit their water again, Dennis clearly had a plan to move the project along. He had them recognize us as the 'alpha dogs', and put the team in charge of its two senior co-captain 'beta dogs'. Those seniors were muscled and gorgeous -- one had the most beautiful, powerful ass I had ever seen -- and in their normal lives they had real commanding leadership attitudes which earned the respect of the entire team. But when we would put them in 'dog mode', we would stand there, our somewhat skinny freshman bodies at attention with our hands on our hips, and these beta 'muscledogs' would crawl over to us and sniff and lick our feet, crotches, and asses. As a sign of their submission, they would whimper as each of us powerful alphas placed a foot on the neck of his beta, claiming his total obedience. You can imagine what they would have done if they consciously knew any of this was going on -- they would have beaten us to a pulp -- but in dog mode, we were their godlike superior beings.
"We then used the betas to arrange a hierarchy of the whole rest of the team; with just a few yips and yaps, they communicated who commanded who, who sniffed whose butt. I remember the 'runt' of the team, a freshman like us, who ended up licking a lot of asses, since anyone had the right to make him do it.
"Two weeks later, Dennis came in with another brilliant idea. He made the players unable to cum without his permission, which of course made it impossible for them to cum except at the practice that we snuck into once each week. Can you imagine what that did to those poor guys? No matter what they did the rest of the week -- jerking themselves off, or hand jobs or blow jobs or even sex with their girlfriends -- they could NEVER cum. It must have driven that group of guys nuts, I mean, imagine your sexual frustration increasing day by day with no way to release it, and having no idea why it's happening. Then without knowing how, they would get their release after practice on that one day each week. I can tell you, that idea of Dennis's REALLY moved up the testosterone level at our command performances. They would blow huge quantities of cum all over the locker room at the first sniff or lick of their cocks by a subordinate dog. That lesser dog would then have to lick up his superior's cum from the floor or anywhere else it landed.
"A couple of weeks after that, Dennis's cruel streak came out even more. He changed the situation so a team member could only cum while fucking a subordinate puppy's ass. Since the freshman runt had no subordinate, we let him cum when the last guy fucked him. Now remember, these are mostly straight guys, they're not getting pleasure from being fucked, but they're obedient to their superior dogs, and the once-a-week release is so wonderful when they get to fuck their subordinate that they're learning to love it, even crave it. Subconsciously, of course.
"Outside of practice, we began to notice that the team's puppy ranking relationship had started to carry over into their regular lives. Those who were higher-ranking puppies while in our hypnotic control started expecting and getting favors from their subordinates -- rides, money, car washings, even use of girlfriends -- when not in our control. Dennis thought this was the hottest thing, even hotter than our weekly use of our muscular betas for our own pleasure. I really enjoyed the sex; before all this I had really had none to speak of, and now each week my senior beta musclepuppy would come up to me on all fours, tongue hanging out while I petted him, totally eager to please me in any way. Dennis was clearly more into the control; having a locker room full of athletic guys under his complete command was the biggest turn-on for him.
"When the season was over, the team's practices -- and drugs and reinforcement -- ended, and we generally left them alone. But once in awhile, Dennis would walk up to the senior who had been his personal beta dog and, right in front of his senior friends, ask him for outrageous favors, like having him give up a weekend and drive Dennis to visit his aunt and uncle 500 miles away, or asking him to give Dennis money for expensive skating gear, and the guy would go pale, but he'd agree to do it, right there in front of his friends. I'm sure he had no idea why he was agreeing to it, except this respected senior leader mysteriously felt leftover fear and respect for this skinny freshman."
"Wow, incredible. I'm getting WAY hot just hearing the story."
"Well, that was nothing compared to what Dennis did to the school's basketball team the next term --"
"Wasn't that the year we went undefeated during the regular season?"
