Roommate Remake

As I approached the dormitories at the beginning of my sophomore year, I have to admit I wasn’t entirely happy. I’d had such a great roommate my freshman year that I wasn’t looking forward to a new one. No, it wasn’t what you’re probably thinking. My previous contentment had nothing to do with sex, since Gerry had been totally straight and not at all physically my type; but he was smart, funny, neat, and tolerant, and, in short, perfect to live with. When he decided, over the summer, to get an apartment with his girlfriend Callie, I wanted to tear my hair.

I dragged my suitcase and foot-locker to the door of my newly assigned double, knocked perfunctorily, and let myself in. I was so busy manhandling the luggage that I didn’t even register that there was another person in the room until a voice from behind me said, “Hi. You must be Bryan. I’m Paul, your new roommate.” I turned and almost gasped with astonishment. Facing me was the handsomest guy I’ve ever seen! Paul had blond hair, short, but still long enough to comb (or rather tousle), an incredibly appealing, clean-shaven face, with the clearest blue eyes, and red, sensuous lips that had my own lips pouting with adrenalin, just from imagining contact. He wasn’t very tall, but his body was smokin’ (a fact that his tight, worn jeans and body-hugging t-shirt made unmistakable), and he was, point-for-point everything to fulfill my hottest fantasies. As I shook his hand, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven!

Within a week, that opinion changed one-eighty. Paul may have been a walking wet dream, but he was the roommate from hell! First of all, he was straight as an arrow, but also an obvious homophobe (which fortunately became apparent before I exercised the bad judgment to out myself) and seemingly somewhat less tolerant than a Shiite Muslim. His personal hygiene and grooming were just fine, but his attitude towards housekeeping would have shamed an ape. The floor was covered with dirty clothes, boxes of half-eaten fast food, empty beer and soda cans, and the room had already begun to develop a disgusting odor. His preference in music was for anything really loud and really primitive. Worst of all, though, was the snoring. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since moving in. Paul could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, would sleep through anything short of nuclear holocaust, and through it all he made sounds worse than the climactic scene from Texas Chainsaw Massacre (minus the screaming, although I was nearly ready to supply that myself). I called the housing office to see if I had any alternatives, but their attitude was “try to make it work”, by which they meant “don’t be such a pansy wimp – it’s only been a week!” I began to wonder whether I would survive the semester, and, if I were to snap and murder Paul in his bed, would the insanity wing of a maximum security prison be worse or better than my current situation.

I was having coffee with Gerry and Callie after our psych class, and bitching full out about my problems, when his chance remark changed what was to become the course of my life. “Too bad you can’t hypnotize him like Mr. Miller just did that guy Andrew in class.” (We’d just witnessed a demonstration on one of our fellow students by the young psychology Graduate Teaching Assistant.) “If he could make Andrew forget how to tie his shoes, and sing the blues whenever he heard his own name, or any of the other stuff he had him do, then it ought to possible to get your new roomie to stop snoring and living like a bear in a cave.”
I laughed, and we started talking about other things, but the idea somehow stuck. Later that afternoon, I found myself thinking, “Why couldn’t I hypnotize Paul?” I was sure I remembered exactly what Mr. Miller had said and done in his demonstration, and it would be easy enough to get a book from the library to double-check in case I’d forgotten some necessary point. The only really tricky bit would be in coming up with the right bait to get Paul to agree to the experiment. Hmmm…

