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"Oh, hey!" the worker calls, shuffling over with recognition in his voice, "It's you..."
I don't immediately react.
At 5:00am, there shouldn't be anyone calling except for bar buddies confirming I made it home. Still, something about this grunt's face does seem familiar, but surely I would recall a friend as assertive as him, especially when he's abandoning three other similarly hi-vis clad workmates. He doesn't seem bothered at all to walk away from his job. Only eager to see me.
"...sir," he grins with a nod, fishing a billfold out of his pocket, "I've got $58 in my wallet. All the money on me is yours, sir. Is now a good time for me to suck your dick?" He wipes the drool off of his chin with the back of his hand.
So that's how we know each other!
I must've hypnotized him...
Before he can drop to his knees in the middle of the street, I slap his back and guide the dopey hunk away from his coworkers, forcing a laugh like we actually are old friends.
"Keep it down," I hush in panic, "You want the rest of your crew to hear?"
"Sir, I don't care if the guys hear," he assures me with pride, "I'm your cocksucking ATM, sir."
I park him on the other side of the street, away from the other workmen, and take a moment to study the complacent face staring back at me. He looks handsome, masculine, though a bit dumb. That could just be the result of my trance. Still, I don't recall a session where I turned this bluecollar hunk into my very own cocksucking ATM!
"What's your name?"
"My name is Bitch-Dad McLaborTits," he says.
I roll my eyes, more at myself than at him. I had obviously hypnotized him to believe that was his name while he was under.
"Your real name..." I exhale, "The name your colleagues over their call you." I gesture over at the men he'd walked away from. They seem to have gone back to collecting garbage for the moment, hopefully none the wiser.
"Oh...well, they call me Brian, sir," he says with a furrowed brow, unable to make sense of it.
"Okay, Brian, when did you realize you were my...um...cocksucking ATM?"
"Only just now, sir," he explains, pointing back across the street, "When I saw your face, I realized a lot of things. You are a real man, a god even. I am just something that can serve you, in my own way, sir," his hand extends the wad of cash out to me again, "Nothing else matters before I saw you..."
"Shit man, I really did a number on you."
"What, sir?"
"Nothing," I shake my head and snatch his $58 dollars, shoving it into my pocket, "But we've met before. Think, Brian. When did we meet?"
Brian, or Bitch-Dad, scowls as he thinks, which is probably difficult in this state. I'd help him, but for the life of me, I don't remember doing all this to this poor man's mind. Could I have really been so careless with my abilities?
"I remember," he lights up, "It was about a year ago, sir. Maybe more than that. And it was around this time of night too because me and the guys were just starting a shift..."
"Go on..."
"Yes, sir," he averts his eyes nervously, "Well, I believe you were stumbling down the street with a bottle in your hand. I went to go check on you and then..."
"Wait," I jump in, "Are you about to say I hypnotized you while I was blackout drunk?!"
"Yes, sir. That's what you did." He smiles.
I slap my forehead, already feeling a hangover. Last year, I was going through a dark time and had a bit of a drinking problem. I thought I'd left that chapter behind me, but the past is standing right in front of me in an identical scenario. At least tonight I'm not blackout...
"Ok," I groan, "So I hypnotized you while I myself was barely conscious, and left a trigger for you to become my ATM sex-toy the next time you saw me. Is that it?"
"Well, no sir," he admits, smiling "You pissed yourself, so you had me leave work and carry you back to your place, so I could bathe you and do your laundry for you."
"Fuck," I sigh, cringing at myself, "So I had you clean me up and then released you?"
"No, sir," he goes on, "You fucked me in the ass. You named me Bitch-Dad McLaborTits because those were your favorite things about me, and then you threw up on my head while I had your dick in my mouth. Then you passed out after telling me to leave and forget it ever happened. So that's what I did, sir. At least, until you made me remember..."
Fuck, I truly am the worst.
"So, then what?"
"Well, I'm not sure," he scratches his chin, "I walked outside and forgot all about you. Just went back to being Brian, sir. And Brian was really confused why he wasn't at work with dried throw-up all over his head..."
I shudder at the thought of what Brian went through because of me that day...
"Alright, Bitch-Dad. I'm going to wake you out of this trance," I move on, "But first let's find a restroom or something for you to blow me..."
"Yes, sir!"
And just like that, this burly garbage collector is eagerly guiding me down the street with a thick arm around my back. Unfortunately, I can see why drunk-me went for this guy. He's got a sort of boyish charm that goes well with being a sleeper sex/money slave.
Hopefully his crew doesn't get too pissed off that he quit hauling garbage cans with them for the last 20 minutes.
Hopefully Brian's not too confused when he wakes up with a sore jaw and no memory.
Hopefully his family doesn't need that $58 dollars in cash.
Hopefully I can practice some restraint next night out.