"Yup, and it was no coincidence. Dennis had obviously thought long and hard about what to do before the season started. Instead of directing all the action, he actually decided to leave it up to the players to decide how to provide our entertainment. When we spiked their drinks the first time, he gave just three orders. First, he ordered the team never to notice either of us in the locker room. Second, he completely convinced the team that success on the court would come only by inflicting pain and humiliation on the team captain in the locker room. The more pain and the greater the humiliation, the greater the success. They all totally believed it, especially the captain himself."
"Wasn't that Jack Hulse? Who went on to Duke?"
"That's right, the only 6'9" player in our league at the time, and he wasn't the skinny rail type even in high school. He had incredible upper body strength and build, and I got off just watching the muscles in his legs flex as he ran the length of the court. And that rich chestnut hair! Anyway, Dennis's third order was whispered just to him: whenever he was on the receiving end of pain and humiliation at the hands of his teammates, he would get an incredible hardon that wouldn't quit. This would just make the others all the more eager to step up the punishment. Later, Dennis programmed the coach and manager not find anything that happened in the locker room unusual. That was it. All we had to do was stand back and watch what happened.
"The team immediately figured out that they couldn't hurt Jack BEFORE a game without affecting his performance, so what happened was that the torture sessions came AFTER successful games. And the more successful the game, the more brutal and debasing the following 'thanksgiving' session would be. Of course, the team also couldn't do anything to Jack that would cause visible marks or bruises beyond the area covered by his uniform.
"The team started with simple stuff. They'd strip Jack, bind his wrists and ankles to the pipes in the locker room, and just beat and kick him while calling him names. One guy pulled a fat belt out of his locker and used that on Jack's butt. Of course Jack would helplessly get that immense hardon which spurred the team on even more. But Jack would grit his teeth and take it like a man, and the team won its first few games by a small margin. The team concluded they weren't humiliating Jack enough and needed to step up the action.
"Two of the team members went on a mission to the bad side of town to find sex toys they could use on Jack. With some experienced help from the clerk, they came back with an assortment of dildos, including an electric vibrating one with a remote control. They even found some device with electrodes you could attach to someone's balls and deliver a nasty shock, and one of the members set it up so the ball shocker could also be operated from the remote. You should have seen Jack's face when they first brought in the toy collection! He wasn't sure he could take it, but he knew he had to try, for the team. To increase the humiliation during the sessions, he was no longer permitted to look his teammates in the eyes, only at their feet or crotches. He had to crawl on the floor from one to the other while the remote was passed around, groveling before them. They would command him to do physically impossible things, and when he failed, he would get a ball shock, after which he would have to thank the shocker.
"The team started winning games by bigger and bigger margins, and the sessions got more and more intense. In one, a crawling Jack was ordered to learn the foot odor and taste of each teammate. Then he was blindfolded with a few very used jockstraps and ordered to identify each teammate by sniffing and licking their feet. When he got it wrong, he was delivered a ball shock. When he was right, he was rewarded with the vibrating dildo. I'll never know how he managed to keep up his hardon even when he was being shocked.
"At other post-game sessions, he'd have to clean off each sweaty team member with his tongue while having his ass kicked or beaten by the others. In one of the later sessions, he served as the team's urinal, having to lick himself and the floor clean whenever they missed his mouth on purpose.
"At away games, the team would bring a special equipment bag with his toys, and would guard the door to make sure no one from the outside would accidentally come in and see what was going on. No one ever did.
"As you know, the team ended the regular season undefeated, and went up to the state tournament. Unfortunately, in the first game we were up against a big inner-city school where basketball was everything and they had like four guys over 6'6". We did OK -- we lost by only 4 points when we were supposed to get creamed -- but we did lose.