Two weeks later (with me nearly at the end of my tether), I’d done as much boning up on hypnotism as possible, when Paul finally gave me the opening I needed. He slammed the economics text he’d been studying shut and wailed, “Damn it! I just can’t remember this shit!! I’m gonna tank that test totally!”
I looked up from my own reading and said coolly, “Too bad you aren’t taking psych this semester. We’ve just been learning about hypnotism, and one of the things it’s really good for is improving your memory and concentration when you study. If you knew how to hypnotize yourself, you’d remember that stuff easy as pie.”
“Do you know how?” The fish was eying the lure.
“Know how to hypnotize myself? Sure.”
“No. Do you know how to hypnotize somebody else? Me, I mean.” And he swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker.
“I could hypnotize you if you cooperated. We’ve all done it to each other a couple of times in class. You’d have to be willing to follow my instructions, though, no matter what. And I can’t guarantee you’ll go deep enough for it to do you any good, although most guys do. You want to try?”
“I have to pass this course. I’ll do whatever you tell me… just don’t make me cluck like a chicken or something else stupid.”
“Not a chance of it,” I replied, thinking, “You make too damn much noise as it is, without me adding anything to it!”
“Okay. What do I have to do then?”
“Make yourself comfortable. Kick off your shoes. I’d suggest lying down on your bed. Oh… and if you need to use the john, now would be a good time. You don’t want to be distracted later.”
“I’m fine,” Paul said. He casually swept yet another load of dirty clothes and dining debris off his rumpled bed and lay down (while I hid my automatic wince of distaste).
I looked at my roommate, lying there, ready and willing to give himself over to my control, and found my dick beginning to grow in my pants. Damn! Paul was annoying as hell, but he could still get every needle on my every dial jumping. It was as if the guy was surrounded by a perpetual, invisible cloud of pheromones that made me want him even though he wasn’t trying. I swallowed with difficulty and attempted to regain control of my voice. “Close your eyes, Paul.” He complied. “The first thing I want you to do is to pay attention to your breathing… let it become very regular… slow and even… so that each breath completely fills and then empties your lungs. Don’t strain, just make it very easy and comfortable…” I proceeded to instruct him until he was breathing more slowly (and following my pacing). Then, following the routine that I’d seen at the demonstration, I started him on progressive relaxation, working through one muscle group at a time. My roomie seemed to be getting with the program very easily. He literally appeared to sink into his mattress as his limbs and torso grew slacker and slacker. Soon I was saying, “Paul, you are so relaxed now that you can’t even think any more. Your mind is completely empty, and you will only have those ideas I tell you to have. Do you understand?”

I held my breath, but he was truly under. “I… understand…” Paul’s voice was soft and abstracted, and totally unlike his usual delivery. I tried a number of tests to make sure, but I had really had no doubt that he’d pass them all, and he did. Now it was time for business.
I did play fair. I made sure to give him a powerful dose of improved concentration and memory, just as I’d promised, but then I went on to try my hand at house-breaking him and finally, training him to roll over when he snored. It took nearly an hour of concentrated work on both our parts before I was satisfied that I’d done as much as I could. I was just about to wake him back up, when it occurred to me that I’d better leave myself a backdoor entry into his sub-conscious, in case I needed to tweak any of the post-hypnotic suggestions. After all, he wasn’t likely to give me an excuse twice. “Paul, I want you to agree that, any time you hear me say the phrase ‘trance time for you’, you’ll instantly return to this deeply hypnotized, totally obedient state, even deeper than you are now. Will you agree to that?”
“Uh-huh.” He sounded like a little kid making a promise.
“And I don’t want you to have any conscious memory of that agreement… any more than you remember anything else about what went on while you were hypnotized. So you won’t remember a thing about it. As a matter of fact, you won’t even remember that you were hypnotized, will you?”
“No, Bryan.”
I counted him back up, and Paul slowly opened his eyes. I held my breath, but the memory block had apparently taken; at any rate, he neither commented nor objected. My recently entranced roomie sat up and looked around a little confusedly. Then he got off the bed, and without wasting another moment began to pick up his dirty clothes off the floor and shove great wads of them into his hitherto unused laundry bag. I said nothing (after all, he couldn’t now realize what an unprecedented event this was), but inside I was doing a wild victory dance. Once the clothing was contained, he grabbed the wastebasket and began to toss the moldering food boxes and empty drink cans. For the first time in three weeks, I could actually see the floor! His impromptu house-cleaning accomplished, Paul went back to his books, muttering to himself, “Now maybe I can concentrate. That mess was driving me up the wall!” Yes!!!

I swear to God this was as far as I had intended to go with it – just a healthy dose of post-hypnotically reinforced civilization for my roommate to preserve my own sanity. But that night, when he was getting ready for bed, instead of just throwing off his outer clothes in seconds and disappearing under the covers, Paul was padding back and forth in his boxers, meticulously hanging up his shirt and folding his jeans. I was treated to a long and highly arousing look at his barely-clothed bod, with its flawless skin and damn-near perfect toning. Before I even realized that I meant to speak, I was already saying, “Trance time for you, Paul.” My handsome roomie froze in mid-step, his eyelids fluttering closed, the neatly folded jeans falling from his suddenly relaxed fingers. Then his head slowly relaxed forward until his chin rested on his chest. He was out.