The highway patrol officer has no memory of spending his weekends as a leather gigolo. being used and abused for money, money that he turns over at the end of each weekend. He only remembers having a great weekend and is energized to start his week off right, on duty as an officer and off duty eating right and exercising, looking forward to his next weekend. Such is his life since his "older" neighbor moved in next door and started to teach him "mind relaxation" exercises.
Every Saturday at exactly 6:43, Ryder stops what he is doing, unlocks his front door, strips down to his thong, and gets into position. Once in position, his thoughts start to disappear until only a few remain which are that he is just a hole and that holes accept all loads.
Jake had waited all week for this moment. It was finally time that his favorite hypnotist, OBEY ME, posted their newest video. Without thinking, he quickly stripped down to his underwear and turned on his webcam ready to show all the other watchers how obedient he can be.
Jake wasn’t sure why he agreed to attend his friend’s art opening. He usually hated having to talk to the type of people who attend those events. Lucky for Jake, he wouldn’t need to talk to anyone because he is actually part of the exhibit as a hypnotized frozen statue.
Fuck! I love how he says it with his usual cocky swagger. As if he's just telling his step-son to clean his room or grab him a beer.
Not sure what my mom saw in this guy. With a name like Derrick, he was bound to be a douchebag. Sure he's fit and has a cushy software engineering job, but he's a shitty step-father, always grabbing my mom's ass and calling me his "boy" even though I'm 19!
I'm glad I snuck that subliminal programming tech into his stupid earpiece.
He had no idea I was reconditioning his mind while he bumbled over his "very important work" with all his equally arrogant tech bros. If my mom was settling for this schmuck of an ex-jock, then I was going to need some things to change, starting with those damn boxers he always struts around in after work...
"IF you wear boxers, THEN you will feel like a child playing dress up. BOXERS are for men. Briefs are for you..."
I look him up and down, just standing in front of me, flexing in the tightey-whiteys he now exclusively wears, staring at me like I could speak some word at any second that he needs to hear. Mom's car pulled out of the garage five minutes ago, on her way to dinner with her girlfriends. That meant me and Derrick had the house to ourselves...
...which, of course, is a circumstantial trigger I planted in that dense skull of his.
"IF you find yourself alone in the house with your step-son, THEN you will stop thinking, pause what you are doing, strip to your underwear, approach your step-son, flex your biceps, and silently wait for him to take the lead..."
That was the second trigger I installed in his head. The command goes on to make him prioritize this action over work, comfort, and really anything, but that's ultimately a lot of technical lingo that just makes him willing to abandon whatever he's doing. Be it calling someone for work, leaving the house, or even taking a piss, it won't stop him from pausing, stripping, and reporting to me.
"Drink!" I announce.
His body jerks into response, "Let me fix you a martini, sir!" Derrick's flexing arm snaps into a salute before he stomps away to the kitchen.
"IF you here the word DRINK spoken by your step-son, THEN you will say, "Let me fix you a martini, sir," salute, and then go make the mixed drink..."
The programming goes on to specify the exact type of martini I require and the way I like it. I just can't believe I finally have him crafting my cocktails at my whim after he's barked at me so many times to grab his fucking beer!
"Here is your martini, sir," Derrick says, dropping to his knees, lowering his head, and holding out the glass like an offering to a god.
I resist the urge to thank him. It's not like he'd even hear it in this state.
"Dick." I say.
A smile spreads across his face. He's sort of handsome, when he's like this. Controlled. Normally, he's cocky, and arrogant, and intolerably idiotic, but like this, his boyish face actually looks handsome. Maybe that's what my mother sees in this shallow asshole.
"I...I want to feeel you," he says, almost whining. Though he tries to maintain eye contact, his focus keeps shifting to my crotch. "Let me shove my face in there, pleease!" he begs, licking his lips.
"IF you here the word DICK spoken by your step-son, THEN you will become infatuated with the areas between his legs, the skin that makes up his crotch, the hair that lives there, the balls that hang, the penis that waits..."
I might have gone a little far with this command. I wrote it one night after a few too many martinis. It goes on to make him not just want my cock. He'll love it, praise it, worship every inch of it he can find, touch, smell, taste...
Meatballs III: “You’ re a stud!”: the bad guy is prepared by his sidekick to score, but the good guy, with the help of time freeze throws the menacing bully out of the window
Ski School 2Â the good guys raid the bachelor party of the jerk, gets all his goons bound with their pants down exposing conservative boxers (and no erections) and then get the adulterous prick / main bad guy drunk, naked, body painted, covered with feathers and about to have sex with the stripper, as they videotape all this. The bad guys are all bound to each other and can do nothing to help their boss against the good guys when they storm out of the cake.
Bryce was shocked to find his Dad and friend making out. Even more shocking was that his Coach was on the couch watching their make out session and stroking his big cock.
As Bryce was about to say something, his Coach snapped his fingers and said suck. All worries left his mind because he had a job to do. Bryce fell to his knees and crawled between his Coach’s massive hairy thighs and took his cock into his mouth and got to work.