"After that game, Dennis and I went to the locker room to see what would happen. The loss got the team all depressed, and it seemed to snap them out of their programming. After all, the season was over, and there was no reason for them to go through the ritual anyway. Jack was the most depressed of all, even though his future was bright since he had already signed with Duke. As he showered and changed, he looked longingly at one teammate after another, but he saw that no one was paying any attention to him. He got this odd look on his face, like something was missing. He dressed slowly, so he wasn't done even after the last of the other players was dressed and they had said their goodbyes. Once the locker room was empty, he grabbed the secret equipment bag, pulled out the ball shocker, the electric dildo and the remote control, and put them on. Then he went over to a laundry basket nearby and pulled out some grungy used jocks, and while he sniffed and licked them, he used the remote to shock himself and turn the dildo on and off. I mean, there he was, his huge body writhing on the floor, groaning in agony and ecstasy while he tortured himself! He missed the pain and humiliation so much he was doing it to himself. I always wondered if that desire ever wore off, or if he had to go looking for someone to abuse him when he got to Duke.
"As Dennis and I stood there watching this, all Dennis could think about right then was how hot it would have been to make the losers the absolute locker room slaves of the winners. He imagined the big inner-city dudes strutting in, all cocky and attitude, and the eyes of our team glazing over, standing at attention, ready for orders, fully, horribly aware of what was going on but unable to stop it or to disobey their 'masters'. You could tell he was thinking ahead even then."
"Wow, sounds like he could have eventually controlled the whole school. But I've never heard of the guy. What happened?"
"Dennis dropped out of school before the end of that year. He said he didn't need any more of this kid stuff, he was moving on to bigger and better things. I've seen him once or twice around town, but he was always too busy to talk to me. It didn't dawn on me what he might be up to until the university's basketball team unexpectedly had that 'dream season' last year, which got me to thinking he might be involved. Then at the start of this school year, Dennis's brother Jeff became president of the Sig Lam fraternity -- as a freshman! And now this Louis Ducros thing. I'm sure Dennis is behind all of this. Well, I'm going to see if I can smoke him out. And I know the perfect way to do it: I intend to take personal control of the RTR fraternity!"
"But... but how are you going to get control of RTR? Louis told you they were ruled by dick size. I've seen yours in the showers after gym class, and while it's not small -- what is it, 7, 8 inches? -- it can't be a match for those college guys, especially whoever must be president over there."
"Jason Cole. No, you're right, I couldn't just stroll over there and take over the place myself. And if my guess about what's happened over there is right, they're probably fully conditioned by now to reject changes in their 'programming' from others, so I doubt using the drug would work even if I had enough of it, which I don't. But I've got a secret weapon. KEN -- FRONT AND CENTER!"
Cory said the last loudly enough to cause Ken at the counter to snap to attention. His eyes glazing over, Ken abandoned a customer who was in the middle of giving his order, spun around on his heels and marched helplessly to the back of the restaurant where Cory and Bart were waiting. When he got there, he once again came to attention and awaited orders, staring straight ahead.
Bart was impressed. "So he'll do whatever you say. Kewl. Have you ever forced him to make out with you?"
"Sex? With him? Nah, look at him. Skinny from top to bottom, all hands and feet, knees and elbows. Well, OK, maybe I've used his long tongue, deep throat, and itchy asshole on a few occasions. But I prefer guys with ripped bods -- like Jason at RTR. According to Louis, Jason's gay, he lords it over the place, and everyone does everything sexual he says to do and loves it, even the straight guys. If I can impose my will on Jason, the rest of the frat will follow, willingly. And here's how I'm going to do it: EVERTHING OFF," he barked at his brother, who immediately raced to remove shoes, socks, uniform, and underwear, and came once again to rigid attention, staring straight ahead all the while.
"Oh my God," said Bart, stunned by the sight in front of him. For there, amid Ken's smooth flat chest, polelike legs and skinny arms, huge hands and feet, was the longest hose he had ever seen hanging off a guy. It looked to be about nine or ten inches, and it was entirely soft!
"All right, let's see what effect THIS has on Jason's programming!" snickered Cory, as he eagerly began plans for his takeover.