I was almost frozen myself, in a state of shock at my own audacity. What the hell was going to do now! My reading had told me more than enough to know that I couldn’t just order Paul to have sex with me and expect to get away with it. It would take a lot of carefully planned manipulation of his attitudes and expectations, and, since I hadn’t done any planning, I didn’t know what to do next. To give myself some time to think, I started Paul on a deepening exercise. Soon he was contentedly counting himself deeper and deeper, imagining sliding down a fire-pole, with his will-power diminishing every foot (this was something I’d read in a really cool mind-control Hardy Boys parody I’d found while surfing the net).
As my entranced roomie droned on about sliding down and losing will “points”, I pondered the problem. As homophobic as Paul was, the first thing I’d need to do was simply to get him used to male-to-male physical contact in some non-threatening, non-sexual (at least to him) way. Then maybe I could proceed to add some sensuality to it gradually. So now I had a plan.
“I slide down the pole… My will is negative 2000… I must obey Bryan’s suggestions… I slide down the pole…” Paul was looking absolutely zonked, and his speech was so slurred I could scarcely make out the words.
“Paul, you can stop sliding down for now. Remain at this level.” He fell silent. “You look so tired, Paul. I’m sure all of that cleaning you did has left you feeling stiff and sore. What you really want is a good massage, isn’t it?”
“I really want a good massage.” (Okay, what he actually said was more like, “Rilly wan’ … goom’sage,” but he was accepting my suggestion as easily as if it were his own idea).
“Well go ahead and lie down on your bed. I’ll be happy to give you one, and it’ll feel absolutely great – better than anything you’ve ever felt before. And it will make you go deeper and deeper into trance with every single touch. Oh, and one more thing… From now on you’re going to find it easy to speak normally while you’re in trance. The sound of your own voice will just help you feel more relaxed and obedient.” He started to move towards his bed, when I had a daring idea. “Paul, it will be much easier to give you that wonderful massage you want so much if you take off your shorts. Take them off; they’ll only get in the way. And you don’t ever need to feel shy again about being naked when I’m in the room; after all, we’re both guys so it doesn’t really matter.” Would it work? Or had I just bought myself a peck of trouble? My roomie had paused in his zombie-march to his bed, and I held my breath. Then his hands twitched, twitched again, and suddenly he pulled down his boxers and stepped out of them. I was treated to my first ever view of his tight, perfectly formed ass. As it is with the majority of blonds, most of what body hair Paul has is nearly invisible except at very close range, so his skin appeared flawless and creamy-smooth. My dick was instantly at full attention. I pulled off my own briefs to give it room as Paul lay face down on his bed, ready to receive my ministrations. I straddled him and went to work.

I’ve always been good at massage (as a matter of fact, that’s how I lost my virginity in high school, giving a back-rub to one of my buds on the track team, although he, unlike Paul, had known where it was going, and it was never crystal clear to either of us who had finally seduced whom), but I took particular care on this one, making it as leisurely and sensuous as possible, talking hypnotically all the while. Time just kind of fell away as I luxuriated in the pure tactile joy of my roomie’s sleek, satiny skin and firm, yet hypnotically relaxed musculature. My dick and balls bounced and rubbed against his ass or the small of his back, and several times I had to lift myself up away from him to avoid cumming. Paul, whether thanks to my massage skills, my sneaky hypnotic suggestion that it would “feel great”, or a combination of the two, was groaning with pleasure as I worked him over. After a while, at my command Paul turned over to allow me to work on his front. Now I could squeeze and fondle his awesome pecs, and stroke his ridge-defined six-pack. I could also see his very respectable tool, although, with what felt like nearly superhuman restraint, I refrained from touching it (far too soon for that, and therefore far too dangerous). I did note however, that as

I worked down the insides of his thighs there was a definite increase in the girth and angle of his previously unaffected cock (homophobe or not, he’d be damn near inhuman not to get at least a little rise from the way I was deliberately titillating his body!), and it gave me an idea of a way to get some relief for my own raging hard-on.
I finished up the massage and then said, “Paul, that massage has made you feel really horny. Even though it wasn’t a girl touching you, still having that much stimulation to your body has turned you on, and now you really need to get off, don’t you?”
Paul’s dick grew several degrees harder. “Yeah, dammit… horny as fuck!” he squirmed uncomfortably.
“You know that Bryan has turned off the light and gone to bed. You’re convinced that he’s fast asleep and won’t know a thing about it if you take care of yourself.” I settled back on my bed to jerk off while I watched the show. A sexy smirk blossomed on Paul’s hypnotized face. He spat into his palm and then began to work his slickened hand up and down the shaft of his cock. He looked over at me, but even though I was staring straight at him, matching him stroke for stroke, he showed no awareness of the fact. Soon his face and chest were flushed with effort and arousal, and he was grunting softly with lust. It only took a few moments before he shot his load all over himself. I came at nearly the same time, brought over the edge, not just because he looked so fuckin’ hot jerking himself, but because I was so aware of his absolutely helpless cluelessness about what was really going on. I was discovering that being a hypno-master was a big turn-on!

“Paul,” I said, “At the count of three, you’ll be fast asleep and dreaming. You’ll sleep all night without stirring, you won’t be aware of anything, and when you wake up tomorrow morning, you won’t remember a thing about tonight except that you went to bed as usual.” He was still lazily fondling his depleted dick, but he nodded indifferently. I counted him down, and he went limp, instantly in dreamland. I wiped up my own cum, and then cleaned him up, although I took a little of his juice and rubbed it onto his lips (those lips I was so dying to taste) just because I felt like it. Through it all, my roomie didn’t so much as twitch, and when I really did turn out the lights and snuggle down in my bed, I had the first good night’s sleep in weeks. The chainsaw massacre was finally over! High five!!

Over the next couple of weeks, I repeated this horny little scenario practically every night, each time making my massage and the subsequent masturbation session a little more openly homoerotic for Paul, while at the same time upping the ante on the hypnotic suggestions I was delivering along with it. As a result of my careful manipulations, my helplessly conditioned roomie now slept in the nude (and was sure that he always had), no longer cared whether I was asleep or awake, watching and joining in when he jerked himself off at the end of our sessions, and (even though, if asked, he still considered himself to be straight) had the habit of eating his own cum at the conclusion. I’d also made a lot of progress on his sexual appreciation of the male form. I had Paul deriving some degree of excitement from observing, first his own body in the mirror, and then mine as I jacked off along with him, although he still believed it was because he was imagining us with women. Baby steps.
Finally, though, I felt that Paul was ready for me to try taking him where I wanted him to go. It was a Friday night, so we had the whole weekend if I needed it, and I planned that he would spend the entire time in trance if that’s what it took! He was sitting on his bed reading when I said his trance cue. My roomie immediately leapt to his feet and came to rigid attention. Then one of his hands floated up to touch his face, his eyes closed and he was under; I’d programmed that whole sequence into him because I thought it looked so hot.

“Paul,” I commanded, “You’re going to go deeper into hypnosis today than you’ve ever been before… much, much deeper. In your mind’s eye you see a spinning hypnotic spiral. It’s made of beautiful colors, and it draws your gaze irresistibly… you can’t look away from it even for a second… and as you look, it’s sending you deeper and deeper into my power… deeper and deeper… as if it’s pulling at your mind and your will… pulling them into it’s vortex… you’re falling into the spiral… falling faster and faster… faster and faster… helpless in it’s pull…” I continued in this vein for some time. Eventually, when his body language had become so non-existent that he might easily have been mistaken for a sculpture, I said, “From now on, you have no awareness of yourself… Your body and mind will obey all my commands instantly, but you will have no knowledge or memory of what you are doing… you are only aware of the spiral… always pulling you deeper and deeper… nothing else… nothing else at all… Now, open your eyes, but see only the spiral.”

My handsome roommate’s beautiful blue eyes slowly opened. The waxen indifference of his expression didn’t change, and it was almost palpable that his vision was still turned entirely inward. Screwing up my courage, I husked, “Kiss me,” and then, before he could react, I took possession of that mouth I’d been lusting after for weeks; if Paul were going to come out of his trance and kill me, I wanted to die with the taste of him on my lips! But after a moment or two, there was still no resistance. My roomie’s mind may have been as absent from the proceedings as it was possible for me to make it, but his body was doing a fabulous job with the mechanics of kissing. Our kiss grew deeper and wetter, and I thought I might lose it then and there. I freed my tongue from his gentle suctioning and licked over to the soft skin of his neck under his ear. No help there! Paul smelled and tasted so good that, if I had so much as brushed my cock against him, I’m sure I would have cummed in my pants. Shaking, I ordered him back to attention, and then backed away and got rid of my clothes.
When I was calm enough to proceed (and it took a while, since Paul standing there as beautiful and oblivious as a life-sized action figure was totally blowing my mind), I began to undress him. It really was a little like it used to be playing with my G.I Joe when I was a kid.

My roomie’s vacant gaze never wavered from its internal focus; his expressionless face might as well have been expertly molded plastic. His limbs would hold whatever position I moved them into as I pulled off his sweatshirt, undershirt, jeans and boxers (he’d already been barefoot). I told him to enjoy being stripped, so by the time he was naked, he was also hard. I, need I say it, was damn near having an out-of-body experience I was so excited!
“Paul, your mind continues to see and be aware only of the spiral,” I said, “But your body is about to enjoy the best sex it’s ever had. I command it to cooperate fully, and to cum only on my direct order. Nod your agreement.” His head bobbed dutifully, and I could restrain myself no longer. Since my hands were already familiar with my roommate’s beautiful body, I attacked him this time with my mouth. I licked and sucked and chewed my way down his chest, savoring the intoxicating tastes, smells and textures, until his cock was buried deep in my mouth and I was giving it the best blowjob I could conceive of. Paul’s breathing had grown heavier and heavier, until he was almost purring like a large cat. His body was still locked in that doll-like attention, but as I became even more extravagant in my deep-throating suction, he began to writhe and thrust. My mouth was filled with the salty, musky taste of his pre-cum. Yummm! At last, after prolonging the whole thing til my mouth was growing tired and my own cock was screaming at me for relief, I stopped sucking long enough to command him, “Three more strokes and you’ll cum, Paul… you’ll come harder and better than you ever have before. Count them out.” I clamped my lips back around his dick, sucking for all I was worth.
“One…” His cock slid deeper into my mouth. “Two… Three-e-e!!!” I was rewarded with an enormous, delicious blast of Paul-cream, so copious that I almost couldn’t keep up with the flow.

Licking my lips, I stood up. Paul’s handsome face, although pink from effort, was still as blankly entranced as before, emotionless as a mask. God, it was hot! I can’t imagine being more sexually thrilled than I was at that moment. Regardless of how this had all started, I was definitely a true hypno-fetishist now! “Paul,” I commanded, “You will kneel down now, and you will suck my cock until I cum, just exactly the way I sucked yours. Say ‘yes, master’, and do it now!” (I told you I was carried away!)
“Yes, master.” Paul knelt as smoothly as an automaton and obediently engulfed my hard-on. Even though he was sucking to beat the band, he still had that glazed, deeply hypnotized blank stare that was becoming such an incredible turn-on to me. I had expected to need to give him directions about the actual techniques of giving a guy successful head; after all, he couldn’t have gained any previous experience. But apparently, either because of hypnosis’ general ability to improve his detailed memory retention of the head I’d just given him, or simply because he was a “quick study”, my roomie was doing an absolutely stellar job.
As I neared orgasm with the speed of an approaching train, I gasped, “Play with my asshole!” Paul dutifully began to finger me, and that’s all it took. I came in what felt like buckets. I did mange to order him to swallow it, although I was panting so hard I’m not quite sure how!
When I descended enough from my orgasmic high to be aware of my surroundings again, Paul was still kneeling in front of me, a robot-boy waiting mindlessly for its next instructions. He hadn’t moved since I’d pulled my now too sensitive cock-head out of his mouth. This was much too good to be a one-time shot. I had to have him… permanently!
First, I needed to make a small test. “Paul, tell me what you’ve just been doing.”
In a soft, abstracted voice he answered, “Watching the spiral…” Okay, that part had worked just fine.

“That’s right… you were watching the spiral and it was making you go deeper and deeper under my hypnotic control. But you were also having the best sex ever… and the greatest physical pleasure. Say that.”
“The spiral was making me go deeper under your hypnotic control… and I was having the best sex ever… and the greatest physical pleasure…” His mesmerized voice repeated it word for word, without the slightest indication that he had any feelings about what he was saying.
“You were having that pleasure because you were deeply hypnotized and in my power. From now on, you will realize that being hypnotized by me is the sexiest thing in your entire experience. Nothing, no other fantasy, no woman, no other man can possibly create the same level of desire in you. Your conscious mind won’t know anything about this, since you will still be unable to remember having been hypnotized, but your unconscious and your body will know. You will never again feel even the slightest horniness without realizing that what you really want most of all is for me to hypnotize you and turn you into my helpless sex-toy. Say ‘my greatest turn-on is to be your hypnotized slave… my greatest turn-on is to be your hypnotized slave’… See that phrase printed in the center of the spiral. Say it over and over until it is more a part of you than your own name.” Paul’s soft droning litany went on and on as I caressed his ears and stroked his hair.

The following afternoon Paul was trying to study, but I could tell he was restless. I was just about to take control again, when, to my delight, he threw down his book. “Uh… Bryan… uh… you remember you said something a couple of weeks ago about hypnosis helping with concentration? I didn’t take you up on it then, but I was wondering… could you… uh… could you maybe… uh… hypnotize me now? To help with the studying?” It was so cute the way he was stammering and blushing, and, although I was careful not to appear to be looking, I could see the outline of a woody that was developing in his pants.

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